Carnival

by K. B. Nelson

  All I want, all I need is to hear his voice. I guess many others feel the same way, filling his inbox with goodbyes or worried messages. Guilt sweeps over me. What if he tried to call me? How many calls had I received from family and friends? Everyone was hurting while I was on top of the world. I should have been hurting.

  Then there’s Blue. I had just told him that I loved him. But Dylan wanted me back. He got in his car and drove away last night because of Blue and me. I know it’s not right to blame myself, and it’s definitely not right blaming Blue. But in these moments, when you find your world burning, it’s the only thing that makes any sense.

  It takes a while to register Summer’s arm wrapped around me. A little longer to realize that she’s crying.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask behind dry sobs.

  “I don’t know, but we should probably get you away from this mess.”

  * * *

  The balcony off my bedroom has been my safe place since I was a child. Beautiful French doors stand between it and me. The sunlight taunts me, streaming through the glass. It warms me, emotionally and physically. I’m cold and I need the sun.

  Summer’s somewhere else, in the kitchen maybe. Or the living room? Maybe she went home. I’m not really sure. I hold the phone tightly clutched in my hand. It rings and my mind jumps, while every part of my body besides my arm holds still. I raise the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I say weakly.

  “Hello, Mrs. Scott.”

  “She’s not home.” My hand drops to my side. From across the world, I hear the front door slam shut.

  “Charlie?” Blue yells.

  Up here. The words never come out. I figure he’ll eventually find me. What difference does it make when?

  My bedroom door creaks open and that’s when the first tear comes.

  “Charlie,” he says softly from behind me.

  I blink my eyes. A few more tears. I turn to him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Everybody asks that.” My voice is monotone. “But everybody already knows.”

  He wants to comfort me—I can sense it. I put my hand up to stop him from moving closer but my hand folds into a fist. My nails dig into the palm of my hand. I can’t tell if my hand is damp from the cold sweat or blood. It doesn’t matter either way. “I just want to lie down,” I say and move toward the bed.

  “Do you want me to wait downstairs?”

  “No.” I sink onto the bed. “Stay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  My shoulders rise and fall. He walks to the bed and the bed sinks down beside me. I push him onto his back and crawl up next to him, resting my head on his chest. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his body. I feel a solitary moment of peace before I begin to drift off.

  * * *

  My hair blows in the wind and my legs cut through tall blades of grass in a meadow. The field bleeds into a sea of trees in the distance and another tree sits alone in the middle. I want to run into the forest but something tells me I should walk to the tree instead.

  I stand at the base of the tree. It’s short but round and it only takes a moment for me to climb to the top. I lean against the center, my arm grabbing a branch for balance.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dylan says from behind me.

  “It’s familiar.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “It shouldn’t be.”

  “Come on,” he says. “Jump.”

  I turn to look at him but he’s not there. Rather, he’s on the ground holding out his arms as if he’s about to catch me.

  “No,” I say. “It’s too far.”

  “Come on. What are you afraid of?”

  “Falling.”

  “Too late for that.” He picks me up off the ground. I cling to his red plaid shirt for a moment. Then he’s running through the field, away from me and laughing, but it’s not his voice. It’s a child’s voice.

  I give chase to him, running through the field. His unbuttoned shirt waves like a flag in the wind. The grass gets taller, soon too tall and I lose track of him.

  “Dylan?” I wait for a reply and grow anxious. “Dylan!?”

  He comes from behind me and knocks me to the ground. Brushing my hair back, his eyes duel with mine. “You were always beautiful.” Then he rolls off me and onto his back. “Just like the sky.”

  My attention shoots to the sky.

  “That beautiful blue sky.”

  “Do you have to go?” I ask him.

  His face crinkles and he pauses. “That’s what everybody says.”

  “Who’s everybody?”

  Paying no attention to me, “Do you see that?”

  “See what?”

  Dylan points to clouds gathering in the sky. “It’s a carnival ride.”

