Yellow gasps.

“Not like that kind of jump.” Yellow exhales a sigh of relief, so Red continues. “The jump into today. Because tomorrow is too far away and unclear. And yesterday too painful to revisit. So she’s fighting herself to grasp onto today with all she has. It’s the best kind of jump. But…”

Yellow: “Something told me there would be a but…”

“But, she’ll have to do it a lot. Jump that is. Because the past and the future will try to steal her minutes. She’ll have to brace herself.”

“Why call it jumping? Why not call it staying or sticking?” Yellow has lots of questions today.

“Because time is moving. And it’s similar to hiking down a river upstream in the forest. The water will try to pull you back. But you have to carefully hop from rock to rock and sometimes you still fall in. And when you do, you have to get up, and try again. Because it’s so easy to lay face down and cry yourself a river. And sometimes she’ll need that. A moment to get rid of her thoughts through her tears. Drop off her memories like the pebbles below her. Wipe the splashes of yesterday from her brow once more. Then keep moving. Jumping. Leaping at times. Back to today. That’s where she belongs.”

“What happened?”

“When?”

“A year ago? What is she afraid to remember?”

“Oh that. I don’t know. She never told me. By the time she ran past my trunk, she only made it to the words, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Perhaps if we could walk like the arbor guys in Lord of the Rings, we could collaborate with the rest of the trees and get her whole story.”

“Or just ask the birds. They hear everything. Then sing about it.”

“Yes. Ask the birds. They can’t keep a secret for nothing.”
***
Exactly a year ago, a friend asked for a drink. Not just any old drink. But her third, going on fourth glass of wine. I said no.

“But it’s Christmas.” My best friend gave the bartender Jack a tap of her fingers on the bar to signal another drink.

“I think she’s had enough.” I shook my head no to Jack, whose tip jar was plenty full. But I threw in a five to coax a cork back on the bottle.

He turned to serve another party attendee at the other end after a polite, “I’ll be right back, and let you ladies duke it out.”

“Mia. You promised me you’d behave.” Mia rolls her eyes and moves her fingers to wrap around her empty glass. Then raises it to her lips in hopes to drain the final two drops.

“You’re not my mom. Plus, I’m not driving tonight.” Mia’s sass up a notch after her second drink as usual.

“But you have to navigate. Else we won’t make it back to our hotel. Remember my sense of mis-direction is about as reliable as you drinking too much.”

“Chardonnay?” Mia motions the waiter. I guess I lost this battle.

The bartender pours without making eye contact with me. I’m tempted to take my five dollars back. I turn with a huff and walk over to down a few more rings of fried calamari. My comfort food choice of the night.

An hour later, Mia meets me outside when the Valet guy pulls around. I’m not speaking to her. And she pulls out a few bills to tip him while I get in the car and slam my door.

“I hate being the bad guy, but you really should listen to me when I say no.” I guess I do want to say one thing.

“No.” Mia with the sass again.

“Then why ask me to help you. Why even bother telling me two seconds before we walked into the party, ‘Jamie, promise me you won’t let me drink more than two drinks. Knock it out of my hands if you need to.’ All while you were sober.” I just need to understand this dynamic. Do I or do I not take her seriously?

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?” She makes no sense.

“I say a lot of things when I’m sober.”

“And?” Not following this line of reasoning at all.

“Sober equals sense. I didn’t want to … Actually, I needed to be senseless. Just for a little while.”

“You sound perfectly sober to me right now.”

“I am.”

I give her a death stare that says, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I never drank that last drink. You were right. I just hate it when you’re right.”

“Another drink won’t make him come back, you know?” I take a chance and cut to the chase.

“I know.” In the dark silence of the car, we both linger in our thoughts. No one should have to bury her child. No one. We both miss Danny. But of course she misses him more. She was his mom, after all. Sigh.

“He would have wanted to be Ironman for Halloween.” Mia breaks the silence as she stares out her window.  

