Crash

by David Wright

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “No,” I say, meeting her eyes, hoping she won’t try and force me. I’m ready to do a lot of things, but going up on stage? Not gonna happen.

  She asks, “Would you mind if I went up?”

  I’m surprised, and sure my face shows it. I stammer a bit before saying, “No, not at all, if you want to.”

  “I do,” she says, then stands and heads toward the stage.

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair as people look at her, then me. I wonder how many of them know who we are. Kathy, sitting three rows ahead, looks back and gives me a little wave. I nod, then wave back, sinking lower into my seat.

  Meg, now on stage and at the mic, says, “Hi, my name is Meg, and my husband and I lost our child last year.”

  As she starts, I feel a gnashing in my gut over the uncertainty of what she might say. We’ve always been private people — especially following the accident. It took us months to agree to publicity again, and even then, it was under our terms. The Entertainment Weekly interview was about as much as we’ve talked about Kayla, and even that was uncomfortable.

  To think that Meg is about to put it all out there to this room full of strangers makes me feel naked, exposed, and vulnerable.

  She continues, “It’s weird. Even after a year, I find myself thinking about Kayla, waking up and wanting to share something with her, or being in a store and wanting to buy her something I think she’ll love. Then I catch myself, and remember. I think the worst was on Mother’s Day. My husband, Tom, got me a Mother’s Day card but wasn’t sure whether I’d want it or not, whether it would serve as a reminder that I’m no longer a mom. I thought to myself, yes, I lost a daughter, but I still feel like a mother? Does that make sense?”

  The crowd nodded, and some said “mm hmm” aloud.

  I’m watching Meg and marveling at her strength to speak about this, when I notice a chill in the room, punctuated with a sharp pain in my head.

  No, not now.

  While I’d welcomed something happening, especially if Meg could be here to witness it, I find myself wanting to cling to the moment, this raw moment with Meg. I feel like I’m getting closer to something I’ve been missing between us, and perhaps that can do more good than any of this man in black or ghost child nonsense. I feel like a boat unmoored, lost at sea, shifting between what is real and what is not. I feel like if I can just drop an anchor in the moment, in this reality right here and now with Meg, then I can have a normal life again.

  The pain in my head subsides, and I breathe a sigh of relief that perhaps I am able to control things — to keep things from spiraling out of control.

  Then I hear a voice behind me.

  “Why don’t you go up with her?”

  I turn and see Sam standing behind me.

  No, no, no.

  I try and tell myself that the ghost of Kathy’s dead son isn’t here, that I’m imagining this. I turn away and don’t respond, hoping he’ll go away.

  “Did you give my mother the message yet?” Sam asks, leaning closer, now over my shoulder. An icy chill runs through me, and I shiver.

  “No,” I whisper. “You’re not real.”

  “Not real?” Sam says. “I know you can see me.”

  “That doesn’t make you real, and the conversation is over,” I say, not wanting to get into an argument with a figment of my imagination.

  “Please tell her,” Sam begs.

  I ignore him. The more I do, though, the realer he feels. It’s as if he is imposing his reality over mine, and it’s pissing me off. I just want him gone. I want to be with my wife, we’ll go home, make love, and then tomorrow I’ll call the doctors, tell them everything, take whatever medicines they want. We’ll heal, we’ll get through this, and life will go on.

  It’s all I want. No more trying to remember the accident and what came before. No more going out and taking pictures of horrible crash sites.

  Just let me have this, God, please.

  “Please,” he says, voice louder, getting angry, “tell her!”

  The auditorium lights flicker above us.

  I remember how his anger had preceded the arrival of those things last time, and wonder if perhaps I should give in. If he, and those things, are real, and they can sense that I see them, might I be in danger? Might I endanger Meg and everyone in here?

  I need to short circuit his anger, which means I need to take control of the situation and acknowledge his reality.

  “I can’t tell her here. Let me find a time when there’s not so many people around.”

  “How do I know you will?”

  “You don’t,” I say. “But if I’m going to do it, it has to be on my terms, not yours.”

  “Why are you being so mean?”

  “I’m not being mean, I’m being honest. I need to find your mom in the right mood, to be receptive to something as insane as this will sound. If I tell her now, she won’t believe me. Hell, I barely believe me. For all I know, you’re something I made in my head.”

  He’s quiet, as if mulling over my words.

  He then says, “You didn’t tell your wife about me?”

  “Good God, no. She’s already worried about my sanity.”

  “What if I can prove I’m real, to both of you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen your daughter.”

  I turn to him, stare into his brown eyes. “What?”

  “Kayla, right?”

  “Where did you see her?”

  “She’s here, right now.” The boy pointed. “Right next to you.”

  I look around, but see no sign of my daughter. Chills run across my flesh as desperation fills my gut.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s right here,” Sam says, still pointing to the spot beside my chair.

  I look, but see nothing. I reach out as if I might feel something. “Why can’t I see her?” I ask, wondering if Sam’s lying to me, and hoping he isn’t.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I still don’t even know why you can see me. You’re the only living person who has seen me so far.”

  “What did you mean you can prove you’re real?” I ask.

  Sam says, “Ask me something only Kayla will know.”

