Sid and Teddy

by H. D. Knightley

  I smiled, “We could order pizza.”

  “I just got off the phone with Lori. She’s concerned about you and wanted me to check in, which I’m sorry to say I haven’t done in a few days.”

  “Dad, I’m okay, and you’re doing fine, you check in enough.”

  He smiled. “Let’s agree to disagree. Lori pointed out that tomorrow is Beach Day and everyone would love to see you and—”

  “I can’t go Dad, I can’t.”

  “Well, here’s the thing, it’s fresh air, friends, sunshine. It would be good for you.” I sneered. He held up his hands and barged on, “Here’s the other thing, grief makes us only think about ourselves and what we’ve lost. We become lost. That’s a real thing, lost in our grief, it can be hard to find our way out.”

  “Says the man who has been listening to Guns and Roses for weeks. Full blast.”

  “True, but I also went back to work, had to concentrate on something else. You’ve had nothing else to do.”

  “Teddy came over.”

  “Last week. Lori says he’s frantic about you, you won’t answer his texts, you barely speak, and when he comes you just play Xbox. Teddy asked her to call me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh. When your best friend is worried about you, you might need to listen.”

  “But don’t I get to be sad right now?”

  “But you can’t stay lost. Sometimes the best way to stop being lost is to think about someone else. If you went to the beach tomorrow Teddy would stop worrying about you, Lori would feel better about you, everyone would breathe better. Then possibly you would start to feel better too.”

  “This is a lot of fricking pressure.”

  “Yep. Sucks to go on living. But you must. Will you consider going?”

  “Yeah, I’ll think about it. I want Hawaiian, pizza.”

  “Pineapple, seriously?” He sighed, “Okay, fine, but only because being selfless confirms the pep talk I just gave you.” He got up to leave and I spent the rest of the evening deciding which bathing suit to wear.

  Forty-Three

  Sid

  I had no idea how to navigate this stuff. You know who would have known? My mom. She could walk into a room of strangers and strike up conversations. She could make you feel better about your current situation. Was it the woman in her? Gender specific? In the receiving line at her funeral it had been mostly women that held my hand and told me that if I needed anything to call. Rarely the men. But then again, I was a young girl. Maybe the women handled grieving girls and the men handled grieving boys. Gendered grief and all that. Maybe.

  Why did everyone tell me to ask if I needed help? To call them? Did I even have their phone number? What a weird thing to say. The thing about moms is they anticipate your needs. When you lose your mom your needs stop being anticipated, and now I was supposed to know what I need? To call people I’ve never spoken to before and tell them what I need?

  I needed my mom back.

  I assumed that was impossible.

  Also, and let’s be real, a lot of this stuff was the fancy magical remembering of a broken heart. Because leading up to the end there was barely any anticipating or navigating at all. Because some moms can’t or won’t. And the Ache that kills them in the end? It’s too tragic to be spoken about. Their Death’s Reason too awful to be mentioned.

  The one thing I learned: We never speak ill of the dead.

  Forty-Four

  Sid

  It took forever to get dressed for the beach because I was out of practice. Dad had been right, I needed to get out of the house. This would all do me good, but it would also stop him from worrying, keep the Moms happy, calm Teddy down. To accomplish all of that I should look great—legs shaved, eyes clear, hair washed. I put on my cutest bathing suit, then couldn’t decide whether to wear shorts, a loose cotton cardigan, and a pair of Converse lo-tops; or a beachy sundress with flops. I pulled on the shorts, figuring it made me look older, more in control, less vulnerable. Long hair or a messy bun? Bun. Makeup definitely. My eyes had been red and swollen for so long that only brow pencil, eyeliner, mascara, toner and flesh-colored powder made them look passable. I glossed my lips, packed a bag with a beach towel, bottle of water, and sunscreen, and called for an Uber. I arrived at the Avenues fashionably late.

  I stood at the top of the cliff. Down on the beach was my group: the Moms lounging on towels, under umbrellas, wearing sun hats, coolers at arm’s reach. The kids were to their left, their towels crumpled, wadded wetsuits dotting the sand, Boogie Boards and surfboards in a pile. I counted about eight moms, seven teens, and twenty-two billion little kids. About normal, except me and Mom weren’t there. We used to be.

  I took a deep breath and descended the long staircase, reached the bottom, and set off across the sand. I scanned for Teddy. Our friends, Zoe, Erica, and Katy, were sunbathing in bikinis. Zoe’s looked new and reminded me that her birthday had just passed. Note to self: mention it.

  A few other friends tossed a ball farther down the beach. I got closer, thirty feet away, or something, and there was Teddy walking backwards up the sand to the towels from the ocean. Watching the waves. Hot in his wetsuit. Like really hot, gorgeous hot. Scoping to the right and left, eyes never leaving the waves.

