At 5:15, I texted Brian again:
Did u get my txt?
At 6:43, he finally wrote back.
Been out all day.
not gonna make it.
need to chill.
I wanted to explode.
I wanted to break something.
If I hadn’t liked my phone so much,
I would have bashed it into pieces.
How was I going to tell Parker and Joy?
They already thought Brian was a flake.
I threw my hair up in a ponytail,
not caring that it would dent the curls
that had taken so long to tame.
It didn’t matter now.
When Parker honked for me,
I grabbed my bag and went outside.
When I got in, they both said, “Hey.”
Then Parker asked,
“Which way to Brian’s house?”
“He’s not coming.”
“What?” They both whipped around
and looked at me like angry parents.
“Why not?” asked Joy,
her eyes wide with disbelief.
“He better be dying,” said Parker.
I didn’t know what to say.
I wanted to lie
and say he was sick,
but I couldn’t.
“He’s just not. Okay?
Let’s get there already.”
But as far as I was concerned,
the night was already over.
The “death book,”
the one Parker and Joy gave me,
wants me to visualize death as an ocean.
My first thought is that
death would be a sinking ship
and that I would be terrified
as I was being pulled under the water,
away from my mom and my friends.
Or maybe death would be me,
alone
in a rowboat,
on an endlessly calm sea.
But that doesn’t seem right either—
especially the part about being alone.
Maybe death is a giant cruise ship
that sails the seas and is inhabited
by everyone who has ever died.
We would play ghost bingo
and have ghost dinners
and stand on the deck
and admire the endless view.
I finally dreamed of Brian.
I was in the park, sitting on a swing.
He came up behind me
and gave me a push.
I turned back to look at him,
waiting for him to say something.
I knew that whatever he said
would be meaningful.
But there was nothing.
He pushed me again, higher.
I looked back.
Still not a word.
Typical Brian.
That’s when I realized
the only sound I could hear
was a rhythmic thumping.
Thump. Thump.
Brian pushed me forward.
Thump. Thump.
I swung back.
Thump. Thump.
Brian pushed me forward.
Thump. Thump.
I swung back.
I looked around,
expecting to see someone with a drum,
but I couldn’t find the source.
When I turned back to Brian,
I saw that he was shirtless.
His chest had been crudely ripped open,
and blood pulsed
down his stomach in waves.
The sound was coming
from Brian’s heart.
He was the source.
I feel
empty
confused
hurt
numb
disoriented
mad
vulnerable
insignificant
blurry
tired
sweaty
overwhelmed
temporary
anxious
It’s 3:47 a.m. and I can’t sleep.
I can’t stop thinking
about something terrible
happening to my mom.
I tiptoe to her room.
The door is open just a little.
She is tangled up in her sheets—
one foot hanging off the bed.
An open book is next to her face.
She snores softly.
Without her,
I would be lost.
And furiously regretful
for not
spending more time with her.
For not
really talking to her.
I lean against the door frame.
I want to wake her up and tell her
about Brian.
I want to tell her lots of things.
But I can’t.
I always stop myself.
Maybe because it doesn’t feel safe.
Like if I tell her anything,
it will open me up
to having to answer all her questions.
After sitting with Brian this afternoon,
I walk along the very last row of graves.
It’s so deep in the shade
that only moss grows here.
Most of the gravestones are buried
under dirt,
so only part of the story
can be read.
Some of the gravestones creep
out of the ground only a few inches—
determined to remind us
that they are still here.
All that’s left to see are the words
FATHER or IN MEMORY OF.
I wonder what happened.
I wonder what made the earth rise up.
I don’t
want to do anything.
I don’t
have the energy to do anything
besides watch TV,
read, and visit Brian.
I don’t
want to talk to my friends.
Being alone somehow seems safer.
I don’t
want to go back to school in the fall.
I don’t
know how I’ll be able to sit still in class,
learning useless crap like calculus.
I don’t
want to apply to college.
I am changed.
My perspective is changed.
I don’t
think I can come back from that.
I don’t
think I can live the way I did before.
Not thinking
about all the terrible things that can happen.
Not knowing
what it feels like
to have a part of me ripped out.
How do I come back from this?
It’s not always easy
to get in to see Brian.
Sometimes when I go to the cemetery,
there’s already a person there.
So I stand with the Dearly Departed
or in front
of a stranger’s grave
and wait
and watch.
I saw Brian’s mom there once.
She was holding a bunch of sunflowers.
Even from a distance
I could see that she was talking to him.
I wondered what she was saying.
Did she tell Brian how much she missed him?
How her life would never be the same?
Or maybe she wasn’t talking to Brian,
but to God, telling him how she was furious
for taking away her only child.
Who knows, maybe she was praying,
offering God her unwavering trust.
I’ve also seen several people my age.
The guys seem to come alone.
The girls in pairs.
Some cry.
Some bring flowers.
Some stand
there
for a few moments,
then walk away.
When I see someone at Brian’s grave,
I am torn.
I want to go over.
I want someone to grieve with,
to share stories with.
But I also want to avoid
explaining who I am,
what Brian was to me,
and most of all
the inevitable
lack of recognition on their faces.
I suppose I could just say we were friends
and leave it at that,
but that doesn’t feel right either.
I’m not sure I understand the point,
or the higher purpose,
or if there was any purpose at all.
Did God have a master plan?
And if so,
how could taking Brian away
I don’t want to hear bullshit excuses like:
“God took Brian
because he wanted Brian near him.”
What was gained
by taking Brian away?
I can only see grief.
I can only see pain.
Why did Brian only get a partial life?
