A Song for Julia

But now, I slid them back, far enough up my wrist to show the scars.
    She sucked in a breath when she saw them. People rarely notice them, mostly because of all the crap I wear on my wrist.
    “That was my senior year of high school,” I said.
    Her eyes had grown wide, and she looked at me and said, “It was that bad?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
    “What happened, Julia?”
    And so, haltingly, in slow bursts of words, I told her the story. But first I looked over her shoulder to make sure Alexandra was completely asleep. It was one thing to discuss this with Carrie, who would be eighteen in a few more months. It was another thing entirely to discuss it with a twelve-year-old.
    When I finished the story, she said, “I had no idea.”
    “Of course not. I mean … what were you, nine years old? And my senior year, you were in middle school, and I was so … so isolated. After what Lana did to me, I didn’t think I could ever trust anyone again.”
    She looked at me, seriously, and asked, “So why now?”
    Crank had asked me the same question. Why now? The reason I’d given him seemed to still stand. I was sick of being alone.
    “Well,” I said, “it’s going to sound weird. But I met a boy. He just turned seventeen a few weeks ago. He has Asperger’s. Do you know what that is?”
    “Yeah, I know a couple Aspies at school.”
    “Do they get bullied?”
    Carrie grinned. “Used to. But we kind of have a … a posse. We don’t let anybody screw with them.”
    I smiled back at her. “God, Carrie, I love you.”
    “So what happened? Are you dating this boy? Isn’t seventeen a little young for you?”
    I laughed. “No—not dating. I’m … well … I’m seeing his older brother. You’ll meet him tomorrow. But Sean—the Aspie I was telling you about—he’s going through a tough time, especially at school. And it’s a lot like what I went through in school. And somehow we got to talking. And I told him the whole story. This is going to sound crazy, but I feel—I don’t know. Free. Like I’ve never felt before.”
    She put a hand on my shoulder. Carrie was so much taller than I was, she didn’t have to stretch at all to do it.
    “Having people you can trust will do that,” she said. “So, Mom … she doesn’t know what happened, does she?”
    “She thinks she knows. She knows about the abortion. But not the circumstances.” I sighed. “She never gave me a chance to explain, to talk about it. Just assumed the worst.”
    Carrie grimaced. “Yeah, she can do that, can’t she?”
    I snorted, and she asked me another question, one that shook me. “Do you ever wonder—about the baby?”
    Oh God, did I? All the time. How could I not? I had to struggle to hold back tears as I said, “She’d be about the same age as the twins. And I’ll never know … what she would have been like.”
    I started crying again, silently, and I said, “God, could I be more pathetic? I can’t stop crying! I did this with Crank last week, too.”
    My sister pulled me tighter. “Maybe it’s overdue.”
    “Yeah,” I whispered.
    “Promise me one thing, Julia?”
    “What?”
    “Let’s make a deal. If our sisters ever need us … like you needed Mom … we’ll be there for them. No matter what. Okay? She means well, but … she isn’t very good at that. But I don’t ever want them to go through this. Deal?”
    Carrie had no idea that she’d just said and done exactly the right thing. I grabbed her in a huge hug and whispered, “Deal. We’ll protect them.”
    I went to bed feeling good. Really good. What Carrie said about protecting our sisters had reminded me that there were four little girls who needed me. I’d done everything I could for the last few years to avoid being needed by anyone. I’d done everything I could to avoid needing anyone. But something in the last few weeks made me realize I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be isolated, armored, on the defensive all the time and unable to connect to other people. And knowing that in Carrie I had a friend and ally in that? It made a big difference.
    Mom and Dad insisted on an early breakfast the next morning in the hotel dining room. They hadn’t been happy at all when I told them I was having lunch with Crank’s family, but I hadn’t given them much option. They’d been even less happy when I informed them I was bringing a guest to Thanksgiving dinner. But again, I’d given them no option. If they wanted me there, they’d