Pusher

forty-six.

My next visitor, who was about as welcome and as expected as the first, came a few days later. Ellie stood at my door with a pack of sunflower seeds and two halved PB&J sandwiches in plastic baggies. It was the same thing I had brought her when we first met, keeping her alive while she resided at the neighborhood park after running away from Sally Smiles Summer Camp.

"Truce?" she asked. A sad smile accompanied her words.

She was Ellie as I remembered her. Warm eyes and soft features, freckles dotting her face like constellations in the sky. Pizza printed knee socks pulled up over her shins. She dug the toe of her boot into my front porch. Nervous.

We walked out to that same park where we had first met, nibbling on the sandwiches and passing the bag of sunflower seeds between us as we sat on the too-small swings and dragged our heels through the wood chips. She already apologized. She must have done it half a dozen times, but I just kept nodding and looking vacant. I was out of it still, and I think she could tell. I think that's why she kept saying it, hoping if the words hit me enough they might actually sink in.

It was a nice day out, the sun peeking behind the clouds and drizzling light onto rooftops and park benches and Ellie's brilliantly red hair. The wind was too aggressive though, nipping at exposed skin and crawling underneath my collar. I pulled my sleeves over my hands to try to hide from it.

It was strange. All this time, all those memories, and this mess we've created, and here we were in the spot that it all started. It's funny how things work like that.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. I wanted to say that I knew, but even then I sense that wasn't the right thing to do, so I just watched her tuck a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear. The nude colored piece of tape that held the cut beside her eyebrow became more apparent.

"What happened to your eye?"

She glanced up at me, an embarrassed smile on her lips. That was when I noticed they were the slightest bit bruised. She hesitated. "I got into a fight."

"With who?" I nearly choked.

"Raven," she admitted wryly. She shook her head, a stubborn smile. "Mom made me got to confession for it."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. She did too, and that bad taste in my mouth started to slip away.

"What happened?" I couldn't believe it. Ellie, that good church-going girl was picking fights with pot heads. What had the world come to?

"I don't know. It's not as exciting as it sounds —  we were really only on each other for a minute or so. She was just saying all this stuff about you and I got so mad. I don't think I've ever been that mad before. We both got suspended," she explained, that soft smile still with her, even as she stared into the ground. "Worth it."

"What does she look like?"

Ellie eased into a grin. "Black eye."

I looked at her with light eyes. "Since when did you get so scrappy?"

She just shrugged and we laughed some more. It was like breathing again.

It was Friday, and it was Friday tradition to get a milkshake at Benny's. We hadn't been in a while, understandably, but as we finished our PB&Js and I wormed out more details about the fight, it just seemed like the next thing to do.

Like I said, it was a nice day aside from the wind, so we just decided to walk there. And it wasn't until then, I think, that we really started talking.

"I'm sorry," she said, again. The words came off like they were burning her tongue.

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?" She was genuinely curious.

I shrugged. "I don't know, everything I guess. I just miss you. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable around me."

She grabbed my hand. "I don't. I just — it surprised me, that's all. And I was mad you didn't tell me. And I know that's dumb because you shouldn't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I guess I just already thought you were slipping away. Things just haven't really been the same since you've started dealing, especially now. That's not an excuse, I know, and I'm not trying to make it one. I just miss you too."

I drifted closer to her and hooked my hand into the inside of her arm, resting my head on her shoulder for a moment as we walked. We scraped our shoes against the cement and stumbled all over the sidewalk in an aimless path that we always seemed to fall into together.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore," I told her.

"It doesn't matter. You're my best friend and I love you either way."

"I love you too."

And so we went to Benny's and drank milkshakes and talked about what we thought college might be like and the proper way to make a fist in a fight and that if anyone was to ever shoot up the school, it would probably be Robert Kennedy on a bad trip. She asked about Maverick, but I kind of figured she would.

"We're dating now. I'm still not sure exactly how that happened but we are. I still haven't figured out how I'm going to tell my mom."

"Don't. She's going to kill you," Ellie laughed, but we both knew it to be true.

"I've got to eventually. I can't keep lying to her. I just can't." I huffed out a deep breath and pushed back my hair too many times. I couldn't ignore the truth in Ellie's eyes, even if she wouldn't say it out loud. "You think dating Maverick is a bad idea."

She shrugged, "I don't know everything. Besides, no matter what happens, I'll still be here."

"Thanks, El."

"You got it, Ang."

A pause passed between us as we sipped on our shakes and watched the young brothers on the far side of the restaurant arguing over who got to play Mrs. Pacman first. The triviality of it all was endearing in a way.

"I'm sorry too. I really am," I blurted. She met my eyes with surprise.

"We already talked about this. You don't have anything to be sorry for. I don't care if you like girls or like me or what—"

"No, I mean for pushing you away. It wasn't fair to you, especially because you stuck around even when I started selling, even when you started telling me it was a bad idea. I should have gotten out when you told me too. This whole thing is just one big mess."

She raised her milkshake to me, holding it there until I tapped her cup with my own, and then simply said, "All this screwed up stuff is going to make one hell of a story someday."

We laughed, and for once, everything was okay.