by Eli Easton
Stop. Couldn’t think about that now. Not when I had to hold it together for Jake’s funeral.
I’d insisted on coming. I wanted to connect with people, share… something. But Gordo and Cameron weren’t on the same wavelength at all. I guess it was different if you’d been shut away in a room somewhere, hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t seen the carnage firsthand. Also, Gordo and Cameron had never exactly been sensitive guys. Jake had been the only one I could really talk to.
Jake’s loss hit me again, striking with a stab of pain and forcing a quick gasp of breath. The guy had been my teammate for as long as I could remember. Summer softball, he was there, handing me the bat, squatting at home base in a catcher’s mask when I was on the mound. In football, he and I worked the field like we could read each other’s minds. And what he meant to me wasn’t even the important part. I’d be cool with never seeing him again if I knew he was out there somewhere, living his life. He was seventeen. The fact that he was up there in a casket was so wrong.
I took deep breaths, trying to get myself to chill out.
“Let’s bow our heads,” said the minister, stepping up to the podium. “Heavenly Father, please be with us in this time of unbearable grief. It is beyond our understanding why the lives of so many beautiful, bright, and promising young people were taken. Why we lost beloved teachers and administrators who dedicated their lives to serving and protecting our children. We stand in the wilderness like Job and cry—why God? Why now? Why our community?”
Because of two assholes with semiautomatic rifles, I thought bitterly. The pressure on my chest grew tight, and my stomach was going south. It was hot, stifling. I took deep breaths through my nose, trying to get air.
Damn, there were a lot of people here. I looked around. The pews were packed, and there were people standing all along the back.
Jake hadn’t known this many people. They hadn’t come for him; they’d come for the school, for the tragedy. I sort of resented it.
All these people packed in like sardines. It would be a great place for someone to—
I squeezed my eyes shut, rolled my neck. No. No one was gonna come in here shooting. That was just dumb. Still, dread crept up my spine like a knife-wielding, maniacal inchworm. I had a strong urge to push past Cameron and Gordo, to get out of here, to go hide.
My head was fucked-up. At least I had enough wits left to realize that. I’d been having super-bad nightmares. And sometimes, in the hospital, if there was a loud noise in the hall, I panicked. A few times I’d gotten up and gone in the bathroom and stayed in there for a while. The doctor said it was common for shooting victims to have PTSD. Principal Baylor said so too. Well, he’d said, “You’ve been through one heck of a trauma,” and that the school would have special volunteer counselors available when it reopened to “help start the healing.”
But I hadn’t thought about how the PTSD would affect me once I left the hospital. I hadn’t thought how I might feel in a crowded church, or seeing Jake’s coffin, or….
Stop thinking!
I tuned the preacher out and stared at the hymn book in the holder in front of me for a while. Paper book wood. Paper book wood. Everything was fine. I hung my head, hoping to get more blood to my brain. There was a noise like something fell, and my head jerked up. I scanned the room for danger. And there he was.
Landon Hughes.
He was seated on the opposite side of the aisle about four rows up. He had on a classy black dress shirt and tie. There was no mistaking his short, wavy brown hair or the serious set to his narrow shoulders. I could see just a sliver of his face—his expression grim. He looked so uptight and proper. For some reason, it made me smile.
Something eased inside me, like cool water had been poured on the burning pit that was my soul. It wasn’t that I’d been worried Landon had been hurt. My mom had said he was fine, and I’d seen videos of him online. Saw one where he’d been interviewed by CNN outside the school right after the shooting. He’d been wearing a too-big white T-shirt; probably he’d borrowed it. There’d been blood on his hands.
My blood.
But even though I knew Landon was fine, it was a relief to see him in the flesh.
Margherita pizza.
I’m with you, and I’ve stopped the bleeding, so we’ve got time. I won’t leave you.
I squeezed the lip of the pew on either side of my thighs. My stomach hurt so fucking bad. I wished I was home in bed. Or at least sitting next to Landon instead of Cameron. Imagining Landon sitting to my left felt… comforting. Landon would understand. He’d understood on that day. He would understand now.
THE FUNERAL ended with four football players and two of Jake’s cousins carrying the coffin out on their shoulders. Jake’s mom and dad followed behind it, clutching each other. It was sort of unbearable.
I don’t think that word means what you think it means.
That word, “unbearable,” was starting to lose its meaning. Because, in the end, what choice do we have but to bear it?
Gordo and Cameron said they were gonna take off; we bumped fists, and they left. I made it outside, one hand holding my side. The bright daylight chased some of the shadows out of my mind, but the jostling crowd was too much. I got out of the way, moving down the church’s stone wall to find a place to lean against it, out of the fray. The sun-soaked stones warmed my back.
I watched people form clusters to talk and hug and cry. I’d wanted that. I’d come here for that. Yet there I was, hiding against the wall. I wanted to go tell Jake’s folks how sorry I was, but they were already surrounded by people trying to talk to them. I saw a group of guys from the team with Coach Baker on the other side of the crowd, but I didn’t want to fight the crowd to get over there or face a lot of questions about when I’d be coming back, if I did.
