“Cliff, what’s going on?” It was McCaffrey.
“Principal McCaffrey!” I screamed into the receiver. It wasn’t until after the screaming that I thought better of it.
“Cliff,” she said, unfazed. Her voice was dead fucking serious. “Jack just told me that you said Noah might be planning to commit suicide.”
There was no way I could convey the urgency of the situation to her without spilling the details. So I did, because Tegan had no intention of slowing down, and I felt like I needed to be doing something besides sitting my fat ass in the passenger seat. I explained Shane’s journal, and the story of Haley, and Noah’s text messages, and his voice mail.
McCaffrey had never been so silent. When she finally spoke, her voice was heavy and sharp. “I’m sending some staff to look for him. If he’s here, we’ll find him. Where are you?”
The car stopped—brakes screeching like a banshee giving birth. It was a good thing I was wearing my seat belt, otherwise my head might have made a new hole in Aaron’s glove box. My gaze darted from the elaborate half-moon driveway we were parked on, to Tegan turning off the car, to Aaron jumping out the back door.
“We’re at the Poulsons’ house, gotta go,” I said.
“Cliff, wait. What are you—?”
I hung up.
Aaron, Tegan, and I raced up the concrete path to the front door of—holy shit!—the biggest house I had ever seen. In person, at least. It was like the Playboy Mansion had given birth to a baby mansion that was promptly baptized. A tiny brass Jesus was being crucified on the front door, right above the knocker. I didn’t bother with the knocker; I raised my fist and whaled on the door, FBI-style. I didn’t stop knocking until it opened. It was Esther.
“Cliff?” she said. “Aaron? TEGAN? What are you—hey!”
I brushed right past Esther, storming through the entryway. A crystal chandelier gleamed over me, illuminating a miniature Jesus gallery with crosses and pictures of Jesus doing Jesus-y things, and framed plaques of warm, fuzzy Bible-gibberish phrases.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” said Esther.
“Where’s Noah’s room?”
“You think you can just barge in here? I’m calling the police.”
“Jesus Christ, Esther, your brother is going to kill himself! Where’s his fucking room?”
Esther’s eyes widened, and her pupils became specks. You could see it in her gaze—she was falling. Gravity had toppled sideways, and she was falling backward into endless sky.
“Uh…u-u-u-upstairs,” she said—suddenly, frantically. “Second door on the left—”
I was already barreling up the staircase, two steps at a time. The second door on the left had an aluminum sign with the biohazard symbol on it. I practically blasted through the door.
Contrary to the biohazard warning, Noah’s room was obnoxiously neat and clean. Especially considering all the rock posters on the wall, everything from the Rolling Stones to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. There was an obsessive-compulsive symmetry to their arrangement.
And no Noah.
“No,” I said. I glanced from his empty bed to his empty desk—all perfectly arranged, picturesque, and desolate. “No, no, no, no, NO!”
I punched the nearest wall, which hurt like hell, and also left a fist-shaped crater in the drywall.
“Where is he?” said Tegan, close behind me.
“Esther,” said Aaron, “do you have any idea where your brother could be?”
“I…I don’t know,” said Esther, who had apparently followed us upstairs. Her face was sucked of color, her eyes and mouth shuddery. “We haven’t talked lately.”
Of course they hadn’t.
“He’s…kept to himself.”
Of course he has.
“What’s going on?” said Esther. “Why do you think Noah…? Why would he…?”
I wanted so badly to scream in her face. To tell her that while she was busy bullying in the name of Jesus, her brother was dying. But it wasn’t her fault. Not entirely, anyway. If anyone was to blame, it was Shane. By killing himself, Shane had inadvertently killed a part of Noah too.
And that’s when I saw it.
The Door of Life.
I walked slowly—hypnotically—across Noah’s room, staring at the wall. I stopped directly in front of a poster. I could feel everyone’s gazes burrowing disconcertedly into the back of my skull.
“What are you doing?” said Tegan.
