Postcards from a Dead Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

was waiting for my departure, that separation was a natural, inevitable stage in our relationship. The funny thing is, I think I finally understand she was right. People never stay together forever. If they don’t break up or divorce, one will die first, leaving the other in pain. And Zoe knew.
    â€œWhat would you do if I were dead?” she’d sometimes ask, usually while standing by the stove if I was cooking, or next to the sink if I was shaving.
    â€œI’d be miserable.”
    She’d look around the room and rock on the balls of her feet, building up to what promised to be a hugely philosophical moment. “I’m cute,” she’d say.
    â€œBeautiful,” I’d remind her.
    Then she’d stare at me like she thought I was lying. “You’d miss me. A lot.”
    â€œI know,” was my conclusion.
    It was times like this, in bed with the memorization game, that Zoe made it clear the puzzle was quickly coming together. Either I was to make a grave mistake or something terrible was to happen to her. Those were our unspoken options. Maybe that’s just how I see it now, given everything that’s happened.

chapter 12
    The postcard I receive next has a photo of a sunset. It’s the kind of image travel magazines use on their covers to lure readers into discovering the location of the miracle light. I catch myself looking over this one a few seconds longer than I did the other postcards. Something about this image, the pure energy of the rays cutting through primeval clouds, the authoritative tone of all things majestic. It’s Biblical. Prophetic.
    The postcard came from New Jersey.
    The back has a coupon for a free oil change from the Sunny Smiles Garage in Hoboken, and I feel like I’ve been there before. Maybe when we visited Manhattan? I figure I must’ve been put on a mailing list, but then I see my name’s been written by Zoe’s hand.
    So I do the only thing I can do. First, I make sure Zero has food and water. Then, I get in my car and drive. I figure if I’m in the car driving, I can always argue myself out of going all the way to New Jersey. I’ll have twelve hours to make my case. Even if I lose the debate, all that time won’t be lost on the road.
    After four hours of arguing with myself, I realize I’m two states away. I succumb to the rest of the drive. About eight hoursinto my journey, I feel guilty for having left Zero alone. He’ll be okay; there’s a two-way dog door to the backyard, and I’ll be home soon. But something else is bothering me. It’s the hum of the highway, the false feeling of security everyone has as they smoke cigarettes, eat cheeseburgers, drive with one finger. The way they don’t pay attention to what’s in their peripheral vision, and how they listen to talk radio and laugh at invisible voices as the divider lines slip by them one by one—dash, dash, dash.

chapter 13
    When I finally find Sunny Smiles, I’m not smiling and it’s not sunny. A thunderstorm has just passed through, leaving the pavement steamy. The air is muggy and thick, and the pregnant black clouds have been reduced to light gray clouds. Wet tires hiss past me as my car crawls up the street.
    The building itself looks more like a mall or an amusement park than an automotive garage. The quick oil change is connected to a car wash that is connected to a Laundromat with an arcade inside and coin-operated circus animals to ride outside. Connected to that is a bar. I guess something for the whole family was the thinking behind this little oasis. The outer wall is painted with a mural of a smiling cartoon sun floating in a bright blue sky with happy clouds and twittering birds. It all seems out of place. I’m already disappointed.
    The postcard’s image is nowhere to be seen. Clearly the picture on the garage wall is not the same as the photograph, and from the looks of the weather, there