Free Peeling the Onion by Wendy Orr Page A

too—I know I'm scaring them, but the misery is stronger than I am.
    'I just didn't want this to happen! I didn't want it to happen.'
    'No one did,' Mum says, shooing the kids away. 'Anna needs to cry,' she tells them. 'It'll be good for her.'
    She's wrong. Feeling this terrible can't be good for anyone—I hate crying, and I'm not going to do it again.
    You can't open a paper or turn on the TV without hearing about euthanasia. The whole world's obsessed with it. And everyone's so adamant, whichever side they're on! They're all so sure they'd rather be dead than disabled—or just as convinced that God meant the person to suffer through and learn something. (Learn what? If God's so smart can't he work out a better way to teach? And how much pain is too much; how do you decide?)
    One thing I know—if I was going to have this much pain, this many restrictions every day of my life, I'd be on the first bus to the Northern Territory.
    I'm afraid to tell Jenny about Caroline. I don't know what I'm guilty of, but I feel so ashamed—and scared. Maybe Jenny will drop me too.
    Good to be wrong occasionally.
    Her eyes are watering; her face is pink and set with rage. 'How can she be like that?' she keeps repeating. 'God, I feel bad enough that my life is so great when yours is so shitty! How can she make it worse?’
    'Maybe she thinks I'm getting too much attention . . . I should tell her I could do without it!'
    She hesitates, wheels turning—you can always tell when Jenny's trying to decide whether or not to say something. 'She's talked once or twice about how much money people make when they have an accident—from suing the other driver.'
    My throat's so dry I can hardly speak. 'But that's only if you're permanently disabled and'—the tears squeak through my voice—'there's no money on earth that could make that worthwhile.'
    'That's what I told her! Look—if she's acting like this she wasn't ever a real friend anyway; at least now we know what she's like.'
    But Jenny's wrong. You can't throw away five years like that. Thinking that she was never my friend is even worse.
    I hope Jenny will forget about going out on Saturday, but no such luck. She says she'll ring Hayden herself if I don't ask him—but I called him last time.
    It's Friday night when he finally phones. 'What've you been up to?'
    Physio, doctor, being dumped by a friend . . . 'Not much. Listen—instead of sticking around the house all weekend, do you want to meet Jenny and Costa at the Coffee Connection tomorrow?'
    Bronny and Vinita are flitting around in their leotards again when he picks me up—Dad asked Bronny to change ages ago, but here they are again, giggling, now that Hayden's here . . . 'They've got a crush on you!'
    Hayden blushes and starts the car. 'Don't be stupid!'
    Eight million eyes in one small cafe. Why does Jenny think this is good for me? Couldn't I do something simple like bungie jumping?
    At least Costa's nice—or Jenny's briefed him well, or both. He manages to look me in the face when we meet, and finds us a table near the back so I don't put everyone off as they walk in the door. He and Hayden go up to the counter to order and Jenny leans across the table to whisper.
    'So what do you think?'
    'Definitely a guy, and you're right, his eyes are brown. I'll need a few more minutes for the full psychic profile.'
    'Is everything okay with you and Hayden now?'
    'I guess so. Well, we're here—it must be.'
    'You know we could hear every word you said?' Costa says, sliding into the seat beside Jenny.
    'Liar.'
    She smacks his leg, he grabs her hand, and they sit there frozen for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, and it's as intimate and embarrassing as if we'd walked in on them naked. Maybe not quite. Don't think about it.
    'Who wants a chip?' I suggest, and Jenny and Costa wake up. But their hands stay joined so Jenny has to drink her milkshake with her left hand.
    'Where'd you live