Connected

by Kim Karr

  The nightmares of his death come no matter where I sleep. They are of that night, the road we took, the stop light, the gun, the loud echoing sound of the bullet that fired out of it’s chamber, him calling me by my full name, and him falling to the ground—blood everywhere. In my nightmares we take different roads and stop at different lights, but the outcome is always the same. He calls me by my full name and then he dies. Dahlia. Death. Those two words have echoed in my head almost every night.

  The police called Grace last week to let her know they had arrested the man who killed him. They found the gun he used. His fingerprints were all over it, which lead the police directly to him. He later confessed to the shooting. Serena came by to let me know because Grace couldn’t talk about it. She was just too upset. Caleb stopped by later to check on me and ended up sleeping on the couch. He’s worried about me so he ends up crashing here a lot lately.

  6 months after….

  September 15th, 2010

  I haven’t been coping well with his death, with life without him. I know this. I still can’t say his name. He was my friend, my love—my everything. When my parents died, I was only fourteen years old and even though my uncle moved in with me, I would have felt really alone if it wasn’t for his tender affection.

  My uncle was a shell of a man who had lost his wife and only brother in the plane crash that took them all from us. The crash that changed not only my life, but also my dreams of performing; performing on the stage at the place where my father loved to be. I never thought I would recover from losing my parents, and even at fourteen, he was not only my best friend, but also my sole source of comfort. We spent every day together in the year following my parents’ death and we formed a bond that was unbreakable.

  When tragedy struck again, there he was, my rock; the mountain I depended on to give me strength. I don’t really remember my parents’ funeral. I think I blocked out the memory of that devastating time. I do remember him sitting next to me, staying with me, taking care of me just as he did when my uncle died. But he couldn’t do that when he died, since he too was dead.

  I remember my uncle’s funeral well. I was kneeling in the pew of the empty church, crying as he came to sit beside me, pulling me onto the bench. Smoothing out the wrinkles in my black skirt, he asked, “I’ve looked everywhere for you, Dahl. What are you doing here so early?”

  Looking around, I noticed there was no one else in the church and thought how appropriate that was. I looked into his blue eyes and cried, “I’m all alone now.”

  I shifted my gaze quickly to look somewhere else, anywhere else but at him. I didn’t want him to see me crying. I was stronger than that. I was a girl who knew death well. As I looked back to the front of the church I caught sight of Jesus on the cross. The colors from the stained glass windows reflected on the statue, and Jesus suddenly looked amazingly beautiful and tranquil. I wished I could feel that much at peace.

  Cupping my chin, he turned me to face him as he looked at me with his crystal-blue eyes, clear as the sky on a cloudless day. “You will never be alone; you will always have me, you know that, right Dahl?”

  But I don’t have him. He’s gone, just like the rest of my family, and I’m alone.

  9 months after….

  December 18th, 2010

  Recently, I’ve started leaving the house, but I feel like I have no hope, nothing to look forward to and wonder what the point is. To say life has been hard for me since he died would be an understatement. I haven’t gone back to work. I don’t really have to work, for the money anyway. Not that money matters to me in the least. Between what my parents left me and what he left me, along with the mortgage insurance that paid off the house; financially, I’m secure. Emotionally . . . that’s a different story. I can’t seem to care about anything. So going back to work isn’t an option.

  Grace and Aerie stop by almost every day. Serena comes as often as she can. Caleb brings dinner at least once a week and stays to watch TV until I fall asleep. These are the only people I have left in the world now. I’ve had many friends in my lifetime, but these are the people I’ve stayed close with. They’re very concerned about me, I know. They try to get me to go out with them: lunch, movies, errands even, but I can’t seem to go anywhere without breaking down.

  My last breakdown was mid-October. Serena brought me to the farmers market to get apples because she wanted to make an apple pie. I didn’t want to go but she insisted. When we got to the market the outside was decorated with pumpkins and bales of hay. Off to the side of the entrance was a huge display of ghosts and goblins. I didn’t open the car door. I couldn’t. I told Serena to go in without me. She was used to my mood swings and didn’t argue with me anymore, so she went on in without me.

  As I stared at the festive display with tears streaming down my face, I remembered our first Halloween Party together as freshman in college. His fraternity house was having a party and at the last minute he told me we had to dress up. I was so pissed because he knew I didn’t dress up for Halloween, and even if I did, we didn’t have costumes to wear. I remember the argument so clearly.

  We were standing in his bedroom, and I’d just finished drying my hair when he decided to tell me about the Halloween Party.

  I was so mad at him, I was seeing red in the mirror instead of my ashy light blonde hair. My mouth started spewing before I could stop myself. “Why do you always have to do things last minute? Can’t you get your shit together just once and think ahead?”

  Not answering, not arguing back, not even looking at me, he strode over to the bed and grabbed the two sheets off it. He still hadn’t said a word even as my spewing continued.

  As I watched him, my fury only grew. “What the fuck are you doing now?”

  Taking the sheets into his bathroom, he came out holding a pair of nail scissors.

