Just a Normal Tuesday

by Kim Turrisi

  Down at the lake, I try something new: meditation with the help of music on my iPod. Call me old-school, but I like my phone and my music separate, plus the iPod was a gift from Jen a couple of years ago to celebrate my starting high school. I downloaded some New Age music for meditation after that whole Janie thing went down at school. Emily made me do it. Confession: I so did not want to. But picturing Cass chatting it up with her sister when I can’t talk to mine sends me spiraling. I need something to bring me back, and maybe this is it.

  A flock of birds crisscrosses the lake, dodging back and forth. Ducks swim in circles before me. The way they are perfectly spaced out reminds me of Jen’s handwriting.

  Before the last letter.

  Reminders are everywhere.

  Around every corner.

  At any moment, a simple word or memory can derail me.

  I wonder how long it will take for them to stop turning up, threatening to swallow me whole. They say time heals all wounds. If that’s true, will I forget Jen? I don’t want that.

  Ever.

  Closing my eyes, I let the soothing sounds of waves roll through my earbuds.

  I should have done this a few weeks ago. So chill. Really lost in no thoughts.

  I half open one eye, checking my watch. Yeah, about forty-five seconds have flown by. This is not happening.

  Clearing my mind before our afternoon group proves futile. I can’t switch my brain to the off position even for a few brief moments. Not even with waves. An aroma of sandalwood with a hint of cedar fills my nose. I’m pleasantly surprised to find I have company, and for once he isn’t wearing his signature beanie.

  “Hey, I don’t want to bug you,” he says. I squint my eyes to see Graham, his jet-black hair unruly and damp.

  “It’s all good. You saved me from a meditation fail. I’m not very good at quieting my head.”

  “Me neither.”

  “How was the run?”

  “Didn’t really help.” He laughs at himself. “But hanging with Jack was all right. What he did with Ben was pretty cool.”

  “It got me, too,” I readily admit.

  He rests on the pine-needle cushion next to me, managing to avoid the pinecones.

  “Lose your beanie?” I tease.

  He avoids my eyes. “I haven’t taken it off much since Justin died, other than to shower or swim. It was his.”

  What a shitbag thing to say when this guy is being nothing but nice to me. If I could kick myself, I would.

  “Oh, I’m really sorry, Graham.”

  “How would you know? I know it’s stupid but it’s like when I have it on, he’s with me.”

  “Not at all. I still sleep in my sister’s shirt. I’m afraid to wash it. If I do, her smell will disappear with the rest of her.”

  As he taps his feet on the ground nervously, his untied laces click on the sides of his work boots.

  “I understand. Justin and I shared a room even after our parents bought a house with four bedrooms. We hung out all the time and it just didn’t seem right, being down the hall, you know? His side of the room smells like his collection of AXE body spray. It used to bug the shit out of me. Now the smell just brings me back.”

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “It’s called Black Chill. I even brought him out here.”

  He’s really cute when he laughs at himself.

  “I like it.”

  I feel my cheeks heat. Is what’s happening what I think is happening? My stomach feels all tickly.

  He reaches over, covering my soft hand with his callused one. “Is this okay?”

  I let him know the answer by wrapping my fingers one by one in his. He catches me stealing a glance at him and I don’t bother turning away. I like what’s looking back at me. His touch reminds me that I’m very much alive.

  Exchanging a half smile, we sit in silence near the wide-open stillness of the lake until I break away. It’s like a perfect storm of wonder is happening.

  * * *

  Strolling up together for group, Graham and I cause an eyebrow or two to raise among our teeny Tree House family even though we’ve long since dropped our clasped hands. I make a point of waiting until he sits down in the circle so I can find a spot elsewhere.

  “Today we’re going to tackle the day your loved one died. You’ll each talk about your experience with that. Feel free to join in the conversation even if it isn’t your turn,” Marco explains. “Who wants to start?”

  No brainer. Anyone but me.

  “I’ll go,” Jack pipes up first.

  “I was eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. My mom was glued to CNN because the night before they reported a bombing of a village close to where my dad was stationed. We’d been down this road before so I figured it was another false alarm. Until the doorbell rang. I didn’t have to look outside to know there were two officers in dark blue full-dress uniforms on the other side of the front door. I sat alone in the living room and listened as they broke the news to my mom: ‘We regret to inform you that your husband died in a battle that killed his entire platoon,’ then went on and on with their canned speech about how sorry they were for our loss and how proud we should be that he died protecting our country.”

  “That must have been so tough to hear,” Cass says.

  Tough to hear like the word sister. I have to admit it still stings. I try to shake it off. Nope, the mad still sticks.

  “The worst part about it is that he was on his last tour. Only nine more months and he would have been home free. Back with us for good. A war I don’t fucking agree with and it took my dad away from us. It’s bullshit,” Jack rages. “And I’ll never get to say goodbye.” His voice is overcome with raw emotion.

  I can totally relate.

  “Never getting to say goodbye is excruciating. One of the hardest things to get a grip on when you lose someone you love,” Marco tells us.

  Jack looks spent. Cass clears her throat and takes a run at the topic.