  I had a great mental image of running up behind him and putting my hands over his eyes. He would say, “Sid!” And fold me up in his arms, kissing—

  But that’s the trouble with mental images and expectations, other humans can rarely live up to them. They can’t because they don’t know. It’s not fair to expect them to jibe with your imagination, but yet we do, expect. And my imagination was superb. My expectations, in retrospect, too high. And so I was twenty feet away when Teddy looked down at Zoe, smiled, and with a laugh, flicked his hair, sprinkling her with water.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  The sun was glistening. The day was beautiful, and this is what I knew: The world was a glorious orb of love and laughter and light, full of moms and not for me.

  Life goes on of course.

  But also, no.

  No smiles.

  No splash and flirt and

  no.

  I spun in the sand

  and ran.

  Behind me Teddy yelled, “Sid!” But I was in a full sprint for the stairs.

  He yelled, “Sid!” again, running behind, “Sid! Wait up!”

  I hit the stairs taking them two at a time, my breath rasping and ragged. Down on the beach, over my left shoulder, Teddy had his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Come back!” The mothers and the other teens were standing, chasing, up, worried. Lori was running after Teddy, her phone to her ear. Probably calling my dad, telling on me. That I was—what was this?

  Running away.

  This was not something that would be easy to explain later.

  But I didn’t have time to worry about that now, I had to get away.

  Teddy called from the bottom of the stairs, “Sid! Come back! Please!”

  But I hit the sidewalk at the top and fled down the street. Two blocks over I called an Uber to take me home.

  Forty-Five

  Texts

  Sid why did you leave?

  ?

  ?

  Sid are you okay?

  Sid?

  I’m going all Liam

  Hemsworth in Frantic over here.

  I don’t think that’s right.

  Holy shit Sid.

  Are you okay?

  I just can’t.

  It’s too much.

  I’m okay.

  My mom is calling your dad.

  I guessed.

  I’m okay.

  I’m going home.

  I just need

  What do you need?

  Tell me.

  Xbox?

  Liam or Chris?

  Why Hemsworth brothers?

  Only way you’ll answer.

  I need some alone time.

  Forty-Six

  Sid


  Dad, as soon as he came home from work, came up to my room as expected.

  “Sid?”

  I was looking through my friends’s Snapchat stories. They all had a good day, sunny and bright and a lovely good time, and no one mentioned me. Which was a relief, mostly. Because that there was a sad turn of events. My whole self was a sad turn. Sid, bringing every scene down. Want to ruin a party? Invite Sid.

  “What happened today?”

  “I couldn’t do it Dad. It’s like so wrong to show up and be all . . .”

  He squinted his eyes. “These people are your friends. Your mother’s friends. This is the life she wanted you to have, the activities she wanted you to be apart of. You need to try.”

  “Do I Dad? I have to show up without a mom and sit with the teens and cry in the middle of their good time?”

  “Your mom would have wanted you to.”

  “You know, she doesn’t get a say anymore.”

  “Sid.”

  “You don’t get to give up and die and then still direct my activities from the other side.”

  Dad looked down at his hands. “I suppose that’s true. But here’s what’s happening. I’m a dad. The Moms are suspecting that I may be in over my head. It’s all pity and worry whenever they’re around, when they call. I need you to buck up and do something beyond all-day-alone-Xboxing so I don’t look like such a failure.”

  “When did you worry about what everyone else thinks? I’d like to point out that the whole neighborhood knows you have terrible taste in too loud music. That doesn’t bother you.”

  “These are the Moms. Alicia’s friends, there’s a lot of pressure.”

  “We need a unified front of awesome, huh?”

  “Yep, back East where your mom and I grew up it was called Not Letting the Cracks Show.”

  “That’s kind of what killed her.”

  “We don’t get to make the rules, we just gotta play.”

  “I can’t be a part of the group anymore, it’s all moms and teens. It’s the past. It hurts too much.”

  “Lori told me Teddy asked you to go to Santa Barbara to school. She seemed to think it was a great idea.”

  “I think I’ll just take a class or two here.”

  “Even Teddy?”

  “I don’t know about Teddy.”

  We sat in silence for a little.

  “Promise you don’t need expert help or something, promise you’ve got this?”

  “I don’t know Dad, but I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Need some cookie dough? I bought a tube and my plan was to eat it with a spoon.”

  “We could binge watch something?”

  “Sounds good, but we have to liberate the tv from your clutches and move it back down.”

  “It’s only here because it couldn’t take another moment of Guns and Roses.”

  “Ah, my Guns and Roses therapy, I think I may have reached saturation.” He smiled and hefted the television off my desk.

  Forty-Seven

  Teddy

  I walked into the kitchen as Mom said to Dad, “It’s got to be hard on her especially since it was so terrible the last years—”

  “What? Who?” I opened the freezer looking for something sweet.

  Nobody answered.

  I looked over my arm, “Who ya talking about?”

  Mom said, “Um, Sid—you know, forget I said anything.” A look passed between her and Dad.

  “No, what did you mean, the last year, terrible?” I peeled the wrapper off an ice cream sandwich.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Mom, what?”

  Mom sighed. “Well, I’m sure Sid talked to you about it.”

  “About what, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “About why Alicia died.”

  “Liver failure, because of something, Mom, you need to tell me what you’re saying.”

  Another look passed between them. Dad grabbed an ice cream sandwich and sat down to eat.

