by Carian Cole
She smiles up at me and smooths my long black hair. She’s the only one I let touch my hair. “Losing a child is the worst thing a person can go through,” she says, staring off. “A piece of us dies with them.”
I nod and wonder which Valentine child she buried and when.
“It won’t get better,” she continues. “You know all that is crap when people say that. But you learn to move on and carry them in your heart. The pain will never go away. You’ll always wonder what they would look like at this age and that age. You’ll develop a secret relationship with them, and that’s okay.” She squeezes my hand harder. “You’ll get through this, Vandal. For her, and for you.”
“It’s my fault, Gram. I never should have got in that fucking car.” I still blame myself, even though the accident investigation was inconclusive. The other driver had a few drinks over dinner. He wasn’t drunk, but may have been a little impaired. I know I was exhausted. The road was dark, with lots of winding turns. Maybe it was both our faults and we both drifted at the exact same horrible moment. I’ll never know for sure, but deep down in my gut, I know it’s my fault.
“Honey, life is a series of mistakes, regrets, bad decisions, tragedies, and occasional good luck. It’s not your fault. You loved her. You never would have hurt her.”
I rock back and forth on my feet. I hear the words, but I don’t know if I will ever believe them.
***
I stay at Katie’s grave until everyone is gone, long after Deb was hauled away by her family, crying hysterically.
“Vandal, we should go now.” I almost forgot Lukas was here, leaning against the huge oak tree, watching me.
I can’t take my eyes off the mound of fresh dirt I’m sitting next to. My beautiful baby girl, who slept snuggled in a pink down comforter surrounded by teddy bears, is now in a box in the ground. I fight the urge to claw through the dirt and bury myself with her. I want the dirt to slide down my throat and choke me so I can sleep beside her forever.
Lukas’s boots appear next to me. “It’s getting dark. I’m sorry, Van, but we gotta go.”
“I can’t leave her.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I know. But I have to take you home. And Ivy’s waiting for me at my place.”
I throw a small rock that I’d been holding. “Must be nice. Does her husband know she’s there?” As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret saying them. I like to hurt people; I always have. I want them to feel the pain that I feel and the disappointments I’ve been forced to feel. That just seems fair to me. Not fair to Lukas, though.
“That was a douche thing to say, Vandal. I know you’re hurting, but don’t fling your sadistic shit on me. I’m going home. If you want a ride, get up.”
I don’t look up as he walks away from me to his car. I have no doubt that he’ll leave me here after what I said to him because I deserve it.
Minutes turn to hours while the sky morphs from blue to fiery orange to gray. I don’t want to leave her here but I know I can’t sit in the cemetery all night either. Kissing my fingertips, I press them to the mound of dirt that blankets my daughter.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” I whisper. “I’ll be back soon.”
When I reach the end of the narrow path and walk through the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery entrance, I see one lone car in the dark parking lot. I trudge over to the black Corvette and get inside. Without a word, Lukas starts the car and pulls out of the lot. I turn to him but his eyes remain on the road, his inked arms taut as he grips the steering wheel, deep in his thoughts.
“Sorry, I’m an asshole,” I say after a few minutes of silent driving, and he finally acknowledges me.
“I’m gonna let it slide because I know you’re hurting,” he says. “But I’ll say this: I’ve tried really fucking hard to get to know you. I thought it was great when we opened the tattoo shop together and got involved in the band together. Unlike you, I was glad to have a family, and be around people that understand me and accept me. But you … I just don’t fuckin’ know, man. You act like you hate all of us.”
I try to stretch in the cramped front seat. Corvettes must be designed for midgets. All I want to do is get home and be alone so I can drink, pop a few pills, and numb the pain. The last thing I want to do is have a heart-to-heart with my little brother.
“I don’t hate you, Lukas. I just don’t bond well.”
