For Always

by Danielle Sibarium

  “Physically? C’mon Maria, spit it out.”

  “Madison didn’t make it.”

  “Didn’t make it?” The realization of what she said hit me as I repeated it. “She died?” I asked in horror.

  Teary-eyed, Maria nodded.

  I felt like I was sucker punched. I didn’t want Jordan with her but I certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

  “Does he know?”

  She nodded. “He’s a mess. He feels terrible. He blames himself.”

  I closed my eyes picturing him, the pain he must be feeling. I ached to see him, to touch him.

  “Stephanie, whatever Jordan’s intentions might have been,” she paused and spoke with as much kindness as she could, “this changes everything.”

  I knew Maria had a point but I didn’t care. Jordan’s well-being was what mattered most. As long as he was okay the rest would fall in place, eventually.

  I tried calling him before leaving for school the next morning, but it was too early. I couldn’t get through. I couldn’t stay home because I had a big science exam. I wondered if my wandering mind would stay focused on physics long enough to pass the stupid test.

  It was the last class of the day. We were given an hour to answer fifty questions. If we finished sooner we could leave. Usually I finished and reviewed my answers with time to spare. Not this time. I barely finished filling in the last bubble when my teacher announced, “Pencils down.” I hoped I did well, but I couldn’t be certain, unfortunately I had a one-track mind and it was on Jordan the entire time.

  I debated calling him from school after the test but opted not to. I wanted to speak to him privately in case I became emotional, which was an absolute certainty. That meant waiting until I got home. I spent every minute until I did wondering how he felt and what he was going through.

  I burst through my front door, threw my things on the floor and pulled out my cell phone. It took a moment for me to catch my breath before dialing the number, trembling with anticipation. I had a flashback to the first time I called him, how nervous I’d been. I realized in over four years not much changed.

  An eternity passed before he answered. I felt my entire body relax when I heard his voice. He sounded fine. Like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  “Thank goodness you’re alright.” The words came out of my mouth before I realized I said them.

  “Do you think a Mack truck is going to stop me?” He asked sounding strange.

  “Sounds like it almost did.”

  Silence.

  I said the wrong thing. As always. Frustrated I kicked the wall.

  “Yeah,” he answered somberly. “It certainly stopped Madison.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jordan.”

  “Me too,” he said barely audible.

  Hearing the pain in his strained voice, I wished I didn’t call. I hadn’t the slightest idea what to say to him. And for reasons I understand all too well, I felt plagued with guilt. After all, death and I, we went together like chocolate and peanut butter.

  “It’s not your fault.” It was the only thing I could think of to say.

  “Yeah,” he paused, “I know.”

  And there it was. The moment of silence was no doubt his way of blaming me. As well he should. I knew it, and deep down, he knew it too, or he would soon.

  “How are you?” I asked for lack of anything better to say. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “I’ve been pieced back together. I needed surgery on my shoulder. A screw is holding it in place. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

  “What can I bring when I visit?”

  “Nothing,” he said sharply, “I have everything I need.”

  “What about a book? Cards? Anything?”

  “Don’t come, Steph.” He said in a cold, sharp manner, leading to another heavy silence. “I’d rather you not see me like this, you know all patched up and pieced together,” he softened a bit.

  “Oh.” It sounded logical. I tried to keep up a strong front. “Sure. I just wanted to be certain you were okay.”

  “I am.” he sounded earnest, “Listen, I have to go, my doctor just walked in.”

  “I understand.” It could have been true. He was in a hospital, but it didn’t feel true. It felt like he couldn’t wait to hang up. How could I blame him? It wasn’t as if I had anything funny or even appropriate to say, but I wished, not knowing what else to wish for, I wished it hadn’t happened at all.

  Forever worrying about me and making sure I was okay, he did his best to reassure me, “I promise I’ll call you as soon as I break free.”

  “I can’t wait.” I hoped he didn’t hear the cracking of my voice.

  “I’ll speak to you soon.”

  I hung up, unsure of what I should have felt. I didn’t feel anything. I was numb. But I knew for certain, I should’ve felt something.

  Twenty-Four

  Late Friday night while I lie in bed reading, listening to music, my phone beeped signaling a new message. I reached for it and jumped up when I found a text from Jordan.

  I’m home. Come by 2morrow.

  My heart raced. He was home and he wanted to see me. That had to be good news. I wanted so badly to call and talk to him. I didn’t. If he wanted to chat he would’ve called. Instead I sent a message back asking what time he wanted me to come.

  I barely slept. I lay awake most of the night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what to expect. Would he just act like nothing happened? Would he glare at me with anger and resentment in his eyes? Would he be happy to see me? No matter what the next day held, I looked forward to seeing him as I never did before.

  Saturday was a beautiful June day with the sun peering down from the bright blue sky. I enjoyed the warmth of the rays falling on me. Despite the pleasant temperature, my teeth chattered and I shivered from nervous anticipation.