  He walked over to me with the sheets in his hands; he started cutting holes in it. When he was done he grinned at me. “Here, you be a ghost,” he announced, while tossing the cut up sheet over my head, “And I’ll be a goblin,” he said while cutting the other sheet into strips and wrapping his body with it.

  “I’m not wearing that. I’m not wearing any costume. I hate Halloween,” I hissed at him as I pulled it off my head. But he knew why I hated Halloween and I knew he knew why. Of course he knew why; it was the day my parents’ plane crashed some many years ago. “Fine then, be your own fucking gorgeous self,” he remarked, grinning at me as he pulled me to him and kissed me hard. “Now let’s go to the fucking party and have some fun.” And just like that, we went to the party.

  He didn’t take my shit; he just took care of the situation, of me, always. So as I sat in Serena’s car missing him and remembering that day, I thought God he definitely had his flaws, but he always had a way of calming me down. That was how it was with us. If I was mad at him, he was always the calmer one, taking control, and making things work out.

  I wish I could have done the same for him, but it never worked out that way. When he was mad at me, his anger would linger no matter what I tried to do or say. It could last one hour or one day. I had learned to just stay away and let him come to me when he was ready. He didn’t express his love in words very often, but his gestures more than made up for it because at the end of the day he always made sure I knew how much he loved me. That’s just one of the many things I miss every day.

  12 months after…

  March 4, 2011

  Grace insisted I stay with her last week and she took me to see my therapist every day. She received an update on his killer. The police told her the shooter would be standing trial within the next twelve months. When she told me, she made me go to her house; she knew how upset I was.

  I didn’t mind staying with her really because the loneliness and heartbreak were eating away at me, but I finally came home today. Home. That’s a funny way of putting it. More like I came back to the house that he and I shared as our home before he died.

  Yesterday was the annive
rsary of his death, and after visiting the cemetery Grace sat me down and told me it was time to take my ring off. She handed me a long white gold chain she had bought and told me to wear the ring around my neck until I felt I could take it off and put it away forever. She reminded me that the ring, and he, would always be a fond memory I would have forever, but it was time to start living my life. She cried more that day than I’d seen her cry in the past year and I realized the depth of her grief as well.

  After arriving home, I went to sit outside on the stone patio I love so much. It was quiet and peaceful, like a private oasis with a pebble stone path that leads to the pool. I noticed the purple flowers from the Salvia had bloomed. In fact, most of the wildflowers are starting to bloom. They are beautiful, and I started to cry thinking spring is here already. Another season alone.

  Walking down the pathway, I saw that butterflies were everywhere. I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs on the back of the patio and looked at the dazzling ring on my hand. The 2.5 carat Tiffany bezel princess-cut ring is really stunning. He picked it out himself and told me it just reminded him of me. The contours of the princess-cut diamond accentuate its shape in a streamlined platinum bezel setting. It is elegant, modern, and simply radiant.

  As I twisted the ring around my finger, I remembered the day he proposed. I’d just graduated from Grad school, and he was already working full-time as a journalist at the paper. We had both been really busy the last couple of months, so I insisted he take off work the Monday after my graduation, and he surprisingly agreed, saying we needed to spend some time together. Having just moved into our house in Laguna Beach, we decided to get some things done on Sunday and make Monday our fun day.

  We woke up early Monday morning. I stepped into the backyard to watch the sunrise and I recall the way my skin pricked from the chill in the air. I remember the light breeze that swept through my hair. The cooler temperature prompted warmer clothing choices than normal. As he walked in front of me I could see the waistband of his board shorts slightly peeking out from his jeans. I threw on my favorite J Crew black and white striped sweater over my bikini.

  We packed up the BMW M5 Touring with all our gear and headed to Rockpile Beach. I didn’t really care for the surfing there, but he loved it. “The coast has a sick reef break right now. Depending on the conditions, we could catch a right at the north corner, and if it comes together it will be cranking. Come on Dahl, it only happens maybe three times a year and right now is one of them.” He was so excited I couldn’t possibly say no.

  When we arrived at the beach with our boards on top of the car, I looked out to the waves and gasped a little. The paddling channel was to the South of the beach where the rip allowed easy access to some very big, thick, and grinding waves. He took his aviator sunglasses off and watched the waves. They looked to be medium sized, eight feet or more. The small cove had a lot of water rushing in. We didn’t even get out of the car. He knew there was no way I was going to be able to surf those waves without getting crushed.

  “Go ahead, go. I’ll watch you,” I said, staring at the waves crashing against the rocks.

  “Nah, I don’t have a death wish today, another time Dahl. Let’s head down south,” he said with his hand cupped over his blue eyes, squinting out into the vast Pacific. He put his sunglasses back on and pulled onto US 1. It was a beautiful day. We had the windows open, and I could feel the heat of the sun soaking into my skin, The Cure was blaring through the speakers. “You hungry? I’m starving. Taco Bell first?” he asked with a huge smile on his face. For some reason he only liked that particular Taco Bell.

  Rolling my eyes at his choice of restaurant, I just smiled and nodded my head. “Sure, why not, but I get to pick the dinner spot.”

  “Saweet,” he said, laughing back at me.

  After lunch he surprised me when he asked, “Dahl, what do you say we grab some towels and head down the beach where it’s a little quieter? We might even catch some Zs?”

