46. Rickie
Rickie
With Daphne in my arms, I’m truly calm for the first time in days.
My heartbeat slows, and my thoughts lengthen into slippery, shiny things.
I fall asleep in spite of my pain. And when I wake up a couple of hours later, Daphne is curled up to me, her back to my front.
She’s breathing so peacefully that I don’t move for a few minutes, afraid to wake her.
Eventually, I need those painkillers. So I ease away from her just long enough to venture out for some water and a couple of pills.
When I sneak back onto the bed, Daphne rolls over and cuddles up against me. “I should get up and go to the grocery store,” she murmurs.
“Let me order in,” I insist. “I’d rather not go out with this busted face. But I’ll treat you to some takeout. I owe you big time.”
“No you don’t,” she says, her eyes still closed. “But I’ll take it anyway. Can we order wings from Biscuit in the Basket?”
“If that’s what my girl wants.”
She makes a sleepy, happy noise. And I stroke her hair and marvel at my own luck. I don’t deserve her. But I am not dumb enough to say so again. So instead I pick up my phone and scroll through all the messages from the people who are also crazy enough to care about me.
Keith: Did you really spend the night in the slammer? I hope cavity searches are not really a thing. LMK.
Dylan: Did you really punch Daphne’s ex? I thought I was going to do that.
Lenore: I know you said Wednesday. But I’m here if you need me!
I also read Daphne’s texts, which alternate between worry and more worry. Oof . I guess all I can do is try to make sure I don’t put her in that position again.
Then I open up my email, which is basically a habit at this point, since I spent several days waiting for Paul to write me. To my surprise, there’s a new email waiting.
Rick—
I haven’t heard back from you. I know I did the whole “I can’t talk about it” thing to you. But then I sent you off to see that posting, and since you’re the smartest guy I ever met, I’m thinking you must have found it.
Now your silence is making me nervous.
If you need to talk, I’m @Luigi2000 on AppSnap.
—Paul
A shiver runs through me. Because I’ve never played a Mario Brothers game, and yet I suddenly remember that Paul likes them, and that Luigi is a character. I just know it, but I don’t remember the context.
Getting your memory back is weird. I guess it’s not all going to materialize in front of me like my fairy godmother. It’s going to come back in little awkward flashes and insights.
I’d better brace myself, then.
I open up AppSnap and make a login for myself—@McFly2000. Then I tap in his handle and send him a message.
Hi. It’s your dotty ex-roommate. Thank you for this. I’d never try to screensave anything you say on here. Just thought I’d put that out there .
Paul comes back only a minute later. Appreciate that. And I trust you. Did you find it?
I sure did. And I learned a lot. Unfortunately I then came face to face with a certain ex-cadet and was arrested for attacking him. You won’t find it in the news, though, because his powerful daddy decided not to let the state’s attorney press charges .
There is the digital equivalent of a stunned silence on Paul’s end. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone there.
But then he sends me a photo. It only stays on-screen for ten seconds, but I drink it in. There’s his face—his familiar face—registering an expression of comical horror. Say what?
I laugh out loud. God, it’s great to see his face. He’s thin and a little nerdy. And that ten-second glimpse reminds me how I felt about him. I knew him as a force for good in the world.
I can’t send you a selfie today , I tell him. I have a broken nose. But when it heals, I’ll show you the long-haired version of this sexy beast .
Don’t ever change , he says. Since we’re doing this, what else do you need to know?
That’s a good question, isn’t it? Lenore has been trying to tell me that I don’t need to know anything. And maybe she’s right.
It’s strange, but now that we’re actually talking, I find it doesn’t matter so much anymore. You’re here. I’m here. My girlfriend is napping beside me.
That’s great, man. Someday I want to hear the story of your arrest. Over beers.
Yes! That MUST happen.
Congrats on the girlfriend. I expect to see a cute selfie of you two at some point.
Yessir. Wait, I DO have a question! Do you remember me talking about Daphne?
I was supposed to pick her up on the Saturday night of Open Weekend.
But I stood her up at 8pm. I realize that night ended horribly a few hours later.
But it would be super cool if you knew why I blew off my date beforehand.
He comes back right away. Hold on. There’s no way you could have picked her up that night. You were probably being transferred to the hospital right about then. Because our troubles began on Friday night .
I’m stunned. Really? My hospital record says Saturday .
Yeah. That’s why they fired the infirmary guy. Somebody decided to keep us in the infirmary a whole 24 hours before admitting we needed the hospital. You had internal bleeding. I had to listen to them argue about whether or not you could die .
I must gasp or something because Daphne shakes herself, sits up, and reads over my shoulder. “Oh wow. Is this your roommate?”
I’m too stunned to answer.
But then Paul taps out one more thing. I gotta run. But tell your girl it wasn’t your fault. You were really looking forward to that date, too. You had a necklace made for her which was super weird, and a dreamy look on your face. I made fun of you for it, but I was super jealous. Later!
Daphne and I slowly turn to look at each other. We’re wearing identical shocked expressions, before she leans in and kisses me. “I knew it,” she whispers.
“You did not,” I argue, throwing down my phone and rolling on top of her. “You thought I stood you up.”
“That was before I got to know you,” she argues. “Now I’m mostly a believer.”
“Mostly?” I tease. Then I cup one of her breasts and gently stroke it. “How can I seal the deal? Can you think of a way?”
“I can,” she says, smiling. “Order two different kinds of wings, and some french fries, too.”
I bark out a laugh. “Okay, Shipley. Anything else?”
“A private karaoke performance. Naked.”
I let out a hoot of laughter. “Sure, baby. Anything for you.”