It was the only poster that wasn’t a rock poster. It was a movie poster. It was 2001: A Space Odyssey. On it was a simple black rectangle—the Monolith.
Shane’s journal was screaming in my head.
I took Hal to this old, abandoned building we call the Monolith. I guess I was acting kind of flirty, and she was too, and our hands touched on the stairway railing, and then we got really close, and I told her how not into her I was, but I said it really soft, and she said she didn’t know what I was talking about, and she said it even softer. And then we kissed.
They shared their first kiss there. And Shane killed himself there.
I flew past Aaron and Tegan, out the door, and down the stairs.
“Cliff!” Tegan yelled.
“Where are you going?” said Aaron.
I suppose it was notoriously stupid to run off without the guy with the car and the girl with the car keys. Fortunately, he and Tegan were chasing after me.
“The old, abandoned building on Gosling and Gleason!” I shouted. “That’s where he is!”
We were out the door and in the Camaro in seconds, Aaron and I hurtling into the passenger side, Tegan sliding into the driver’s seat, and then…
“Whoa,” said Aaron.
“Um…” said Tegan.
I twisted around to find Esther also in the backseat beside Aaron. She ignored our stares and buckled herself in. When she finally made eye contact, she returned our incredulous looks tenfold.
“What are you waiting for?” said Esther. “Let’s go!”
We couldn’t argue with that. Tegan pounded the gas in reverse, we squealed out of the half-moon driveway, and we were off.
“Why would my brother want to kill himself?” said Esther.
Tegan was focused on the road. I was ignoring Esther out of spite. I could only imagine what Aaron was doing in the backseat.
“Cliff Hubbard, why does my brother want to kill himself?”
“You know, it’s really funny that you should care,” I said.
“I didn’t ask for your social commentary. Why does Noah want to kill himself? Don’t I deserve to know that much?”
“You know what? You do deserve to know. Your brother wants to kill himself because he lost Shane. My brother. They were secretly dating and then Shane killed himself. There you go. I hope that makes you real happy.”
Esther looked anything but happy. The evidence glistened in the corners of her eyes.
“That doesn’t make me happy,” she said.
I ignored her.
“I love my brother,” she said.
“Well, you have a hell of a way of showing it.”
Esther sank into a mire of silence.
The peak of the Monolith broke free of the horizon like a black knife, cresting behind trees and houses. Tegan made several sharp turns, veering around cars going the speed limit and doing anything but stopping at stop signs. At last, we arrived at the corner of Gosling and Gleason, careening into the empty, weed-ridden lot on the west side of the Monolith. With the sun rising in the east, we were completely immersed in the blanket of its shade. Tegan had barely come to a halt when Esther and I jumped out of the car.
“Oh no,” said Esther.
My eyes followed her gaze up, up, all the way to the near-peak of the building and its gaping mouth. The unfinished balcony. My and Shane’s spot. Probably Noah and Shane’s spot too.
Noah was standing on the edge.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” said Aaron.
I ran.
I plowed through the broken doorway, dodging through planks and plywood and discarded construction equipment and debris. I sailed up the stairs, telling my dying lungs to shut the hell up. Noah obviously knew I was coming up. He could jump at any moment. I would certainly know when he did. I could only hope and pray to God—any Great Omnipotent Something out there—that he hadn’t.
Please, oh please, give me just a few more seconds.
I emerged from the stairwell, and there was Noah, on the ledge, a silhouette against a hemorrhaging sunrise.
“STOP, NOAH, PLEASE!” I screamed.
Except the moment I barged into the room, Noah was stepping away from the ledge. He was also holding a bouquet of flowers—very nonlethal looking. There was a look of deep concern on his face.
That concern seemed to be directed at me.
It was about at this point that I realized I had made a dire miscalculation.
“Whoa, hey,” said Noah, raising his hands and the bouquet. “I don’t think I’m doing what you think I’m doing.”