“He would have made the best little guy Ironman. Ever.” I feel silly for the added enthusiasm of my ‘ever.’ Maybe I should have left it off. I look over to see if she’s crying, when—

“Watch out!” Mia’s hands pull the steering wheel all the way to the left.

The next few moments are a blur. The car rolls off the road onto the shoulder at a pace I cannot control and I know I need to press the brakes, but instead my foot presses down harder on the accelerator and my Toyota Camry attempts to jump the median. Key word, attempt.

The car comes to a slamming halt as the back tires spin-off the ground. Smoke sizzles from below us and just as I get my bearings, my airbag deploys and knocks me in the chest as I turn to say, “Mi—” The “a” is lost in the pow.

“I’m. Fine.” Mia exits her door and comes around to open mine and after some maneuvering, she helps me to squeeze by the airbag. How many broken ribs do I have?

“What was that?” I ask, rubbing my chest where it stings the most.

“You almost hit a little girl! You didn’t see her?”

The words are unreal to me. “Really?”

“What would a little girl be doing outside on the road this time of night?”

“Her mom was not that far behind her. I saw the whole thing playing itself out of my window. The girl was chasing her ball. The mom was yelling for her to stop.”

“I’m still confused.” The sound of sirens grows louder. I see the squad car headed toward us. “Why would a little girl be playing ball this late at night? On this busy road? There aren’t any houses on this street. Where was your mind Mia? This isn’t—” And I stop myself. I can’t bring myself to say Danny’s name. He died in a hit and run six months ago. It was the last day of school. He was getting off his school bus when a black car didn’t adhere to the bus’s red stop sign, veered to pass the bus and hit little Danny two seconds before he reached the curb. Two seconds too soon. In two seconds, everything changed.

“I don’t know. I just know what I saw.”

The police officer approaches now and I don’t know what to tell him. “You ladies all right?”

“Yes.” I look at Mia, wondering when she’ll be all right. If ever.

“An ambulance is on the way. Do you feel up to talking? I just need to ask a few questions. What happened?”

But before I can muster up an answer a woman exits her car from across the road and comes running up to us, panting and clinging to her child. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You saved my little girl’s life!”

I see the child is a girl when she turns from her mother’s shoulder. The fingers of her right hand cling to a mangy green tennis ball. Am I dreaming?

“Excuse me Miss?” The officer asks her to start from the beginning.

“Janie here was playing with the window switch and a little over a mile ago, her ball fell out and she was in pieces. Thought we lost it with all the traffic. Then just as we passed this spot, I saw it, so I offered to pull over and get it. I pulled over to the side of the road and told her to stay in the car. Before I got my seatbelt off, she was already out, running for the ball, and I ran after her in a panic. I saw your car coming right at us and then you swerved to avoid us. You almost killed yourself to save us.”

I am speechless. Mia told the truth after all.

“And this ball? What was so critical that you needed it back little girl?” The officer asked the question of the hour.

Janie looks at her mother. “Go ahead Janie. Tell the nice people why it means so much to you.”

“It’s from Daddy.” She offers only this much and buries her head in her mother’s neck.

“He gave her a tennis lesson on his last day with us. Before he left to do his term in Afghanistan. He told Janie they’d play doubles when he got back.” Mom fills in the blanks. Then the mother turns too, and she’s wiping her face. Wiping her tears in the dark. “He. Never made it home.”

Mia and I exchange glances and even the officer is speechless. Mom and daughter return to their car. The report is done. The ambulance is here now.

And the last thing Mia says to me before the EMT guys reach us is, “Thank you. For saying no. I needed a no. Even when it was hard to say. Thanks for telling me no.”

“Yeah. Thanks for nothing!” I retort. And we both hug, laughing. And crying at the same time. And that’s how we’ll celebrate Thanksgiving this year. Thanking each other for nothing.

Because sometimes nothing means everything. And the answer no can be the difference between life and death. And when you see nothing, your friend sees something. Nothing like a good friend this thanksgiving. Thankful, so thankful, for a friend who loves me enough. To say no. And to hear no. Nothing like a good friend.