  It takes a beat for me to see the ride floating in the sky. “A Ferris wheel…”

  “Your favorite.” He laughs.

  He’s walking away from me now. A deep sadness chills through my bones. “Wait!” I yell. “Will I ever see you again?”

  He turns back to me, and I’ve never seen him more handsome.

  “Someday.”

  * * *

  My eyes jolt open and I’m cold. Still wrapped up in my snoring lover’s arms. I gently lift Blue’s arm off me, trying not to wake him. Rolling over, I give him the softest kiss I’ve ever given on his forehead. I slide across the wrinkled sheets and gently place my feet on the cushioned floor.

  Quietly, I make my way to the balcony doors and pull them open. The sun, now setting, blinds me. Strangely, I’m okay with it. I just want to feel something, whether it’s heat, or peace, or pain. And it’s a little bit of all three. Collapsing to the ground is a legitimate option but peace seems more appropriate.

  It felt like a dream but it haunts me like a nightmare. Maybe those two are closer than they first appear. The town below and around me is quiet. Kids in the distance cackle and laugh. God, if I could be a kid again, but last night was the point of no return. I would never be a kid again. I would never fall asleep ignorant to the cruel grasp of this world again. There are too many things I know now that I couldn’t have known then.

  Kids love but they don’t fall in love. Kids take baby Tylenol, but we’ve graduated to party drugs. Would I even want to be a kid again? Knowing what I know now? No. Being able to forget it all? Sprinkle me with angel dust.

  I peer inside to make sure Blue’s still asleep. Even he looks innocent. Then I catch my reflection across the glass on the door. The dying sun reflects across my face and illuminating the two gates to my hollow soul.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’m still not ready when Blue comes to pick me up for the funeral. How could I ever be ready? I set my priorities and rush into the bathroom to gargle mouthwash. The last thing I want is for everybody to know I’ve been drinking. My hands clench the edge of the sink as I peer into the mirror.

  Who the hell are you?

  I’m sure my reflection is asking the same thing. At least we’re both on the same page as we spit out recycled Listerine.

  I pull my top off and throw it on my bed, atop numerous other outfits that weren’t making the cut. I need to look how he’d want me to look. I eye a plaid shirt hanging on my bathroom door. Everybody says you can’t wear plaid to a funeral. Yeah, well, nobody’s supposed to die when they’re eighteen. Rules are fucking broken. I think my infraction is more forgivable than the cruel hand of death.

  Blue doesn’t knock. He just walks in. He looks gorgeous dressed up and here I am standing in a bra and skirt unable to pick a fucking shirt. Maybe that’s the problem. I rush to my closet and grab the nearest dress. It’s gray, not black, but I’m pretty fed up with the rules. I press it against my body and turn to Blue.

  “How does it look?”

  “It looks good.”

  “Good?” That dress gets thrown on the bed.

  He steps close to me. “It doesn’t matter what you wear.”

  “That’s t
he stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Are you sure you wanna go?”

  I throw my hands up. “No. I don’t want to go. I shouldn’t have to. This whole thing is stupid. It’s not fair and it’s stupid. He’s dead and he can’t come back. I want to curl up in bed with a bottle of whiskey but I can’t do that. I’m not allowed. I have to mourn, get over it, and move on because that’s how it works. But that’s not how the world works. He was too young to die. I’m too young to lose him and it hurts. It fucking hurts.”

  Blue guides me to the bed and sits me down. I feel the bed push down beside me as he joins me, embracing me. His rough lips kiss the side of my head. “I love you, baby.”

  I push him to his back and climb on top of him. With force, I go in for a kiss, separating his lips with my tongue. My hands grab his shirt and push it over his abs as I go down south. I unbuckle his belt and his rough hands grab me. “What are you doing?”

  I glance at him and hold my gaze as I pull the belt apart and pull his slacks down just enough so his cock springs free.

