by Dylan Heart
“You got them?” I ask, staring blankly out the window.
“I do, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I won’t make it through the service without them.”
He sighs as he reaches into the armrest and pulls out a bottle. I grab for it but he jerks away and unscrews the lid. He takes out one pill and hands it to me, then stuffs the bottle into his pocket. I don’t think he trusts me with them. He should relax and be happy that I’m asking for Xanax and not Molly.
Even though I think it, I can’t bring myself to say it. Molly would daze me—that’s for certain, but it would also suppress the pain, even if only fleetingly.
Blue checks his watch and pops his door open. Must be time to go in. Without anything to drink, I swallow the pill dry.
Who decides what music is played during funerals? They should be fired. Each and every funeral director in the world. This isn’t the Titanic, and this isn’t our final moments. I’m not asking for Alanis Morissette or Katy Perry, but damn what just a little bass would do to lighten the mood.
Dillon awaits us at the front of the room, permanently locked inside a closed casket. There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do just to see him again. There’s an emptiness present, ironic in a room full of people. The world around us moves at full speed, while those of us here in Lakeside seem to be stuck. I wonder if this is what purgatory feels like.
A light breeze blows in behind us from the open church doors. It’s warm, suffocating, and violent. As we make our way to our seats, I spot Cassadee out of the corner of my eye, sobbing into a handkerchief. She barely knew Dillon, and even in a world that has quit making sense, the reason she’s here is something I’m unable to grasp.
Summer and Tyson have three seats saved in the third pew with Bibles laid across the bench. Blue leads me into our row. I sit down, placing the Bible into the back of the bench ahead of us. Summer is calm. She looks peaceful and at ease, but when she grabs my hand and squeezes it, I know it’s an act. “Did you see Cassadee?” she whispers without facing me.
I nod. “Where’s Joey?”
“In the bathroom.” I’ve never heard her be this quiet. “He’s drinking.”
I guess we’re all fucked up, each in our own little way. Summer can hide it better than the rest of us. Tyson’s eyes are bloodshot red, matching his wrinkled plaid shirt. I think of Joey, drinking alone in the church bathroom. There’s no doubt in my mind that that’s exactly what Dillon would have wanted, although maybe not the alone part. He wouldn’t want us to be trashed, but he would definitely recommend a shot or two to take the edge off. I haven’t been invited yet to the inevitable celebration-of-life party, and I’m not sure I’d even want to go. It may be exactly what Dillon would want, but it would still feel wrong. A shot of Jack doesn’t sound too bad, though. Maybe I’ll join Joey in the bathroom.
Too late.
Blue slides closer to me as Joey scoots into the last seat in the row. He barely cares to hide the bottle of Jack as he scoots it in between his and Blue’s hips. The scent of whiskey is as strong as year-old cologne, except it smells better.
Sobs complement the soundtrack of grim tracks. They’ve always seemed quiet—sobs, I mean—but they begin to drown out everything else. Like a thousand people, all screaming for release. Dillon’s mother, Teresa, cries the loudest. It’s a terrible sight, and like an accident, I can’t look away. Sadness is the most difficult thing to describe. It’s so much easier to spot. I want to give her a hug and slip her a Xanax.
I know it’s unethical to drug someone without their consent, but I’d be doing her a favor. It’s not like the pain is gone, because it’s not. You know it’s there, you just can’t reach out and grasp it.
I understand that some people need to go through the agony of grief on days like this. I’ve heard it’s part of the healing process, but I’m not strong enough for that. Not today.
The church doors close, and the finality sinks in. The air flow is cut off, and while I’ve never been claustrophobic, I feel as if I’m about to choke. The walls move in on us, and on the inside, I’m screaming for someone to open the damn doors.
Chapter Nineteen
Joey stands at the front of the church, elevated above us on top of the stage. He leans against the podium. With one hand, he moves to adjust the microphone. An obnoxious, tormenting screech echoes through the silence of the church.
He clears his throat and prepares to speak. He’s weak, both his body and his voice, as if his grasp on this world is endangered and he could disappear in mid-sentence. I worry for him and for everyone in attendance. He’s always been the least even-tempered one amongst us. Toss in alcohol and he could crash and burn, catching us all up in the blaze.
“I woke up today sick to my stomach. If I didn’t have to stand here in front of all of you, I don’t think I would have come. Because I’ve lost something that I can never get back.” He shifts his weight to the side, gripping the podium tightly. “We’ve all lost the same thing in different ways. I lost my best friend, but he was always more than that. He was a brother, and growing up an only child, that’s all I ever wanted.
“It would be selfish of me to stand here and not acknowledge everyone else who has lost something. But if I’m being honest, my reality, the one in which I was the only one to lose someone so precious, was much easier to bear. In that reality, I’m able to pretend.”
I’ve never heard him speak this way before, like there’s something else there. A hint of something he’s always been able to hide. “But when I stand here, in front of this room, I can’t deny it anymore. That it’s permanent, that it’s tragic, that it’s fucking stupid.”
The crowd is taken aback, sending ripples of murmurs through the air. You’re not supposed to curse in a church, but as life has shown us recently, rules are broken.
