The Last Post

by Renee Carlino

  “I just want to know when I’ll stop feeling like a broken tooth walking around with exposed nerves constantly hitting the freezing air. I feel like my skin has been peeled off.” When I started crying into my hands, my father quickly handed me a box of tissues. He got up from his seat and sat down in the chair next to mine.

  “I wish I could tell you that it will all go away. That someday you’ll wake up and not think about him. You may not want to hear this, but the answer is never. I never got over losing your mother. It changed, but the grief never went away.” Dad squeezed my hand in a rare show of affection. “Someone once told me a story. He said, ‘I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, coworkers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks.’ He went on and said, ‘I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to not matter.’ ”

  “I don’t want him to not matter,” I said.

  “You probably couldn’t if you tried.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Oh, some old man in one of those grief support groups.”

  “You did that?” I asked, surprised. “You went to support groups?”

  “I did everything, Laya. I was trying desperately to function as a father without losing it every five minutes. I knew that I needed to think of you, but it broke me every day knowing you’d grow up without a mother.”

  “What else did the old man say?”

  My father’s hand was shaking, so this time I squeezed back. I realized he had always been there for me, in his own way. He might have had a hard time being affectionate, but there was never a moment when he’d let me down.

  “He said, ‘Scars are a testament to the love and the relationships I had for and with each person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life.’ Losing Cameron has left a scar that will always be there.”

  My mind instantly wandered to being in the operating room. Meeting patients concerned about their actual scars. I had said almost the same exact words. Scars are a testament to life.

  My father went on, “The old man taught me a lot about grief that I will never forget. I remember it clearly. He said, ‘It comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph.

  ‘In the beginning, the waves are a hundred feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come ten seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still a hundred feet tall, but they come farther apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything . . . and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only eighty feet tall. Or fifty feet tall. And while they still come, they come farther apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

  ‘The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them, too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.’ That’s what he said to me . . . and it was true.”

  By that point I was sobbing. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to move on,” I cried.

  “Laya, I have had other loves in my life. I have loved and lost since your mother. I never shared my private life with you because I didn’t think you needed to know. It was my own storm to weather. I think the only thing you can do right now is try to stop being mad . . . mad at me, mad at Cameron, mad at yourself. Try to keep yourself busy. That’s all you can do.”

  He stood, pulled me up by my arms, and held me tight. I rarely hugged my dad, but I needed to this time. I cried into his shoulder. He didn’t move; he just let me cry.

  “I wish I had known how to love you better, sweet pea. I wish I hadn’t stayed bitter about your mother for so long. Please consider that.”

  “I will, Dad.”

  “What are you going to do now? Where will you go from here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know your surgical fellowship is waiting for you?”

  “I can’t even think about that right now.”

  Dad finally released me and held me at arm’s length. “You were an amazing surgeon. You are, I mean. Did I ever tell you that?”

  I managed to smile. “No, you didn’t, Dad.”

  “Well, I should have.”

  16. Legos and Blocks

  MICAH

  “Kenny is bugging me so bad. I think I need to break up with him,” Mel said as we climbed the subway stairs heading toward our parents’ apartment.

  She had met me at my apartment in Brooklyn, which I sort of dreaded, praying she didn’t have a run-in with Jeff, especially when she was talking about leaving Kenny. I always liked Kenny, even though he was a little preachy about the health thing. I thought he was good for Mel. But nothing really lasted long with her . . . which made me constantly wonder why I ever considered her dating advice.

  “I like Kenny,” I told her.

  “Whatever. You only like him because he wants you to design an upscale tree house for him.”

  I laughed. “I already have the drawing for you. You’d have your own wing on the weakest branch.”

  “Thanks. So, doesn’t your girlfriend live up here?” She peered over my shoulder, as if Laya’s apartment was in sight.

  “One block over—and she’s not my girlfriend. In fact, I haven’t talked to her for days.”

  “Oh, since you blew it and didn’t invite her out that night. I want to see her apartment; let’s go by it.”

  “No, you’ll do something stupid. It looks like every other apartment on this side of town.” I moved to block her, but she dodged me easily.

  “I don’t care. I want to see it. I want to see where this mystery mess of a women lives.”

  “Fine. And please don’t call her that.”

  We walked over one block and stood on the opposite side of the apartment. “There it is, right across the street.”

  “How about we ring her doorbell?” Mel asked.

  “No, that’s creepy.”

  “Said the man stalking her.”

  “I’m not stalking her. Now you are!”