  “She drank heavily Teddy, and it’s no secret.”

  I gaped at her and Dad. Dad concentrated on his dessert, Mom looked at me steadily.

  “Well, it was a secret, because Sid never mentioned it.”

  “It’s why we didn’t hang out much in the last couple of years, why Sid was alone. You really didn’t know?”

  “Jeez Mom, no.”

  I stared off into space chewing, considering, remembering, looking for clues. We were always with the moms, but also, alone, and also, frankly, not paying attention. “You said it wasn’t a secret, does everyone know?”

  “Most of us, yes.”

  I threw my wrapper in the trash. Ran my hand down my face. “Are people talking about it? Do you think people talked about it in front of Sid, did someone say something to Sid?”

  “Oh, I hope not. Poor Sid.”

  “Mom you have to stop it, stop saying it, tell people to stop talking about it.”

  Forty-Eight

  Teddy (about a year earlier)

  “Teddy, I’ve caught four waves to your one.”

  “That you have, but mine were epic.” She smiled and splashed me. Then she turned fast, and paddled for a wave I wouldn’t have even considered a wave. She caught it, dropped in, and surfed down the line.

  I only had to duck dive two waves before catching the biggest of the set, dropping in, and weaving by her with a spray of water, as Sid paddled back out. Then I kicked-out, landed on my board, and returned to my spot beside her in the lineup.

  I was glad she came surfing today; she had been dating Cameron and her commitment to our surf days had been spotty. I had even complained about it, but dropped it because I sounded like an ass. I knew Cameron wasn’t the guy for Sid. She would see it eventually.

  It had taken about nine months. Nine months of Cameron on the beach glowering at us, or worse, Sid saying, “I don’t feel like surfing today Teddy, I’m just going to sunbathe.” Which meant I was in the ocean glowering at them.

  I was glad they were through. On a whole lot of levels.

  I was beginning to think we might be good together, like deep good together.

  We waited in the line up, Sid swishing her hands out and back and around through the water. She asked, “Did you know Paul Rudd helped write the Ant Man screenplay?”

  “No, but that would explain how funny it was. Did you watch it last night?”

  She said, “Mom was in a Paul Rudd mood, we’re working our way through his oeuvre. I don’t know if I’m using that word right.”

  “Sounds close enough. Is Paul Rudd still on her lockscreen?”

  “Chris Pine, I mean how old is he? He has to be too young for her. She is such a Trekkie. I stayed up late though, reading about screenplays. It’s so fascinating, how someone takes a story and turns it into a movie. How they write the words and it becomes pictures.”

  I enjoyed her languid movements, her hands twisting and splashing. If I stayed quiet she would keep going, filling in the details.

  “I guess I should look for a screenwriting class, for next year, so I can start the Mary script. Did I tell you I had an idea?”

  “No, we haven’t talked about it in a while.”

  “Oh, yeah, well . . .” A wave came, she turned, paddled, and surfed away. I watched her over my shoulder as her head raced down the wave, then she kicked out, directed her board, and paddled back, appearing at my side again. “Where was I? Oh—I had an idea, the opening scene would be embroidery, being embroidered, an animation, you know what I mean? A needle running through fabric creating a scene, flowers and gardens and her motto: In the end is my beginning. But in the background, behind the music, hammers are banging. Carpenters are building the scaffold for her execution. She can hear it, Teddy. Then the camera draws back, it’s revealed that Mary is old, hunched over, sewing, but the embroidery animation continues to create the floral scene off to the side and becomes a young girl running through the gardens of France. It’s proba
bly hard to imagine . . .”

  “No, I think I have it.”

  She held up her hands creating a rectangle. “At the end of the movie, and in between scenes, embroidery trails off. I also want to mess with time, to take her back to the gardens of France at the end. Truly carefree.”

  “That sounds good. Like a happy ending.”

  “And the soundtrack would be modern.”

  “When the executioner holds her head up and says, God Save the Queen, the Sex Pistols play in the background?”

  “You get a prize for paying attention.”

  I teased, “The prizes are the only reason I do.”

  Sid splashed me. “Not the Sex Pistols though, like what would Arctic Monkeys do with that song? Or maybe the Lumineers or Mumford and Sons, what would they do? Or better yet, Twenty One Pilots.”

  I said, “I missed this.”

  She cocked her eyebrow, incredulous, “You missed me telling you long boring stories about Mary Queen of Scots? I’m going to tell Lori you need more activities.”

  “Empty threat. The Moms would give you more stuff, too. You won’t risk it, you like to surf too much.”

  “True. I do. And I missed this too. It’s nice to be out of the house.”

  I said, “Our moms aren’t hanging out much lately.”

  “Oh yeah. It’s . . . I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

  She rolled onto her back on the board, spread-eagle, and looked up at the sky. “The wind switched, now the waves suck.” Her hands swished around and through the water. “I want to get across Mary’s tragedy, but not go too dark. Her’s was the commonplace tragedy of life taking you places you aren’t prepared for. How fate holds your hand and drags you through, and there’s no way you survive it.”

  “That sounds really dark.”