Barbecue

She calls at three in the morning, so something must be wrong. After reaching for the phone, my mind catches up with the time and only then does my assumption click into place. “Hello?” My voice is croaky. From the other side of the line there is only static and the occasional breath. “Hello?” Repeating myself prompts her to answer.

“Sorry,” she whispers. Then she hangs up and my clothes can’t get on my body fast enough.

Her place is ten minutes away but it seems like an eternity. Except when the apartment complex comes into view, my mind goes back to the static on her end of the line. She wasn’t at home. That was a payphone. Where could she be using a payphone?

After turning the car around, my cellphone rings again. “Lucia?” Hard breaths answer me. “Lucia.”

“What?” she asks, pauses, then, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” The stupidest thought comes out of my mouth.

“Where are you getting all the coins to make these calls?” She laughs. Suddenly my body isn’t in the car, racing towards the only payphone bank in town. Instead, my hands are clutching a bouquet of balloons and Lucia is crying in front of me, her tears slipping into her smile. She takes the bouquet from me then wraps her arms around my shoulders while a camera shutters to my left.

“They were a birthday gift,” Lucia answers, bringing me back to the present.

“From who?”

“Some kid,” she whispers, “For the arcade.” My laugh comes out unexpectedly.

“You’re twenty-two.”

“So are you,” she says.

“Are you coming to the house later?” My question is dangerous. Everything anyone asks her has been a risk lately. Her silence motivates my foot to press down harder on the gas pedal. “The whole family is going to be there.” The only thing left to do is to persuade her. “Mom is going to make your favorite, carrot cake.” What else is there to say? “She’s actually going to make a barbecue. Remember the last time we had a barbecue?”

“Uncle Reuben caught fire,” she says quietly, her tone telling me she’s playing along with me, “And so did all the food.” We share a small laugh, a laugh so quiet there is no way either of us really feels it. The last barbecue at our home was a disaster. It was fourth of July and the entire family had come over to spend the holiday weekend with us. This was before Lucia’s first incident. “Will you put your pictures up?” she asks.

“My pictures?”

“Yeah, the ones you’re working on.” My heart feels heavy.

“Of course, just for you.” The streets before me look unfamiliar. Dread fills my stomach when my mind realizes my hands took a wrong turn. “Actually, there’s a special one just for you.”

“Just for me?” she asks.

“Yup,” my mind goes back to the photograph sitting in my living room, “Something special. Somewhere we are going to take a trip to, just the two of us.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asks.

“It’s a suprise.” Conditions, she needs conditions. “And we can’t go unless you go to the barbecue. And only if you tell me where you are right now.” The street unfolds before me, the payphone bank at the far end. It’s empty. Bile rises to my throat but it doesn’t leave my mouth. “Where are you, Lucia?”

“Happy birthday,” she whispers, “You’re the best brother a girl could ask for.”

“Lucia!” The car jerks under my hands. “Lucia, where are you?”

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” she continues, her breaths turning ragged, “It’s not your job to fix my life.”

“Come on.” My eyes sting from the tears welling up in them. “It’s my birthday. It’s our birthday. Please, just one more day.” Lucia’s end is static. “Remember when we were little?” No answer. “The lemonade stand? All the money we saved so we could buy each other birthday presents?” The unmistakable sound of her crying starts me up again. She needs help. She needs my help. “The balloons, Lucia, remember the balloons?”

“This isn’t being alive,” she replies.

“We can change that.”

“How?” she asks, “Maybe it’s too late.”

“No,” my voice cracks, “We can change that. Just tell me where you are.” Another eternity passes before she answers me.

“The hospital,” she answers, “Been here all along.”

“You were never in any danger?” The disbelief in my tone could easily turn into anger.

“Not tonight,” she answers, “Think about it, though. Take a moment.” If she’s in the hospital, where they’re sure to have a payphone, what did she do to get there? “Have you realized it yet?” she asks, “Do you realize how much power you really have over me?”

“Lucia, did you know that everyone has control over their own lives?”

“What?” she asks. My change in conversation should give me time to drive to the hospital.

“Say you’re standing at the edge of a cliff.”

“Always,” she answers.

“And you get the urge to jump.” She doesn’t interrupt again. “Most people get that urge, even if they don’t want to jump. It’s scientific. Their minds are telling them that they are facing death and if they fall over the edge of the cliff, there’s nothing they can do.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Lucia asks.

“Listen. Their minds tell them that, but they also say if these people decide to jump over the cliff, they are the ones making the decisions, not death. That’s the urge to jump. And therefore they are more powerful in their choices.” The silences stretches on between us but she hasn’t left the phone. When the hospital appears before me, my chest almost collapses with relief.

Lucia still hasn’t answered me when the doors to the hospital open up in front of me and the receptionist looks up at me. My hand covers the receiver of my phone. “Lucia Chapman?” The receptionist looks pained and my suspicions are confirmed.

"Are you a relative?" she asks.

"Yes, brother." She makes me sign a sheet of paper and gives me grim smile.

“Third floor,” the receptionist says, “Room 312.”

“Thank you.”

Lucia still hasn’t answered. My finger presses the END button on my way up to her room. When the doors of the elevator open up, Lucia is standing across the hall from me wearing a hospital gown. She's barefoot. Our gazes meet for a second before she crosses her arms and leans against the wall.

“Okay,” she says, running a hand through her hair, “I’ll go to the barbecue.”