Free The Red Car by Marcy Dermansky Page B

fifty-three, and I have enough money in the bank that there is no reason for me to kill myself now when I can buy a plane ticket instead and go to Hawaii. I know that if I were in the Pacific Ocean, swimming with sea turtles, something you wrote to me about once in an email, my outlook about life might be very different. I might not want to die. I could go to Italy and drink red wine and eat pasta and not give a damn about the calories. I might still want to die, but at least I would have had a good time before I go.
    I can’t explain it. Why I won’t go on a last vacation. I don’t think my life would turn into a Diane Lane movie. I don’t want to waste the time.
    I have taken to driving recklessly, closing my eyes while driving on a highway—just for a second at a time. Speeding through yellow lights.
    I am leaving you my car, which I think you also underestimated, and also some money. I am also hoping that you will figure out, now that I am dead, that you actually did love me. Though we haven’t emailed in a while, too long, I know you need money. Because you chose to be an artist. Because you married someone you probably shouldn’t have.
    If I leave Leah money, I think to myself, she can leave her husband. Presumptuous, right? I know my advice to you was one of the reasons why you stoppedtalking to me—and I have always regretted that. Because I miss you. But it was also impossible for me to not tell you how I feel. I am sorry I read your journal. Or maybe, Leah, you left it in my car for me to read it.
    Do what you want, Leah. It might seem hard to believe me, seeing that I am dead, but I have lived the way I wanted to. I would even say that I was happy.
    One more thing. One last thing. I recently received an invitation to my niece’s bat mitzvah. My sister and I have not spoken in a long time. Perhaps I will be able to go. I bought a plane ticket and reserved a hotel room. Not Hawaii, not Tuscany, but Pennsylvania. I don’t believe I will be here, on this earth, on the day of the event, and therefore will be unable to attend. I would appreciate, if that is the case, if you would go in my stead. I have not seen my niece in many years. I dislike my sister, we haven’t gotten along, not since we were kids, but it occurs to me that most likely my niece is a perfectly wonderful girl. Perhaps she needed a hip older aunt like me to save her. I suppose that is my one regret. Go tell her that. Would you do that for me?
    I knew when I bought that car that I might die in it. I have really never loved anything as much as that red car.
    xox ,
    Judy
    T HE AUTO BODY SHOP WAS located in an industrial district. There was not a taxi to be caught. I did not have a cell phone to call Diego. I did not want to ask the mechanic for any more help, because I knew how that would go. He would be kind to me, let me use the telephone, and I would somehow feel like I owed him. I would go out to dinner with him, or coffee, or out to hear a band, and then have to tell him no, again, and sometimes, if I didn’t feel like saying no, I wouldn’t. Which was almost never a good idea: the random one-night stands in my life. Not that I would ever have sex with the mechanic. I just did not want to ask him to use the telephone.
    Though it occurred to me now that men had stopped hitting on me, as if I had become invisible once I got married. Until I bought this black dress.
    â€œNo,” Judy said. “It’s the vibe you have been giving off.”
    â€œThe vibe?” I asked. “What vibe?”
    â€œIt’s not good. Almost toxic. Your body language says stay away.”
    I changed my mind. I did not like having Judy’s voice in my head. She was dead. It was my choice to allow her to haunt me. Was it my choice? I could not predict what she would say. When she would say it. Nothing she said was comforting or easy.
    And there was another voice in my head, also nagging me, that I