Six Goodbyes We Never Said

by Candace Ganger

  “Are you … okay?” he asks, emphasizing that word again.

  “Aside from almost kicking that guy’s innocent ass, terrible. You?”

  “To be frank, I was having a rather stressful morning.” His voice dips, losing its usual cheeriness I hate.

  “Who’s Frank?” I can’t help myself. “J/K. Why was it stressful?”

  “I misplaced my recorder and cried for an hour before Joelle found it.”

  My feet kick at the ground. I refrain from confessing I had it, thought about listening to what was on it, but decided to keep it mum. Hiccup located it before I could give it back. It’s the dog’s fault, really.

  “You don’t need it,” I say.

  “My insides tend to disagree.”

  I study his face, the way his eyes twitch, the way he bites his lower lip after finishing a word, and it feels like he is me. Not always, but in this moment. I decide to do something Dad would’ve: offer grace.

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Thank you for stepping in. I could’ve been in danger and you’d have saved the day.” With his fedora still clinging to his chest, he offers a slight wave and walks away.

  I watch the back of him. He’s so alone. A star falling from the sky without a single planet to catch him. I start to wonder if it might not be so bad to fall right along with him.

  “Wait,” I say.

  He turns, not hopeful, not much of anything except a shell of the kind boy I spoke with before.

  “Can I come?”

  He smiles. Lifts his fedora full of broken recorder to his mouth. “The princess finally sees the frog for his full worth, while he’s always seen her for hers.”

  “Now it’s just sad,” I say.

  His shoulders slump until a plane passes overhead, pulling his attention. “There goes another one. We’d better hurry.”

  “What?”

  “Are you joining or not?” He signals with an inviting wave of the finger. “I’ll let you have the first wish.”

  I don’t know what it means, or where we’re going. It doesn’t matter.

  He says I get a wish, and I know exactly what I’ll wish for.

  Breaking: Insides exposed on Ivy Springs levee; prepare to evacuate.

  Few cars drive past as we slink into murky twilight. The feeling of being on a roller coaster as you hit the peak of the climb and catapult into the descent—that’s what my stomach feels like. We head to the levee, where benches hang by metal cables connected to the trees. She sits first, and I follow, allowing her enough space that a whole other person could manifest between us. The river water glitters from the slow-burning sun as the moon begins to reveal itself and the stars brighten their celestial patterns.

  “Look up,” I tell her.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “To make a wish.”

  “You know falling stars are dying, right? Wishing on them is morbid.”

  “Not on a star; an airplane.”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “No, did you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s settled. No one is injured.”

  We sit awhile in silence. Her body angles back to search me over, head to toe, before her gaze drifts to the endless blanket of sky. I let a grin slip through. The sun eventually slinks away, few aircraft taillights evident.

  “There’s one,” I say.

  She finds it, holds its movements steady, and what she’s wishing for, I suspect it’s something I wish for myself. When she blinks to a different section of sky, I know the wish is finished, and carefully pick through the jumbled words in my brain before speaking.

  “Do you have a significant other?” I blurt. So much for my sorting process.

  “Rude,” she says.

  “I’m only trying to peel back your layers.”

  She guffaws. “Gross. Please don’t.”

  “Oh,” I say, the disappointment ringing through. “Don’t you need a friend?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “What a lonely path to walk.” I should know. I fidget with my fingers. We idle in the silence that expands in size.

  “Staying mostly friendless works for me,” she adds. “I’m not bothered by it. Just want to clarify.”

  “Understood.” It feels as if she’s punched a hole in my chest and ripped my heart in two.

  “Do you have a significant other?” she asks, mocking.

  “Never.”

  “Never? As in ever?”

  “As in ever.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “No one’s ever taken an interest, I suppose.”

  “Sad.” She loses the sarcasm, adding a touch of emphasized sympathy.

  Our conversation stalls. I feel slightly too confined by the open space. I pull my recorder pieces into view and pretend my mechanical friend is still intact. “The two sit inches away, but worlds apart. Her heart isn’t written on her sleeve, but remains safely tucked away for the right moment, with the right person he hopes could someday be him.”

  She leaps from her seat with her hands out in front of her. “STOP! It’s not even functional!”

  I lay the pieces aside. “I’m so used to the way people react to me, it’s easier to hide behind something.”

  She sits with a heavy sigh. “I get it, but there has to be a less creepy way.”

  I search the sky again, lost in the dotted stars coming to life.

  “Why’d you move here, anyway? There’s nothing here.”

  I hold my tongue.

  “Hello?” She waves her hand in front of my frozen gaze.

  “Stella thought it sounded like the perfect place for a fresh start when my issues at school didn’t resolve, so Thomas transferred jobs.”

  She fidgets. “I’ve heard parts of the story, but not that.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s a nice town.”

  “But do you like it?”

  “As much as one can, I guess.”

  She searches for what to say next. There’s never an easy transition in discussing how I came to be with Stella and Thomas. Some expect me to tell them bluntly. When I told Violet, my words flowed so easily—but now, I can’t seem to say even the most basic of facts.

