by Foster, Lily
Stop.
Thinking.
Vanessa started crashing with me in July after mouthing off to her mother’s boyfriend and then recoiling in shock when her mother backhanded her across the face. In that moment, she knew that her mother would always choose her loser boyfriends over her. Why was she living there, miserable, when her mother chose him? I was glad she finally saw the light but I knew I was shit for company these past few weeks. Living with me was no picnic.
I worked out like a madman, hitting the heavy bag my dad had set up in our shed. The punches helped to release some of the pain, not all. But falling onto my couch at the end of the day in a state of exhaustion was better than lying there thinking of everything I’d lost.
I heard nothing about Carolyn. No one saw her. No one spoke with her. Whenever I’d run into Tori, talk would turn to Carolyn. Tori was hurt also; she was looking for Carolyn to be her friend in the aftermath of what had happened. We both knew, though, that Carolyn wasn’t callous or unfeeling. We both acknowledged sadly that there must be something very wrong there. That while we were grieving, she must have been damaged by this in a way we couldn’t really comprehend.
Still, I scrounged like a starving dog for any scrap of information I could get about her. And the lack of information, coupled with her stubborn refusal to see me, left me frustrated and angry. Shit, did she imagine that she was the only one hurting? Did she even fucking care about me at all? I’d lost a friend in Will, a teammate in Drew. I’d lost her. It was a struggle each day to go on without her. Didn’t she know she was breaking me?
“Jeremy,” Vanessa chirped happily, “guess who I just saw?” When I didn’t answer, still wrapped up in taking my aggression out on the heavy bag, she went on, teasing, “I’ll give you a clue. He smiles kind of crooked now. I think the surgeon fucked up when he set his jaw.”
I still didn’t answer. I didn’t give a shit about Chase Sterling. Just punched the bag harder, remembering the feeling of satisfaction I’d experienced that night when my fists connected with his head, his jaw, his ribs.
I was grateful that Vanessa sent Frank out to follow me that night. He struggled to pull me off Chase when I wouldn’t stop beating his limp, defenseless body. There was a chance I would have killed him if it wasn’t for Frank. I owed him big. I owed Vanessa too, because without her, I would most certainly be rotting in jail right about now. She still had the spare thumb drive, in addition to having the video saved on her phone and hard drive. It was a crystal clear shot and audio of Chase purchasing a rather large quantity of coke and Special K from one of the tattoo artists in Vanessa’s shop—a guy who doubled as a major supplier in the area. His face was not visible, you just saw Chase.
Before he had lost consciousness that night, I’d menaced Chase, dangling the threat over him. Letting him listen to it, because his eyes had swelled shut by then…warning him that if he breathed a word about me to his daddy or to the cops, there was a video waiting, addressed to the Westerly Police Department, the head lacrosse coach and the Dean of Students at Duke, The Westerly Tribune and his rich daddy.
Last I’d heard, Chase had fabricated and spread a story that he was attacked by some gang thugs who were trying to rob and carjack him. According to Chase, the fact that his wallet and car were, in fact, still with him when he was found, was testament to how hard he’d fought them off. His jaw was wired for the better part of the summer. I considered myself a public servant in that regard, in that no one had to listen to Chase spew any of his nasty shit for nearly two months.
“Chase, dummy!” Vanessa crowed. “I saw Chase! He looked right at me and then the fucker nodded, like he was acknowledging defeat. I’m so glad he knows that I was the one who fucked him over!”
I stopped punching and set about unwrapping the tape from my hands. “Stay away from him, Vanessa, all right? He’s not talking now but don’t laud that shit over him. He’ll look for a way to strike back. I want you safe.”
She swallowed, humbled. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. I’m glad I’ve got you looking out for me.” I chuckled—articulating warmth and appreciation wasn’t Vanessa’s style. “Really, Jeremy, even though I constantly give you shit, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“You’re the one who looks out for me, Vanessa.”
She winked. “That’s ‘cause I love you.”
