The End of All Things Beautiful

by Nikki Young

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” I say, but I was never keeping this from him. Our days have been so busy; it slipped my mind and didn’t return until we made a basic plan for today.

  “Really?” Benji says, his eyebrows going up a little. “What’s that?” For once neither of us seems nervous or standoffish, not worried anymore about what secrets live hidden inside us.

  “Tommy was married and he has a kid.”

  “Oh,” is all Benji says, and I can see he’s trying to process how this affects everything up until this point and after.

  “She’s the one who delivered my letter. Her name is Samantha and she has no idea what happened, but I think we owe her an explanation too. I think she deserves to know why her husband did what he did. Why he struggled all those years.”

  Benji nods a little and I get it, it’s hard to take in. Knowing that what we did has now affected not just our lives but also all the people surrounding us. That it continued on long after we all separated, leaving many people in the dark.

  “She hates me,” I say suddenly, trying to smile through the thought, but it still hurts. I don’t want her to hate me, but I understand why. I’m not sure I can ever make things right.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know what happened, so I guess we’ll add her to our list,” he says with a questioning tone to his voice.

  “I think we should.”

  Benji nods again and we both take our coffee with us, heading down to the car prepared to continue with what we started just yesterday. It feels like months, years even that we’ve been trying to correct everything, yet it’s only been one day. The past weighing heavy on both of us, but knowing with each step we take forward, we heal.

  As Benji starts my car, he turns to look at me with a cheeky smile on his face. “I think you’re gonna need to get rid of this car, too.”

  “What?” I ask, appalled because I love my little coupe.

  “This little thing is just not gonna cut it in those Northern Michigan winters.” He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s inevitable.

  “Fine,” I concede immediately, knowing he’s right. I barely made it out of his driveway the last time I was there. “But I’ll need a cute SUV now.”

  “Of course,” he responds. “This isn’t anything about safety. It’s all about you looking cute.”

  We head out for another long day, since we have planned to travel to the cemeteries where Sam, Kelly and Tommy are buried, none of which are in close proximity to each other. Sam and Kelly are buried near the suburb where we grew up, but on opposite ends and Tommy about hour west of it all.

  As we drive, I tell Benji about Samantha showing up at my office and how she believes that I’m the reason he killed himself. The guilt pools heavy in my stomach as I say the words, sometimes believing them. I shift in my seat, my hands beginning to shake. I hate that she’s hurting over all of this and sees it as my fault.

  “She’s trying to process it all, Campbell,” Benji says reassuringly. “She needs someone to blame. You have to understand that. Even if the only person she has to blame is Tommy. She can’t do that. She loved him.”

  “I know. I just…” I trail off unable to finish my thought because I’m not even sure what to think. I just know I don’t want her carrying around all the guilt and hatred and grief I know she’s feeling.

  He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly. I’m relieved that he’s here with me, that I no longer have to go this alone, and that I don’t have to hide everything I’m feeling. Release is good.

  “I’m not sure she’ll even speak to me again,” I say, after explaining how I went to Tommy’s house trying to find answers.

  “She will. Just give her time. I think it’s different now. We have answers for her. We can give her a reason. It may never be enough for her, but we can try,” Benji says, somehow remaining completely calm throughout this discussion.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, never more grateful to have him back in my life than I am right now. He seems to understand everything without me ever having to explain it.

  The car falls silent, but nothing about it is uncomfortable. There’s a lot to be said for silence and sometimes it can be the loudest thing in the room, screaming at you, begging you to break it, but other times it draws people closer together. It says that they can be together, comforted and soothed by the lack of words being spoken.

  Quiet is peace. It’s tranquility. It’s healing.

  And as we pull into the parking lot of the cemetery where Sam is buried, silence is the one thing we both need right now.

  I can’t leave the car and as if Benji can sense my unease, he takes my hand in his, but still says nothing. We sit together and I wonder if his thoughts are the same as mine. I wonder if he’s thinking of Sam. For once, I’m not picturing Sam dead, instead I’m picturing him alive. I need to remember him for all the happiness he brought into my life and not the sadness that I was left with.

  Benji lets go of my hand, his fingers brushing my cheek, bringing my attention to him. When our eyes connect, his are filled with tears and it’s all I need before I start crying.

  “You ready, Cam?” he asks, and my heart stops in my chest.

  For once, I love the sound of that name.

  It makes me remember.

  It makes me remember how much I loved Sam.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  We’re standing together looking down at Sam’s grave and I’m not sure what I expected to feel or what I’m supposed to do. There’s no natural reaction to seeing your friend’s name on a grave marker; the date there in front of you, so final and definitive. And to know you had a part in why he’s here makes it hard to find the feelings to help cope with that.

  This obviously isn’t the first time we’ve been here, but the last time, for the funeral, was one of those moments when I was barely functioning. I think there was a point when I tried to shut it all out, thinking he wasn’t dead or that I was living a nightmare that wouldn’t allow me to wake up. But in the end, it was a nightmare, but it all came true.