  To keep my mind off the sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, I concentrated on slowing my pace. Under the circumstances I didn’t want to appear too eager to see him but I couldn’t bear to be away from him for even another minute. I tried to change my focus, paying attention to the details of everything around me.

  I took note of the light flowery scent in the air, drowning out the smell of car exhaust that usually hung about. Flower blossoms in their prime sat atop their stems, open and exposed to the elements. I heard the barking of dogs, squealing brakes and bass pumping music.

  Jordan sat on his front stoop, head down, staring at the ugly grey cement. He looked up and my heart leapt when our eyes met. A sad forced smile peeked through the dark stubble covering the lower part of his face. Once he stood, I noticed the sling his right arm lay in. Jordan walked over and met me in front of the porch. We exchanged hellos, and then embraced, careful not to hurt his injured arm or shoulder.

  He held me close. Tight. I melted against him wanting to stay that close forever. The more comfortable I became in his embrace, the more ill at ease he seemed to be.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said searching his eyes. They were different. They weren’t mysterious and playful. They were black and haunted.

  “It’s good to see you too,” he spoke quietly.

  “I was so worried . . .” I rambled on trying to break through the tension growing thick in the air.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m invincible.” he said unconvincingly.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know about that, but it’s really good to see you.” I wiped away any hint of tears with my fingertips and smiled.

  “I must be invincible or I wouldn’t be here.”

  I hesitated mentioning the accident but he brought it up. I thought he wanted to talk about it.

  “It must have been horrible.”

  Jordan’s jaw clenched as he looked off into the distance. After a moment he took my hand, sending a shock of adrenaline through my body.

  “Come with me.”

  For the first time ever, he led me through the side entrance of his house. Stairs
were on either side of us. The ones on the right led up, the left led down.

  We went down the half flight and turned into Jordan’s bedroom. To the right of me, on the same wall as the entrance, was his bed. It was a twin bed neatly made with a dark blue comforter.

  On the far wall between the two long walls, stood a dark mahogany desk holding a laptop computer, its shelves lined with books. I noticed some classics like Frankenstein and Dracula mixed in with modern suspense and sci-fi novels. Jordan always advised me on taking note of the books in a guy’s room to get a better idea of who he really is.

  On the wall directly across from the entrance was a large punching bag. It immediately brought to mind Jordan’s well-defined upper body. Pleasing images of him, pounding the bag topless in a pair of sweats, raced through my head. Hanging on the dark paneled walls around the room were karate paraphernalia: Chinese stars, Nunchakus, Tonfas and a framed gi.

  My wide eyes and stunned expression betrayed my surprise. Realizing there was so much I’d yet to discover about him I asked, “You’re into karate?”

  “Not anymore.” He looked away as he continued. “I was small for my age. I got picked on a lot, so my mother signed me up.” He said in a detached manner.

  I looked at him. Something didn’t make sense. With his six foot stature and broad shoulders I wondered when he was ever small enough to be picked on.

  “I stuck with it for a while,” he continued to speak dispassionately.

  “What belt are you?”

  “Brown.”

  “Did you ever try for your black belt?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?” I felt compelled to ask wondering what would keep him from reaching for the top rung of the ladder.

  He shrugged his shoulders, “I just lost interest, I guess.”

  Lost interest? No one goes that far and just loses interest. There had to be more to it than that, but I dare not push. Not now.

  “I could never learn karate. I’d never get past a white belt.”

  “There’s nothing you can’t do if you want it bad enough.” He said almost as if it were an automatic response.

  I wondered how I allowed this to go so terribly wrong. He had been my shoulder to cry on. My support. My cheerleader. Now was my chance to reciprocate much of what he’d done for me and he was giving me a pep talk.

  I heard this every time I showed a hint of self-doubt, whether it was about school or guys or even a stupid game. How many times I’d allude to the fact I couldn’t have him and he’d answer with, “There’s nothing you can’t have if you want it bad enough.”

  Jordan sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit beside him. What once would have sent me on overdrive inundated me with guilt. I wondered if he felt the same.

  “It was the worst night of my life.”

  “I bet.” No doubt what he was talking about.

  He looked away. “Did you ever wonder what the meaning of life is? Why we’re here?”

  Without thinking I allowed my lips to turn up into a slight smile. I remembered a dialogue I had with one of my seventh grade classmates. We went back and forth for two weeks arguing over the meaning of life. Like at twelve years old you have enough reason and logic to contemplate one of the most complex issues of the universe.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  I shook it off, “Nothing. When I was younger I had a theory. But it’s really stupid.”

  “I’d like to hear it.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought when the universal fight of good versus evil took place, each side wanted their own army.”

  “To fight one another?”

  “Yes. Some stayed in paradise and others left willingly, but for the souls who were undecided they lost the will to choose. Instead they were born. The life they led on earth deciphered which side they favored.”

  “Judgment day.”

  “I guess. I know it’s stupid but I was twelve when I thought of it and you asked to hear it.”

