by KL Evans
I shrugged and forced a smile back as I stood. “I sincerely appreciate your time, Principal Harrison.”
“Call me Esther,” she said, shaking my hand and leading me to the door. “And feel free to call me or come by anytime. I’d like to make sure Charlie’s doing okay.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
I checked my phone on the way out. The time read 3:54 and I had a text message.
“Hey Seth McCollum! Want to see something cool? Come to the 7th St. Bridge.”
Hour Eleven
By the time I arrived, West Seventh Street was blocked off from Woolery to Fournier by a mass of police cars, a fire truck, and two ambulances. And I had to rub my eyes and shield them from the sun to believe what I was seeing.
You were dressed like a gay pride ballerina, complete with pointe shoes. Your hair was no longer the unnatural dark brown, rather a cascading, neon rainbow that whipped and fluttered as you spun and leapt and performed a solo number on one of the twenty-four-foot high arches that flanked the bridge.
A small group of officers stood on the bridge at the base of one arch, a couple of them appearing to call up to you while others talked amongst themselves. I managed to sneak around the patrol cars and get close enough to where I thought my voice would carry to you.
“Charlie!”
You spotted me and waved before spinning on one leg. “Quit calling me that, Seth McCollum!”
“You’re going to get yourself killed!”
You laughed and leapt and spun again.
One of the officers grabbed my arm and pulled me backward to stand by one of the patrol cars. “Back behind the line please.”
“I’m with the Morning News. How long has she been up there?”
“‘Bout twenty minutes or so. We’re sending someone up right now to get her.”
“Will she be charged?”
“Yep.”
“With what?”
He shrugged. “Disorderly conduct. Class C. She’ll just spend a few days in jail or post bail and get fined.”
“Have you ever seen anyone do anything like this before?”
He laughed. “Sure haven’t. Makes for an entertaining change of pace during an otherwise boring day, though.”
I had to laugh with him as I watched you continue your routine while the officer and I casually sat on the hood of the patrol car. You chortled and sang something I couldn’t identify and caught my eyes a few times, pausing your performance to wave at me and smile. I found myself smiling back until I noticed that acute sadness in your eyes.
On the surface, your antics seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with the copious amount of tragedy in your life—at least, not in a serious way. On the surface, you just seemed strange, as everyone said, and it could have been deduced that the trauma you’d experienced simply made you weird. But my gut told me otherwise. My gut told me nothing exists in a vacuum and these antics were not only a direct result of what you’d been through and a response to them, but also indicative of something else. What else, I had no idea. But my mind sensed something on the horizon, as if there was a scent of it in the air, albeit one so faint I couldn’t identify what it was or from what direction it was coming.
And my gut was never wrong. So now I just had to sit back and wait for it to reveal itself.
An officer crawled up the concrete arch toward you while the group below braced for if and when one or both of you fell. You didn’t fall. You scampered in the opposite direction until you hopped off the arch.
“Damn!” the officer bellowed as we both jumped off the hood of the car and sprinted for the side of the bridge.
Peering over the edge with my jaw gaping, I saw that you had landed and rolled on the concrete walkway attached to the outside of the bridge. You sat for a minute, clutching one of your feet until you scrambled off the ground, limped to the railing, climbed over, and took a flying leap into the Clear Fork Trinity River.
The walkway was about thirty feet above the surface of the river. The river was only about eight or nine feet deep at the most. And I wondered if I’d just witnessed your death.
I sprinted off the bridge and into the grass on the banks of the river where a group of paramedics had already gathered to receive you. One of them was trudging into the water to recover you, and whether it was you or just your body, none of us knew yet. He pulled you out, laid you on the grass, and we still couldn’t tell if you were dead or not. You had an uncanny ability to look dead when you were unconscious, sleeping, or passed out, and right then you looked pretty dead. The rainbow color had rinsed from your hair and stained your face and arms, giving your skin a pale, greenish-blue tint.
A few officers showed up on the grass, one of them holding a hand to my chest to keep me from getting too close. The paramedic attempted to resuscitate you and everything moved in slow motion as my jaw hung open and I heard a whispering echo of the voice from the night before.
She’s going to die, Seth. And you’re just going to sit there while it happens.
An eternity of stretched-out seconds passed and you eventually started coughing.
“Miss?” the paramedic said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yup.”
He shined a small flashlight in your eyes. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Stephanie McBride.”
I closed my jaw and pursed my lips and thought to myself, I should’ve figured that out.
The legal advertisements weren’t for Stephanie or Jade. They were all for you, because you were one of those people who gave a false name when being arrested to avoid or delay criminal charges. I ventured to guess you’d overheard Stephanie’s name while working in AJ’s store.
“Seth McCollum! Seth McCollum!”
You were now strapped to a backboard and I glanced at the officers in exasperation.
“Can I go talk to her?”
They nodded and I approached the spot on the grass where the paramedics were preparing to lift you up.
“What in the fresh hell is the matter with you, Charlie?”