  He runs his hands over his eyes, through his hair and takes a drawn-out breath. He’s apprehensive and I need something to cling to, so I lift my legs up and straddle him. Without care or condom, I lower myself onto him. He sinks away from me, a pained look on his face. This isn’t about making love. It’s about me needing something and I’m taking it from him.

  I maneuver him, bobbing up and down. My hands dig through his shirt, into his chest. His hands find my hips, his knees rise, and he starts driving into me, filling me with the only thing that can make me feel alive.

  Without pulling out, he flips me over onto my back. The belt on his slacks clatters against the bed as he fucks me deep into the mattress. There’s an animal inside of him with the instinct of a lion. He knows this is exactly what I want even as a tinge of guilt creeps over his face.

  His palms clench the sheets, his arms pulling tense as he comes inside me.

  And the release was only temporary. I eye the plaid shirt hanging from my closet door.

  * * *

  Believing in a higher power is often difficult. On days like this, believing in God is especially a chore. Does God cry? My mother used to tell me when I was young that raindrops were the tears of God. If that’s true, he doesn’t care about Dylan.

  My faith was shaken a long time ago but I’m still not ready to commit to a life as a nonbeliever, even if the last thing I want to hear today is that God has a plan. I want nothing to do with His plan. I want Dylan back.

  A part of me wishes my mom could be here today, instead of away on a business trip. The other part of me is relieved that she can’t be here. I’ve always been strong—some would argue I’ve been too strong. Showing weakness isn’t a flaw, but there are some people I couldn’t stand to see me break.

  Our car pulls up to the church and there is already a small crowd gathering. An army of plaid clashes with a sea of suits. Was I the only one worried it would be inappropriate? It doesn’t matter, and for the first time since we left the house, I feel a hint of relief.

  Blue doesn’t pull the Jeep around back with the rest of the cars. Instead, we park on the opposite side of the street. There are only a few reasons a girl would go running out of a church. A bride running from her groom… and me, running anywhere else. It’s not like I plan to have a nervous breakdown in between the eulogy and the prayer, but it’s a definite possibility. If I need to leave, we can get out without a fuss, and if we stay, we can pull behind the procession of sedans and pick-up trucks.

  “You got them?” I ask, staring blankly out the window.

  “I do, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I won’t make it through the service without them.”

  He sighs as he reaches into the armrest and pulls out a bottle. I grab for it but he jerks away and unscrews the lid. He takes out one pill and hands it to me, then stuffs the bottle into his pocket. I don’t think he trusts me with them. He should relax and be happy that I’m asking for Xanax and not Molly.

  Even though I think it, I can’t bring myself to say it. Molly would daze me—that’s for certain, but it would also suppress the pain, even if only fleetingly.

  Blue checks his watch and pops his door open. Must be time to go in. Without anything to drink, I swallow the pill dry.

  * * *

  Who decides what music is played during funerals? They should be fired. Each and every funeral director in the world. This isn’t the Titanic, and this isn’t our final moments. I’m not asking for Alanis Morissette or Katy Perry, but damn what just a little bass would do to lighten the mood.

  Dylan awaits us at the front of the room, permanently locked inside a closed casket. There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do just to see him again. There’s an emptiness present, ironic in a room full of people. The world around us moves at full speed, while those of us here in Lakeview seem to be stuck. I wonder if this is what purgatory feels like.

  A light breeze blows in behind us from the open church doors. It’s warm, suffocating, and violent. As we make our way to our seats, I spot Cassadee out of the corner of my eye, sobbing into a handkerchief. She barely knew Dylan, and even in a world that has quit making sense, the reason she’s here is something I’m unable to grasp.

  Summer and Tyson have three seats saved in the third pew with Bibles laid across the bench. Blue leads me into our row. I sit down, placing the Bible into the back of the bench ahead of us. Summer is calm. She looks peaceful and at ease, but when she grabs my hand and squeezes it, I know it’s an act. “Did you see Cassadee?” she whispers without facing me.

  I nod. “Where’s Joey?”

  “In the bathroom.” I’ve never heard her be this quiet. “He’s drinking.”