“Love you back,” I answered as she moved closer and wrapped herself around me. I hugged her back.
I knew to my father, hell, to anyone looking on from the outside, we seemed like a couple. That made us both laugh. Vanessa was my closest friend. Thankfully she hadn’t pushed me to talk these past few weeks, but her presence, across from me as we ate dinner or sitting quietly on the couch watching a movie together at night, was a comfort to me. Even though I was torn up and brooding, I didn’t want to be alone.
August dragged on. I hardly noticed as the days got a little shorter, ushering in fall. I still did my daily workouts, finishing off with sprints. Some days I’d find myself back at the lake, looking for that girl in the blue checkered bikini, missing her even more acutely when I stood at the shoreline than I normally did.
Today had been an especially shitty day. I’d run into town midday to grab some extra cable from the hardware store and had come across Thomas, about to get his ass kicked by a group of slightly older boys. “Whatcha got there, Legos, you pussy? You’re in seventh grade and you still play with blocks?”
“Shut up,” he said back to them, attempting to get onto his bicycle even though one of them had a firm grip on his handlebars.
“Wait, Tommy, we just want to talk. What’s the rush?” the ringleader taunted as he tightened his grip on the bike. Then he gestured to one of his little shit friends to grab Thomas’s bag.
“There a problem here?” I asked, approaching and slapping Thomas on the back. “What’s up, Thomas?” I greeted him, smiling, before I looked into the eyes of the tallest kid. I didn’t exactly glare but I made my intentions clear: Fuck with him and you’ll be sorry.
“Nope, no problem,” the ringleader said, stepping back. “See you around, Tom,” he said, smiling.
“Not if I see you first,” I said, this time leveling him with a menacing stare.
Thomas jerked his bike around, his face an angry shade of red. “I can take care of myself, Jeremy.”
“Um, oh-kay. They kind of had you outnumbered there, buddy.”
“I’m not your fucking buddy, oh-kay,” he mimicked my last word, his face twisted. I couldn’t help but smile, listening to the unnatural way the curse word sounded on his lips. He jerked his bike around again quickly. I moved a step. I think the little twerp was trying to hit me in the shins.
“Hey, Thomas, what the hell? I was just trying to help you out. Would you like me to stand by and watch you get your ass kicked next time?”
“I don’t need you. You’re nothing,” he hissed. Shit, his words stung. His face fell then. “Why haven’t you come for her? There’s something…the matter with her,” he said, shaking. A tear slid down his face and he angrily wiped it away. He looked at me and said, accusingly, “You were her boyfriend. Isn’t a boyfriend supposed to take care of his girl?”
I put my hands on his shoulders, gently, but with enough pressure so that he couldn’t run off or attempt to ram the bike into me again. “I did, Thomas. I did come. She wouldn’t see me. Carolyn still won’t talk to me. I’m sorry, buddy, I really am.”
His shoulders slumped, the fight bled out of him. “I don’t know what to do to make her like she used to be. She just stares out the window and looks sad all the time.”
“I’ll keep trying, Tom. I promise.”
Driving home from work that night, I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough. I pulled down Carolyn’s road just as I was about to pass it. Instead of knocking, which had gotten me nowhere in the past, I tossed a pebble at her window. Nothing. I tossed a bigger pebble, still nothing. I tossed anothe
r one, a little bit harder, which landed with a loud thwack and may or may not have made a small crack in the glass. She appeared, a pale and slight figure. When she looked down and saw me, she raised one palm to the window and pressed it flat against the pane. I raised my palm and mimicked her motion. I want to touch you, to hold your hand—that’s the silent message I was sending her. What the hell, I went for it, mouthing the words: I love you. Damn, I saw immediately that it was too much. I’d fucked it up. She shook her head sadly as she lowered her hand. She moved back and closed the curtains.
Tori told me that Carolyn would be leaving for Pennsylvania next week. That, as they say, was that. I wanted answers but I wouldn’t be getting them. I’d have to forget. I’d have to move on.