This was the part where I was supposed to feel really stupid and embarrassed. Leave it to Clifford Hubbard—emotionally damaged psycho for life—to make a mountain out of a very nonsuicidal molehill. However, I was physically incapable of feeling anything but relief—the sort of relief that crushes your chest, burns your eyes, and makes you fall apart completely.
I started crying.
“Oh man, uh…” said Noah. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
He sort of trailed off because what was there for him to be sorry for? That his friend had unaddressed PTSD that automatically made him jump to the worst conclusions imaginable?
“Do you need a hug?” he asked.
I attempted to nod, but I was crying so hard, it was difficult to operate my head properly. So my head just bobbled in a semivertical manner.
Noah seemed to get the gist of it. With the bouquet still in hand, he wrapped his arms around my big, trembling form. Squeezed me tight, without a hint of letting go.
“It was you,” I said in between sobs. “You were Haley.”
Noah sighed. “Yeah. I’m Haley.”
And then he sniffed. I felt an emotional reaction in every muscle of his body.
“I knew you’d figure it out,” he added.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Noah shrugged. “Shane didn’t tell you. It wasn’t my secret to tell. Not directly, anyway. I figured Shane’s words were the only ones that mattered.”
“So you left his journal on my doorstep.”
“Yeah.”
“Noah…” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, Cliff.” He pulled himself away. Grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I knew that Shane needed help. I tried to get him to see someone—to talk to a professional or something—but I…I didn’t try hard enough. This is my fault. It’s my fault he…”
Noah’s lip quivered. His entire face trembled, threatening to break.
“Noah,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”
And it wasn’t. Shane made a decision. Maybe it was impulsive, maybe it was well thought out. But the door he stepped through was a permanent one. A one-way destination. The moment he stepped through it, the door slammed shut behind him. The cosmos rippled with his sudden, inexplicable exit from the universe. Those of us who loved him were left to deal with the consequences.
Noah dropped roughly to the concrete. I kneeled beside him and pulled him close.
“I miss him,” said Noah, between choking sobs. “I miss him so much.”
“I know,” I said. I grabbed Noah’s head, and I wept into his hair. “Me too.”
Aaron, Tegan, and Esther must have been waiting out in the stairwell because they stepped out now, slowly. Tegan’s eyes dropped to the bouquet, still clutched desperately in Noah’s hand.
“Damn,” she said. “I knew we shoulda bought flowers.”
Tegan had her arms around Esther. The moment she let go, Esther stepped forward. Each step was slow and heavy, like she was trudging through mud.
The moment Noah saw her, his eyes inflated. “Esther?”
Esther lost all control of herself. Her face crumpled, wringing out tears, shaking her head softly. Her lips moved, soundless, mouthing the words, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Noah let go of me. Stood up. Approached Esther.
“It’s okay,” he said, and he hugged her.
Esther squeezed him in her arms like he was the last thing she would ever hold.
Gazing past the tops of everyone’s heads, I watched the sun rising over Happy Valley, shedding its warmth and light, unveiling the lies and illuminating the secrets.
It was a new beginning.
We paid Shane a magnificent tribute. The five of us drank four beers in Shane’s honor. (Esther volunteered to be designated driver.) We shared stories, played Shane’s favorite songs from our phones, and offered silence. Once we were sufficiently tardy—and buzzed—we went to school.
After school, I went home.
Where was home?
Not Arcadia Park anymore. Not Motel 6 either.
My mom and I moved in with my aunt Sadie in Kalispell—which was a city, apparently. Population: 22,000. I kind of hated it. Fortunately, Happy Valley was only ten miles north—a twenty-minute drive. (Seven if Tegan was driving Aaron’s Camaro, God help us.) And Principal McCaffrey agreed that I should finish my junior year at HVHS. We’d “talk” about senior year.
School went on, and I continued cramming knowledge into my brain.
In between Physics and Spanish, Aaron leaned against the locker adjacent to mine and asked, “How do you know if you’re in love with somebody?”
