18 Things (3 page)

“How we remember, and what we remember, and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality.”
―Christina Baldwin

nce I smashed my hand in the car door. The thought of returning to school today felt worse than that. I shoved my book bag into the backseat of Nicole’s idling silver Honda Civic.

“Hey, Olga. How are you holding up?” she asked, hunched over her steering wheel. As her best friend, I could tell when her smile was a patent fake, plus, no amount of cucumber slices could cure the dark circles under her eyes.

I took two puffs from my asthma inhaler. “Just drive.”

She snapped her fingers. “I know just what you need. Some Espresso To Go.”

What I need is Conner.

We laid him to rest yesterday. I was so not ready for this, but Mom made me. Thought she knows best. I knew Mom wasn’t trying to be cruel, although at times, I wouldn’t put it past her. But she’s the kind of person who thought in practicalities. To her, going back to school seemed like the logical next step in moving on. If she let me stay home, then we were making Conner’s death even bigger, since as the probable valedictorian, I
never
missed school.

She and Dad returned to work today too, always setting the ‘good’ example, even though they knew Conner well and grieved with me. Going back to normal was their way of coping with things. Usually I’d agree with being practical, but I was beyond that now. Conner’s death couldn’t be any bigger; I was the one responsible for not saving him.

That’s the biggest truth that’ll ever affect my life.

Nothing will ever be important to me again.

Nic pulled up to the drive-thru coffee shop on the corner and ordered me a Snickers-flavored latte topped with whipped cream. I set the Styrofoam cup in the drink console without a sip, then flipped down the visor mirror.

My glasses making me look like a female version of Harry Potter were all smudged, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Odd. Though I hadn’t been aware of much this past week, aside from the gaping hole inside my chest where my heart used to be.

I cleaned the lenses on my baggy sweater, then slid my glasses over my bloodshot eyes. They were so red I could barely see the blue pupils, but I tried to pat my frizzy red curls down through the blur. I hadn’t washed my hair the last three days, so I washed it three times this morning.

Just to waste my time.

I hoped I wouldn’t be ready when Nic picked me up and Mom would say I could stay home after all. No such luck.

Sighing, I flipped the mirror back up and gazed out my window. Every perfect Victorian home mocked me. To everybody else, our town was the American Dream achieved. Lemonade stands and Dad-built tree houses in the backyard were standard.

At the stoplight right before the school entrance, I took a swig of coffee to stop myself from crying, thinking about how Conner would never get to build his kids—
our
kids—a tree house someday.

The light turned green and Nic whipped into the parking lot, brown liquid sloshing down the front of my black sweater.

“Olga! Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry.”

I opened her glove box to find some napkins.

“No difference. Today hated me from the start. I don’t know what I’m doing here. Why don’t we just skip?”

Nic parked, then leaned closer. The air was thick with flowery perfume, and her long straight hair the color of mourning tickled my skin. “Listen, I know this day is gonna suck. But you’re not alone. You have me, Sean, and Kyle to help you get through it. You’ve been my rock through so many things. Now it’s my turn.”

She reached out, then held my hand. My nails were a disaster, bitten down to the quick with worry. Another pair of hands slamming on glass made me jump.

Reporters shouted through my window.

“Olga, sweetie, how have you been since the accident?”

“Olga, do you have any words of encouragement for your fellow classmates today?”

“Olga, is there something you wish you would’ve done differently on that night?”

“Olga, what’s the last thing you remember before being knocked unconscious?”

I guess they figured I’d had enough time to grieve, and now, they wanted their exclusive interview. Grand Haven was a small town, so someone dying from a lightning strike was big news… even a week later. Fortunately, our friends Sean and Kyle were already in the parking lot. I opened the door and heaved my overstuffed bag onto my shoulder, clutching my extra textbooks to my chest to conceal the coffee stain, and my friends blocked the cameras shoved in my face.

Staring straight ahead through glassy eyes, I made my way to the front entrance. I’d never been drunk, but I probably looked like I was with my wobbly, uncertain steps. In fact, my whole body shook. My mind couldn’t even process what was happening. I knew today would be tough, but I never expected reporters.

None of us said a word to each other. We wouldn’t have been able to hear if we tried. Nic just kept holding my hand and led the way as the parking lot became more like a frenzied mob at a boxing arena.

Once we got inside, my gaze flickered to Conner’s locker, which was in the same hallway as mine. People wrote messages with markers on his actual locker. Flowers, cards, and pictures littered the floor around it. Notes were stuffed inside, pieces of paper overflowing out of the tiny slots. People shoved notes inside mine, too. Which I thought was weird because mostly everybody wrinkled their nose at me. Then again, maybe they weren’t making faces. Maybe my imagination was running wild with guilt.