Sadness plagued me as I drove home along the darkened suburban streets. About a mile from my place, I made out a kid walking along the side of the road, glancing over her shoulder nervously as my headlights approached and my truck slowed next to her. As I got closer, I could see she wasn’t dressed for this cool August night. Shit, she was barefoot. “Are you all right?” I asked, as I rolled down my window.
“I’m fine,” she snapped nervously.
I got a closer look at her face when the wind whipped her long hair back. “Are you Will’s little sister? Anna, right?”
Her head snapped back in my direction. “How do you know me?”
I’d come to a complete stop by then and spoke cautiously. I could tell this kid was cold, upset and scared. She was as edgy as a jackrabbit, ready to dart away. “I’m Jeremy Rivers. I was a friend of Will’s. We played football together. I met you once when I was at your house with Will.”
“Oh,” she said as she tucked her arms around her chest in an attempt to keep warm.
“Listen, let me give you a ride, ok? It’s getting kinda cold out here and it’s really not safe for a young girl to be walking along the side of the road alone in the dark.”
“How do I know you’re safe?” She asked, with a snarky little attitude, I might add. This kid was a pistol.
“I guess you don’t. But if you don’t get in I’ll be forced to call the cops and have them pick you up. I’m not leaving you out here alone. I owe at least that much to Will.”
At the sound of her brother’s name, she teared up, nodded, and let herself into the passenger side. Her feet were all dirty, with a few visible cuts. Her skin was covered in goosebumps. I cranked up the heat, even though it was the end of August. “I’ll take you home, Anna,” I said as I started to pull away.
“No!” she wailed. Her tears were falling big and fast now. “Do not take me there. My parents are getting divorced. They’re selling the house. That’s what they told me today. It’s, like, just about the only thing they’ve said to me since Will died. All they do is drink. They don’t give a shit about me. I’m telling you, they do not even realize I’m gone.”
I remembered Will’s parents—his mother, really. She’d looked me over the first time I’d gone home with Will, taking in my clothes, my leather jacket, my long hair. When she thought I was out of earshot, she asked Will about me and then made some stupid comment about not being the type that Will normally associated with. Her smile when she came back into the kitchen was tight and forced. What a bitch, I’d thought at the time. I disliked her, took her for the shallow, entitled woman that she was. Yeah, I guess Anna didn’t have to go straight home.
“Where to then?”
“I’m just telling it to you straight…What was your name again?”
“Jeremy,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Stop laughing, Jeremy. I am not going home tonight and if you call the cops, I’ll run. Take me to a diner, to that movie theater on Oak Street…Take me anywhere that’s open twenty–four hours. I don’t really care.”
I gripped the wheel hard. This was a dilemma. “I can’t leave you at any of those places. Shit, Anna, don’t you realize what can happen to a girl like you late at night?”
“I can take care of myself,” she bit back.
“Yeah,” I laughed, mocking her. “You’ve got great survival instincts. I see you left your shoes at home while planning to trek along the roadside tonight.”
She looked down at her feet and then her bottom lip started to quiver in the cutest freaking way. “I can’t go home,” she whispered.
“My place is a little cramped but you can take the couch. I’ll share a room with Vanessa for tonight. Just for tonight,” I warned. “Tomorrow you have to straighten things out with your parents.”
The next few days went by in a blur. Anna had become like our little mascot. That first night we cleaned and bandaged her feet, made her some soup and tucked her in, bundling her up on the couch. And then she just…stayed.
Every day when I got in from work, I’d tell her she had to go home, but I was outnumbered. Vanessa saw no reason for Anna to go back. “Hell,” she’d whisper, reminding me, “it’s not like they’re even looking for her. No posters up in town, nothing on the news. They’re not exactly doting parents.”
Vanessa was well versed in being raised in a less than nurturing environment. She resisted every day when I argued that Anna staying was not a good idea. But every day, I’d relent.