  Mel shrugged and grinned before darting out into the street to cross. She turned at the last minute, calling for me, “Come on! Don’t lose your nerve—”

  The next moments happened in slow motion. I yelled at her, tried to warn her, but it was too late. I’ve never seen anything like it. The cab hit her from the right, and Mel crumpled against the bumper before hitting the windshield with a force that sounded like a gunshot.

  I screamed and yelled and cried and a part of me felt like it was dying. “Help!” The cab driver got out and started saying something about her crossing without looking. I didn’t care. My twin was on the ground now, bleeding from her head and nose. She was murmuring, but her eyes were still closed. “Get help!”

  The driver nodded, then fumbled for his phone.

  “Mel, Mel!” I kept screaming.
I gave up on the driver and dialed 911 first, then Laya’s number. “My sister and I were walking. We’re in front of your building.” I was breathing hard and could barely get the words out.

  “Wait, what happened, Micah?”

  “She got hit, everyone is standing here, I don’t know what to do. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

  She hung up, and a minute later she was next to me on her knees applying pressure to a cut on Laya’s head. “Melissa, try to stay awake. Do you hear my voice?” Laya said.

  While she was talking to Melissa, she was scanning her body.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

  “We can’t move her until the ambulance gets here. Melissa, what hurts? Tell me.”

  “Everything,” Melissa mumbled.

  The driver was just standing there, dumbfounded. His skin was ashen. There were onlookers, also frozen in shock. The only one who was alert and moving was Laya. She pointed to a man and said, “You, direct the traffic north. It’s crowded; the ambulance can’t get here unless you clear up the street.

  She looked to me and mouthed, She’s gonna be okay. I promise. Her words reached me like a reaffirming embrace.

  I trusted her. My heart slowed and I stopped hyperventilating. Melissa was part of me. My other half. I knew undoubtedly that I loved her and it wasn’t a sibling love where we just tolerated each other. I literally was made with her. I was formed at the exact moment she was, and it created a bond I didn’t know I needed until that moment when its existence seemed to be in peril.

  My head was aching. Was I feeling what Melissa was feeling?

  “You’re gonna be okay, Melissa,” Laya said.

  The ambulance arrived and paramedics started to stabilize Mel’s body. I watched their expressions, trying to read them. I was looking for a tell that either things were bad and Laya was sugarcoating it for me, or that Mel would be fine, but the first responders were just working stoically to take care of her.

  When Mel finally became more coherent, she looked at me said, “I’m sorry I fucked Jeff and Ian.” That was how I knew Melissa would be okay. She was nothing if not consistent.

  It was still a dire situation. When the paramedics asked what happened, Laya did all the talking. They were telling Melissa to relax and not move so they could put her on a stretcher.

  Laya and I both got into the ambulance. She held pressure to Melissa’s head while the other paramedic was hooking up the electrode stickers. Laya looked at me and said, “It looks like it’s just her knee, and she probably has a pretty serious concussion.”

  “She has a hard head.”

  Melissa actually laughed at that, and then said, “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh.”

  “See,” Laya said, “I think she’s gonna be fine.”

  I shook my head. “Mel, you just got hit by a car.”

  “I know. I was there, dipshit.”

  Laya looked at me again and smiled.

  Thank you, I mouthed back.

  When we got to the hospital, they ran a bunch of tests on Mel. They did a CAT scan on her head and X-rays on her body. She’d torn a ligament in her knee, but other than that, just bumps and bruises. I thought about how much worse it could have been. I couldn’t imagine losing Melissa. Her humor and love were always so grounding for me even though she could be wild and obnoxious at times.

  Kenny showed up and brought a large bag full of holistic medicines.

  “Get that shit away, Kenny,” Mel said. “They’re giving me morphine. It’s so much better.”

  “Melissa,” Kenny said. “Just listen to me—”

  “No, Kenny, I just got hit by a car. Don’t push your arnica bullshit on me. I’m in pain.”

  “Kenny,” I said, jerking my head toward the door. “Can we have a talk outside?”

  “Sure, man.”

  Laya was still in the hall, talking to one of the doctors. Before Kenny followed me out, I took Laya in, the way she looked and talked and held herself with confidence. Her shoulders were squared, her eyes were clear, and it was like she had this absolutely glowing and resolute look on her face. She was definitely in her element at the hospital. She turned and held a finger up toward me as if to say one minute.

  I nodded. Kenny came out and said, “What’s up?”

  How do I get through to this guy? “I love my sister. I saw her get taken out by a car today. I know you want to be as healthy as possible but, man, I want my sister to be happy. And she can only be happy if she’s alive. Let the doctors do their work. I think she feels a lot of pressure to be something she’s not when it comes to you two. And bringing that stuff in here when she needs real pain medicine and surgery doesn’t make anything better.”

