Chasing William (14 page)

I realize that’s a little hypocritical,
considering my whole trip is based on feeling and unfeeling
emotions over an hour. But that’s just a last resort, not an
everyday way of life. Besides, I’ve had no control over so many
other things the past few months I feel entitled to control
something.

“
The you in the mirror is
another self.”

Just two hours to go. I can’t even bring
myself to be excited about being so close to what I’ve always
thought of as “his world”. I’m just looking forward to sleep. I’m
also looking forward to stopping these nine hours of emotional
torment. But hey, if it’s this insane now, that has to mean I’m on
my way to closure. After all, once I make it to my stop in
Minnesota, there are only three steps left for the way home and
they’re all about moving on. Things have to be getting better. I’m
almost done with the list.

Well, they obviously won’t be getting better
right now. I’ve got two more hours of terrible. But after that then
things will be getting better.

I’m not really sure what the random
web-psychologist meant by “reflection” when he put it on his Stages
of Grief list. I didn’t put as much research into that as I did
into the restaurant map (and I didn’t put all that much effort into
the map). At first I thought it meant reflecting on me and my life.
Then I thought it meant reflecting on me and William and our
relationship. Now I’m not really sure. I guess it could mean some
combination of both, like I’m supposed to reflect on my life now
that William’s not in it, compared to our life together. Sort of
like what you do after a break-up to prove to yourself you can
survive without the other person, but on a more extreme level (and
one that hurts a whole lot more).

I think the emotional part of my brain has
been overloaded, because it’s getting harder and harder to call up
those particular emotions. Or maybe I just don’t know what these
emotions are. Everything changes when someone dies. Not just dies,
really, but dies too young and unfairly. There is that whole
“before and after” thing. My life will always be divided into the
part where I had William and the part where I don’t. But there’s
more to it than just a landmark. Everything, even things I thought
I understood, change when they’re used in the context of his
death.

All these emotions I thought I knew (I mean,
what girl goes through high school without getting to know her
emotions?) they’re all different. The anger I feel about William
being dead is totally different from the anger I feel at Amanda’s
bitchiness. Even the tears feel different when I cry for him. They
seem heavier, more real than other tears somehow. I can’t really
explain it, but I know there’s a difference. Everything’s
different.

How do I get on with life knowing all this?
I know William would want me to be happy. That isn’t a problem. How
do I move on with other relationships after this? How do I make
real friends I can connect with, how do I even start falling in
love with a new guy? I know what it feels like to really, really
lose someone. I’m not sure if people are worth the risk – worth
this kind of hurt.

Sure, I don’t regret William. I loved him.
But wouldn’t it be easier to never bother getting to know someone
that well, than to risk hurting this much over them? I don’t think
I could ever handle a loss this big again. It’s too much for any
one person to take. I’d rather be a hermit for the rest of my life
than have to lose someone like this again. How is that fair?

Well, maybe not . I’d get lonely and
depressed. I guess people are part of the “healing process” in a
way. So I need relationships to get me through this, but by relying
on other people I put myself in the position for it to happen
again.

I hate the way life works, sometimes.

Most of the time.

I guess I don’t have much of a choice,
though. I have to pick myself up and keep going, even though I know
how (quickly) things can end.

It’s not just that it hurts though. I miss
him too. I could act differently around William than I could around
anyone else. We could talk to each other. I called him every
morning the first few weeks he went to rehab because he wanted to
hear a friendly voice before he went to those meetings. I could
tell him about all the friend drama I had at school, stuff the
other girls had me thinking was the end of the world, but in five
minutes he could have me laughing it off.

We balanced each other out in a weird sort
of way. I’m not sure if it was a healthy relationship or not, but I
would have liked the chance to see where it was going. The
heartache of a break-up is nothing compared to this. I’d rather
lose him to something (even someone) else than to just lose
him.

And yet, again, all I can think is that life
really sucks.

At least I’m heading quickly to my last
hour. It’ll be nice to do something other than sit in my car,
listen to depressing music, and talk to myself.

