“Mason!” she squealed, her voice only slightly tinny sounding through the tiny speaker. “How are you, Bug? What happened? It feels likeforeversince you went to O.Hi.O.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I heard the concern in her voice, and I leaned back against the pillows. Lizzie Meringue, (yes, like the pie, and no, friends, didn’t even think about joking about it, because she would end them) had been my best friend since we met in college, and I could honestly say I owed my life, and livelihood, to her brilliance.
I'd lived with Tira and Zem for five years after escaping from Ricky. Tira had been like the grandmother I’d never known and Zem had become my little sister. I’d loved them both, but I knew that if I wanted to do anything with the chance, the life, she’d given me, I needed to get an education. While I’d earned my GED online, I'd refused to let Tira pay for college and Washington State University had provided me with the best financial aid package.
I’d been anxious, exhausted and more than a little lost when I’d shown up on the grounds of Washington State on Orientation day. I’d thought that I'd planned for all possible problems and allotted ample travel time, plus a bit of cushion, to be able to arrive in Seattle and try to find someplace to live before school started, but the bus ride from Wisconsin to Seattle had taken almost twice as long as I’d anticipated. It had eaten up all of the extra time I’d allotted, and then some.
I’d had a full-on panic attack during registration when one too many people had brushed up against me. Lizzie found me sobbing in the disability access stall in the women’s bathroom where I’d fled in my terror.
I’d been huddled on the floor in the corner of the stall. I still remembered the curious look on her face when she had swung thedoor open and rolled into the stall. We’d sat there for a few minutes as my sobs slowed and my mind had slowly calmed from the adrenaline coursing through my system, her soft brown eyes looking at me, but without pity or judgment.
“So,” she’d said finally, her voice calm and mildly curious. “Which are you, today?”
My tears had finally stopped, but it had taken a few minutes for my mind to wrap itself around her words.
“…What?” I’d managed to choke out.
“Which are you?” She repeated, rolling her wheelchair towards me. “Sometimes in life you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug.”
She punctuated her question with a skinny finger poking into my chest.
“Which. Are. You. Today?”
“Um, today?” I managed to rasp out. “I think I’m the bug,” I said. “I think I’malwaysthe bug.”
She flashed me an insouciant grin.
“Nice to meet you, Bug. I’m Lizzie. Now wait outside. I have to pee.”
Lizzie had helped me register for classes, including setting up an account online so I could avoid the horrible crowds going forward. She’d taken me under her wing, and from that point on, we’d been almost inseparable. She was a sophomore going to school for business while I'd applied to the school’s fine arts program. It had been Lizzie’s constant encouragement that had convinced me to pursue my dreams and get my graphic novel published. She’d helped me through the process of legally changing my name, and guided me as I created the persona and brand of Mason Cameron.
Her business acumen, intuitive understanding of human nature and her ability to sweet talk just about anyone into just about anythinghad resulted in a partnership that made both of us happy.
I shook my head. She knew me well enough to tell when I was lying, so why bother?
“I’m fucked, LizBiz,” I said.
“Tell me,” she demanded calmly. So, I did. The awful first day inthe airport. My panic attack at the hotel. The high of the signing, dinner, D&D… and then, “The Fall”…
“Well,fuck,” she muttered, as I told her about Lee’s exit. “And there for a minute I thought he might be a keeper.”
Me, too.I thought, sighing, but refusing to say it out loud.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, her voice sharpening. “I know that sigh, Mason Cameron Malone. It iswaytoo soon for you to be giving up on this guy.”
“I’m not giving up,” I countered defensively. “Not exactly. I’m being realistic.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you were ‘realistic’ about your chances of getting published?”
I harrumphed. This wasn’t the same thing, and I told her so.
“You’re right,” she agreed, far too easily. I knew something was up.
“Itisn’tthe same thing. It was muchlesslikely that you’d get published than that you would meet a guy who thought you were as amazing as I do.”
I sighed again.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said. “He was so amazing… Liz, you’d love him,” I smiled. “He’s beautiful, strong, sexy. And a huge nerd,” I laughed. She laughed with me but let me continue.