  I try to think of something, but as I’m thinking I hear applause and see Meg leaving the stage. My heart is pounding fast as I try to think of something before she gets back. I can’t have this conversation in front of her — can I?

  But if Sam is real, and I’m not losing my mind, I need to prove it to her. Perhaps Sam can prove it to us both.

  I move aside so that Meg can sit.

  Behind me, Sam says, “Ask me something only Kayla would know.”

  A couple of minutes ago, I was ready to come clean, tell Meg — and the doctors — everything, even give up the pills if they were part of the problem. But now, with Sam whispering behind me, I can’t help but follow this lead, to see if this weird shit is, in fact, reality.

  “How’d I do?” Meg asks.

  “You did great, honey.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, then hold her hand and whisper. “I have to tell you something, and need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

  “What?” she asks nervously.

  “The last time I came here I saw something.”

  “What?”

  “Remember, no freaking out.”

  “What is it?” She looks at me like she’s a moment away from doing the very thing I asked her not to do.

  “You see that woman three rows up on the end? The one with the blue blouse?”

  “Yeah,” Meg says, brow furrowed as she’s wondering where I’m going.

  “Her son, Sam, died a few months ago. And … ” here we go, “I saw him. Here. Last week.”

  She looks at me and grins uncomfortably. “Shut up.”

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “You saw him? Here? You’re telling me you saw a ghost, Tom?”

  She pul
ls her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest as she tends do when she’s unhappy with me. I feel like I’m testing the limits of her patience. If Sam falls through, I'm fucked with a capital F. Meg will think I’m batshit crazy.

  “Yes, and there’s one other thing.”

  She looks at me, “What?”

  “He’s behind us right now.”

  Meg looks back, then at me. She laughs, “You’re messing with me, right?”

  The way she was looking at me a second ago, scared, juxtaposed against the smile now in her eyes as she laughs, makes me want to say that yes, I am messing with her. Big joke, ha ha, let’s go home and forget all about this. Maybe get ice cream, settle down, watch some Netflix, and call it a night.

  Sam, seeming to sense my hesitancy, says, “Tell her, Mr. Tom.”

  The lights flicker above. I wonder if Meg even notices.

  “There’s more.”

  She doesn’t want to hear more, though. Her lips purse as she barely manages to get out a “What?”

  “Kayla is here, too.”

  She starts to stand, but I put my hand down firm on her leg and press down, more forceful than I’ve ever touched her, to keep Meg in her seat.

  She looks at me with fire in her eyes. “This isn’t funny, Tom.”

  I swallow, “I’m not joking, Meg. I can’t see Kayla, but Sam says she’s here, right next to us, and he can see her. I didn’t believe him at first, either,” I say like I’ve already convinced her that Sam is here. “He said to ask him a question only Kayla would know, so that he can prove it to me. Prove it to us.”

  Meg shakes her head, looking like she’s on the verge of tears. “I’m not doing this, Tom.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not contributing to whatever … whatever’s wrong with you. I love you, Tom. You know that, but I can’t do this. You need help.”

  She gets up, her seat bouncing loudly, and brushes by me, walking fast toward the exit. I can feel the eyes of others on me, even though I don’t dare meet them.

  I hop out of my seat and follow her out of the auditorium — into the hallway where those things chased me from the school.

  Sam is following close behind me, not saying a word. I hope that Kayla is also following, and if she is, that she isn’t too upset by seeing her mother react this way.

  “Meg!” I say once the doors close behind me and before she can head out into the parking lot, “Wait!”

  She stops and turns, no longer able to keep her tears from flooding, staring at me as I run up to her. I know she doesn’t want hear any more crazy talk, but some part of her, thank God, makes her wait to see what I’ll say.

  “I didn’t want to tell you any of this, Meg. I thought I might be going crazy, too. And hell, maybe I am. If so, this is a chance to prove it, right? Ask Sam something that only you and Kayla would know. Some mother daughter secret I never knew. I’m sure there’s gotta be something.”

  She looks at me like I’ve totally lost it. “Ask Sam? I don’t see Sam, Tom! And neither do you.”

  “Just think of something!” I snap, pissed that she won’t take a chance. “If I’m wrong, I’ll never bring it up again! I’ll go to whatever doctor you want, but just fucking ask something!”

  Outside of the bedroom, I never speak roughly to Meg. She looks at me, startled. Her eyes wander up to the ceiling, as if she’s considering my offer.

  “Something that only Kayla and I know?”

  “Yes,” I say. I turn to Sam and ask, “Is she here? Is Kayla here?”

  Sam looks a few feet behind him, then back at me. He nods. “Yes, but she’s crying.”

  I turn back to Meg, “Anything … please.”

  “OK,” Meg says, “what was the name of the porcupine she asked me to write a story about?”

  She folds her arms as she stares at me, waiting.

  I turn to Sam. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes,” he says, then turns to ask the space behind him, where I still can’t believe that Kayla is standing.

  Sam is quiet.

  “Did she say anything?” I ask.

  Meg sighs, like she can’t believe she’s entertaining my delusions.

  Sam says, “Try” to the space behind him.