You blinked back tears and your chin quivered. “Will you please come with me? I’m scared.”
“You’re scared now? You just jumped off a bridge!”
“Please come with me.”
“You’re only going to be at the hospital for a second and then you’re going to jail. I can’t go with you there.”
“I don’t care, please come with me. I can’t deal with the ambulance by myself.”
“The ambulance scares you?”
A tear slid down your temple and into your hair and the corners of your mouth tugged downward in a sharp frown. “Please.”
I sighed loudly. “Okay.”
I wasn’t prepared for the ambulance ride. You were marginally injured; just a sprained ankle, a few cuts and scrapes and bruises, and you mostly just needed Band-Aids and x-rays; nothing serious. But you weren’t okay.
You wept. Like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life. Body convulsing and guttural moaning, while you whimpered words that probably sounded nonsensical to the paramedics.
“Jade… Jade,” you mewled, choking on tears and blindly grasping at my pant legs. “Come back, Jade.”
The paramedics spoke amongst themselves, seeing as incoherent mumblings from patients were just another day at the office for them, but I had to lower my head and cover my face.
“Jade. Jade. Jade. Please come back.”
You continued to the point that it was excruciating to witness and I leaned over your face, placing my hand on your forehead.
“I know I’m not your sister, but I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You’re just a little shaken up. Please try to relax.”
Your sobbing relented into quieter hitched breathing and you looked up at me through overflowing pools of gray. “I’m not, Seth McCollum. I’m never going to be okay.”
“What makes you think so?”
A single, louder sob choked out of you. “There’s no me without her.�
��
The signs were all there, I just couldn’t read them.
Hour Twelve
The time on my alarm clock read 1:12 AM and my phone buzzed on the nightstand, shaking me out of my sleep. The caller ID stated Tarrant County Jail.
“Charlie,” I answered, because who else could it be? “I can’t post bail for you. You’re just going to have to sit it out until—”
“Did you ever read Charlotte’s Web?” You sounded small, faint, and distant; like a ghost of yourself.
“Huh?”
“Did you ever read Charlotte’s Web?”
“Uhh…” One in the morning for a non-sequitur, and quitting my job suddenly seemed like a fucking brilliant idea. “Yeah, back in elementary school, why?”
“Maybe you should read it again.”
“Why?”
“Maybe… you…” you whispered, drawing out your words, “should… read… it… again.”
“Seriously, is something wrong with you, Charlie? I’m not judging you, but it really seems—“
“Stop calling me that.”
Click.
After an hour of trying, I gave up sleep, made some coffee, and settled onto my sofa with an e-copy of Charlotte’s Web on my tablet. I knew you were trying to send me a message by telling me to read it and I guessed it was simply written in the title because that’s where I was currently stuck: Charlie’s web of oddities and confusion.
You were in jail for three days. On the third day, I called the jail and they said you’d been released early that morning, so I went by your house. As usual, your car and cat were there—he squeaked at me from the inside, sitting on the window sill—but you weren’t. I tried the number I assumed was your cell phone. It went straight to a generic voicemail greeting, so I sent a text.
“Charlie, I really need to talk to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”
I stared at my phone, waiting for you to reply, but not really expecting you to. There was a faint scratching on the window and I looked up to see the gray cat clawing the screen inside. Your cat obviously hated being cooped up inside and would much rather be out catching his own dinner, so I figured while I was there I’d both do him a solid and save your window screens by letting him out. I tried the doorknob—locked—then noticed a large stone sitting in the dirt where a flower bed had probably been thirty years ago, and thought, Hmm. That seems like the type of thing she’d do.
I picked up the stone and had to laugh because my gut is never wrong.
Hidden underneath was a hot pink envelope with big bubbly letters drawn in black marker that read:
I SERIOUSLY LOVE YOU, SETH MCCOLLUM. YOU’RE ADORABLE AND I CAN READ YOUR MIND!!!
And in smaller letters on the back:
Please don’t let Grey out. If he gets lost again, I’ll totally shoot myself. :)
The envelope smelled like lavender, but that could’ve been my imagination. Inside was a key and—sure enough—it unlocked the door knob. I went in and the gray cat immediately covered the bottoms of my pant legs in hair.
I didn’t know why you gave me the key, but based on your behavior toward me I had a few ideas and the only one I would allow myself to act on was feeding your cat. His empty dish was in the small bathroom, which was lavender in both scent and color. I refilled the dish, and then—like any reporter worth his salt—I opened your medicine cabinet, and holy shit.
You had your own personal fucking pharmacy; full to nearly overflowing with prescription bottles. Sertraline, Clonazepam, Zolpidem, etc. Five or six bottles each. I picked up one and shook it. It was full. I tried another. Also full. A third. Full. The overhead light illuminated the orange bottles and I could see just by glancing that the rest were full, too.
“So, Charlie Reid,” I said to the shelves of bottles. “I think I’ve figured you out.”
