I stared, stunned and unable to find the words.
NeeNee was what my family used to call me when I was younger. I thought I’d convinced them to leave it behind, but obviously not.
Finally, I managed to break some words through my stupor. “On my computer?”
“Yeah, your dang mother thinks she’s clever. Blocked all my soaps with that damn parental control garbage on the television. I guess she didn’t think her old bag of a mother was resourceful enough to navigate the cyberweb.”
“You mean the internet?”
“Um, that’s what I just said, NeeNee. Jesus, keep up. You’d think you were the one who was hard of hearing.”
“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, stop calling me NeeNee,” I pleaded.
Looking at her mess once more, I couldn’t hold my tongue. “And have you looked around yourself at all? How in the bajeebus are you this big of a slob?”
Glancing down around her, she surveyed the mess I was referring to.
And then shrugged.
“I’m going to have to wash all of my bedding before I can sleep tonight!”
“You really need to loosen the screws on that stick up your ass, girl. Sit down, eat some salsa. Tell your Gram what really has you in this mood.”
“You have me in this mood!” I argued, trying as hard as I could to stop the unwanted flow of emotion. “I was worried about you when I got here because you didn’t answer me for, like, forever!”
I spoke in half truths. She had worried me. But it was everything else going on that led me to the very worst conclusion when I couldn’t find her.
Tears broke free at the corners of my eyes regardless of my efforts to stop them. I wiped furiously with shaking hands to rid my cheeks of the evidence, but not before Gram noticed.
“Come here,” she whispered more gently, moving the salsa and chips to my nightstand and making room for me to cuddle under the crook of her arm. Her eyes were soft, and I didn’t hesitate to crawl into the space she created.
“Everything is so messed up,” I murmured once I was settled. Gram’s arms wrapped around me tighter, embracing me much in the way Blane had Franny.
The comparison in my mind only made me cry harder.
“It seems like it won’t end, like nothing will ever be the same. No one will ever be happy again.”
Settling her delicate palm onto my head just above my ear, Gram took a deep breath. The sound of her still playing Soap Opera rumbled softly from my headphones in the background.
“Well, baby. Nothing ever will be the same. Some things have happened that we can’t change. And these events affect a change in people whether we want them to or not. But you have to remember that just because things can’t ever be the same, does not mean that they can’t ever be good again.”
“I don’t know how to make any of it good again, Gram. Tell me how to make it good again.”
“Oh, my sweet girl. You can’t. Only time can.”
I clawed manically at the tracks of wet trailing down my face, eager to erase their existence and quiet my screaming heart in equal measure.
“Shh,” Gram comforted. “Let them flow, Whitney. Their presence may feel heavy, but the release those tears create will lighten your load.”
Forcing my hands away, I followed her direction. I cried, and I did so without inhibition.
And I did so for quite some time.
Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes filled up an hour. Bless the woman, she sat still through it all.
And much as Gram had suggested, it started to feel good. Cathartic.
Necessary.
When the sobs subsided and normal oxygen flow once again passed through my lungs, Gram spoke again.
“No bottle is big enough for human emotion. Love, hate, anger, happiness, and deep melancholy. Each one exists for a reason. Emotion is real. It’s meant to be released. It’s meant to be lived.”
Her words rang soundly in the silence.
“I love him, Gram.”
“I know.”
“I love her too.”
“I know, Whitney.”
Pulling myself from the warmth of her body, I replaced it by holding her sincere eyes with my own and soaking up their compassion.
“And I love you.”
A smile just barely ghosted her lips.
“If you only knew.”
I knew. And I loved all of them more.
BY THE END OF OCTOBER, Gram had become my only real friend. The degree to which I was pathetic was only rivaled by my sorrow.
But I’d been living by Gram’s suggestion. I had to believe that, if given enough time, all wounds would start to heal. They’d be scabby, and surely have an annoying itch as a reminder, but the pain would subside. I hoped.
Franny was back in school, which I supposed was progress of some sort, but it was clear she was just existing. And only barely at that.
She was emaciated from lack of eating, and the dark bags under her eyes looked like the heaviest part of her body.
Blane did his best to take care of her, putting her favorite foods on her plate and making sure she made it safely from class to class.
But he had enough of his own problems.
His mom had finally decided to go forward with the memorial for his dad (tomorrow), but they had yet to find a body and questioned if they ever would. All they had to cling to were the numerous first hand accounts from people there that day. Several of those survivors reached out to them, intent to thank the family of the man who saved them.
According to their descriptions, something I’d seen on the news rather than hearing it directly from Blane, his dad had been below the actual impact zone. But instead of going down, exiting the building like everyone else, he went up. To look for survivors. To get as many people out as he could. And when he couldn’t help any more people above him, he went floor to floor to make sure all the people below got out.
The last person who had seen him and lived to tell about it said they had made the journey from the sixty-seventh floor, and exited the building just a few short minutes before the building collapsed. He said William was on his way back up, talking to a fireman about a person he’d found trapped but alive on the seventy-eighth floor in the sky lobby.
