by Susan Oloier
“I need to let you go,” I whisper, barely able to discern the sounds of my own words.
I bend down next to her ear. My lips almost touch the fine hairs of her ear; my breath is a kiss. “I need to let you go,” I say again, this time louder.
There’s a rush of tears down my cheeks. One lands in her hair, but she doesn’t feel it.
“I have to move on,” I continue as though it is I who needs convincing. “So do you. But I promise I’ll never forget you. Please don’t forget me.”
She stirs, gently shifting positions. She lets out a sigh. I study Hailey and wait. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do because I know I won’t see her again for many years. If at all.
“In the end,” I say as I choke on tears, “I’ll be waiting for you.”
I look at the clock. Four minutes before midnight. Rae will be wondering where I am.
Midnight, she said. If you’re not here by then, you’ll be all alone.
I don’t know if I can or if I truly want to. But I have to—that much is certain. I can’t stay inside the gates of a cemetery forever. My heart will die.
I study the feather for a moment. Setting it on her pillow will be my final act. There won’t be another opportunity to be with Hailey like this, and the thought of it shatters my heart. But before that can happen, I set the feather down like putting a baby in its bassinette. Then I lean toward Hailey and kiss her cheek.
“I love you,” I whisper. Then I am gone.
Hailey
I had fallen asleep. When I wake, I’m in the middle of a starry night. A whisper of wind touches my skin every-so-lightly like the caress of a lover. Then music. Familiar music. Our music. Wisps of clouds float around me, and out of them emerges Jeremy. He extends a hand to me, inviting me to dance. And I float into his arms. But as soon as I spin into them, he dissipates like fog. I open myself up to find him again and feel him circle around me, yet I can’t see him. He continues to elude me. Just when I believe we’ve finally fallen in sync with one another, he steps out of reach. I lose my timing and flail after him. Stumbling and completely losing my footing, I fall. I look for him to reach a helping hand to me. But when I raise my eyes, Jeremy’s gone, the stars have faded to black, and all is silent.
I get out of bed and turn on the light. I go to the mirror propped against the chest-of-drawers. I have tried to forget it is there. But I need to see it as a way of affirming my decision. To know it is real and matches the one I’ve seen on his wrist. I hold up a hand mirror and turn my back to the bigger one. I sweep my hair into my hand and catch sight of it: the tattoo. The one etched into my skin before Jeremy died. I always thought it was for Jeremy, to remember him, to know our love was forever. And then I saw Eli’s wrist and doubt crashed down on me. Before I let my hair drop back into place, I study the infinity tattoo on the back of my neck: the one that matches Eli’s perfectly.
Eli
The silence is so tense; it seems like an outsider sitting at the table with us. The only reason we’re here is to finish the project. Hailey’s mad at me for what she thinks happened between me and Madeline. I’m—well, I’m over it. I’m absolutely through with women.
Hailey and I sit at a table in the midst of the stacks. Books are spread every which way, and papers are scattered so I can’t figure out one group of notes from another.
I glance down at the Berklee application hidden beneath my research papers, and my hand finds its way to my hair almost immediately. We’re so far behind on our Hamlet project, we may never finish it. I need to complete my college applications and move on.
Hailey sits adjacent to me. She’s twisted her hair back, and it hangs over her shoulder in this dazzling way. But I need to stay focused. There’s no way in hell I’m taking an F or even a D. I glance up at her, trying to keep my thoughts off the wave of hair, her creamy skin. My eyes skim her face, buried in some Shakespearean criticism book. She looks like she has something on her mind, but there’s no time for simple conversation; we have to get this thing done one way or another.
“So,” I say, “we’re going with Hamlet loves Ophelia, right? Because, basically, I just want to get this project done and never look back.”
She glances up, catches my eyes. “I was wondering…” Hailey says.
“Oh God,” I say, catching myself in an eye roll. The last thing we need to do is rehash the whole topic sentence again. The paper is due in two days.
She ignores me. “Do you think Ophelia loved Hamlet?”
Is she serious? “That seems pretty evident from the play,” I say.
“Like how?”
I comb my mind for the examples. “Well, she killed herself because of him. That’s a pretty big thing if you ask me.”
“But did she do things for Hamlet like, I don’t know, wash his clothes or be there for him when things weren’t going well?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so. I don’t know.” I let my hand slip from its place inside the book, wondering what Hailey’s getting at.
“I think she loved him at one time,” I say. “But then she says, ‘I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.’ Violets mean faithfulness, you know?”
Hailey nods. “What made her stop?”
“Well, for one, Hamlet killed her father. And…” I pause, considering.
“What?” she asks, as though there is something more going on in her mind than the play.
“It’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love you back.”
“But maybe Hamlet didn’t really show his love for Ophelia because he was all mopey and depressed. I mean, his father died, too. That’s a really big deal?”
“Maybe,” I say.
Hailey lets her arms fall to the table as if she no longer has the energy to continue. She looks me right in the eyes. “You,” she says.
“What?” I lean forward, elbows perched on notebooks and texts. She has completely lost me.
“I pick you.”