  I take Benji’s hand and look around. We’re surrounded by death, yet neither of us speaks of it. It’s too painful, too real, too raw and in this case it’s far too close. There’s really nothing to say and as unnatural and unfair as it is, Sam’s death was a part of life.

  I do often think about the sequence of events and how just one small change to it all would have left us in a different situation. Had I just stalled when getting into the car or if I had passed out on the beach or gotten sick before getting in the car, we would’ve left the beach later than we did.

  All it takes is one second, one minute, one flash of difference to change everything. And even worse, are the series of events that are created by that one incident. Had Sam not drove that day that family would still be alive, had one of us wasted more time before we left, Sam wouldn’t be dead and there wouldn’t be all the tragedy that followed it. Kelly and Tommy’s suicides, Benji and I living apart, miserable and devastated; it was all caused by one thing, one simple thing that could’ve been avoided. But it’s too late for that now and today isn’t about dwelling on the past and what we could’ve done differently. It’s about moving on and finding a way to live with what we did.

  We don’t come bearing flowers or words to ease our suffering. Sam is dead and nothing we do or say can change that. But as we stand over his grave, our eyes filled with tears, we realize all we can do is let his memory live on. It’s time to stop trying to forget; we need to remember. We need to focus on the positive and all the things we have, instead of everything we don’t.

  I watch Benji mouth a silent goodbye to Sam before both of us brush the grave marker with our hand as we walk away. This will probably be the last time we’re here and not because we’re insensitive or we don’t care anymore, it’s because we both know that this is the end for us. While we’ll never forget Sam, we need to move on with our lives.

&n
bsp; It takes thirty minutes to get to the cemetery where Kelly is buried and Benji jokes about how everywhere in this damn suburb takes thirty minutes. From one end to the other, and while only a short distance, the traffic is ridiculous so it still takes a half an hour.

  Benji and I haven’t been back to where we grew up in years. Both of us choosing to leave and never really having a reason to return. My parents moved to Florida shortly after I graduated from college and Benji’s mom, as far as he knows, no longer lives here either.

  It’s strange the way the town still looks the same, despite the fact that neither of us have been back here. I feel like I’ve avoided it all this time, because I worried about the painful memories it might bring with it. The funny thing is, while I’m flooded with memories, none of them are painful. I cry, but it’s more about the fact that I’ll never be able to share everything I’m thinking with some of the people who helped me create all the things I’m inundated with.

  We exit the car much quicker this time, like after the first goodbye, we’ve found the courage and strength to see this through to the end.

  Benji takes my hand in his and using the map we printed before we left, we find Kelly’s grave quickly. It’s begun to drizzle and the air is cold. Our breath is coming out in small white puffs as we once again stand silently looking down at where Kelly is buried.

  This isn’t as hard for me as I thought. The first time, I never grieved her loss. I was too lost in a hazy mess of guilt and regret to even think about what she had done. But a part of me always understood what she did and why she did it. As selfish as it was, I knew she couldn’t live without Sam. I understood and I often found myself wondering if I would’ve done the same thing had it been Benji who died instead.

  I spent nine brutal years living without him and while it was trying and exhausting and at times I did want to give up, I still had the knowledge that he was alive. I found a small amount of comfort in that. Kelly never had that reassurance. But she did have Tommy and what all of this has shown me is that part of a whole is never enough. It will never be complete.

  I wrap my arms around Benji’s waist, now shivering from the cold air mixed with the dampness of the rain and he covers me with his body. I feel him kiss the top of my head, his chin resting there as he begins to softly sing Dear Prudence and tears flood my eyes. It was Kelly’s favorite song and something Benji learned to play on his guitar so she could hear it whenever she wanted.

  It’s the little things that mean so much. The things that remind me what we all had, a deep, undying love for each other, and nothing will ever change that.

  The day carries on pretty much the same way it began. We’re in the car together, quiet and sullen as the rain begins to pick up. It’s falling hard and fast, reminding me of the day Tommy was laid to rest.

  “I went to his funeral,” I tell Benji without looking over at him. “And sat alone at his burial,” I add, and Benji turns to look at me.

  “Oh, Campbell,” he says, quietly, almost pitifully. I didn’t say it so he’d feel sorry for me. I want him to know, because throughout all of this, I never wanted to be viewed as heartless.

  After Samantha came to my office, I felt like I failed Tommy, like I should’ve tried harder, which is part of the reason I sought Benji out. I couldn’t lose someone else I loved.

  “It’s okay,” I respond, feeling his hand brush my arm in sympathy. “I needed to be there, even if I was alone.”

  “I went to see his grave after I got his letter and before I came to find you,” Benji admits, and this time it’s me who reaches over and rests my hand on his arm.

  “You didn’t have to go alone.”

  “I know, but I did. I needed to grieve on my own.” He stops and looks over at me as if he’s said something that might have possibly insulted me. But I understand. There are times you just need to be alone. “I guess in a way I needed to see that he was really dead.” He shakes his head at the words he’s just spoken out loud as if he’s questioning himself. “As horrible as that sounds,” Benji adds, as if he needs to explain himself.

