In the car no one said a word. For the most part she looked out the window and barely looked at me, although, now, I often wonder if it was just easier for her to look at the reflection of me. I let her smoke a cigarette. I turn the radio on and roll down her window.
When we get to the restaurant I notice that she'seager to get some drinks. I don't mind, in my head I'mhoping the liquor will get her to talk to me. We order ourfood. It's suddenly very quiet within the space between ourfaces. I want to know. I need to know.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't say anything when you told me. I'm sorry this all happened," I started to say but she cut me off.
"It's done. It's been taken care of. It's done."
"How much was it?"
"Five hundred. Tamil's friend paid for it. Or rather, he owed us both money and we used that to pay for it. I'll have to pay Tamil back when I get some money."
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I—well I hope you don't mind me asking, but did it hurt? Were you OK?" She looked at me. That's all she did, was look at me.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she simply said and thanked the waiter for bringing our food. She barely ate. I asked for the food to be wrapped up, paid the check and left.
Before heading back to our school, I told her I had to make a pit stop. She lit a cigarette in the passenger seat as I walked into the bank. I knew what I had to do, so I took out the money, put it in an envelope and wrote 'I'm sorry—Joey' on it and walked to the car. When she wasn't looking I slipped the envelope into her purse and started the car.