  He stared at me, blank faced. “One of my friends who is a yoga instructor gave it to me to bring. I was only trying to help. You know Mel asked me for a break?”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah, but she took it back half an hour later. She gets frustrated with me a lot. Even when I’m not doing anything to her. She has a fit about my lifestyle on a daily basis. I thought she loved who I am. I want to love her but she makes it so hard.”

  I actually felt sorry for him as he stood there in his green khaki shorts and Crocs. He had a T-shirt on with a tree holding a sign that said “Free Hugs.”

  “Then love her,” I said. “You don’t need to bring all of your interests into the relationship. You guys can be different people with different interests. Hell, Mel and I are twins and we don’t even like the same food. Trust me, I know she’s not a walk in the park, but I wouldn’t change a thing about her. And you know what? Eat some goddamn Fritos, Kenny, they’re not gonna kill you.”

  Kenny was so innocently literal. With excitement and determination, he said, “I’ll get her some Fritos and maybe M&Ms. I’ll go right now.” He turned and walked quickly down the hall.

  I went into Mel’s hospital room. “I love you, shithead. I heard the whole conversation with Kenny,” she said.

  “He’s a total dweeb but he loves you. He said your yoga friend gave him the stuff to bring.”

  Mel rolled her eyes. “Figures. She’s always nosy-ing around in our business. I know exactly who he’s talking about and she needs to go away. She’s just a reminder of how not flexible I am.”

  I glanced down at her wrapped-up knee and said, “You’re definitely not now.”

  “God, I hate New York.”

  “And you love Maine? You’re always complaining about it. You’re as New York as they come. I honestly can’t believe you went all the way with this whole hippie phase.”

  “Do you really think it’s a phase?”

  “Well, let’s see . . . with your last boyfriend you cut a mohawk into your head and dyed it purple. With the guy before that, you almost joined the army. So, yes, you tend to take on the persona of whoever you’re with. Just be yourself.”

  “Atticus and Andrew were great guys.”

  “You change your mind more often than you change your underwear. I know that; I grew up with you,” I said.

  “You’re funny. I love you, Micah.”

  “You’re so hopped-up on morphine. I wish you were like this all the time.”

  She laughed loudly. “Ouch, don’t, Micah, don’t make me laugh. My body hurts.”

  “It’s how I show you I love you, by inflicting pain.”

  It hit me that I had almost lost her, and my smile quickly faded. My sister looked at me and frowned, probably thinking the same thing.

  “Hey, Micah, do you really like that girl?”

  I turned around, expecting Laya to be right there. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Good,” Mel said. “She’s awesome, by the way. Kind of out of your league, though, dickwad.”

  I sighed. “Annnd you’re back.” I kissed her forehead. When I turned around, Laya was actually standing in the doorway. I had a glimpse of Laya as a surgeon then. It was easy to imagine her in a white coat, checking on her patients.

  “Hey,” she said
to Mel. “How do you feel?”

  “Kind of like I got hit by a cabby.”

  “Try not to play Frogger next time you visit New York, okay?” Laya smiled.

  She nodded for me to talk to her outside. When we got into the hall, she said, “So she’s gonna be fine. I figured that much.” She smiled sincerely.

  I smiled back. You know it’s hard to look at someone for longer than ten seconds without saying something, but that was the second time it had happened with us. I pointed to her head. “I wish I could climb in there right now.”

  “Oh, it’s just a bunch of trash, cobwebs, and buttons that don’t work.”

  “I still think I would like it in there. You know you have a beautiful smile?” She blushed. I didn’t peg her for the type to blush easily. “But you know it’s a muscle, though, smiling? If you don’t use it enough, it just turns into goo.”

  “Did you learn that in a medical manual, Micah?”

  “I just noticed something. When you say my name, you push the a and h up, like it’s floating away.”

  She frowned and whispered, “Like the way you say my name?”

  “I guess, yeah. Anyway, thank you for everything you did for Mel.” I took Laya’s hand, squeezed it, and then kissed her cheek.

  “I guess I should say thank you for trusting me when you called.”

  “Even though your head is filled with cobwebs and probably baby spiders?”

  “Definitely baby spiders.”

  I looked in on Mel and she was nodding off, so I turned my attention back to Laya and said, “So, what were you talking to that doctor about? You looked really happy.”

  “I asked who I should see about finishing my fellowship here.” She squinted. “My dad suggested it, but I wasn’t sure until today.”

  “Why today?”

  Her eyes welled up. “Because it felt good to know I could help. I’ve felt powerless for so long.”