His jaw clenches. “Maybe you should try to bond, Vandal. Did it ever occur to you that maybe Katie wasn’t the only person that needed you? Or that maybe the people who try to be there for you would like to have some kind of effort back? Not everything is just take, take, take.” He glances quickly at me before turning back to the road. “You can be really exhausting, and sometimes I wonder why I bother. If you keep kicking a dog, eventually he’s not going to come back. Think about that.”
I nod and play with a stray thread on my pants. “I’ll think about that, Lukas.”
We don’t say another word for the rest of the drive to my house.
***
I may be a reckless person, but all the choices I’ve made in my own self-destruction have been just that: choices. Maybe the path that led me to those choices was out of my control most of the time, but in the end, the decisions have always been mine.
I’ve been clean and sober for two years, and I chose to do that so I could be a good father to Katie. And as I sit here in bed with a bottle of vodka next to a bottle of pills, I choose to go back to my old way of dealing with life.
Sipping the clear, burning liquid while lying in the middle of my bed, my thoughts drift to Renee. I’m pretty sure she’s in the ground now, too. Thanks to me. Although her death was also ruled to be an unfortunate accident, it’s still my fault that she was with me in the car that night. She died trying to be more than she was. She was nothing but a sex toy to me, and an unfortunate victim of my inability to form meaningful relationships with people. I didn’t know her well enough to miss her, but I do feel bad that she lost her life. She wanted more than I could give her, even though I’m always honest with the women I fuck. They know there will be no love, no commitment, and no care. There will be fun and there will be fucking. Nothing more. Yet women always seem to think they will get more, and that they might be the one to change me.
I pop a pill and wash it down with more vodka.
A snake is always a snake. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.
Vandal
I’m ripped out of my deep, numbing sleep by someone banging on the front door and ringing the doorbell. Non-fucking-stop. It’s obvious after ten minutes of banging that they aren’t going away, so I stumble down the hall, holding my sore ribs. I’m wearing nothing but sweatpants, and step over garbage, empty bottles, and strewn mail on my way.
I swing open the door and Evie is standing there, holding a bunch of grocery bags.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spew at her.
She pushes past me and plops the bags on my cluttered counter, sending a few empty vodka bottles to the floor.
“You’ve missed the last five practices,” she says, looking around in disgust. “No one has seen you in two weeks.”
I go to the fridge, take out a beer, crack it open, and take a big gulp. “What are you? The fucking band manager now?”
She starts to throw the dirty dishes on the counter into the sink, and then goes after the refrigerator, dragging the garbage can over so she can dump old, rotting food into it.
“This place is disgusting, Vandal.”
“No shit. Ask me if I care. Why the fuck are you here?”
“I came to check on you, and bring you some food. And clean, since you apparently need all of the above.” She looks me up and down and pokes my stomach. “You look thin.”
She completely takes over my kitchen like a tornado, putting groceries in the fridge, rifling through my cabinets, and throwing garbage away.
After listening to the scraping and crashing of her rearranging my kitchen
as I once knew it, I take another gulp of beer. “I don’t need your fucking help. Does Storm know you’re over here, playing maid to his fuck-up of a cousin?”
“Yes, he knows I’m here. You’re not a fuck-up, Vandal. Everyone is worried about you. And they need you at practice; the band can’t perform without a bass player. You should take a shower too, you’ll feel better.”
Chugging the rest of my beer, I toss the empty can onto the counter she just cleaned, and sneer at her. “You can all fuck off.”
Evelyn takes a deep breath and looks at me warily. I know she’s afraid of me, yet here she is, putting herself right in the line of my fire. I’m not sure if she’s determined or just really stupid.
“Thanks for the food. Now get the fuck out of my house.” I turn to head back to bed but she grabs my arm. When I glare at her and rip my arm out of her grasp, she stands there like a lost puppy, bottom lip quivering. Lukas’s words come back to haunt me: “If you keep kicking a dog, eventually he’s not going to come back.”
I don’t know why, but the shimmering tears in her eyes make me lose it. I try to fight crying in front of her, but I can’t control the tears that start and the ache that builds in my chest again. I sink to the cold tile floor and she goes down with me, wrapping her small arms around me as best she can, holding me close to her.