We cooked for her at night like she was our kid. We dyed her hair to match Vanessa’s. It suited her, I thought, and it let her escape for a little while, from her life and from all the shit she’d been enduring. And at Anna’s badass insistence, Vanessa had happily pierced her ears in several spots, in addition to her upper lip and her eyebrow. Holy shit, I thought to myself one night, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The kid looked like a mini Vanessa now. So different. Maybe we had no right. But damn, every night spent talking, laughing and occasionally crying with Anna made me feel a connection to Will. It gave me and Vanessa a way to remember him and to give something back to him by way of comforting his grieving little sister, who now seemed so adrift without him.
When nearly a week had passed and Anna still refused to return home, I caved and called her father. I told him she was fine, that she’d crashed here with me and my friend, Vanessa, just so he didn’t think I was some pervert. I told him where to come and get her. Well, the cops showed up instead and tried to haul me in for kidnapping. They only let me go when Anna screamed bloody murder, insisting that she’d run away. It helped that I also had Frank’s father in my corner as well.
I never admitted to Anna that I’d given her up. I thought that would pile more heartbreak onto a kid who’d already had her fair share and then some. And when she left, I’ll admit, it was a little heartbreaking.
Another person moving on.
Another reminder that Carolyn was gone.
Three years later…
I stood at the starting line of the Rough Mudder, bouncing on my toes, adrenaline pumping through my entire being. I smiled with nervous excitement, flinching just slightly as the gunshot sounded the start of the race—momentarily rattled by the haunting sound but still able to focus. I dug down deep, scaling over walls, crawling commando-style across mud-filled pits, swinging over obstacles as my grip slid down the ropes—struggling but able to hang on.
Today was the best day I’d had in a very long time. There were breaks of sunshine along the way, but today? Today, for the first time in three years, I felt like I was really, fully basking in the warmth and joy of the sun.
I laughed and smiled as I raced alongside my fellow competitors. And now that I was medication-free, like most people my age I was able to enjoy a beer at the finish line with my friends.
Yes, I had friends. Not the kind of friendships I used to settle for. No. I now had true friends.
Sometimes I’d think about my past, regretting the time wasted—regretting the person I’d become: a lowly sycophant aching for acceptance from insipid, hateful girls that weren’t worth my time. When all the while, people like Tori and Taylor, genuine and loyal, were right in front of me.
I’d remind myself, though, that where I was to
day was what mattered. And today I was running a race, pushing myself to do something new and challenging, with my closest friends by my side.
I had just finished up my sophomore year at Fairfield, a local four-year university. Academically, it was a far cry from Yale or UPenn, but the work did challenge me. I should have been a junior but I was one full year behind. I lived at home, commuting each day. It just worked better for me.
That first semester I enrolled at Fairfield taking only nine credits, as opposed to fifteen. For someone who once easily shouldered five Advanced Placement courses at a time, I now struggled to concentrate. My anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications hampered me in some ways but I confess, there were days when those pills, and nothing else, made getting out of bed in the morning possible.
I did what I could and was careful not to take on more than I could handle. That first year, after my release from the hospital, I took baby steps. I left the house for therapy appointments and to volunteer my tutoring services twice a week at Briarwood—that’s all. My social anxiety wasn’t as crippling as it had been the year before, but that didn’t mean I was running around town or socializing. I generally avoided places where I expected my old classmates to congregate. Certain days were especially difficult. It pained me that just as I had on the day of their funerals, I remained cooped up indoors alone when a memorial service was held for Drew and Will on the one year anniversary of their deaths. Yes, days like those were rough.
I finally got my driver’s license. Gradually, I also began to take on some responsibilities, such as going to the store and the dry cleaners. At first I would talk myself through these outings beforehand, trying to anticipate who I might see and role-play basic conversations in my head; giving myself a sort of script so that I didn’t feel overwhelmed.
Sometimes I was embarrassed by how much effort it took for me to clear these low hurdles, to accomplish things that others did without a second thought. But I had to pat myself on the back every time I moved forward because for so many months, I had done nothing but stand still.