“Okay, I should get to my class,” Nic said as I spun the dial to my tiny compartment, wishing it were bigger so I could hide inside. “You gonna be okay, or do you want me to walk you?”

The boys were in the office, telling the administrators about the reporters so they could get rid of them.

“Go ahead. I’m fine.” Which couldn’t be more of a lie, but I hugged her and then trudged to my first period class anyway.

Walking through halls and corridors seemed too surreal. Conner did the same thing just last week, with thousands of students who knew him or knew of him so well. Would any of them ask me how I was doing today? Would they want the low down on the accident? Or maybe they’d yell at me?

“Yeah, everyone is totally blaming that girl Olga for his death. Because like, who dies from a lightning strike? I hear she was jealous he asked another girl named Tammy to prom, so she pushed him off the boat, and he actually drowned.”

My stomach tightened, and I wished I would’ve taken Nic up on her offer to walk me to class.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
.

I wasn’t sure if they knew I walked behind them or not… it’s probable they didn’t even have a clue what I looked like. I wasn’t popular.

Keep walking. You can cry later. I promise
.

I made it to my first period class without a tear, but now I was rooted to a spot outside the door, unsure if I could go through with this. Hiding out in the bathroom for the next forty-five minutes sounded better. I turned, thinking that was the best plan—

“So let me get this straight.” Toe-touch Tammy, AKA head cheerleader bully and prettiest girl at school, stepped in front of me.

The whole hallway seemed frozen. I had no doubt the crowd watched for Tammy’s response to my presence so they could copy her appropriately—like they did with everything else.

“First, we have to tolerate you attending Conner’s funeral yesterday, when it was clear you
killed
him.” Her perfect posture was stiff, her stare fevered. “And now, we have to deal with you at school, too? Haven’t you ever heard of homeschooling, geek? Better yet, do us all a favor and find yourself a new town to live in so we never have to see your loser face again.”

Someone lightly placed their hand on my shoulder. “That’s quite enough, Ms. Fitzgerald. Why don’t you all get to class. Now.”

Tammy dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her, then walked away.

I turned and found myself face to face with Mrs. Cleveland, my AP English and Journalism teacher. The onlookers shuffled through the hall, still staring at me and whispering to each other.

“I’m glad you came to school today, Olga. If you need anything,
anything,
you know where my room is.” She squeezed my shoulder.

“Thanks, but I better get to class or I’m gonna be late.” Suddenly class sounded so much better than having a heart-to-heart with a teacher, even if she was my favorite.

Unfortunately, my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Davis, kept encouraging everyone to voice their thoughts and feelings during class. She meant well, putting out some punch and cookies, wanting my return to school to be ‘a positive experience.’

All of it made things ten times worse. I would’ve preferred a confrontation with Tammy over this. Mrs. Davis set up the desks in a semi-circle, and the students took turns talking about Conner. The discussion caused me only more anger that he died, and not punching a hole in the wall took everything I had. When the bell rang, I headed straight to the office and called Dad to pick me up.

At least he couldn’t say I didn’t try.

Dad dropped me off at home a half-hour later and lingered for a bit.

“Don’t tell Mom,” he said, running a wrinkled hand through his gray hair before leaving to head back to work.

When I heard his car start, I spread the notes on my bed to read. They weren’t the condolence kind of letters; they were full of the things I suspected my fellow classmates felt all week long. The boy they loved was gone, and the one they viewed as responsible still walked among them. Notes detailed the steps of treating hypothermia so I wouldn’t kill anybody else, asking how a genius girl could be so dumb. Notes telling me my ashes should be spread over Lake Michigan, not Conner’s, so why didn’t I just kill myself?

I didn’t hold hard feelings toward my anonymous writers, as their thoughts echoed mine. One note wasn’t really a note at all but Conner’s obituary cut from a newspaper. I never even thought to look at the newspaper headlines through all my grief during the past week.

Conner Anderson was granted his angel wings on April 1, 2012. His life would seem too short to many, and although this may be true, those who were touched by him understand the quality of existence far exceeds the quantity of time in which one lives.

His sense of humor, his kind smile, and his giving heart brought much joy to family and friends. He enjoyed music and was the lead singer of a local teen indie band titled the Cantankerous Monkey Squad. He was also captain of the Grand Haven High School competitive sailing team.

Conner is survived by his loving parents, Robert and Loria Anderson of Grand Haven, MI; sister Megan Anderson; paternal grandparents Bob and Arletta Anderson; and maternal grandparents John and Maxine Bergeron.

A memorial service will be held at the Christian Reformed Church off Lakeshore Drive at 11:00 a.m. on Monday, April 8
^th
.

My heart beat so fast it hurt, the claws of grief threatening to rip it out of my chest. If I looked up the news reports, would they blame me? Would I discover all the threats of my classmates were warranted? I hadn’t looked before, but I had to now.