“In love?” I said.
“I mean, is it like spiritual enlightenment? Like nirvana? Where your chakras align, and your chi is unlocked, and you just know?”
“Nirvana?”
“The Buddhist concept, not the band. No disrespect to Kurt Cobain, may he rest in peace.”
I scratched my head. “What are we talking about?”
“Am I in love with Lacey?” said Aaron.
“You’re asking me?”
“Well, yeah. You’re the resident expert.”
“What?”
“You and Tegan, dummy!” said Aaron.
I stared back at him with a special sort of cluelessness.
“You guys have dropped the L-bomb…haven’t you?”
“The…L-bomb?”
“‘I love you!’” Aaron exclaimed, rather loudly.
This garnered a significant amount of attention from the students occupying the surrounding lockers.
“Oh, c’mon. Context, people!” Aaron shouted for everyone to hear. Several staring faces returned their attention to their lockers and textbooks and backpacks. Aaron dropped his volume several notches. “You haven’t told her you love her?”
“Should I have?” I said, slightly alarmed.
“Well…not necessarily,” said Aaron. “I was just under the impression…I mean, how comfortable you guys are together? And how honest you are? It’s like there’s nothing you two can’t say to each other. It’s all on the table, and that’s awesome. And the way you look at each other? God, it’s like you’re making love with your eyeballs.”
I continued to stare at Aaron. My mouth was definitely open.
“You know what?” said Aaron. “Forget I said anything. You and Tegan have such a good thing going on. No need to overthink it and complicate things.”
“Oh my God. Am I in love with Tegan?”
Aaron began moonwalking backward, waving his arms like noodles. In a voice that was part ghost, part hypnotist, he said, “Youuuuuuu didn’t hear anyyyyyyythiiiiiinnnngg.”
“Aaron? AARON. Dammit, Aaron!”
But he kept moonwalking—down the hall, around the corner, noodles for arms all the way.
It was the ironic process theory in action. Dostoyevsky told me not to think about the pol
ar bear, and suddenly, the damned polar bear was the only thing I could think about!
Did I love Tegan?
I determined to settle the matter through a simple yes-no table chart. I spent most of fifth-period English mapping out the complicated layers of Cliff Hubbard’s “feelings.”
Am I in Love with Tegan?
Yes No
• She’s the most beautiful human being I know.
• Holding her hand is my favorite thing in the world.
• I can’t stop smiling whenever I think about her.
• She’s like a human antidepressant.
• She can probably beat me up. (And just thinking about that turns me on.)
• I’m sixteen.
• She’s my first girlfriend.
• Everything I know about love I learned from Titanic. And we all know how that ended.
• We haven’t had sex yet.
• What is love anyway? A mere construct of ideals perpetuated by social norms and mass media to ensure societal order? A formality for sex, but really nothing more than a mammalian drive, sugarcoated in fairy tales and lies of a happily ever after to appease the pathos? Like, is love even real?
As Spinelli paced up and down the aisles and desks, reading aloud a Walt Whitman poem called “A Glimpse,” I failed to notice him reading over my shoulder. Not until he stooped down and wrote an answer to my question, Is love even real?
He wrote: Just because it defies logic and comprehension, that doesn’t mean it’s not real. And then he just kept walking and reading aloud:
“There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.”
After English, I saw Tegan in the hallway. I marched right up to her, put my hands on her hips, and kissed her like I meant it.
“I think I’m magnetically drawn to you,” I announced in a moment of profound enlightenment and social stupidity.
“You’re so strange,” she said, shaking her head. But her voice was soft and breathless.
“I think I love you. Like, the real thing.”
Tegan didn’t seem to know what to say to that.
“Also, I want to ask you on a date. Like, a real date—dinner, a movie, the whole shebang. Have you seen Plan 9 from Outer Space? They’re showing it for Throwback Thursday at the dollar theater. It’s absolutely terrible. I love it.”
Neanderthal Opens the Door to the Universe Page 32