Wow. I was seriously screwed up. I crossed my arms over my chest and tucked my shaking hands under my armpits to hide them.
Then Landon came out of the church. He looked around and saw me. He smiled big, like he was genuinely happy to see me. He stood there looking at me for a moment and biting his lip, as if unsure if he should come over. I nodded at him, and something on my face must have decided him, because he said something to that red-haired girl he was with, Madison, and headed my way. As he walked over, his tall, skinny form looked older than usual in gray dress pants, the black shirt and black tie. His face was drawn, like he hadn’t eaten or slept much more than I had. But a white girl reached out to him for a hug, and he wrapped his long arms around her. Then a black chick named Ali hugged the two of them.
They were on the edge of the crowd. I felt too antsy to wait, worried I’d lose my nerve. So I walked over there.
Landon saw me over Ali’s shoulder. His face broke into a smile. “Hey, Brian!”
“Hey,” I said, my heart pounding.
Landon broke the hug with the girls. Without any self-consciousness, he stepped forward and hugged me. He smelled of lemony soap and a bit of starch. I was ready to hang on, wanted to, but I didn’t even have time to get my arms around him before he was pulling back.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He looked abashed. His hand ghosted over my stomach. “How is it?”
Of course he knew exactly where the gunshot wound was.
The memory sent a wave of weakness through me and a kind of soul-ache. I wanted him to hug me again. I wasn’t fucking fragile, and everyone else from school had been hugging it out. Why not me? But it seemed weird to try to hug him when he’d just let me go. My fingers closed around his wrist instead. He looked down, and I could see the instant he remembered. I remembered too. I abruptly let go. Emotions welled up like a black flood.
“Hey,” he said softly. He stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder. “Brian. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice wrecked. “Just…. It’s Jake’s funeral.”
Landon’s face grew haunted. “I’m so sorry, Brian. I know he was your friend.”
“The best.”
Landon rubbe
d my shoulder with that one strong hand, his eyes worried. “I didn’t know you were out of the hospital. I heard you were gonna be okay, though. Did you… was there damage to any organs?”
I took a shaky breath and ran a hand through my hair. “Lost some of my intestines, and there was some other damage, but they patched me up. Doctor said one inch in any direction and it would have been a lot worse. But yeah, I’m gonna be all right.”
“That’s amazing! Great news. You really scared me there for a bit.”
He looked away, like it was too much. And maybe it was. The connection I felt when he looked into my eyes was like it had been that day in the cafeteria. It was like invisible touching, like something you could never see inside me, the real me, melding with that same thing in him.
I couldn’t remember ever feeling that way with another human being before, except maybe in a moment here or there with my mom. And maybe I had no right to that here, on an ordinary day, when I was not in the process of dying. Maybe that was a onetime, extraordinary circumstances kind of deal. I had no right to take that much of him. We didn’t know each other at all.
For example, he had no idea what a chickenshit I was.
“Landon?” Madison walked up. She slung her arm through Landon’s, and the moment became ordinary.
“Hey, um, Madison, do you know Brian? I think you said you guys have a class together?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Composition, right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Brian.” She had two spots of red under her eyes like she was embarrassed. “Landon told me what happened. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her voice was thick with sincerity. With pity.
“Thanks,” I said. “Glad you’re okay too.”
There was an awkward silence as Madison looked between me and Landon.
Landon bit his bottom lip and frowned again. “Hey. Um. We were gonna go get some sandwiches at this deli a few blocks away, then come back for Chandal’s service at three. You’re welcome to join us.”
My heart beat out a rapid-fire burst. But I didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of Landon’s friends, people I didn’t know. Besides, I was starting to crash hard. What I really wanted at that moment was a pain pill. A whole one. Maybe even two.
“I shouldn’t. I wasn’t even supposed to get out of bed for this, but it was Jake, so….”
“Yeah, totally.” Landon nodded, his face earnest. “You need help getting to your car? Or a ride? Or—”
I looked around and saw my mom and dad working their way toward me through the crowd. “Nah. My folks are here.”
“Cool.”
Landon tugged gently, and I looked down. I was holding on to his wrist again. Jesus. When had that happened? For a moment I could smell the acrid scent of gunfire lingering in the cafeteria, of Pine-Sol cleanser mixed with blood. I blinked and let go, took a step back.
Landon watched me with a worried expression.
“Okay. So. Let me know how Chandal’s service goes,” I said, trying to cover. And, God, that was lame. As if a funeral had a wide variety of possible outcomes. The pallbearers were hysterical! We had a grand time!
“Yeah, sure,” Landon said. “Do you want me to….”
“You could text me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do that,” Landon agreed with an adamant nod. He pulled out his cell phone.
I felt my face burn, but I rattled off my number, and Landon plugged it in. A moment later, my phone chimed in my pocket.
“Cool,” Landon said. “That’s me. So I’ll, uh, text you later.”
“Yeah, good.”
“’Kay. Get some rest.” A tiny smile and he was gone.
I refused my mom’s help getting to the car, but as soon as I was inside, I groaned. “Can I get a pain pill?”
“Sure, honey. You should have it with food, though, so as soon as we get home, I’ll make you some soup. And I should check your bandage, and we can put some ice on your stomach. God, that was so awful. Poor, poor Janie and Paul.”