“During these things, people always get up here and claim that the deceased was the greatest of us. I guess that helps many forgive and move on, but this is different because Dillon really was special, and he was loving, and he was the greatest man I’ve ever known. The greatest man I’ll ever know.
“None of us will ever know what was going through his mind in those final moments, and to me, that’s the most tragic thing of all. The idea that we will never see it coming and that it’ll happen to many of us someday on some mundane Tuesday. It won’t be sad for the one who’s lost. It’ll be sad for those of us left behind. I think about walking down the street and buying an ice cream cone. It’s chocolate, my favorite, and I’ll never know it’s the last thing I’ll ever eat, because my life will be over the second a car veers out of control.”
Summer sobs into a tissue. Tyson’s feet patter against the floor nervously. Blue holds me tightly. And I’m trapped in a theater watching Joey get struck by a car. It’s gruesome, but I can’t look away. His words have meaning, and it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Dillon wanted something in his final moments, and I wish I knew what it was. Not because it would change anything. It wouldn’t, but there’s something comforting about knowing, isn’t there?” There’s a sudden shift in his voice, the break I saw coming. I take in a deep breath and hold it. “So what do we know now? We know that we’re all here for the same reason, to mourn the passing of Dillon Parker. Or maybe we’re celebrating his existence, and the mark he left on the world. A mark that we all carry. And it was great and it was beautiful, and he was ours, and now he’s not.” His voice explodes, taking even Joey himself off guard as he pulls back from the mic. His jaw pulls tight. His eyelids flicker, trying to trap his tears. He shakes his head, then continues, “I don’t know what comes next, what comes in the future, but this mark seems too heavy a burden. When I talk about the concept of knowing, it’s all bullshit, because the only thing I know is that I loved him. And now he’s gone.
“But there has to be a light, doesn’t there? There has to be a silver lining, because without it, all that’s left is emptiness. And I suppose t
he day will come when the hurt begins to fade into a whisper so silent that only I’ll be able to hear it. I wish that day was tomorrow, but until then, I’ll say this. I love you, Dillon Parker. You were a friend, a brother, a nephew, a son, and there’s a hole in the world without you in it.”
Everything inside of me is paralyzed, unable to respond in any adult manner. I should cry, but I’ve been reborn as a machine. I stare blankly ahead as Joey flees the stage with grace that breaks completely once he hits the floor. His lip trembles, holding everything back until he storms past us, past his seat.
The church doors are thrown open, the flash of cool air a relief before the doors slam back shut. I should chase after him, but again, I’m paralyzed.
The speech begins to register with me. The first thing I notice is how bitter, angry, and beautiful it was.
The second thing I notice is that I’m about to be the bride running out of the church.
A preacher ascends the steps to the podium, the crowd still silent as the sound of his every step carries throughout the room. When he clears his throat to speak, I’m finally able to move. If I’m forced to sit here and listen to this man give purpose to Dillon’s death, there will likely be two coffins sitting up front. I don’t need to hear a word about God’s plan.
I pat Blue on his leg, grabbing his attention. “Wait here.”
I don’t care what the world must think of me as I sweep down the center aisle. The preacher waits to speak, for whatever reason, until I’m out the big oak doors. Joey sits on the concrete steps, his head buried in his knees. I place a hand on him softly and get the reaction I should have known I’d get. He springs to his feet, wiping the corners of his eyes furiously.
“What do you want?” He spins on his feet so that he’s both looking at me and away from me.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
“I needed some air.” His eyes pull tight. “I don’t know if I can go back in there.”
“I think we have to.”
He laughs softly. “I don’t have to do anything.”
“You know what I mean.”
He shakes his head. “How are you okay? How can you stand there and act like this isn’t a big deal?”
My face pulls tight. “It is a big deal.”
“Then why doesn’t it look hard for you?” The whiskey begins to take effect and his voice rises. He finally turns to face me completely. His eyes are swollen.
“I’m sorry you think that,” I say. “To be honest, I don’t feel much of anything.”
“That figures,” he mumbles under his breath.
Excuse me. My nails roll into my palm.
As the church doors are pushed open gently, Tyson glides down the steps, the bottle of Jack in one hand. “I’m taking him home.”
“You guys can’t leave.”
Joey rolls his eyes. Tyson hands Joey the bottle and takes me aside. “I don’t want to, but I’m worried what will happen if he stays.”
I unroll my fist and pinch the bridge of my nose, ready for the tears, for the release. “You’ll never have this chance to say goodbye again.”
He shrugs, not because he doesn’t care, but because there’s nothing else to do. “I already said goodbye the night I drove home alone and saw the lights.”
I know that he cares. I know they both do, but it doesn’t make sense to me for them to leave. It feels like they’re running out on the responsibility and the rest of us can’t. Joey’s halfway to the car, nursing on the bottle, and I know they’ve already made up their minds. Tyson leans into me, hugging me so tight that I can feel his pain. “I love you, Charlie,” he whispers.
When he’s ready to pull away, I latch onto him just a moment longer. We’re in this together, like we’ve always been. The motley crew of Lakeside.
