My Best Friend's Exorcism

by Grady Hendrix

The woman driving the minivan had three different painkillers in her system—four if you included Bud Light.

Abby still remembers high school, but she remembers it as images, not events.

“That’s so nice of you to bring a present,” Abby’s mom said. “You didn’t have to do that.” Of course she had to do that, Abby thought. It’s my birthday.

Maybe everything wasn’t ruined. Maybe Abby could show this weirdo how good she was at skating, and she’d tell everyone at school.

“Wasting food is no joke!” he’d shout. “That’s how Karen Carpenter died!”

For the Langs, Madonna was totally and completely out of the question. But when Gretchen’s dad was at work and her mom was taking one of her nine billion classes (Jazzercise, power walking, book club, wine club, sewing circle, women’s prayer circle), Gretchen and Abby would dress up like the Material Girl and sing into the mirror. Gretchen’s mom had a jewelry box devoted entirely to crosses, so it was basically like she was inviting them to do it.

Where everyone was desperate to be an individual, but they all were terrified to stand out.

“The manufacturer calls it ‘Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler,’ but the Charleston County Police Department calls it ‘rape juice.’”

In sixth grade, Mrs. Gay had made the lower school choir do a special lunchtime performance of “We Are the World.” Gretchen had been Kim Carnes. Abby, who had no musical ability whatsoever, was relegated to playing Quincy Jones, standing in front of the choir and pretending to conduct. In blackface.

And that’s when I look up and I say, ‘That was you, God. Thank you! Thank you for taking my load!’”

“One day you’ll grow up, too,” Margaret said. “And then you’ll experience the mature pleasures of boning.”

So you’d better have your ass covered or it’s going to be grass, and I’m going to be the lawn mower.”

She heard thrashing and movement, and then a barn owl was standing on the limb of a live oak, staring in at Abby as if it knew her name.

“I’ll be doing some serious blasting of prayer and if you’re not girded with the full Armor of God, you might not make it through with your soul intact.”

And then Gretchen bolted upright, sitting straight up in bed, eyes snapping open, and she screamed a scream she’d been saving since birth, a scream made out of everything that had ever hurt her, a scream so shrill and so loud that the walls split, and the ceiling cracked, and paint chips rained down as Abby held on to the bed.

“You keep rescuing me and I don’t know why,” Gretchen said. “But every day I tell myself my life must be worth something because you keep saving it. They can’t keep us apart. I don’t care what happens. You never stopped trying to save me.