  “My grandma had a really aggressive cancer, so it’s not like we didn’t know there was a possibility that she would lose her battle. We just weren’t ready. I guess you’re never really ready to lose a loved one.”

  A round of head bobs from everyone to her. And my anger disappears listening to her. She’s not the enemy. She’s an ally.

  “She was in the middle of her chemo treatments and her heart just gave out. The chemo that was supposed to save her became too much for her body to handle. It wasn’t even the freakin’ cancer that killed her. How ironic is that? The day she died, my mother came to school to pick us up in her crappy car. That could only mean something disastrous had happened. She never does that, it was always my grandmother.”

  She looks around the circle, face wrapped in sadness. “My grandma was more of a mother to me than my mom will ever be.”

  The open wounds just fester. Jen was more of a mom to me than my own mother, too. I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes.

  Ben opens up without being prodded. “I was asleep in the backseat of my parents’ car with my brother. The noise when the cars collided … all that metal slamming together, ripping through our car.”

  It’s like he’s in a trance as he recounts the horror of that fateful night, shaken to his core.

  “Then it got so quiet, eerily still. It was so puzzling after all that commotion. Next thing I remember was hearing cries next to me. It was Cory, until he went silent. Minutes later, more noise. Sirens. And the screaming. So much screaming from everywhere. My dad was gone before the paramedics got there. When they got my mom out on the gurney, they started CPR. But it was too late for her, too. I stood helplessly next to the stretcher while a paramedic straddled her, pushing on her chest over and over, then watched her take her last breath. After that, it just gets fuzzy.”

  “Oh, man. Ben …” Grah
am manages.

  “I wake up to that sound almost every night. It torments me.”

  As Ben is speaking, I close my eyes and see my sister in that coffin. I’m looking at her but she’s not looking at me. That’s what I wake up to.

  His eyes plead with me to take my turn.

  I bite my lower lip, drawing blood. “The day my sister died was just an ordinary Tuesday. My best friend, TJ, and I were trying to decide what to wear to our high school prom, which I didn’t even care about. I was going to write an English paper, then we were going to hit up Taco Tuesday. That was the plan until my world collapsed. So much can happen in a single moment ... I never realized that.”

  My voice is shaky. I’m no longer answering the question but I can’t stop talking and no one stops me. “I picked up the mail after school like always. Except on this day there were three handwritten letters waiting, one for each of us, from Jen. I should have known that wasn’t a good sign. No one sends you a letter anymore, especially if they only live a few miles away. Anyway, that’s how I found out she was dead. It was all in the letter. Life got to be too much for her. That’s what it said. I raced to her apartment to save her but it was too late, she was already gone.”

  I visualize Jen sprawled on her bed like she’s taking a nap. “My dad checked out. My mom was fixated on making my sister’s death an event. I mean, she had a DVD of Jen’s life in pictures playing on a loop at the reception right after we buried her. I thought one of us was going insane.”

  I don’t bother trying to stop the surge of tears. It’s useless.

  “The three of us went to our separate corners of the house. I numbed the pain with as much booze as I could drink until I couldn’t cope any longer and I lost my grip completely.”

  I don’t have to look back to see whose hand is gently rubbing my back. He doesn’t budge. Kneeling next to me, he begins to share his story.

  “I was in my room studying for an American History test. My dad was watching ESPN while he finished up a PowerPoint presentation for a big meeting. I heard the phone ring. It was 10:42 p.m. I felt a twinge right before the phone rang. Something felt off, you know that gut feeling? Late-night calls only mean one thing. Bad news. My mother’s scream confirmed it. I knew Justin was dead. I feel that same pang at 10:42 every night.”

  I feel his pain so hard that our arms naturally gravitate around each other. No one blinks. We’re two only children bound by solitude. Graham and I cling to each other like we are on a lifeboat that’s about to go under. I hear the others in the group sniffling but I can’t seem to let go of the back of Graham’s striped T-shirt. We linger, then separate hesitantly, gathering ourselves for the ceremonial end of our group therapy.

  We end the session with the ritual squeeze that I’ve come to crave. It’s like the five of us against the world.

  With a private island reserved for just Graham and me.

  Chapter 18

  With all of the days running together loaded with feelings, I need a break. As I’m wandering around camp, clearing my head before lunch, the screams of the younger kids break into my Zen (or what little I’ve been able to scare up after the morning group activity, which was like Scrabble but we were supposed to spell out descriptions of our grief). When I get a little closer, I notice that Alison is juggling paints and the group of kids are running amok.

  “Need some help?” I offer. I could use a break from myself.

  She looks like she might cry. “Yes! Can you help me wrangle them up to the table to get them started with this activity?”

  “Sure,” I say. Rounding up most of the kids is actually a much-needed bright spot. Kids love when you chase them, and the unabashed joy in their tiny squeals melts me. I was one of those kids. I made Jen chase me at the beach, not a care in the world. I’m sure she could have caught me easily but she never did. She’d let me run and run until she picked me up and twirled me around and around until I laughed so hard, I cried. As Alison corrals the supplies to get them started, I help her get the kids hunkered down for their activity.