I’m also getting really sick of Chinese
food. I just want this road trip to be over. I’m tired and in
desperate need of a good stretch, and not hungry. I hate to let the
universe down since we had a deal, but it’s not like the universe
doesn’t owe me one. I think I’m going to skip these last two
Chinese food runs.

I have to stop for gas sometime in the next
hour anyway, so it’s really only taking away one of the universe’s
chances to get me to figure something out. I just want to keep
moving. As long as I’m moving it feels like I’m going
somewhere.

My GPS chirps, but this time I ignore it and
look at the clock. Ten more minutes until this hour’s up.

One hour to go.

“
We face the world alone to
find those like us.”

I can never tell if loneliness is an emotion
or a state of being. Most of the time it feels like both. I’ve been
alone the whole trip. I mean, sure, there have been other people on
the road and at the restaurants, but I’m by myself in the car. Even
with all the alone time I haven’t really felt lonely until now.
It’s been creeping in since about hour four, but the more I have to
think about it, the more obvious the loneliness seems. I’ve gone
nine hours with no one to talk to but myself, no one to bounce
ideas off of or to help me get through all these emotions.

Even when I’m surrounded by people it
doesn’t really change things that much. I mean, I can talk out loud
without sounding crazy, but that’s about it. People still don’t
understand. I could tell everyone everything I’ve been working out
for the past nine hours but it wouldn’t matter. No one I know has
been through anything like this, and there’s no way anyone who
hasn’t been through it can understand. I’m alone in this poor
little world of one. I want to let people in, but it’s a pretty
exclusive club and not exactly one people want to be a part of.

This might be what I hate more than anything
else. Being alone. I could deal with it all better (at least, I
think I could) if there were just one person I could talk to about
it who would actually get it. The universe takes away the one
person who could help keep me sane, and refuses to send me even one
other person who I can confide in, even in the smallest way. My
parents are so worried about me I can’t talk to them, because that
would make things worse for all of us. My friends… well, it’s
senior year. We have college to think about and lives to start.
We’ve never been that close anyway. It’s not like I didn’t try to
talk about it. Who does that leave, though? The grief counselor who
decided to hate me on sight? Mel? She could probably turn into some
kind of fairy-godmother-type-creature, but she has so many of her
own problems I don’t even know how I could think about piling on
more.

There’s no one else to turn to. Everyone in
my life is completely unsuitable for the role of confidant. It’s
not fair.

Nothing is fair. Life isn’t fair. The
universe isn’t fair. Fortune cookies aren’t fair. Death isn’t fair.
William’s life wasn’t fair. Loving him this much and knowing he’s
gone forever isn’t fair.

I hate this.

And I have to deal with it all alone.

I feel like things would be easier if I
could just stop thinking about it. I stare at the road, check off
the miles until the next gas station, and try to keep my mind
blank. I’m not sure if I want to be angry or depressed so my
emotions just keep alternating between the two. It’s not a very
pleasant experience, but emotional roller coasters never are, as a
general rule. I do think that’s the only thing getting me through
the last hour. The weird emotional combination, while driving the
rest of me crazy, is actually doing a good job keeping me awake and
alert, like some kind of bizarre energy drink.

I pull into the gas station and for the
first time in nine hours actually start to think about how I look
to the rest of the world. I must be a mess, (comma splice) my
insides are in emotional turmoil and I probably look about as fit
to be around other people as I feel (not to mention nine hours in a
car and greasy Chinese food don’t do much for physical appearance).
This whole thing has left me feeling exhausted, and some old woman
at the pump next to mine keeps looking over at me with that “poor
kid obviously doesn’t know how to take care of herself” look in her
eyes. I may not be quite across the crazy line yet, but I’m sick of
dealing with people who think they know who I am and what I’m going
through. I’m tired of being felt sorry for. It’s time to make a
change.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” I put on my
sweetest work smile and try to emphasize the “ma’am” When I say
this woman is old, I mean she’s older than me. She’s actually
probably the same age as my parents, or maybe a few years younger.
It’s hard to tell. Either way, I kind of hope she’s insulted by the
“ma’am”, although she doesn’t seem too phased by it. She obviously
doesn’t get sarcasm. Or teens.

