"Well, do you?" She was pressing me. Trying not to let me know she was, sure, because if I knew she was pressing she thought I wouldn't tell.

"No," I told her.

"No?"

"No."

"Oh." She seemed discomfited. I use that word, discomfited, because it makes me think of Little Miss Muppet or whatever her name was, you know, the girl who was afraid of spiders in the nursery rhyme.

I'm afraid of a lot more than spiders.

That's why I lied. Why I said no, even though she wanted to hear something else.

"Don't you think everyone has issues, Rosie?" she said, in her over-enunciated way; like someone who's just got braces put on their teeth. Only she'd never had braces, probably. She didn't seem like that kind of person. And anyway, her teeth were crooked, despite the whiteness.

"Not everyone," I said. I shook my head, then. "No," I repeated.

"And you are one of these people." It was as if she was hiding a "harumph" beneath her cherry-chapsticked lips.

I didn't answer this time, just a nod.

"Why?" she asked. Which I think is an unfair question, you know? Just to say why? You can say that to practically anything. And there are too many possible answers.

"I've got a loving mum," I began the list. "She rides horses and tells me stories. And my dad! Oh, you should really meet my dad. He's great. The way he brings me pine nuts home on the weekends cause he knows I like 'em. And my brother, you know, he's alright too. Even though he slobbers like a puppy dog! But he's only puppy-age, so who can blame him, eh?" I chuckled a little, as if I thought what I was saying was humorous.

"Lots of people have nice families, Rosie." She looked disapproving of what I'd just said. How can having a nice family be something you disapprove of? Maybe she'd never had one. I guessed that must be it.

"Yes," I said, breathless. The air was caught partway down my throat.

"Like that!" she said, eagerly, leaning in closer till I was afraid our noses would touch. "Do you sometimes feel like you can't breathe?"

"I used to have asthma, when I was a little girl. Sometimes it comes back." I wanted to be defiant but I still sounded like the schoolgirl I was.

"No, I mean metaphorically. Do you metaphorically, symbolically feel like you can't breathe?"

I wanted her to go away now. "No." I shook my head. "I don't have any issues like that."

"Is there something wrong, Rosie." And she gave me such a look. A look that made me want to tell her a truth, just one, to make up for all those lies. But I didn't, and that's the way life works, isn't it? Everything's pivotal on moments that you'll never be able to change, but always wish you could. Moments when you could've said yes. But instead, you say no. You always say no.

"Rosie." Her voice was penetrating, and I felt like I couldn't get a breath. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," I said.


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copyright Miss Erin, 2009