THE PERFECT PERSON

by Erika Purtell

page 2 of 3

She remembered the call that came at 1 a.m. about a month after the incident with the necklace. Lydia sounded very bad. She said that she had ingested large quantities of cocaine and alcohol and another drug Caroline had never even heard of. She threatened to take an entire bottle of sleeping pills if Caroline didn’t come right away. Caroline realized that it had been Lydia’s 16th birthday. The night was bitter cold. It took about 45 minutes to get there, enough time for Caroline to get the sense that Lydia had been bluffing. Still, Caroline was prepared to take Lydia to detox. That is, as long as she was willing to go. The scene that greeted her was very bizarre. Lydia’s apartment was ablaze with flashing lights, music, and a small crowd of odd-looking partygoers. Lydia had never looked so happy. Caroline pushed through the crowd to make sure her eyes hadn’t deceived her. Yes, it was her sister. Lydia danced half-naked on top of a coffee table as people mulled around with huge slices of birthday cake. Lydia’s face lit up when she saw Caroline. She threw her arms around her older sister’s neck and introduced her loudly. The small aggregation cheered. Caroline must have backed towards the door because Lydia’s face fell. When she explained she only came to make sure everything was okay, Lydia started to cry. She didn’t seem to remember making the phone call. It was too much for Caroline to deal with. She left as quickly as possible. As she drove back to warmth of her bed, she picked up a speeding ticket. She vowed never to race to help Lydia again. That was a vow that lasted two years. Except she didn’t exactly race this time. {cut? She drove along rather slowly.} Although the highway was virtually free of traffic, she wasn’t in a hurry for whatever she was going to find today.

  It was about 12 in the afternoon when Caroline arrived at the apartment. She parked and attached the club to her steering wheel. She stood and stretched. With the remote on her keychain, she made sure the door was locked. It beeped its familiar beep. About a block away some pre-teenage boys played hockey on the frozen street. She made eye contact with a young girl who sat at the sidelines. The girl’s brown hair was in a ponytail on top of her head just like her own. The girl smiled. Her face was dirty. Caroline looked away quickly and climbed the rickety porch stairs. The doors of the duplex apartment were smeared with black graffiti. The buzzer made a sad burping sound. Caroline looked down at her Steve Madden boots and kicked off the snow. They were her favorite boots. She loved how they kept her feet dry no matter how bad the weather. When there was no answer, she rang again. She was met with large green eyes peering out from behind the screen door.
  “Pixie?” Caroline extended a hand, but was only greeted with a distant stare. “I’m Lydia’s sister.” She added slowly, “We spoke this morning?”
  “I know who you are,” Pixie said and held open the door in a stiff welcome. She was a short girl with a pretty face. Her body seemed lost in a pair of old overalls. Her hair was a cropped short and bleached blonde. Her lip was pierced.
  Caroline looked around. Not much had changed along the lines of décor. There was a smell of stale marijuana in the air that made her stomach turn.
  “So,” Caroline spoke first, anxious to get on with it. “Do you have the letter?” She followed Pixie’s finger to Lydia’s room.
  The room was an absolute mess. Lydia had always been an untidy child, but the vision that greeted Caroline made her feel physically ill. Had Lydia completely lost control? How could any person live in such filth? Garbage was everywhere. Dirty dishes littered the floor along with laundry, magazines, compact discs, and drug paraphernalia Caroline would never care to understand. The bed was a simple futon mattress in the corner of the room. The only objects of value were an old CD player and a clock radio set a half-hour ahead. Caroline managed not to look at any pictures of a smiling, stoned Lydia with people Caroline would never hope to know. She picked up pieces of poetry that were scattered on the floor. She felt sick. Even Lydia’s writing hadn’t been taken care of. Nothing seemed to matter to the girl. Her heart stopped when her eyes landed on a doll that she made for Lydia when they were children. The doll was made from red cloth that was faded with age. It had no hair, only cloth that went over her head like a pointed hood. The face was plastic. Caroline noticed something in its hands. A lump formed in her throat. It was the suicide letter.
  As though in a dream, she opened it carefully. She read the first sentence: “By the time you read this I will be gone…”
  Her heart beat like a tiny drum in her throat. Gingerly, she folded it again and placed it inside her purse. She doubted that Pixie knew anything about Grandma Becker’s heirloom necklace. She didn’t inquire. On the way out, she mentioned that Pixie might want to wash the smell of dope out of her hair in case anyone came to investigate the apartment.
  “Life is what you make of it,” she said.
  “Don’t judge me,” the girl replied. “That tells me you’re insecure with yourself. No wonder Lydia wanted to get away from you. She was twice the person you’ll ever be. Especially now.”
  That night, despite Rob’s admonition, Caroline couldn’t study with the voice of that small, angry soul repeating itself in her mind. On top of everything else, it haunted what little sleep she got.

  The following day, Caroline visited the Police Department. She met with Sgt. Andy Woronov and filed a Missing Persons report. He had a round face and a round body and appeared to be in his early 40s. Often during their discussion, Caroline touched the suicide letter in her purse as though it might disappear. She didn’t mention it to him. Sgt. Woronov asked her if she’d like to go for a cup of coffee and when his shift was over. She declined and explained her boyfriend wouldn’t like that very much. Afterward, she met Rob in the library to return some books she had borrowed. His hair and clothes were rumpled. She said nothing, even though he was always quick to comment on her occasional lack of maintenance. He wasn’t happy with her decision to drive home the following day.
  “I feel like I think more about your future than you do,” he said. He was very irritable. On top of everything else, that was the last thing she needed.
  “This is heavy,” she exclaimed. “I think Mom needs to know what’s going on. I really have to talk to her in person about this.”
  They exchanged an intense look. “Fine,” he shrugged. “Whatever.”
  As she walked away from him, she doubted their relationship had a future. That didn’t give her much peace of mind as she spent another restless night in bed. She got up several times to make sure the suicide letter was still in her purse. She opened it more than once, only to close it again. She finally willed herself to sleep.