  He looks at me. “She can’t remember.”

  I feel punched in the gut.

  Meg, more impatient: “Well?”

  Sam says, “Ask her something else.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, not wanting to prolong this torture. I look at Meg, who is staring at me with something I can only describe as hate — if she were capable of hating me. I say, “She can’t remember. Ask something else.”

  Meg spins on her heel and heads straight to the doors.

  “Meg!” I call out in vain.

  She ignores me, heading toward the car.

  I turn to Sam and shake my head, pissed at him because I can’t be pissed at a daughter who isn’t here. “Thanks a lot!”

  “Kayla says she’s sorry!”

  I want to believe him. More than anything.

  I decide to give him one more chance, but have to be quick because I have the keys to the car and Meg won’t wait. She’d sooner walk the four miles home than wait for me when she’s this angry.

  “OK,” I say to Sam, “one question. From me.”

  “OK,” Sam says, eyes hopeful. “Shoot.”

  “What’s Kayla’s middle name?”

  “Her middle name?”

  “Yeah, that’s so easy that you could probably even guess it, Sam,” I say, almost accusing him of lying just to get me to deliver the message to his mother.

  Sam turns and asks the space behind him. He looks nervous.

  “Come on,” I say, “I need to go get my wife.”

  He turns, frowning, “She say’s she can’t remember.”

  I look at Sam and let out a deep sigh. “Bullshit.”

  “I swear, Mr. Tom! Kayla’s upset. She can’t remember!”

  I shake my head. “Stop it. Stop it. You’re not real.”

  I turn and head toward the doors.

  “Yes, I am!” Sam yells. The lights flicker, as if in response. But I’m not buying it.

  No more.

  “No, you’re not!” I yell back as I push through the doors and out into the parking lot. It’s dark and has started to rain. I see Meg approaching the main gate. She’s actually going to walk home in the rain!

  I chase after her, cold rain like ice on my skin, calling out, but she ignores me.

  I get in the car, soaking the seat, and stick my keys in the ignition, hoping she doesn’t try to lose me in the neighborhood streets off the main road. Meg is the world’s nicest person, but when she feels you’ve taken advantage of her, she’s like a cornered animal.

  I turn on the car, throw it into reverse, pull out of the parking space, click on my lights, and press down on the gas, fishtailing as I race toward the exit.

  I reach her just as she’s turning out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. I pull up in the grass beside her. Thunder rumbles overhead as I roll down the window.

  “Get in!” I shout over the now-howling wind.

  “No!” she says, still walking.

  “Come on, Meg, it’s pouring!” I say, pulling up a bit.

  “No! I’ll walk,” she cries out as lightning crashes above. As the light brightens her face for a moment, her eyes seem like they’re almost glowing in a beautiful haunted blue.

  “Come on, you’ll get hit by lightning!” I argue.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Tom!” she yells as thunder explodes in the heavens.

  I don’t know what she means by “this.”

  Entertain my delusions? Or … be married to me?

  I can’t ask. Not now. I need to get her in the car. We can talk about this when she’s safe and out of the rain.

  “Just let me drive you home. Please, Meg!”

  She keeps walking, ignoring my pleas.

  I throw the car into park, k
ey the ignition off, hop out, throw the door shut, and leave it there in the swale. I run up behind her.

  “I’m not letting you walk home alone. If you get hit by lightning, I want to, too.”

  She shakes her head, refusing to look at me, keeping her pace.

  The rain is cold and falling hard. We’re both soaked. She in her dress and brown leather jacket, I in my jeans and navy long-sleeve button-down. Our shoes are certainly ruined.

  She keeps walking, ignoring me.

  “Come on,” I say. “Get in the car. Hell, you can drive home without me if you want. I’ll walk! But, please, I don’t want you getting hit by lightning, or a shitty driver. Come on, Meg. I can’t lose you, too.”

  She turns and looks at me, as if considering my offer. I wonder if she would let me walk home alone. I don’t think she would, but then again, I don’t think she’s ever been this mad at me.

  I reach into my pocket and offer her the car keys.

  She meets my eyes. It’s hard to tell if she’s still crying, what with all the rain, but I assume that she is.

  She asks, “You think I’m mad at you?”

  I’m not sure if this is a trick question, but the way she’s looking at me, I think she’s being serious.

  “Um, yeah?”

  “I’m not mad,” she says. “I’m scared, Tom. I don’t know what’s happening inside your head, and one minute I think you’re OK, but then you go and do something like this. And I don’t know what to do. I thought I could be strong enough to get you through this, but I … I don’t know if I can.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Now I’m crying.

  I look down, unsure what to say. I look up at Meg, meet her eyes, and feel like the woman I’ve loved for half of my life has given up on me. Even in the worst of times — during rehab and following the loss of Kayla — I knew that when I looked in her eyes that things would be OK because she loved me, she believed in me. That faith has faded, maybe it’s gone.

  I can’t think of a single thing to say that might bring it back.

  “How long have you felt like this?” I didn’t think things were that bad. Or that I’d seemed that crazy. Hell, I hadn’t even told her the craziest shit until now.

  “I don’t know. I thought we would get past this, just like the other stuff, but now …”