  I guess we’re all fucked up, each in our own little way. Summer can hide it better than the rest of us. Tyson’s eyes are bloodshot red, matching his wrinkled plaid shirt. I think of Joey, drinking alone in the church bathroom. There’s no doubt in my mind that that’s exactly what Dylan would have wanted, although maybe not the alone part. He wouldn’t want us to be trashed, but he would definitely recommend a shot or two to take the edge off. I haven’t been invited yet to the inevitable celebration-of-life party, and I’m not sure I’d even want to go. It may be exactly what Dylan would want, but it would still feel wrong. A shot of Jack doesn’t sound too bad, though. Maybe I’ll join Joey in the bathroom.

  Too late.

  Blue slides closer to me as Joey scoots into the last seat in the row. He barely cares to hide the bottle of Jack as he scoots it in between his and Blue’s hips. The scent of whiskey is as strong as year-old cologne, except it smells better.

  Sobs complement the soundtrack of grim tracks. They’ve always seemed quiet—sobs, I mean—but they begin to drown out everything else. Like a thousand people, all screaming for release. Dylan’s mother, Teresa, cries the loudest. It’s a terrible sight, and like an accident, I can’t look away. Sadness is the most difficult thing to describe. It’s so much easier to spot. I want to give her a hug and slip her a Xanax.

  I know it’s unethical to drug someone without their consent, but I’d be doing her a favor. It’s not like the pain is gone, because it’s not. You know it’s there, but you just can’t reach out and grasp it.

  I understand that some people need to go through the agony of grief on days like this. I’ve heard it’s part of the healing process, but I’m not strong enough for that. Not today.

  The church doors close, and the finality sinks in. The air flow is cut off, and while I’ve never been claustrophobic, I feel as if I’m about to choke. The walls move in on us, and on the inside, I’m screaming for someone to open the damn doors.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Joey stands at the front of the church, elevated above us on top of the stage. He leans against the podium. With one hand, he moves to adjust the microphone. An obnoxious, tormenting screech echoes through the silence of the church.

  H
e clears his throat and prepares to speak. He’s weak, both his body and his voice, as if his grasp on this world is endangered and he could disappear in mid-sentence. I worry for him and for everyone in attendance. He’s always been the least even-tempered one amongst us. Toss in alcohol and he could crash and burn, catching us all up in the blaze.

  “I woke up today sick to my stomach. If I didn’t have to stand here in front of all of you, I don’t think I would have come. Because I’ve lost something that I can never get back.” He shifts his weight to the side, gripping the podium tightly. “We’ve all lost the same thing in different ways. I lost my best friend, but he was always more than that. He was a brother, and growing up an only child, that’s all I ever wanted.

  “It would be selfish of me to stand here and not acknowledge everyone else who has lost something. But if I’m being honest, my reality, the one in which I was the only one to lose someone so precious, was much easier to bear. In that reality, I’m able to pretend.”

  I’ve never heard him speak this way before, like there’s something else there. A hint of something he’s always been able to hide. “But when I stand here, in front of this room, I can’t deny it anymore. That it’s permanent, that it’s tragic, that it’s fucking stupid.”

  The crowd is taken aback, sending ripples of murmurs through the air. You’re not supposed to curse in a church, but as life has shown us recently, rules are broken.

  “During these things, people always get up here and claim that the deceased was the greatest of us. I guess that helps many forgive and move on, but this is different because Dylan really was special, and he was loving, and he was the greatest man I’ve ever known. The greatest man I’ll ever know.

  “None of us will ever know what was going through his mind in those final moments, and to me, that’s the most tragic thing of all. The idea that we will never see it coming and that it’ll happen to many of us someday on some mundane Tuesday. It won’t be sad for the one lost. It’ll be sad for those of us left behind. I think about walking down the street and buying an ice cream cone. It’s chocolate, my favorite, and I’ll never know it’s the last thing I’ll ever eat, because my life will be over the second a car veers out of control.”