“We’re not going to the cemetery,” my dad put in firmly. “You’ve had enough, and so has your mother.”
At last, one of my dad’s pronouncements that I could 100 percent agree with.
Chapter 7
Landon
AFTER CHANDAL’S funeral, I was invited to go to Samuel’s house with a group of kids from school. His mom was going to make dinner for everyone. But I was exhausted. I’d been to ten funerals that week, and I needed some alone time. Time to think about Brian.
My mom and dad had gone to Chandal’s funeral too. My mom knew her mom from a class project they’d volunteered for when Chandal and I were in eighth grade. My folks got home before me, and when I walked in, they were sitting on the couch, my dad’s arm around my mom. They both looked like they’d been crying.
My mom came over to me and hugged me, then my dad came over, and we had this Landon-sandwich hug for a long time.
“I’m just so angry,” my mom choked out.
I nodded. “Me too.”
My mom pulled back and looked at me. She was like an older version of me in a petite package and female form—wavy brown hair and a serious face with big brown eyes widely set over broad cheekbones. She was also no more than one hundred ten pounds soaking wet.
She wiped away her tears impatiently. “You know we love you, right? And we’re so proud of you. My heart breaks for all these parents. I don’t know what we would have done if we’d lost you.”
“I know.” My parents were awesome. They’d always supported me, no matter what. And with me an only child, they didn’t have an heir to spare.
My dad was tall and still skinny in his forties. He had a narrow face compared to me and my mom, a studious look, and hair that was salt-and-pepper. He had a soft voice and soft hands. He was a gentle guy, and I loved that about him. He squeezed my arm. “If there’s anything you need, Lanny. If you want to talk to someone… I’ve had a few recommendations already from friends at work. Got the names of two excellent therapists. Maybe it would be good for you to go, have someone besides us to help make sense of it all.”
“There is no sense in it,” my mom said bitterly.
“I know, love.”
“But your dad’s right.” She raised her chin. “I know they’re offering grief counseling at school, but this would be just for you.”
“I’ll think about it. Right now I want to crash.”
“Sure, honey.” My mom stroked my hair, which was too much, so I stepped away. She smiled then, like I was being such a teen. “I was going to make something easy for dinner. Wraps, maybe. Want me to bring a plate to your room?”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom.”
I jogged upstairs to my room. It occurred to me that I should take a walk or something. That might clear my head and wake me up from the heavy weight of grief. But I didn’t really feel like it. Besides, there was something else I wanted to do.
I kicked off my shoes, changed out of my funeral-going clothes, and put on my slouchiest sweats. Then I sat cross-legged on my bed and pulled out my phone. I stared at Brian’s number.
Man, he had looked like hell today. He’d lost at least ten pounds, and he hadn’t had it to lose. He’d always been sort of golden, shining with health. The perfect, all-American boy, seen from afar, untouchable. But today he’d been pale and fragile-looking with dark purple circles under his eyes. I guess nearly dying will do that to you. But what really got to me was what I saw in his eyes.
I’d seen that look a lot in the past week. Some kids at The Wall managed to bounce back from the shooting fast. Some even seemed sort of excited about it. Most of those douchenozzles hadn’t been close to the shooters’ path and didn’t lose anyone they really cared about.
The majority, though, were shell-shocked and traumatized. The school was closed for two weeks. It wouldn’t reopen for classes until October 15th. But there’d been impromptu gatherings there, a shrine at the school sign where people put flowers and pictures, cards and stuffed an
imals. A prayer service had taken place there on Tuesday. I’d gone over for that, along with my parents, and I went back with Madison and Josiah once too, to take flowers. And then there’d been dozens of funerals. Every place more than a few students gathered, there was so much crying and hugging.
What struck me the most was the fear in people’s eyes. And there was a dazed look like they were still in shock, like they’d been betrayed and didn’t understand why, like maybe they would never get over the sense of random violence, of violation. Brian’s eyes had looked like that. He’d startled a couple of times while we were talking, looking around like there might be someone who wanted to hurt him. And he’d held on to my wrist as if he didn’t even know he was doing it, as if he was silently asking what he’d asked that day: Don’t leave me.
When it came down to it, I didn’t know Brian. And maybe the best thing for me to do was to leave him alone. Let him get back to his friends—his surviving friends, anyway—and his routine. I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to act like we were now besties because of what had happened in the cafeteria. He didn’t owe me anything. And maybe he’d just as soon forget those long, horrible minutes. Maybe he’d already forgotten them. I’d heard that some victims block out moments of trauma, as if the brain has a self-protecting reset button. Go back to the last restore point.
Today at Jake’s funeral, though, it hadn’t seemed like Brian had forgotten. Hell, there were moments when he seemed to be reliving it.
I sat there in my bedroom, staring at his number and chewing my lip. I wanted to reach out to him. But I didn’t want to be weird.
Then I realized that if he were anyone else, some random girl or a regular guy I’d helped that day, I would absolutely be texting him right now. I probably would have gone to the hospital too. It was perfectly natural after what had happened. It was even the polite, considerate thing to do. A human thing.