  The next day she skipped her morning classes and slept late. She still felt sleepy as she waited for a pop tart to eject from the toaster and was looking forward to that first cup of coffee. Just then, her cell phone rang. Sgt. Woronov’s voice was quiet. An unidentified body had been brought to the morgue at Citizen’s General Hospital near her hometown. The description fit Lydia almost too perfectly. Caroline sat in a stunned silence. She controlled the urge to be sick. She flipped her cell phone open, then closed it. She couldn’t call Mom yet. Her heart pounded furiously as she threw on yesterday’s clothes. She ran to her car without a shower. The Lexus was covered in ice and she scraped it frantically. As she waited for the car to warm up, she looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror. She looked like the living dead and felt even worse. She felt both groggy and anxious. Her hand was shaking as she lit a cigarette.
  As she drove, the reality of what was about to happen hit her like a rock in the head. Soon she would be viewing a real dead body. Many years ago she had seen Pap-Pap Becker at his wake, but this body would be raw. It wouldn’t be dressed in its final resting clothes or be made to look like it’s asleep. It could be the remains of her younger sister or it could be the remains of another girl. Caroline had to know. There was only the soft swooshing sound of her tires on the wet road to keep her company. At least the car was warm and she had cigarettes to quell her empty stomach. She pulled another one from the box with her lips, lit it, and welcomed the smoke like an old friend. It was wonderful to have something familiar within grasp no matter what was going on around her. She felt slightly calmer, but found herself deep in thought. What if it wasn’t Lydia? Sgt. Woronov had given a similar description but hadn’t mentioned how the girl had died. Could she have been murdered? Maybe it was an overdose. Maybe it really had been suicide. But how? Did she take sleeping pills? Could she have slit her wrists? Caroline shuddered as she imagined her body being drained of its own life fluid. What if this body really belonged to another girl? Would it be disrespectful to look upon the empty shell of a person that she never knew? Would she have to apologize to the dead girl’s ghost?
  Caroline finished her cigarette and flicked it out a crack in the window. She fished in her purse for another one. The package was empty. She squeezed the soft container into a ball that she deposited into a makeshift garbage bag. She passed a sign that read Freeport ½ mi. The exit would lead her past the CoGos where she had worked in high school. A strange flutter went through her belly. She remembered those carefree days before college, before semesters and finals and real boyfriends who issued real heartache. Were there actually days when she hadn’t worried about the future? Was there really a time when life was just fun? The thought of her old friend George came to mind as the all-too-familiar convenience store came into view. She parked in the rear and sat for a long moment. She had lost her virginity to George. It seemed so long ago. She remembered how his sense of humor had been so endearing. He had been a compassionate friend although he had no focus on the future. It was his lack of direction that caused the relationship to end.
  She exited her car and locked it with the remote control. Once inside, she noted changes that had been made in two years. The video arcade was gone and a shiny new cappuccino maker gleamed in the center of the first aisle. She took a small styrofoam cup of the frothy beverage. It tasted like hot chocolate and she grimaced. She took it to the counter with a Twinkie. A pimply teenage boy in a Pink Floyd tee shirt stared at her as she approached the counter. His ash blonde hair was cut short on the top and was slightly longer at the neck. She put her purchases on the counter and selected some gum.
  “Pack of Marlboro, soft,” she said.
  The boy scanned over the cigarettes for a long moment.
  “To your left?”
  He placed the package on the counter. She opened it and pulled one out with her lips as he took her money.
  “You’ve got a nice smile.”
  She rolled her eyes and took the unlit Marlboro in her fingers. “I’m not smiling. I couldn’t possibly be smiling.”
  “Why not? A pretty girl like you must have lots of things to smile about.”
  “A packet of Tylenol. Make that two.”
  “Anything else?” the boy stammered. Caroline could tell her impatience intimidated him. He handed her the change.
  “Yes, actually. Does George Boyden still work here?”
  The boy pondered the question for a long moment. Caroline sucked on the unlit cigarette. Thank God for the taste of tar.
  “No,” the boy said. “George was the manager here before JoAnn, I think. Yeah. He manages the Tastee Freeze down the road now. Still comes in every now and again. Real nice guy.”
  “Oh.” She frowned, disappointed. “Okay. Thanks.”

Back in her car, she tapped the cigarette furiously on the dashboard. She said aloud, “Did I really know so many people who never went on to do anything with their lives? Is that why I struggle so much in my classes now? Look what happened to my sister. I mean, life is what you make of it, you can’t sit and watch it pass by, expecting it to happen. How can people not see how good it can be?” She recoiled from a quizzical look of a passerby. The lighter popped out and she quickly lit the long awaited cigarette. She basked in the comfort of black smoke filling her lungs and exhaled slowly. She stared at the glowing ember.
“Life’s too good to waste on nothing.” She opened the door and poured the fake Cappuccino onto the asphalt before depositing the cup into her trusty garbage bag filled with empty cigarette packages.

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