“It’s okay.” She whispers those two words over and over. Nothing is okay, but having her close to me makes me feel a little less alone.
I’m not sure how long I cry on the floor with her, but after a while she takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, throwing a blanket over me after I fall onto the bed.
When I wake up hours later, she’s gone, but my entire house is clean, and my laundry is done and folded. Katie’s door is still closed, and I hope Evelyn didn’t go in there and touch anything because I want it all exactly how Katie left it. I head to the kitchen to pick at some of the food she left and I find a note taped to the refrigerator.
“I’ll be back next week. I’ll keep coming back until I don’t have to. ~ Evelyn”
I crumple the note and toss it in the trash.
***
I get out my bass and sit on the couch to play but I just can’t get into it. Everything sounds like shit to me. A different fetish is calling my name, and I know it won’t shut up until I give in. I lay my bass on the coffee table and go to the master bathroom. In the back of the closet is a small painted-black onyx box that I’ve had since I was twelve years old. I made it myself, not knowing what I would put in it at the time, but it soon housed my most precious items.
I sit the box on the edge of the bathtub and open the lid. Inside are several glistening razor blades, and one very old one, rusty, encrusted with dry blood. My very first blade, which I’ve kept all these years—a souvenir of sorts.
I take out one of the blades and my heart beats faster knowing the euphoria that is coming. I push my cut-off sweat pants out of the way and slide the blade down my outer thigh, the trail of red chasing it like a lost lover. Pain has always been my best friend and greatest release. I slide the blade again, a little deeper this time, and close my eyes as the hurt and agony eases from my soul and into my leg, escaping in the drops that slowly drip down my flesh.
***
The next day I decide to go to the studio and put in some jam time with the rest of the band since I’ve missed a crazy amount of sessions already and I’m sure the guys are getting pissed off.
“Where the hell have you been?” Asher demands the minute I walk into the studio. I drop my bass case and try to focus on him. Hangovers are not my strong point.
“Relax, man, I’m here.” My words slur.
My cousin Talon puts his guitar down and approaches me, pushing me into the nearest chair. “You’re drunk off your ass again. Did you actually drive like this?”
I nod and laugh a little. “I think ‘still’ is probably more accurate than ‘again’, Tal.”
He shakes his head at me and looks back at his brothers. “He’s a fucking mess, guys. He shouldn’t be here.”
Storm’s huge dog, Niko, trots over and lays his head on my leg. I sink my hands into his long fur. Katie loved this dog and would use him as a pillow, laying her head on him and napping with him on the floor while we practiced for hours. I planned to get her a puppy for her next birthday. I lean over and rest my head against the dog’s big furry head. I want to feel what Katie felt.
“Vandal, for fuck’s sake. We know you’re hurting, but this shit has to stop. You can’t just keep drinking like this; you’re ruining your life. Katie wouldn’t want you like this. We don’t want you like this.” Storm’s voice gets the dog’s attention, so he leaves me and goes back to his master’s side.
“We have a tour coming up, Van. Soon,” Asher reminds me. “There is no way in hell you can play like this. I refuse to let you fuck up my band with your shit. I don’t care how fucking good you play. We’ve all been working our asses off, and we’re all trying to help you, but you can’t be drunk or high twenty-four seven.”
Storm steps in front of Asher and puts his hand on his shoulder, always the peacemaker. “Vandal, we’ve all been talking. You know we’ve been trying like hell to help you, but you won’t even try to help yourself.” He takes a deep breath and pets Niko’s head before looking up at me again. “We think it’s best if you step out of the band for a while, and we have someone else fill in for you for the tour. Hopefully next year you’ll feel better and can come back. That’s what we all want. We just think you need some more time; maybe you should go back into rehab for a while or talk to the doctor. Whatever you need.”