“You here by yourself?”

“Look, I can pay for my own gas and no one’s
inside buying me cigarettes and beer for a blow job, if that’s what
you’re getting at.” I’m a little surprised at myself. Normally
that’s something I’d just think, but for some reason it came out
before I could stop it. “I’m, uh, visiting family for the
holidays.” I’m stammering like an idiot to make up for being rude,
even though I’m still not sure if I’ve actually done something
wrong.

The woman laughs and turns back to her car,
checking to make sure the gas has stopped before she puts the
nozzle back in the pump and slides her credit card.

“Your eyes are all puffy. I remember eyes
like that when I was your age. Fight with the boyfriend?”

Her all-knowing condescension really pisses
me off and I stop regretting my earlier comments. People always
think they know what you’re going through and how to fix it,
usually before they even ask you what’s wrong. Not all of us are so
simple. Not everyone’s problems can be wiped away with a Hershey
bar and a pat on the head. My problems aren’t that simple and I’m
pretty lucky when it comes to most things in life. I can’t imagine
how this woman would react to someone who really was a “troubled
teen” -- I’m just grieving.

“Hard to fight with someone who’s dead,” I
spit back a lot more harshly than I intend or maybe I do mean it.
I’m not exactly trying to be polite. I punch the button to print my
receipt and wish that stupid woman would stop staring at me.

“Your boyfriend died?” Now she’s looking at
me with those “you poor thing” eyes. I really hate people thinking
I can’t handle things, like I’m so fragile I’ll break if it rains.
Sure, I’m miserable and I miss William like crazy, and I’m not
really sure what I have to do to get to that moving-on place
everyone seems to talk about, but I am tougher than I look. I
sleep, I eat, I do what I need to do, and not once have I thought
about killing myself. Isn’t that enough for right now?

“It’s fine. It was six months ago. I should
probably be over it by now. It’s just the holiday coming up and
everything. It’s not, like, a big deal anymore or anything,” I
start muttering and look down at my feet. It’s taking forever for
my receipt to print. I just want to go back into my car and
drive.

“Oh, trust me, I know that’s bull.” She
gives a dark chuckle that leaves me startled. I wouldn’t have
thought she was capable of a sound like that. She doesn’t seem the
type. “At six months it’s still a very big deal. I’m at six years
without my husband and it’s still a big deal.”

“Life’s a bitch,” I try to shrug it off, but
something about what she said makes me want to talk to her for just
a little longer (and regret being so rude to begin with).

“And it gets worse when you’re living it
without the person who was supposed to help you through it.”

“Yeah.”I finally get the nerve to lift my
head and look her in the eyes. “It’s like life gets harder and the
person who always helped you out can’t , so it gets even worse.
It’s like you have no one to rely on and everything just gets so
hard.” I’m back to staring at my feet. I hate opening up to people.
I don’t sound like myself when I try to say out loud what I’m
thinking. I sound like a rambling idiot. At least I’ll probably
never see this woman again, so that’s something, I guess.

See Attendant for Receipt
. I groan,
hopefully not too loud. I just want to get my receipt and drive
away, but now I can’t.

“Anyway, I have to get my receipt. Nice
meeting you.” It was a lame ending to the conversation, but I’m not
sure how to handle it.

“Me too. I’ll walk with you. Would you like
a coffee, hot chocolate? My treat.”

Hot chocolate sounds fantastic. I’m cold and
sad and really in need of comfort. Even if that comfort comes from
an automatic dispenser into a Styrofoam cup. I don’t want to admit
I want it, though. Something about that seems too immature. I guess
if there’s a point when you’re growing up where you don’t feel like
you have to sacrifice all those little kid pleasures to prove
you’re an adult. I haven’t made it to that point yet. I still want
people to think I’m grown up, that I should be a coffee drinker. I
actually do like coffee. I just really want that hot chocolate.