Even,” she said now, through the phone, help me.”
My gut clenched. What is it? What happened, Sara? Where are you?” I rolled over, sat up, and turned on the lamp. Car accident, I thought, death, limbs torn off, drinking and driving, beaten by her jackass pot-dealing boyfriend.
Blinking, I was relieved to find in the light the regularity and familiarity of my bedroom. But that Sara cried scared me considerably. Shes a tough girl. Id never seen or heard her cry before, and I havent seen or heard her cry since.
She gave me her boyfriends address on Amethyst, told me that I needed to come right now; right this second; no time to waste. She couldnt tell me why. It would take too long to explain.
Hurry, Even,” she said, in a hushed and shaky voice. Dont tell anyone. Dont let anyone see you. Just come.”
I did hurry, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, no shoes, pulling on a hooded zipper-front sweatshirt on my way out, forgetting my drivers license. Careful not to make noise as I shut the front door; starting the BMW parked at the curb and flinching, wanting it to be more quiet. I noticed only a few cars on the road, headlights lighting up the darkness.
I couldnt find a place to parkif youve been to Balboa Island in the summer, you know what I meanbut I finally got a spot three blocks from the house. Running down the street in my bare feet, my teeth rattling and my sweatshirt flapping out behind me, I had a strong urge to turn back around.
But I thought about Sara crying and kept going.
She waited for me outside the house near the patio, behind a tree, and she came out when she saw me, her hands wrapped tightly across her chest, trembling. She wore a thin pale blue dressat first I thought it a nightgownand no shoes.
Jesus,” she said, hurry, hurry,” and she took me to the side of the house, a dark small space, where on the dirt lay something wrapped in a pink towel.
Hurry,” she said, the tears coming, hurry, hurry. Fuck, shit, I know theyre coming. Hurry, Even. What do I do? What do I do? Theyll be back for it,” and she unearthed Gabes Samsung video camera from beneath the towel, flipped the little screen open, pressed play, and handed it to me.
While I watched she spoke, frantic and scared, in one long jumbled explanation, no longer crying, and not looking at the screen with me, instead looking all around herThey bragged about a porno; showed up at about two this morning, your brother and this other guy, and they kept talking about it, saying theyd fucked this girl with a pool cue, did anyone want to watch? Then Joe and this other guy says yeah, sure, lets see. But then they wouldnt let them watch. Stupid shits. But then when they left the party, they forgot their camera, stupid fucking asses, dumb shits forgot it. Left it right on the couch. So everyones asleep, the party finally over, theres like three people passed out on the floor near the couch, but Im still wired. Did a line, cant sleep, cant tell Joe, he thinks I quit coke, so I open the thing and look at it, and oh my fucking god, what do I do? Is she dead? She looks dead! What is that, Even? Oh my god! What do I do, what do I do?”
What I saw and heard on that small flip screen I still unwillingly see and hear, when Im lying in bed or at the grocery store, or just taking a walk, whether my eyes are closed or not, because its imprinted inside me, and it can never go away.
Some things are so terrible that you cant fully comprehend what they mean. I dont know how to explain my horror, and all that I do know is that the indelible effect of what I saw is too much.