I can’t believe this shit; they’re kicking me out. Katie and the band were my life. Being in Ashes & Embers is like a dream for me. All the years of practicing and playing gigs finally got me somewhere. Ash didn’t bring me into the band because he liked me, or because I was family. That fucker hates me. But he loves the way I play bass and my style fits in with them perfectly.
I stand up and look at Storm, swaying a little as the room blurs. “Feel better? Is that what I need to do? I didn’t realize I was sick.”
Storm takes a drag on his stupid e-cig and blows vapor up into the air. “That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to be nice.”
I flash him an evil grin. “Ya know who’s nice, Storm? Your girlfriend. Do you ever wonder why she’s at my house every week? Maybe she’s bored at home. I think she wants to be tied to my bed.”
Storm lunges at me. “You motherfucker!”
Talon grabs him and pulls back Storm’s clenched fist that’s aimed at my face. “Don’t waste your time, Storm,” Talon says. “He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He’s fuckin’ wasted.”
“As usual,” Asher adds. “Just leave and let us know when you can be serious about the band again. We don’t have time for all this bullshit. I’ve got my own issues to deal with.”
I grab my bass and turn to him, glaring at him eye to eye and then lowering my gaze to his chest. I flick the old skeleton key necklace hanging around his neck that he never takes off.
“You need to deal with reality, Cuz,” I mumble. “She ain’t never coming back.”
He seethes at me. “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls through clenched teeth.
I slam the door on my way out and head for my car. Fuck them. They’ll never find a decent bass player to replace me, and the fans will go ballistic. I’m one of the most popular members of the band. They’ll be begging me to come back, drunk or not.
When I get behind the wheel again to go home, I know I shouldn’t be driving, but I just don’t give a shit anymore. I have nothing left to lose that matters. I want to tempt the hand of fate as much as I can because I should have died in that crash too, and fate fucked up. Nothing wrong with me giving a helping hand to the powers that be.
Vandal
The headstone is like a work of art. Now that I’m standing in front of it, I can see why it took three months to fabricate. I think I s
hould apologize to the guy who made it for yelling at him for taking too long. It’s a laser-etched scene of a field of flowers, with an image of Katie running, smiling, holding a teddy bear. The detail is absolutely amazing and worth every penny.
Every other Saturday I visit her grave because every other Saturday was when I would get to see her. I’m just not ready to give up our time yet. I bring a teddy bear with me every time and now her grave is overrun with stuffed toys, as well as other little gifts that other family members must be leaving.
I climb up the huge oak tree that shades this part of the cemetery, get settled on a large, thick branch, and lean back against the trunk. I love the strength of the tree, and I like to think that it’s protecting my daughter. I sit up here every time I visit, and just try to let the quiet seep into me. Maybe it’s morbid, but being here calms me and makes me feel grounded to the earth that holds my daughter. It’s the only place where I feel like I belong.
My legs begin to feel numb, so I turn to hang them over the branch when I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and slowly turn to see a girl kneeling down in front of a grave not too far away from my tree. This is the first time I’ve seen another visitor in the cemetery in all the times I’ve come to sit by Katie. From my perch, I can hear her talking softly to the headstone, placing fresh flowers over the newly-grown grass. Shit. I was hoping to leave, but I can’t jump out of a tree and scare the hell out of someone in the middle of a cemetery. I put in my ear buds and listen to some tunes as I wait her out, but my attention is soon drawn back to her when I hear her let out a wail like a wounded animal. I pull out my ear buds and squint in her direction. She’s kneeling, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth as she sobs uncontrollably. I lower my eyes away from her, knowing too well what she’s feeling. Grief is an evil hungry monster that will eat you alive.
***
It’s almost dusk when the crier finally leaves and I can climb out of my tree. I walk by the grave she mourned over, and sick curiosity leads me to go read the headstone. Nick Bennett. Beloved husband and son. Twenty-seven years old. I’m about to walk off but something stops me in my tracks. I turn back and stare at the date of death. It’s a date that will be engraved in my brain and my heart for the rest of my life because it’s the same date that Katie died.