  All the kids but one.

  I notice one little boy sitting off by himself next to a tree, digging a hole with the heel of his tennis shoe, kicking dirt in the air. I cruise over to his spot, squatting down next to him. “Hey, buddy, wanna join the paint party?”

  Nothing. He studies the sock he’s moving up and down his skinny leg.

  “My name is Kai, what’s yours?” I gently nudge him to talk.

  “Aaron,” his tiny voice pipes up.

  “I could really use a friend to partner up with. I was thinking maybe you’d like to work with me.” I reach out for his hand. His head tilts up. I meet his heavy eyes with a smile. There’s no return smile but he does secure his itty-bitty fingers around mine.

  Taking his hand, I coax him over to the table. We sit at the end, away from the noise of the other kids, in front of a small canvas and small tins of color. I hand him a brush to persuade him to join in.

  Still gripping my hand, his voice splintering, he says, “I don’t want to paint anything about my mom today.” Boy, can I relate to you, I think to myself. Instinctively, I reach around him and stroke his back as I continue our conversation.

  “You don’t have to. You know what I would love?”

  Aaron shakes his head side to side.

  “I have a dog at home named Duke. He’s a golden retriever, and I really miss him. Maybe you could paint me a picture of him to hang in my cabin. I would really like that.”

  He slips his hand from mine to pick up a brush. I catch Alison observing it all unfold from the opposite end of the table. He perks up with each stroke of the brush.

  “I have a dog, too. My mom got him for me when I turned six last year, before she got sick.”

  He moves the brush on the canvas while he chatters on.

  “His name is Corduroy.”

  “Like the bear?”

  “It’s my favorite book. Mommy used to read it to me every night.”

  “I loved that book when I was your age, too.”

  So much in common with a six-year-old.

  “She’s in heaven now. Daddy says it’s better because she’s dancing in fields of flowers. The cancer doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  I struggle to hold back tears. “That’s a good thing, Aaron.”

  “I miss her,” he says quietly.

  “I bet she misses you, too.” He leans close, tucking his head under my arm, and we stay there until my arm practically goes numb.

  Then Alison ambles over, bending toward him. “Aaron, why don’t you get in line with everyone else? Melia is taking all of you to have lunch. It’s peanut butter and jelly, your favorite.”

  He wriggles out of his seat, ever so slightly cheered up, proudly handing me the canvas of Duke before he goes. It’s a mishmash free-form picture with a stick-figure dog in the center, and I couldn’t love it more.

  I ruffle his hair. “It’s beautiful, Aaron. You made my day.”

  Alison speaks when he’s halfway to the dining hall. “You were really terrific with him, Kai. I can’t thank you enough. Sometimes we don’t have enough hands to go around, especially when one of the young ones needs a little extra attention.”

  “I think he helped me more than I helped him,” I freely admit.

  Now I understand why Jen did all the volunteering. It gave her something nothing else could. An undeniable sense of purpose. Yet, even that wasn’t enough for her. It’s enough for me.

  She squeezes reassurance into my arm. “Come back anytime.”

  They’re big on the squeeze thing here. I’m a fan.

  * * *

  Cass opens the door of our cabin just as I’m balancing Aaron’s masterpiece against the wall. Things have been icy between us though I’m easing off. I mean, I know she didn’t mean to rub it in my face that she has a sister and I
don’t ... anymore.

  “Where did you disappear to after group?” she attempts.

  “Went for a hike,” I short-answer her.

  Cass tugs on the back of my shirt. “Can we talk?”

  I mellow out. She is my roommate. I’m not an asshole. I’m just broken.

  “It’s fine. Really.”

  She turns me around so we’re face-to-face. “Kai, I would never say or do anything to hurt you. It was insensitive of me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I can’t lose anyone else. Can we just put it behind us?”

  She reaches for me. “Deal. And for the record, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “So my hike. I ended up hanging out with Alison and her group of kids. She has the seven and unders.”

  She points to the painting, joking with me. “Is that what you did?”

  “I met the sweetest little boy who just lost his mom. Only six. He drew it for me. It’s my dog.” I crack up.

  “His mom. God,” Cass says.

  Which makes me think of my own mom for a second. I promise I could make an argument for my pain being greater than anyone else’s. But is it worse than my mom’s? How do you even measure that? I take a photo of the painting to text to Mom.

  Having a good day. Hope you guys are, too.

  I even add a few purple heart emojis before I send it.

  * * *

  When Cass and I are making the trek up the hill toward the dining hall, we hear Jack yell to us from a clearing in the woods: “Over here!” We both do a double take when we see that the guys have lunch set up for us. All three of them, even Ben, who is beaming from ear to ear.

  “We thought we’d change things up and eat outside, do something different. What do you think?” Graham asks.

  I take it all in. “I think you guys are pretty sweet.” I can’t believe that just fell out of my mouth. Saying something like that to a group of guys is like speaking a foreign language. Grief camp is turning me upside down.

  There are sandwiches, bags of chips and sodas sitting on an oversize plaid blanket. The guys are all lounging around it.