Like It Never Was

by Faith Gardner

Elizabeth Smith’s car, a Karmann Ghia, was a classic with shiny tangerine paint, and just like her, something was off about it. At first glance: impressive, cute, vintage. Want. But it leaked oil everywhere it went, emitted foul black clouds of smoke when it started up, and could be heard from half a mile away. It was the energy vampire of cars.

It has both a laid-back, artsy vibe to it and a gritty, twitchy edge that makes you feel like someone might start randomly screaming at you or steal your wallet at any moment.

doctors trying out disorders on me like dresses in a dress shop. Is she borderline, is she schizoid? Schizophrenia? No, doesn’t check enough boxes off the ol’ checklist. Bipolar maybe? Nah, moods are too tame. They settled on trusty depression and then I went through the whole parade of antidepressants that never did much at all.

What they ended up with is this: I’m not psychotic, because I know the difference between what’s real and what’s in my head. I don’t actually hear voices. I just have a vivid imagination. One that wants to eat me alive.

It’s for the best anyway as when I do find someone I vibe with, I either lose interest in a flash or I get kind of obsessed with them.

“Being alone is the bare-naked truth,” she says, brushing a piece of my hair out of my eyes. The motherly gesture of it is comforting somehow, even if her words are not. “We’re born alone and we die alone. Company is temporary.”

memories are nothing but lies we tell ourselves.

“This might have something to do with me going to therapy,” I tell her. “Oh, so you opened Pandora’s box.” She shakes her head. “Now the demons are out.”

The worst kind of unhinged—sane enough to be aware of how insane I’m acting.

My mouth is open to continue defending myself, but the wind is sucked out of me. I look up at the trees with their fiery leaves. I wish I were a tree. Wouldn’t life be grand? But no, I’m stuck with Jolene. And then there’s Alice, who is correct and right and wonderful, of course, as Alice always is.

But there’s no way to heal without discomfort. If healing was easy, no one in this world would hurt.”

“Smells good.” “Pot pies are in the oven. Hope you’re a carnivore.” “I am.”

“It’s a lot like conspiracy theories—they’re all about cherry-picking, confirmation bias. Are you familiar with confirmation bias? You come into something with a belief and every fact you find will confirm that belief. And when facts disagree with your belief, well, the blinders go on.”