It was presumed that he was still in the building when it collapsed.
He was a hero.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t gone.
And it was hard to watch Blane deal with it. Or maybe, to say that I was watching him not deal with it would be more appropriate.
To the naked eye, he carried on. He gave smirks or smiles to those who knew him, and he always mounted a normal assault for his time with Franny.
I kept trying to give him openings to let it go, but he wouldn’t let me in.
Don’t get me wrong. He was himself. Kind and helpful. He even engaged in civil small talk from time to time. But any attempt to go deeper, to act as a support system, was met with direct resistance. His technique was almost always avoidance.
An appointment to get to.
Something to do for his mom.
A need to meet Franny at the door to her next class.
Something. Always something.
If I was honest, I’d have to say I was even a little disappointed in Franny. I knew she was in her head, and I knew the depression she was feeling was a real thing. A living, breathing disease that twisted her thoughts and held her tight in the clutches of melancholy.
But by now, she knew the depth of Blane’s heartbreak. She knew that on top of dealing with what she was dealing with, he was dealing with more.
And yet, she didn’t fight to offer him somewhere to ease his load. She just added to it.
Again, I knew the stakes. And I knew the reasons for how she was feeling. But no matter how justified she was, I, as the friend to both, couldn’t find it in me to completely silence the building resentment. She was human. She was allowed to do the “wrong thing”. And so was I.
&
nbsp; I tried to keep perspective, though. To be understanding of the power of depression and the loss of a child, especially by your own making. To remind myself that it wasn’t something she could control. She was already drowning in guilt, struggling to keep even her mouth above water, and the last thing I needed to do was shove her below the surface.
Costumes smattered the cafeteria, as today was the day the school allowed students to dress up for Halloween. I hadn’t participated, though I normally had a strong fondness for this holiday, and the lone occupant of my lunch table hadn’t either.
“Where’s Franny?” I asked softly when I got to the table, Blane sitting opposite of me.
“She had a meeting with one of her teachers,” he said while looking down at the table between us. The label wrapper of his Fierce Grape gatorade had obviously been picked within an inch of its life. “She told me I didn’t need to hang around.” His eyes glanced up at mine. “I protested, but she was pretty adamant.”
He didn’t sound happy, but I thought it might be a good thing that she do some things for herself. I didn’t say that, though. He wouldn’t have agreed.
“Oh, okay.” I cleared my throat, anxious about the opportunity to talk to him one on one. “How are you?” I whispered cautiously, fiddling with the chips from my lunch bag.
“I can’t do this now, Whit,” he ground out, the tension in his jaw sharpening it even further.
Snapping the chip in my hand, I lifted my eyes and fought to capture his. “You know what? That’s fine. But I’m not going away. You’re not letting any of it out, and it’s already starting to swallow you whole. You’re not the Blane I know. And I’m gonna ride you just as hard as you ride Franny until you come the fuck back.”
I stood up and grabbed the remaining scraps of my lunch, wadded them up, tossed them in the nearby trash, and swept my books off of the table top swiftly.
My timing was bad, the day before his dad’s memorial, but I had a feeling it would never be a good time to start a confrontation with my best friend. Or the shell of where my best friend used to be.
“Tell Franny I’ll see her in Calculus,” I bit out as I moved away from the table. And once I left, I didn’t look back.
I knew my anger didn’t solve anything, and I wasn’t even sure it was warranted. But I was tired. Tired of living every day like a ghost. Tired of feeling lonely and vulnerable, and like nothing would ever be right again. But mostly, I was tired of watching my friends live that way.
I was there, willing to take on some of their burden, and they just wouldn’t give it to me.
There was only so long I could take feeling completely useless and afraid without reaching some kind of breaking point.
And I just broke.
“Hey, Whitney,” I heard just as I pushed open the Cafeteria door.
Looking to my right, I found the one member of the football team I actually talked to. Grant Woodward. He was friendly, and cute, spiked blond hair framing his forest green eyes, but I’d never paid much attention to anyone outside of Blane and Franny. Today he was cross-dressing as a cheerleader, his crop top and skirt showing off his far from feminine body. He was built pretty well and hairy. Not an off-putting amount of hair, just too much for your average Betty Sue.
“Oh. Hey, Grant,” I answered by rote after I finished my perusal.
“I’m having a Halloween Party at my house Saturday night. You should come.” He handed me a basic orange flyer with black lettering on it. All it had were his address and a time. No spiders or extraneous decoration.
It was just on the tip of my tongue to refuse him, but the throb in my chest reminded me that I was on the cusp of needing to make some changes. I didn’t know what they needed to be, and I wasn’t sure attending a party full of drunken high schoolers would even remotely apply, but I knew I needed to be more open.
“Uh, okay. Maybe,” I fumbled noncommittally. It sure as hell wasn’t eloquent, and I wasn’t going to say an outright yes, but I figured a maybe was something.
“Cool,” he nodded with a smile.
