Shingo Brown

26 October 20XX

State Road XX

MADE IN THE IMAGE OF GOD

Lisa was talking to me about God again, like she does. And it’s the weirdest thing, because she doesn’t pray, she isn’t religious, but she brings it up to me at odd moments.

I gave her a ride home yesterday. “I’d rather not be here,” she said. We were in my car.

“Where, this town?” She looks out the window, empty. The words are empty, and what I can see of her face is also empty.

“No, not that,” she says. Then what?

We pause for awhile. We don’t say anything, neither of us, and I just drive. She gave me the address without reservations. This is a rough side of town, but… just keep on driving. I don’t know the worst that can happen.

“I’d rather not sleep covered in urine.” I listen to these sweet, meaningless words leak all over me. Got it, Lisa, I understand. Me neither. “Dad was worried he was gonna drop it when we took it down the stairs.”

“Took what?”

“Oh, my grandma’s old mattress. She died, and like, we took some of her old stuff. For some reason.”

“Are you good?”

“What’s it matter to you?” Her tone changed. From distant to bitchy, how’s that for repaying a favor? I didn’t have to do this. I could’ve let you stand there in the cold. I can’t believe I did this. I never would’ve thought in a million years.

“I just wanna know what’s up,” I say. How’s that for compassion? I think I did alright. Are we friends now? Don’t be too hasty.

I’ve known Lisa S for awhile. And by that, I mean I’ve known of her. I didn’t speak to her very often in class at all. She never looked at me or said my name and had no reason to. I can’t say that apathy was reciprocated, but I can’t say I ever thought I’d take her home. But watch yourself, now.

“Friends?” she asks.

“Sure. Why not?”

“You’re making me your friend?”

“Somethin’ wrong?”

And she pauses. She doesn’t say anything. And I don’t give a shit. Friends or no friends, whatever. Forget it.

“No. We’re friends,” she admits. She lets me in. Maybe now I’ll hear some heavy shit. Maybe it’s got something to do with her last name. Maybe it’s a bad idea. Maybe I have no good reason to know, and really, I don’t.

“Turn around. Take me to your place.”

“Fuck.” And that’s all I can say. I pull into a gas station so I can think. “Will you open up if I do this?”

“In what way?”

“What kinda fuckin’ way is there? Just say what’s on your mind.” I’m out of my depth. I hope nobody gets any ideas.

“I’m hot and like to have a good time,” she says to me. I can’t tell if she’s being serious. I can’t tell if this is really happening, or what she wants if it is. But then, I can feel my sweat on the steering wheel against my skin, and I can tell I’m sweating because I’m fucking nervous. So yeah, this is real.

“Yeah, like, daughters and dogs, lots of bodily fluids, yeah, I’m not proud of anything except just being alive!” she says. “I used to pray for times like this. Are you made in the image of God?”

“I’ll take you home if you stop talking.” So much for opening up.

“Gotcha.” We slept in the same bed that night. Motherfucking Lisa S, you are sadistic.