The hair on my arms stands on end, and I know. The only raindrop in the sky splashes onto my hand, and I know. Thunder rips across the sky, starting with a whimper and ending in a roar, and I know. If He exists, He understands the solemn pain in all of our hearts on this long day that will shape the rest of our lives. I’m ready for the rain to rinse my soul.
Without warning, the gates of heaven open up and it’s on. No buildup and no mercy. The temperature drops in seconds, the wind cuts through the cemetery. The crowd begins to dissipate as the rain races toward the ground. The sky dims. I should follow everyone, but this is where I need to be. After everyone is gone, I’m going to need some time, because I honestly don’t know if I could ever stand to come back.
Summer touches my shoulder. The nod of my head lets her know it’s okay if she goes. Blue wraps his arm around me and I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asks me.
“Not yet,” I say somberly.
He rubs my arm. “No rush.”
Being comforted by my boyfriend at my ex-boyfriend’s funeral should be awkward, but the pain is stronger. I love–loved–them both, in different ways, for different reasons. My life could have ended with either one of them, and I believe I would have been happy. Fate, or God, or Nostradamus took that choice from me.
But I’ve already made a choice between old and new, and I was content with that choice. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult now. Will I find myself in an annoying, young adult love triangle with Blue and a ghost?
The rain is freezing, but I can’t bring myself to care. Our warm breath dances in front of us, putting on a show.
Chapter Twenty
I desperately need sleep, but it’s not in the cards. It’s past midnight, and whenever I try closing my eyes, I can’t fall asleep. My eyelids are sore from forcing them shut. Blue lies behind me, holding me while he sleeps peacefully. His embrace is strong, as if he believes he’ll lose me if he lets go. He has no intention of letting go. He breathes slow and shallow, well into a deep sleep.
It takes all my strength to move his arm off me and reposition myself so I’m facing him. He flinches in his sleep, and his arm finds its way back around me, pulling me in tight. A mere inch separates our faces. He’s my world now.
When it becomes clear I’ll be up all night, I pull away from him and spin my legs off the edge of the bed. He turns to his side, placing a hand under his head.
I walk into the bathroom and flip on the light. My reflection in the oversized mirror above the sink startles me—not out of surprise but because I’m tired of running into her. She’s had her soul ripped out, replaced with emptiness. Her eyes tell of a fairytale with the final, happily-ever-after pages ripped out. Her pale face is sick with worry and regret. Guilt hangs over her like a cloud, causing the lights above to flicker.
I turn away from her and flip off the light switch. It’s easier than punching the mirror into a million pieces.
The water is cold at first, appropriate and pleasant against my skin, waking me up from the sleep I craved but couldn’t find. My throat begins to tighten, making it hard to breathe. I reach down and turn the hot water all the way to the right and the temperature races from cold to warm. My breaths become shallow. My hand rests on the knob until I twist the cold knob to the left. With every twist, the temperature spikes.
If we had a normally functioning water heater, I’d probably need emergency care. Steam fills the bathtub and then the entire bathroom. It clears my airways and wakes me up on the inside. For the first time today, I’m able to feel something. My skin burns and my mind races.
I grab a towel and step out of the shower. The bathroom light flickers on. My eyes squint shut, the brightness disorienting me. “Blue?”
“Are you okay? It’s like a sauna in here.”
My eyes adjust to the light, and I see him standing at the doorway, steam billowing around him. “I’m good. I just needed a shower.”
“It’s really late,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I know, but I can’t stay here. I need to get out.”
His palm falls to the frame of the door, and he lean
s against it. “Where do you wanna go? I’ll take you.”
The moonlight bounces off the highway and the headlights shine through the darkness. Blue’s too tired to say much. It seems to be a chore for him to stay awake, his eyes blinking a million times a minute. The occasional yawn from him and the tires spinning against the wet pavement break through the deafening silence. I face the window, my eyes transfixed by the forest flying behind us. Every tree passed is another memory coming back to haunt me, like that night Dillon, Tyson, Joey, Summer and I spent the night in the woods playing a never-ending game of flashlight tag.
The blinker flicks on, stealing my attention. There’s a hypnotic quality to the beat of the flashing lights as we slow down, making a careful right turn onto Joey’s dirt road. The rain hasn’t stopped since the funeral, but it’s turned into a light sprinkle. Everyone at the party is probably soaked. Party. What an obnoxious word in the context of what today was. It fits all the parameters of the word—after all, there are people socializing with a healthy dose of booze. Still, it feels so wrong, and calling this a celebration of life doesn’t take the sting out of it either.
We pull to the side of the road, parking behind a string of cars, all sitting dangerously close to a foot-deep ditch. The driveway’s packed with cars, and I’d bet that nobody’s leaving until sunrise. The front of the farmhouse looks void of human life, and all the inside lights are out.
I hop out of the Jeep, almost jumping into the ditch. We cross the slick road, and as we make our way through the maze of parked cars, I hear people for the first time. It’s a slight relief that this isn’t just another loud party with drunks behaving like juveniles. This will be different. We’re not here for the sole purpose of getting trashed and having fun. We are here to remember the young man we’ve all lost.