  “I know your parents died,” she blurts. “I’m sorry.”

  My lips tighten. I fight that choking feeling back so as not to burst into tears. “Thank you.”

  “Do you feel like Stella and Thomas love you?” she asks.

  “I do. I’m just not sure I know how to love them back the way they deserve. I feel guilty for that. Do you feel loved?”

  “Sometimes. I don’t deserve it, though.”

  “Unequivocally false. We’re all deserving of love and compassion.”

  Her attention snaps to me, as if I’ve said something she hadn’t considered, before wavering back to the sky. “Another plane.”

  I watch the way she pinches her eyes shut, her lips moving words in silence.

  “Let me ask you something,” she says, “would you rather … always have to say everything on your mind, or never be able to speak again?”

  “Do I get to use my recorder?”

  “Ugh,” she groans.

  “I can’t imagine never using my voice again so I guess the first one.”

  “I’d argue you already do that.” She elbows me in jest.

  “Touché.”

  “Would you rather wade through a mile’s worth of dead bodies or shit?”

  “Dark and rather disturbing.”

  She shrugs. “Choose wisely. Our potential friendship will ride on what you say.”

  I contain my smile. “I feel like you’d rather move through piles of the dead, but I’m not sure why, so I suppose I’ll follow in your footsteps. That’s what friends would do.”

  She looks to me with a smirk. “I would’ve chosen the shit. We’re so not friends now, you weirdo.”

  “Understood.”

  SKY FULL OF WISHES
/>   When Dad was home, he’d shake me awake and carry me outside whatever house we lived in at the time. While I was in my dreary state, he’d grab my hand and point at the big canvas of sky while I’d complain in a sheepish voice that I couldn’t see what he saw and I begged to go back to bed, but he’d insist, point to a spot in the sky and say his wish out loud, and as he opened his palm, a shooting star would fall in the distance. I’d clap in awe of his trick while Nell would stand in the doorway, never getting what it is we saw. Dad would whisper, “The sky is full of wishes.” I used to think he was magic, invincible. I think the balloons believed it, too. I can’t help the sinking feeling in the deepest pit of my stomach as another plane vanishes in the distance. Or maybe it’s a star, falling, dying.

  I think I’ve just let Dad go.

  If you wish on a falling star, it’s said that whatever you’ve put your heart and soul into will crash-land somewhere under the Northern Lights. If you wish on an airplane, as Dew’s father suggested, your heart and soul are guaranteed to be momentarily in flight, landing safely in a designated wish zone, where, Dew imagined, airline employees sort wishes into bins with the luggage. Some wishes would make it to their owner’s hands, while others—the goodbyes we never said—would be lost in transit. I have six. Dew was still waiting on the right plane to carry a wish so big, it needed extra cargo space. Because saying goodbye swallows the whole sky.

  NAIMA

  He points up as another plane passes overhead. The engine’s roar is faint but the light of the fire trailing behind leaves a smattering of dust. I think of all the reasons I could never fly on one, and how big they are but also how small, while Dew closes his eyes, his lips muttering something I can’t hear.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s an extra-special wish.”

  As soon as he says it, I flash back to the night Dad created a falling star from his palm like magic, and it becomes crystal clear. Dad lied.

  I’d wished on an airplane, too.

  “So, what did you wish for?” I ask.

  “I can’t tell or it won’t come true.”

  “Whatever. I bet it was something dumb. Like a new fedora.”

  “I like my fedora.”

  “That makes one of us.” I smile and see he is, too. “You should always wish in multiples. To increase your chances. Six, always six.”

  “Why six?”

  I stumble on my words. “Never mind. Do what you want.”

  We sit for a while in the warm air and silence. I can’t count the seconds or claw at my neck. I feel okay. After watching the planes, the stars and moon, I feel Dew’s stare. When I finally turn, he’s just … staring. Big honeydew eyes, full of hope, or something like it.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re like a beautiful painting, perfectly executed.”

  I laugh nervously. “What a freakin’ line. You’re full of those.”

  “You don’t even see the air of beauty that precedes you. Like your soul is on the outside. You wear it, but pretend it’s lost, forgetting others can see it.”

  Uhhhhhh …

  “What are you doing after high school?” I ask to break the wall of awkward.

  “I’d love to be a news reporter, but I’m not sure I can get out of my own way long enough to be on camera. It’s too much to figure out right now.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. Why are we supposed to have our entire futures mapped out before we get to vote? Like, get off my case, SHARON.”

  “Who’s Sharon?”

  “No one. Well, everyone. Like the world in general.”

  “I see. Where do you think life will take you after graduation? Will you stay in Ivy Springs?”

  “God, no. Being here hurts. I’ve got my sights set on becoming a combat medic. So I can save the wounded in the field. No one will die on my watch. Not a GD one.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be stepping into Staff Sergeant Rodriguez’s shoes.”

  “More like beside them so they aren’t blown off in the first place.” My voice strains.

  His eyes cast up to the planes, a slight twinkle rivaling the stars. “I bet your therapist fully supports this goal. It sounds curative.”