The medications were for anxiety, insomnia, and depression and you were clearly not taking any of them. And I’m no psychiatrist, but I ventured to guess if you had been prescribed all these pills you probably should’ve been taking them. And maybe not taking them was the cause of your mood swings and acting out. I wondered if you weren’t taking them because of your concerning necessity to drink as much as you did—which, if that were the case, I had to give you props because it was the one responsible decision I'd observed from you thus far.
“You are one hot mess, sweetheart.”
As I closed the cabinet, a discrepancy amongst the labels caught my eye and I swung the door back open. I turned several of the bottles to check them and my split-second suspicion was confirmed.
“So she’s the type of person to give a false name when getting arrested,” I said to a bottle of Lorazepam, “and she’s also the type of person to fill a bunch of prescriptions at a bunch of different pharmacies.”
That explained why you were at a pharmacy all the way over in Grand Prairie, but that was all it explained. The discovery only convoluted everything else that much more.
The gray cat hissed and swatted my pant leg, as if telling me to get the hell out of your cabinet, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. The time on the screen read 4:00 and I had a message from you.
“I’m at the hospital and I’m kinda busy, Seth McCollum. But you’re welcome to swing by if you want.”
That was all the invitation I needed and I was out the door, pocketing the key after locking the door.
At the hospital, I went straight to the ICU and followed the rules this time.
“I’m looking for Jade Ashton’s room,” I said to a nurse sitting at a desk near the entrance.
“What’s your name?”
“Seth McCollum.”
She smiled the tiniest smile. “She’s in the last bed on the left.”
“Thanks.”
I started to step away from the desk when the nurse said, “But Charlie’s not here right now.”
“Oh.” How did this woman know I was looking for you and not your sister?
“She’s in the Geriatric Center. It’s two buildings over.”
“She’s there right now?”
“Left about forty-five minutes ago and said that’s where she was headed.”
“Okay. Thanks. Can I check on Jade for a sec?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
Why the hell I had wanted to do such a thing was beyond me. Being inside the room instead of peering in from the hall threatened to completely dissolve that necessary emotional distance and certainly chipped away large chunks of it. And it was less the sight of Jade than it was all the construction paper well-wishes taped to the wall around the head of the bed.
Get well soon Miss Ashton!
We love you Miss Ashton!
World’s greatest teacher!
We miss you soooo much!
There were countless crayon renderings of the woman in the bed, her former hair depicted in sunshine yellow loops, each of her with one or more of the students. Flowers in every color of the rainbow standing in uniform rows on scribbles of green. Vibrant red hearts stabbed by Cupid’s arrow. Apples with cheerful worms poking out.
An apple a day keeps the DR. away! I hope you feel better!
At least the little artists were blissfully unaware that Miss Ashton now only ate through a tube.
“Jade,” I found myself saying, “I know you don’t know me, but I think I may need to change careers.”
A faint breeze drifted through the room, causing one of the cards to peel from the wall and flutter to the floor. Surely, that was a result of activity just outside the door, right? That’s what I told myself. I crossed the room and picked up the card, standing it up on an empty tray near the bed, and then glanced at her face.
“I’m really sorry this happened to you. I don’t think your sister’s taking it very well.”
I almost said I’d look after you, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie to a woman who was essentially dead. Maybe I believed she could hear me on some level. I don’t know. But I knew I wasn’t there to look after you. That wasn�
��t my job. It was never supposed to be my job.
Right here, right now, this is not what I’m supposed to do. But here we are.
Whether it was the shadow of death looming over Jade or simple, unexplainable guilt, I had to get away from all those well-wishes that were an uncomfortably bright contrast to the bleak atmosphere of the room. I was halfway out of the door when I slammed directly into another nurse.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized hastily. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay?”
“I’m just fine. So you’re Seth,” she said, smiling and making my name sound like an accusation.
“That’s me.”
“How does Charlie seem to you?”
“Oh,” I said, and it suddenly occurred to me that this nurse may not have simply learned my name from the nurse at the desk. “She seems um…”
Furthermore, how does one politely say, she’s out of her fucking mind crazy and unstable and she really should be on all of those meds?
Instead, I opted for, “She seems to be having a hard time with all of this. Understandably so.”
“And you’re taking good care of her?” she asked, and I raised my eyebrows.
“Um… Yes,” I answered, and it came out sounding like a question.
“That’s good. She speaks the world of you.”
My eyebrows dropped. “Really.”
“Sure does.” She gave a weighed pause. “It’s not always easy having to support someone going through something like this. Especially being as young as she is. So just try to be patient with her. Make sure she’s going to support groups. Maybe go with her.”
It was suddenly crystal clear whatever you told them about me wasn’t something to the effect of, he’s a reporter who’s been following me around for a few weeks.
So, since we had established the practice of lying in this situation, I told one of my own. “I sure will.”
It was a long, hot walk to the geriatric center. Inside, there were more halls and more rooms, and I meandered for a while, cooling off and casually peering into the rooms until I spotted you.