It takes me a moment to register what she’s saying. The ultimatum: him or me. And she’s Hamlet: the dark and sad one who knows death all too well. And I guess that makes me Ophelia. Though it’s not the character I would choose for myself by a long shot.
My heart is a volcano. “You mean…”
But I don’t get to finish my words because she leans forward and places her hand on mine. I meet her gaze and absorb the feel of her skin against my own.
“I pick you,” she whispers again as she pulls back. “Now,” she says in total seriousness, “let’s get this bad boy done.” She dives headfirst into the paperwork and textbooks as if nothing significant happened between us.
I simply stare at her, completely in awe. And I am too far gone to give a rat’s ass about Hamlet or the project anymore.
Hailey
I drift into the small space of the floral shop, the one I’ve been into many times before. The bell over the door clangs, and I am overwhelmed by the combined and heady scents of roses, carnations, and daisies.
No one is at the register, but I hear a voice from the back: “Be right with you!” I recognize it to be from the same woman who has waited on me each time I’ve come in—the one who thinks I’m here to generously buy flowers for my doting boyfriend. And I am here again to get flowers for Jeremy. Something bold and bright to stand out against the snow-covered landscape of the graveyard.
“Sorry it took me so long…” the woman begins as she wipes her hands on an apron. “Oh hi!” she says when she sees me.
I give her a gentle smile.
“Here for your boyfriend again?” she asks all cheery like. “I’d say it’s his turn to buy some for you.”
I wander around the store, not sure of what to say. My fingers light on pretty purple petals as gently as the legs of a butterfly would. The flowers are tucked inside a wicker basket as if they’ve just been collected.
“Those are violets,” the woman says. I glance over at her, and my eyes finally wander down to her nam
etag: Mary. “Thinking of getting him those?”
“Maybe,” I say. But just barely.
I make my way over to the other side of the store.
Mary emerges from behind the counter, and I find her beside me. “What does he like?” she asks, sizing up the same displays I am. She reaches toward a container of red roses, plucks one out, and hands it to me. “How about roses? They’re traditional and are a great way to say ‘I love you.’”
“He’s dead,” I blurt, finally turning to her.
Shock registers on her face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”
“I know,” I say, venturing back to the violets. I can’t help but think of Hamlet. Ophelia. What is it she said? Something about rosemary being for remembrance and about the violets having withered away. What was it they stood for? Faithfulness. My fingers linger on the basket. “Do you have any rosemary?” I ask.
“I do,” Mary says. “In the back. But only the green. They don’t flower until spring or summer.” She’s suddenly humbled, ready to do anything she can for me.
“It’s all right. I just need a little.”
She nods, then goes to retrieve them. While she’s gone, I study the violets. So beautiful. I can’t leave them alone.
“Here you go,” she says, handing them to me. “It’s on me.”
I take them. “How much for those?” I ask, gesturing toward the violets.
“Oh, I don’t know. Say ten even?”
I nod, knowing clearly she’s given me a deal. Normally, I wouldn’t want to short-change her, but I don’t have the energy to argue.
“The rosemary’s still on me,” she says as she rings me up.
“Thanks.”
As she hands me my change, her eyes linger on me, sorrow-filled and sad. “I really am sorry,” she finally tells me.
“Me, too.”
As I exit the flower shop, I dip my face toward the basket and think they could mean faithfulness or they can just be flowers to cheer up a day.
Something about telling a stranger that Jeremy’s dead and not having the whole world come crashing down gives me a great sense of relief.
I look up, and the winter sky is a cornflower blue. The air outside is brisk, but clear. For the first time in a long while, I feel alive again. I dig my phone from my purse and find her number. I listen to it ring.
“Hey, Layla. It’s me.”
Eli
Hailey slides next to me and leans against the neighboring locker like we’ve been doing this forever, like we haven’t been on a monster roller coaster of emotions for the past few months. I like it. A lot. Especially when she greets me with a smile.
“What’s up?” I abandon the massive cyclone of papers swirling toward the locker bottom and face her. I can’t help but smile back.
“I’m planning a get-together at my house this Saturday. Wanna come?” She lifts her eyebrows and slightly grimaces as if I’d ever say no.
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
“Cool.”
“Cool,” I say, wanting so much to show some PDA, but knowing we haven’t reached that stage yet despite the hot kiss that almost melted the entire ski slope.
“All right,” she says—the smile still plastered to her face. I’m hoping the look she’s donning means she wants to participate in some PDA, too. And she ventures into the same gray area by touching my fingers, turning my hand over, and studying the infinity tattoo at my wrist.
“What is it?” I ask, loving the feel of her touch, not wanting her to pull away.
She considers saying something, but doesn’t. “Nothing.” Then her hand is off me and wrapped around her books. “See you later.”
“Later,” I say.
“Good god, man.” It’s Nate. Of course. I turn to him, then watch Hailey sashay down the hallway. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.” But he watches her, too. Even though he claims to hate her, he can’t resist her allure either. “So everything’s all hearts and roses and all that sappy shit?”
“Something like that,” I say.
“Hey,” he slaps me on the arm, “I almost forgot to tell you. The band has a last-minute gig at Cooper’s this Saturday. Pretty awesome, huh?”