  “Ah, you see, me and therapy have a long, sordid history.”

  His eyes find me. I feel the weight of all he’s carrying but pretending not to. “I understand your apprehension. Sometimes it takes trial and error to find the right person you feel safe enough to open up to.”

  I interrupt, the words unable to wait. “Maybe my heart is so broken, there’s no cure. I’ll just live with the grief every day for the rest of my life and nothing will make it better. Nothing.”

  I swipe a tear that broke loose before he sees. “Anyway, I technically have my stepmom’s lady, and I tell her things. But I don’t feel any better.”

  “There’d be no moon without the sky.”

  “What?”

  “My mom used to tell me that. As in, there’d be no joy without the pain. Perhaps all of this is a preamble towards something so fully realized in its greatness, you won’t see it coming until you find yourself hurting a little less.”

  His words, however dumb, fill my heart with a bubbly fizz in the places where cracks had formed. I’m weightless. Neither of us knows how to transition worth a shit so I just go for it. “Let’s move on.”

  “Have you given up on your dream of working at Baked & Caffeinated?” he asks.

  “Didn’t want the job.”

  “Because of me.”

  I hesitate. “Wow, full of yourself much?”

  “I’ll quit if you ask me to.”

  “Won’t change anything, honestly.”

  “It may not help, but I work with this girl Violet—she’s close with the Paxtons—and she told me this quote: ‘When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it.’ It helped shift my perspective a bit. Accepting life will be hard and messy sometimes, but knowing I’ll find a way through it is the most difficult thing.”

  “Sounds like you have a thing for Violet.”

  He blushes. “We’re friends.”

  “You’re really dedicated to this friend thing. Ask her out. I bet she’ll say yes.”

  He gives a small, secret smile. “Perhaps I will.”

  We watch a few more wishes pass us by. Plane lights fading in the inky sky.

  “The package was full of letters I returned to my dad,” I blurt. “He set them up to be mailed in case of his death.”

  “Oh.” If there were an invisible string, his mouth holds one end and my ears, the other. “May I ask why you returned them?”

  “He promised he wouldn’t leave again. And he did.”

  He turns toward me, lays his fedora to the side. “I didn’t mean to upset you with the balloon. My only intention was to brighten your day, but I overstepped. It’s not my place to insinuate myself into your life.”

  “That’s the realest thing you’ve said all damn day. My stepmom tried to handle the balloons once, and only once. The day they told us he died. Maybe it’s not connected, maybe it is. It’s our thing.” My body tenses, flashes of Dad whooshing in and out.

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “Obviously. Like, get over yourself already. It’s not about you.” The irony bites through my lips.

  “Oh, Naima,” he says with a profound sense of shame. “I never intended to cause you to feel this way. In my quest for friendship, I hadn’t considered how my actions made you feel. I’m so sorry.”

  I stand abruptly. Something inside, the place where anger had only fizzed and bubbled in the cracks, now feels like shards of glass stabbing through. “I’m gonna go.”

  He stands with me. “Let me walk you.”

  “Take a GD hint, Brickman.”

  As each foot deliberately stomps the pain away, his voice fades. “Thank you for saving me.”

  I stop for a breath to muster all the strength I have left, and run. All
the way home.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

  Late breaking on tonight’s Dew’s News: Germs collide.

  “He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that she isn’t alone. That if anyone in the whole universe can understand, it’s him. He’s been under much duress since his first separation from all he knew; no one can tell, though, as he wears a suit of glee. He sees himself in the girl, even if she’ll never see him in return.”

  I say this into my recorder, or what’s left of it, my eye peering through the fence hole to where Naima sits on the back stoop. She listens, before reluctantly walking to the hole, where her eye moves into view. Swirls of green reflect against the moon glow, making them nearly translucent. We stare through this small space that transports us somewhere else entirely. Another city. Another state. Another galaxy, where the plane lights flicker at our disposal.

  “Please forgive me,” I tell her. “I’ll leave you to deal the way you deem fit.”

  She sighs. “I don’t know how to process losing my dad. You remind me of that.”

  “I only wanted to help.”

  “Sometimes help is not helping.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Dew,” Stella calls, “are you out here?”

  “One minute,” I return. I knit the words together with care. “How do you say goodbye to someone when you’re not ready to?”

  Her vision drifts. “I don’t have an answer for that, as you can see.”

  “I miss them.” It slips, sits between us.

  “I know. I miss him.”

  “I know.”

  Her eye finds mine again. She clings tighter to the fencing, her long lashes rising and falling with mine. My heart is aflutter; a butterfly flapping its wings against my rib cage.

  “Come closer,” she tells me. Her lips move to the opening. “Kiss me.”

  “What?”

  “If you want.”

  I have no time to consider whether I do or don’t. The dream of her is a swirl of vivid colors. To muddle the paint is terrifying. I press my lips to hers with the fencing against the rest of my face. It’s a lukewarm feeling, a flat piano key. There are no fireworks or explosions. With airplanes buzzing overhead, wishes lost, we pull back at the same time. The colors fade slightly, bringing me back to earth, where I’m grounded.