  “That’s the same reason I went to the funeral. I felt like it couldn’t be real.”

  “None of it feels real,” Benji says dryly. “It’s been nine fucking years and it still feels like a dream.”

  “A nightmare,” I add, and Benji nods.

  We cry more at Tommy’s grave than we did at the others and I wonder why that is. Did we have more time to process the death of Sam and Kelly, more time to live with the regret of what could’ve been? With Tommy it was unexpected, coming later in the game, like a sucker punch to the stomach. By then, in theory we all should’ve been fine. But what each of us realized is that the more time that went by, the worse the guilt became. The worse the loss was and the worse each of us felt.

  Although we’ll never know why Tommy did what he did, we both know he always felt lost without Kelly and as much as it bothered him to share her with Sam, I think he also felt the loss of Sam, too. It had to have begun to weigh on him the way everything began to weigh on Benji and me and after what Benji shared with me about the accident, I imagine it all became too much.

  Where or when was his breaking point? When did he finally give up and say ‘fuck it all’? I wonder if it was one final thing that made Tommy end his life and I can’t help but think about how close I possibly was too. His letter came at a time when I needed it more than anything.

  While his death, like Kelly’s was completely selfish, in a way it saved me and for that I will always be grateful.

  And for the last time today and hopefully for a long time to come, we leave the cemetery. Our goodbyes stuck in our throats, floating around in our heads and left unspoken because we know soon we’ll be visiting Samantha and Thomas. Hopefully our goodbye will come in the form of forgiveness and understanding.

  We arrive home and Benji slings his arm over my shoulder as we’re walking in the house. “Let’s get something to eat,” he says, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Something good. Something you love.”

  “Do you remember what that is?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him, secretly hoping he remembers but also hoping he doesn’t, so I can give him shit for it.

  “Portillo’s hot dog with ketchup and relish only, cheese fries and a piece of chocolate cake,” he says firmly, and then slides his hand down my back and gives me a swat on the butt before saying, “Take that.” He’s far too impressed with his ability to remember and it makes me laugh.

  “Nice job,” I congratulate, and now it’s him laughing.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to indulge you like this when I should be shaming you. A ketchup and relish hot dog? Who lives in Chicago and eats that?”

  “Me, and you love it.”

  “I do, because I love you,” Benji says, and it doesn’t matter how many times he says it, I still feel like I’m melting.

  We place the order and as Benji leaves to pick it up, he rolls his eyes dramatically and says, “Traffic is going to be horrendous and all this just for a hot dog.”

  “But it’s for me,” I reply sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes as Benji shakes his head.

  “I’ve never been able to say no to you,” he responds, and I couldn’t agree more. He’s the one person in the world I’ll never say no to either.

  After Benji returns with the food and we’re sitting on the couch eating, we begin to talk about what the plan is for tomorrow. It will be the first day we won’t be together since he came back, and a part of me is already having a hard time with that.

  Jack and I are heading to Florida to talk with our parents about the accident and everything that happened. We’ll be gone for two days and when I called my mom to tell her we were coming, she didn’t seem too surprised nor did she question me. Her laid back attitude toward everything really coming through, because I think most parents would wonder why their adult children are boarding a plane on a whim to visit them. Yet I was relieved she didn’t ask any questions, beca
use I’m not sure how I would’ve answered them. There is just too much going on to explain in a phone call.

  During all of this, we both decided it would be best if we met with our parents separately, and not because we have anything to hide, but because Benji has more than just the accident he needs to address with his mom. I wasn’t the only one he stopped talking to after the accident, he left her in the dark too.

  I can tell the whole thing worries him, but it’s something we need to do. The difference is that I have Jack to go with me. Benji is an only child and I think that’s what’s bothering him more than anything. He just left his mom, making her wonder about what happened to him, and I’m sure concerned for his safety, too. He didn’t have any other connection to his family, maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have disappeared the way he did.

  Things were harder for him after his parents divorced and even harder after his dad started dating again and pretty much severed ties with Benji. His mom tried her best to make up for it, but I know he was hurt by it all. I can tell he harbors a lot of guilt for leaving her the way his father did and I know he feels like he needs to explain himself.

  I’ve told him multiple times that I’ll go with him, but he declines. He tells me it’s something he needs to do on his own. I have to respect that.

  When we’re finally in bed, Benji’s arms cradling my body, he says, “I’m going to miss you.”

  I’m sure most people would find that comment ridiculous. It’s only two days, but when you’ve lived through what we have, you know two days can be an eternity; two days can change your life. Actually all it takes is a few short minutes.

  “I’ll miss you too,” I tell him, pressing my lips to his chest and leaving them there. I take a breath and his smell hits me. He smells like Benji. He smells like safety and home.

  And I know not a day will go by that I won’t find myself missing him at one point or another. He’s the reason I breathe, the reason I can forgive myself, but he’s also the reason my heart no longer aches.