“About that…” I start. Nate gets this whole slanty-eyed business, which makes him look pretty menacing. “I’m…busy.”
“With her?” he gestures toward the hallway even though Hailey’s no longer there.
“Yeah. With her.”
“Shit, Eli. You know they’ll be plenty of fine assery there on Saturday.”
“Fine assery?” I ask.
He simply rolls his eyes. “Seriously, do we have to find a new guitarist?”
I think of the Berklee application sitting in my bag, waiting for me to make a decision. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Fortunately, the warning bell rings, saving me from an excruciating discussion about my place in the band, about leaving for the East coast. I can’t think of those things now. All I want to focus on is Saturday night. And Hailey.
Jeremy
God. My stomach is crawling with what feels like a million tiny creatures. The three of us, Rae, Charlie, and me, stand like a human chain—perhaps a ghostly human chain—staring at the veil. Rae’s excitement is palpable. I can feel it in the pulse of her hand, read it in the anticipation of her face. But even after all this time—of saying goodbye to Zoe, to mom, to Hailey—I don’t know if I’m ready. Mainly because I’m afraid. At least right now, I have Rae and Charlie.
“What if…?” I start to ask.
“What if what?” Rae says.
“There’s nothing? No loved ones…” My eyes meet hers. “No you.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ll be there.” Rae smiles a gentle smile. “I promise.”
“How can you promise? You don’t know.” I can hear the panic in my voice.
“I know.”
I look toward the forested area. Crystalline beads of snow rain down toward the ground. Some of the boughs are weighted with blankets of white. What is over there? Should I go? Everyone’s ready. Am I?
Then I hear a crunch behind me; smell a hint of rosemary as it drifts across the cemetery grounds. We all turn. It’s Hailey, carrying a fistful of the evergreen as she heads toward my gravesite.
I break hands with Rae, but she snags my wrist and makes me face her. “No. Jeremy, please.”
I wrench myself free and rush to Hailey. I find myself at her side, running my fingers through her hair. But I no longer feel the softness of it. It’s like an outline of myself is passing through her, unable to connect.
“Hailey,” I plead, “it’s me.” Tears brim in my eyes.
She lays the rosemary at the foot of the marker. “For remembrance,” she says. “I’ll always remember you, Jeremy. But I’m okay,” she continues. I can see the tears in her eyes, as well. “I want you to know I’m okay. I hope you are, too.”
I feel a presence behind me. Rae is there, followed closely by Charlie. But I don’t turn to them. Not yet.
“I love you, Hailey.” My face is wet and my chest hurts from the pain of loss. I know this is goodbye. Forever.
“I love you, Jeremy. Always will.”
Hailey kneels there awhile, rearranging the rosemary. Just being with what she believes is me—the grave marker.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” I whisper. “Always.”
I stand and sob. Rae catches hold of me and pulls me close to her in a hug. Her lips find the side of my cheek to reassure me I’m not alone. “You’ll be okay, too, you know?” she whispers in my ear.
I pull back, look at her, and then look to Hailey. “I hope so.”
Rae leads me by the hand across the cemetery toward the forest. She takes hold of Charlie’s fingers in her other hand. We walk together across the grounds. I turn one final time to see Hailey walking in the opposite direction. I picture her face in my mind, say her name repeatedly in my head. Wherever I’m going, I don’t want to forget. Ever
.
We step up to the boundary and pause.
“Ready?” Rae asks Charlie, then me. Her look lingers on me for a moment. I nod.
We pass through the trees across a strip of sunshine and into a place where it is no longer winter.
Hailey
“Thanks for all of this,” I say to my parents as I glance around the house. It’s as tidy as I’ve ever seen it. There are appetizers and snacks and drinks laid out in a most meticulous fashion for everyone who is coming: Layla, Cal, Erik, Stella, and Eli. It’s a small get-together, joining the old with the new. But there’s one person missing—Jeremy. In a way, the party is a goodbye to him, since I missed his funeral. But hopefully this gathering won’t be a depressing one. I’m sure there will be tears and old stories. But I want to remember him for everything he was to my life and to me. I want the rosemary I left at his grave to be more than just a symbol. I want it to have meaning.
Both my parents give me close-mouthed smiles. “Sure,” my dad says, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I know they’re happy I’ve made progress, but they also realize how very painful it is to move forward with my life without Jeremy. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to dancing. Only time with tell. Right now, I am staying in the moment, taking baby steps through my grief toward whatever life holds for me.
The doorbell sounds.
“Want me to get that?” my mom asks.
“No, I’ll do it.”
I suck in a deep breath and step toward the foyer. I pause at the table there with its picture of Jeremy and me after last year’s dance competition. I touch his photo face for a moment to let him know I haven’t forgotten—not him, not any of it. Then my hand falls to the base of the photo frame where I set the red feather, the one I found beside my pillow. Beside the door, I stop to notice an image of myself. Alone. I stare at it, almost not recognizing the healthy face looking back at me, a face tainted by mourning and grief, though. It’s not a photo I look at, but rather myself in the mirror. I want to get to know that person again, see a smile spread across her face.