  “You don’t want to surf?” I asked as I looked out into the blue of the Pacific, the waves ripping radiantly out to the horizon, and the many bodies already on boards.

  “Nah, not feeling it,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the car to grab the towels. We then walked down to the never-ending beach of glistening sand.

  We headed out a couple of miles until we were far away from the hub of the facilities. When we were alone, he threw a towel on the sand and picked me up, making like he was going to throw me on it. I screamed in protest as he gently laid me on the towel, bracing himself on top of me to kiss me. It was so quiet I could hear the birds squawking as they dove into the water to catch their prey.

  “I’ve missed this,” he whispered while dipping his head down to kiss my neck, tickling me with his unshaven face, “And I’ve missed you not being around.” He continued running his hands down the length of my body.

  “I’ve missed you too, you know. At least I’m finally done with school forever!” I began running my fingers through his blond hair. “Now I’ll be out in the real world; no homework, no internships, no thesis. Just plain everyday work and I’m so looking forward to it,” I said as I pulled him back down to my lips and ran my hands down his back.

  He braced himself on his forearms, and stared at me for a long while.

  “What?”

  “You,” he replied, “You’re just so fucking gorgeous.”

  I shook my head and smiled at him like I always did when he used his own oxymora language.

  “Really, you are. I could look at you, be with you, for the rest of my life,” he stated while standing up to reach into the inside pocket of his board shorts. He pulled out something silver and shiny but I couldn’t quite see what it was with the sun so bright and my sunglasses off. He was holding the item, and it seemed to glint in the sunlight. Maybe it was a coin or his watch even, I couldn’t tell.

  Then he sat on both knees back on the towel and pulled me up off my back and onto my knees. “Dahl London, I have loved you my whole life and don’t ever want to know what it is like to live without you. Marry me!”

  The wind blowing though my backyard brought me back into the present. I stopped twisting my ring as I stood up and reached into my own jeans pocket to retrieve the necklace Grace gave me. With tears in my eyes, I walked over to the flowers and sat on the grass to smell them. After I inhaled their beautiful scent, I picked one and a silent tear rolled down my face and I decided—yes—it was time.

  15 months after….

  May 18th, 2011

  I woke up in the spare room, the room that Grace has now made my room. But today when I woke up I felt different. This morning I felt a little better than I did yesterday and much better than I did last month or the month before that. I looked out the window and the sun was shining. I decided I needed to get up and as I did, I looked at the bare walls and my clothes thrown all over the floor. I thought maybe today will be the day that I will go in our room, no, that room. I hated this room I was in, but couldn’t help feeling that its drab, lifeless personality is a direct reflection of me and how I feel.

  After we moved in, I never got around to decorating it. The walls and carpet are still a gloomy shade of off-white, the windows are uncovered, and there is very little furniture. The room has no personality; it is the exact same way I have been feeling.

  I pulled myself out of bed and traipsed down the hall to the bathroom, thinking about how much I hated it as well. Maybe I should go back to that room today. My room, I mentally corrected myself. I may even sleep in that bed again and use that bathroom. My therapist wants me to call things in the house my instead of our, but I can’t do that yet, so I just call things that.

  I walked through the living room trying not to trip over the boxes sprawled across the floor that Grace dropped off three months ago. She wanted me to pack up some of his stuff, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. Pushing the boxes aside, I walked to the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall and when my hand touched the doo
rknob I considered whether or not I should actually open it. I remembered the dreams I had when I slept in there and how real they seemed and I knew he was in there—everywhere.

  I mentally pushed myself and opened the door to look in the room. It was unchanged; I hadn’t let anyone go in there, not even Grace. The bed wasn’t made. My dress was thrown over a chair in the corner. My many strands of white pearls and a single strand of black pearls were strung over the mirror attached to my dresser. They were my aunt’s most cherished pearls, handed down from her mother, left to me when she died. I saw my running shoes under the chair and walked across the room, touching various items on my way to the bathroom. I actually laughed a little looking at the necklaces still on top of the counter remembering his pearls remind me of Grammy comment. He was always so witty.

  I started to feel like maybe time had stood still, but I knew that wasn’t true, only in here it was. I looked around at all of our things intertwined and knew it was time. It will be strange not having his things here to remind me of him, but I will always remember him, he was a part of me, he is a part of me, a part of my heart, a part of my soul, a part of my everything. Always.

  As I stood at the dresser, I looked at all of his things. I grinned as I spotted his bottle of cologne, the cologne his sister bought him so long ago, the cologne he hardly ever used. He used to say, “Cologne is just a masculine name for male perfume, either way it’s made for chicks.”

  I laughed a little at his love for redefining words using his own personal brain dictionary as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; gaunt cheekbones, light splattering of freckles more obvious, unkempt hair, and tired hazel eyes shadowed by fatigue. I remembered he would always tell me, “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” I wonder what he’d say if he saw me now. Probably something like, “Dahl, get your shit together already.” Even at that I laughed because his use of obscenities wasn’t really vulgar, it was just a part of his every day vocabulary, and over the years had become a part of mine.