  “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

  A long time passed before Jordan spoke again. He stood, pulled his desk chair out and sat there, looking absently around the room.

  “Do you believe in life after death?” He asked. “I mean really believe in your heart?”

  “Absolutely.” I answered almost flippantly.

  “You never question?”

  I thought for a moment. “Of course I’ve questioned. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Then how are you so sure?”

  “I guess I just found it’s easier to believe there is life after death, whether it be Heaven or reincarnation. That the spirit or soul somehow goes on.”

  “That’s the cornerstone of your faith?” He challenged. “It’s easier to believe, therefore it must exist?”

  “No.” I paused a moment searching for the right words, “Did you ever question something deep in your heart, something you really wanted, or needed answered?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So have I. And when I do, it’s like someone will be talking about that very subject and it’s directed at me, a teacher or someone on television. Somehow the very issue I am having a hard time with is everywhere. Like there is a higher power listening to what’s in my heart. And he’s sending me signs to follow. Signs that I’m not alone. That’s often how I’ve found comfort when I most needed it.”

  Jordan sat silently looking pensive, “I wish I could be sure.”

  “You’re alive aren’t you? I mean you survived.”

  He nodded. “I thought I was going to die. I don’t remember much else. Loud screeching, crushing metal. I was knocked unconscious.”

  I took his hand in mine and gave it a supportive squeeze. He embraced the gesture and held my hand in a tight anxious grip.

  “I saw myself in the car. I was floating above my body, getting further from it. I saw the car with the truck on top of it, the truck driver, even. Then I saw Madison,” he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths after saying her name. “She was all bloody from the broken glass and I knew I was dying.”

  “You weren’t dying, it was a dream. Your subconscious knew what happened and it created a scene in your mind.”

  “No!” he said firmly. He dropped my hand and stood, raking his hair with his fingers, “At first I thought that too. But the truck driver came to see me the next day and I recognized him. He looked exactly as I remembered.”

  “You must’ve caught a glimpse of him as it happened,” I suggested.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see the truck at all.” His whole body seemed to wilt as he spoke. “I was looking at Madison when we were hit.” His eyes glassed over, “If I kept my eyes on the damn road I could’ve avoided it, or at least lessened the impact.”

  “You don’t know that for certain.” I searched for words to console him but came up empty. “Besides, even if it happened just the way you say, that doesn’t change anything.” I moved off the bed and approached him, cupping his cheek in my hand. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

  He removed my hand from his face and looked at me earnestly, “I am alive, but Madison’s dead. Why? Everything happens for a reason, right? What’s the reason?” He paused. “Tell me why I’m here,” he pleaded with his eyes and voice full of emotion. “Because I don’t know.”

  I understood guilt. I understood more than anyone could and he knew it. He drove, and through his own admission, he took his eyes off the road. The problem - I didn’t know how to convince him he didn’t need to be punished for it - when he already convinced himself he did.

  “She’s dead, Steph, and I’m not. My God, I killed her.”

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I took a deep breath trying to recover, “I see why you feel responsible. But to say you should be dead is ridiculous.”

  He looked agitated, “You’re supposed to understand. Nobody understands!”

  I tried to bring a sense of calm back to t
he situation. “Maybe we just see things differently.”

  He looked like a caged tiger prowling in his pen.

  “Was it instant?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “She was barely alive when I came to.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  He nodded. “I held her hand. I told her I loved her. I promised her the world,” a few lone tears filled his eyes. “I begged her to hold on.”

  “Do you think she heard you?”

  He nodded, “She squeezed my hand. I think she tried to answer me. Her lips curled into a small smile. And then she was gone.” He began to sob openly. I put my arms around him.

  “Maybe you were there to make sure she didn’t spend her last minutes alone. I’m sure she felt comforted by that.”

  He closed his eyes and held me tight for a fleeting moment. “I don’t know what to do.” He pulled away and turned from me. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I’ll never see her again. Never feel her touch or hear her voice.”

  “I don’t know what you’re feeling. But I do know what it’s like to lose someone you love. It sucks. And it will never go away. Only time will make it feel less raw.”

  He pulled away and looked in my direction, but wouldn’t let his eyes meet mine. “I know I told you . . . and you expect . . . but everything’s changed.”

  I couldn’t help sniffle through my response. Not because I was disappointed, but because I was grateful. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re alive and in one piece. That’s all I care about.”

  “Friends?” I was surprised he asked as if he didn’t already know the answer.

  “Of course we’re friends,” I agreed.

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Good, because I need you like I’ve never needed anyone.”

  “I’ll always be your friend. You don’t ever have to worry about that.

  Twenty-Five

  I didn’t allow myself to indulge in self-pity. I had too much to be grateful for. After hearing about the accident from Jordan and seeing pictures he had from the newspaper clippings, I began to get a sense of how awful it was. He needed time to mend, physically and emotionally, with no pressure from me.