I took two steps away when an idea came to me. Turning back, I called, “Would it be okay if I brought someone with me?”
“Girl or guy?” he asked with a smile.
I rolled my eyes in response and he laughed. “Sure. As long as it’s human and with you, it’s welcome.”
ONE FOOT FOUND ITS WAY in front of the other, but it didn’t stop me from glancing down to make sure I wasn’t walking through mud.
My dread made my feet feel heavy, and the sight of Blane standing up front in a crisp black suit and black shirt with the top two buttons open made my heart feel equally cumbersome. His long hair was still down, but it was obviously well-groomed and tucked behind his ears.
Decorations danced in my periphery, but found no traction.
All I could see was Blane.
I’d tried to sleep last night, but it hadn’t gone well. The fight with Blane, one-sided with my yelling as it might have been, had been torturing me. I felt like the scum of the earth for freaking out on him yesterday, the day before he tried to put his dad to rest.
And now I had to face him, my only hope being that I would only make his day easier rather than more difficult.
Franny stood at his side, a plain black shift dress exposing her too slim figure, and I was unbelievably grateful. Not for the too skinny part. No, I was proud of her for doing what she needed to do despite her personal struggles.
I slowed to a stop as I met the end of the line of people waiting to share their condolences. A year ago, I would have shoved straight past everyone and taken my place directly next to my friend, but now, with everything that had happened, it didn’t feel right.
Of course, neither did this. Acting like an acquaintance for crying out loud. My Gram would probably be disappointed.
I couldn’t believe I’d talked her and my parents out of coming. I couldn’t believe I’d done it, and I couldn’t believe they’d agreed.
Nervously, I stepped forward as the people in front of me did and smoothed the never-before-worn fabric of my dress along my body. Dresses, as a rule, weren’t my normal style. I was more of a jeans and t-shirts (or sweaters depending on the season) kind of girl. But certain occasions called for appropriate attire.
And if I could do one thing to honor William Hunt, one thing that meant nothing but was actually in my control, I could put effort into my appearance.
I rubbed at my arms as the line continued to progress, the anticipation killing me. Plus, now that I was closer, Emily’s grief was more visible. Tears ran down her perfect face, but she didn’t brush them away. Instead, she smiled and seemed to embrace the sadness.
It seemed like, maybe, that was her way of letting the closure wash over her. The water acting as a shower to rinse away her denial, the salt exfoliating the months of uncertainty. Losing your loved one is hard enough, but this went beyond that. William’s death, while ultimately was the work of God, was also the work of evil. And for us, it came out of nowhere.
Combine that with the fact that no body had been recovered, and you’ve come up with the perfect mixture for dissent.
But by letting the words of those around her sink in, the tears rolling uninhibited down her face, the reality of his permanent absence could form a rebuttal.
It couldn’t have been easy.
All of this was hard enough on me. And comparatively, I had very little invested.
Blane stood strong beside her, shaking hands with everyone and hugging those he held in the highest regard.
Unable to resist, I watched openly, noting the rise and fall of his shoulders and the line of his mouth. It never curved fully upward, but a few people made it try. He never faltered though, his back straight and proud.
He was every bit of the man his father had raised him to be.
Tears threatened, a startling reality that was starting to become commonplace, but I held them back.
Only four people stood between me and his
mother now, and I bolstered my courage, trying my best to come up with something to say that wasn’t completely lame. “I’m sorry for your loss” just didn’t seem to cut it.
I knew Gram would tell me that it didn’t matter what I said, as long as I said something. And in several other scenarios, I felt like that was sound advice. But not now. Not when I felt like I owed so much to the person whose physical being was missing. I believed very much that William’s spirit was still alive.
Emily’s eyes came to me, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. I didn’t feel worthy, but I wasn’t complaining. I would gladly be her rainbow in the rain if she would let me.
“Mrs. Hunt,” I greeted softly, taking both of her hands in mine. At the sound of my voice, Blane’s eyes flicked to me, but only for a second. He was in the middle of a conversation with the man in front of me, and his attention went back to him quickly.
“Whitney,” Mrs. Hunt said in return.
“I’m going to miss your husband terribly. In fact, I already do.” Her face softened as I spoke, and new tears spilled over onto the trails of the ones before. “He was always kind, always welcoming, and he treated me like I was…well, like I was worth something.” I felt overwhelmed, but I made myself hold her eyes. “And more than that, his son treats me the same way.”
Emily didn’t speak, but her actions screamed. She pulled me quickly into a hug, her arms wrapping tight around me. I hugged her back, trying to send any strength I had to give straight into her flesh and all the way into her bones.
She was doing so well, but if there was any way I could, I would help her do better.
When I stepped back from our hug, I found Blane’s eyes already on me. And they were intense.
Before I knew it, the inevitable was upon me, and I stepped over until I was face to face with one of the most handsome guys I had ever laid eyes on.
“Hi,” I squeaked out, effectively ruining anything eloquent I’d said up until that point.
Without preamble, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me like he used to. Like he had every day before September tenth.
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