Why do I get to live when he doesn’t?
It doesn’t make sense.
It makes me furious.
It makes me think there is no God.
Maybe if Brian had known
how short his life was going to be,
he could have lived it more fully.
If I could ask Brian
what he would have done differently
in his short life,
what would he say?
I wonder if I can somehow
make it through all this
without actually living it—
curl up in a dark cave
and sleep, belly full,
like a bear
until springtime.
Things feel different.
It’s hard to explain,
but all this has shocked me.
I feel like I have electricity
running through me,
like I have been turned on
in a way that I wasn’t before.
I am so much more aware
that I am a person,
my own person.
And that makes me feel big,
but it also makes me feel small.
There are billions of people in this world,
and we are all alive and buzzing and thinking
that we are the center of the universe.
And we are so far from it.
Just thinking of how I figure
into the vastness of space
scares me.
It makes me feel insignificant
and that me mourning Brian is nothing,
not even a flicker in this world.
And even though I know
that this life is tiny,
it’s all I’ve got.
It’s my life.
It’s my universe.
Sitting and talking to Brian
is exhausting,
since I have to do all the talking.
I wish I could get a sign from him
that he’s listening.
It’d be nice to know he’s there.
I wonder how a sign
might look or sound.
Maybe a breeze would blow by,
and I would get a whiff of his cologne.
Or maybe a bird would land on Brian’s grave
and start chirping at me.
Maybe a leaf would fall out of the trees
and land in the palm of my hand.
I close my eyes
and wait, quietly.
I take a long deep breath in
and just when I am about to exhale,
a car backfires.
It’s gunshot-loud.
That sign
is loud and clear.
Joy calls.
She wants to know
if I want to go shopping.
I say no.
Parker calls.
He wants to know
if I want to go to the movies.
I say no.
Marissa calls.
She wants to know
if I want to go for lunch.
I say no.
At 6:30 p.m., my mom comes downstairs,
dressed and ready for the night shift.
I am in my pajamas and on the couch
watching an Iron Chef marathon.
“All right, I’m off to the hospital.
There’s lasagna in the freezer.
If you decide to go out with friends tonight,
just leave me a voicemail, okay?”
“Sure,” I answer,
knowing I’m not going anywhere.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.
Have a good night.”
As I watch episode after episode,
the hours slip by.
The only time I move
is to refill my cereal bowl
or go to the bathroom.
And even that takes effort.
Somewhere around 2:00 a.m.,
I pull the blanket over my head,
turn my back to the TV,
and fall asleep.
I don’t even bother
to turn off the lights or the TV.
Motivating to go upstairs to my room
The sound of the front door shutting
wakes me around 7:30 a.m.
“What are you still doing down here?”
my mom asks as she puts down her bag.
“I guess I fell asleep while watching TV.”
I push back the blanket and rub my eyes.
“I’m judging from your pj’s
that you didn’t go out last night.”
“I wasn’t in the mood,”
I say as I stand up
and head for the stairs.
All I want
is to be in my bed.
“You’ve been staying in a lot.
Is something wrong?
Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine.
Just tired.”
“All right, well, maybe
we can do something later.
Want to come get a manicure?”
“Maybe.
Let’s talk after you wake up.”
But I have no intention of being around
when she wakes up.
I’m spending the afternoon with Brian.
The next week,
Parker invites me to Great Adventure.
I say no thank you.
Joy invites me to the flea market.
I say no thank you.
Marissa invites me to the beach.
I say no thank you.
The death book wants me
to look in the mirror.
It wants to know what I see.
I see bad skin.
I see circles under my eyes.
I see eyebrows that need to be plucked,
pimples that need to be popped,
curls that are dry and knotted.
I see lips that don’t want to smile.
I see tired, cloudy eyes—
eyes that don’t want to cry anymore.
Staring into my eyes
is hypnotizing me.
But instead of bringing me calm,
it makes me feel a pain in my chest.
I am looking at a stranger.
I wonder how it would look
if someone took an X-ray
of the ground at the cemetery.
Maybe it would look like
a scene from a beach—
dozens of bodies, stretched out
trying to get some sun.
Marissa stops by unannounced.
When I let her in, she says,
“Hey, I don�
�t have to babysit today,
so I thought I’d come over
and see what’s going on.”
But nothing is going on.
I am sitting on the couch in my pj’s,
watching daytime talk shows.
“God, it’s so hot in here.
Don’t you have the AC on?”
“I didn’t feel like getting up
to turn it on.”
Marissa walks over to the AC
and puts it on HIGH.
She sits down next to me and asks,
“What are you watching?”
“Oprah. Why men cheat.”
“Sounds exciting.
Why don’t we go for a walk?”
“Nah. I’m tired.”
“Tired from watching Oprah?”
“Nah. Just tired in general.”
“Come on. It’s beautiful out.”
“No thanks.
I’m just gonna hang here.”
Marissa gets up.
It looks like she’s going to leave.
I’m glad.
I don’t want to talk
to anyone.
But then she suddenly turns back.
“Brian died, not you, Annaleah.
Your life can’t stop
just because his did.”
Her words take my breath away.
After a moment I say,
“You have no idea
what you’re talking about.”
“Well, then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me how it is for you.
You don’t talk to me.
You don’t call me back.
All you do is sit at the cemetery.”
“What? Have you been stalking me?”
“No, Annaleah.
I’ve just seen you there a few times
during my walks with Dana and Steven.
I don’t get it.
We stopped talking because of Brian.
And now that’s he’s gone,
we’re still not talking.
It doesn’t make any sense.