Page 66 of Our Sadie
“I don’t know.” I hear her swallow. “No one knows. The investigators stated I was discovered several yards from most of the fuselage while everyone else was...” She trails off, but I get the gist. “I was strapped in, so I don’t know how I was thrown so far away. The last thing I remember is the blaze getting closer and closer to me as we careened toward the earth. There were all these noises and so much screaming.”
I can’t make out much of her, but I gawk at Sadie’s profile anyway. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.
“I shouldn’t have survived,” she goes on in this bland monotone. “There have been times when I wish I hadn’t.”
Horror renders me speechless. I know I should say something to correct her, but I can’t. She’s been speaking so softly that I’ve had to concentrate to hear her, but it turns out that I haven’t been the only one listening.
“You weren’t meant to die then, Sadie,” Jerome says, and it’s not a whisper. “It wasn’t your time.”
The linens rustle as she twists toward him. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re still here. You’re with us. You have a purpose to fulfill.”
“What purpose?” Her voice is suddenly demanding, insistent. Pleading.
“Whatever purpose you deem valuable,” Jerome replies, cool as a cucumber. The man sounds like a spiritual guru. “For reasons you might never understand, you were saved. Your heart is still beating. In my way of thinking, that’s a gift. One that shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Jerome’s right,” Zach chimes in. “Bad things happen sometimes. It sucks the big one. But I think it means we just have to pivot. To not be afraid to travel in new directions. Then, to keep going.”
Fuck, does every dude here have more wisdom than I do?
Everyone is quiet for a few seconds, and I wonder if Sadie regrets saying all this aloud. Also, how much did the other two hear? How long have they been eavesdropping? Did they hear what I said about Paisley?
And would it be bad if they did?
TWENTY-TWO: Erogenous Zone
JEROME
There’s something about the darkness that comes at this time of night that makes sharing feel less cumbersome than at any other time in the twenty-four-hour day. Maybe it’s the anonymity of not being clearly visible. Maybe it’s knowing that the rest of humanity is unconscious and unaware. Or maybe it’s just that we’ve all begun to trust each other enough for sharing to be possible.
Whatever it is, I add my ingredients into the mix.
“I started doing porn to support myself and my father. For as long as I can remember, it’s only ever been me and him. And I love the man, but he’s a lush who’s destroyed his liver. He’s struggling with his health and is barely able to work anymore. He’s not even fifty-nine yet, but I don’t know how much longer he’ll be around.”
There’s more silence, the total absence of sound, the kind that feels as if we’ve all somehow entered a vacuum without realizing it. That’s when Zach clears his throat.