This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,1
for me to walk to Half Moon Bay?
At this point, I think I could walk all night.
Her reply buzzes the phone in my loose grip. Why would you walk all the way to my apartment?
Staring at the words, I sway slightly as I tap the phone icon. I need to hear a voice.
“If you’re at my door, I’m not letting you in without a temperature check.” My bestie is such a drama queen.
“I’m having an existential crisis.”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
My jaw drops. “You are!”
“Why are you threatening to walk all the way to my apartment? Just drive.”
Inhaling slowly, I clear the thickness in my throat, looking up at the fading twilight so I don’t cry. “I sold Metallicar.”
“What?” A loud gasp then, “Nooo…”
“Yep. They’re picking it up tomorrow. I am officially destitute.”
And miserable.
Years ago, we nicknamed Dad’s cherished black 1967 Chevy Impala “Metallicar” after our favorite TV show Supernatural.
He gave it to me before he went into the nursing home after his bilateral knee replacement. It was supposed to be for short-term rehab… Neither of us expected it would turn into long-term rehab, and I can’t even visit him. He’s stuck there for the duration, and I’m flat broke.
“I’m so sorry, Hope.” At least the sarcasm is gone from her tone. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the bridge.”
“Hope Eternal Hill! What are you thinking?”
Placing my fingers against my forehead, I scrub against the turmoil mounting in my brain. “I’m thinking about my name. Is it Hope Eternal? Or is it Eternal Hill? Because this hill feels like it’s growing taller and taller…”
“What can I do? What do you need?”
“I need a job, dammit! I’ve been doing my best to wait for things to go back to normal, but I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
Ever since the shutdown killed Pancake Paradise, my dream restaurant business that I sank every dime into opening, it’s been harder and harder to make ends meet.
“Work at one of those Amazon distribution centers. Everybody’s doing that now.”
“And as a result, they’re not hiring.”
“That’s impossible! They’re sending people into space so they can have Amazon distribution centers on the moon.”
“Well, the earth-bound ones don’t need me.”
I gaze up at the giant metal bridge again, wondering… There’s a sign up there—I can see it in my mind.
Dad used to take me for a walk across the bridge when I was little. If we were feeling energetic, we’d try to jog all the way. Or we’d stand and look out at the Pacific Ocean, and I’d strain my ears, listening for the sound of the angels…
Squinting my eyes, I try to hear them, but it’s all silence. It’s the hush of nonstop wind and the groan of barges.
I used to hear them…
Something moves along the edge, and I think I see a figure standing there, far away. A silhouette of a man.
“Are you listening to me?” My bestie’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Sorry, what?” My head is swimming, and I know I’m not thinking straight. Too much wine.
“When we were kids, who said we could save our lemonade stand after Mrs. Blackburn ran over all our lemons with her car?”
My brow furrows, and I shake my head. “Mrs. Blackburn was the worst driver. She almost hit me when I was riding my bike in the neighborhood. Twice!”
“You said we could save it!” She pushes onward. “You didn’t let us give up!”
“We were going to squeeze the lemons anyway…”
“When we were in middle school, who said, ‘Our football team’s mascot might be a dove, but we can still have a kick-ass fight song!’”
“We were twelve, Yars. I don’t think I said kick-ass.”
Our parents were peace-loving super-hippies, but they still wouldn’t let us swear.
“‘Peck ‘em up, Doves’ was a fight song for the ages!” Her voice rises like she’s giving the pep rally speech in one of those Friday Night Lights episodes.
“More like a fight song for doofuses.”
I can still see the large, white dove appliquéd to the front of our knee-length, royal blue cheer jumpers. Shivers.
Our home-school collective played flag football because our parents said tackle football led to cognitive deficiencies and mood and behavior disorders.
They tried to make us feel like all the other kids, but we knew we were weirdos.
“Maybe I’ve always been a loser, and I just didn’t know it.”
“You are not a loser! You’re the strongest person I know. You have always found a way through tough situations. And you always will!” I imagine the music swelling in the background, lights rising behind my