Just Ask (5 page)

I try playing my violin for a while. Sometimes that soothes me and helps my head to relax and unwind. But today it only makes me feel more sad and lonely It's like the notes are just reverberating through the empty rooms and hallways of this house before they come back to taunt me with their loneliness. Finally I put my violin away

And so I sit here, all alone, just drowning beneath questions and fears and doubts. I think about the kids who write those letters to me (or rather to Jamie), and I remember how pathetic and hopeless I figured they must feel to write to a complete stranger for advice. But now I think I understand how they feel. Today I get it. I feel that same kind of desperation too. I'd like to write a letter to Jamie myself. This is how it would go.

And how would Jamie answer this letter? Of course, she'd do the same thing that she did with similar letters. She would bury it beneath the pile and pretend it simply wasn't there. Ignore it and maybe it will go away. But somehow I don't think so.

I end up just walking around my house and feeling more and more confused. I consider getting into my Jeep and taking a ride to distract myself. But what if the Jeep goes out of control and I get in a wreck and am killed? What then?

And as crazy as it sounds, I feel frightened for my own life. I mean, I'm not ready to call it quits yet. But if
Tiffany could be extinguished—-just like that; like now you see her, now you don't—well, couldn't it happen to me too? And I just don't think I can handle checking out of here yet. I'm not ready for what comes next. Even if nothing comes next, I'm sure not ready for that either. Can't someone please help me?

I feel a little bit better today. But not much. Oh, I've gotten a whole lot better at concealing my neurotic state of freaked-out angst. It's not like I plan to go around crying in front of everyone, as if Tiffany had been my best friend and I'm brokenhearted over losing her, which most people could see right through anyway. Even so, it's like I can't stop thinking about her. like I'm being haunted or becoming obsessed or something.

And I still feel guilty that I wasn't kinder to her when she was alive. Not that I was ever rude exactly But sometimes I was slightly oblivious or maybe even superior. And if I truly believe in Buddhism, I should be seriously disturbed by this.

Mostly I'm disturbed that I can't stop thinking about this whole life and death thing. I suppose it's healthy to realize that we're all going to die someday. I mean, it's inevitable. And for some of us it will come sooner than we expect. But really, does anyone expect to die ever?

As much as I try, I cannot imagine being dead. I don't even know what that means. And for a girl who's
prided herself on accumulating knowledge and having a pretty good grasp on academics—I mean, I ace all my tests—I am seriously deficient when it comes to real spiritual wisdom. And this is really bumming me.

‘Tiffany was a Christian, you know,” Natalie told me after we finished running today.

I just shrugged. “So?”

“So, she's okay.”

“What do you mean okay?” I asked as I tried to catch my breath.

“I mean, she's with God now.” Natalie undid her ponytail and gave her hair a shake. “She's perfectly happy.”

I stooped to retie my shoe. “Perfectly happy?” I echoed as I stood back up. “Seriously, what does that mean?”

“That she's with God in heaven, and that she's probably having a totally radical time up there.”

I stared at my best friend for an unbelieving few seconds, wondering how she can be so absolutely certain. Like how does an intelligent, thinking kind of girl simply accept all this stuff? I don't get it.

“How do you know that?” I finally challenged her.

She put her hand on my shoulder now. “It's about faith, Kim. God said it, I believe it, that settles it.”

“Just like that?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

Suddenly I felt those tears coming on again, but we were already at my house, and I figured I could escape
and get inside without creating another stupid scene. Not that Natalie wouldn't understand. She totally would. I guess it was just my pride and not wanting to look like an emotional basket case again.

“I'll call you later,” I yelled over my shoulder as I jogged up the driveway to the side door. I was barely inside the house when my mom cornered me in the kitchen.

“Why don't you come to the church picnic today?” she said as she filled a Ziploc bag with brownies.

“They still do their annual Labor Day picnic?” I asked in an unimpressed voice as I wiped my eyes, then artfully sneaked a brownie from the plate while Mom wasn't looking.

“It's a tradition, Kim. You used to love it as a kid.”

“That was then, this is now.” I chewed on the brownie, disappointed that it wasn't as good as I'd hoped. Or maybe it was me and my depressed state of mind. They say your emotions can affect your taste buds.

“But your dad and I would like to be with you today, Kommy.” She was using her pleading voice now. “This is a family day.”

But I was not to be deterred. I had no intention of spending most of the day at a park with a bunch of people I don't even know that well anymore. “Why don't you guys just blow it off,” I suggested hopefully. “Maybe we could go catch a movie or something?”

“We can't do that, Kam. Your dad and I promised to
supervise the kids’ games this year. It's too late to back out of it now.”

I just shrugged. “Yeah, that's too bad. Maybe some other time.”

“But, Kim—”

“It's okay, Mom,” I told her as I left the kitchen. “I understand.”

I could hear her still trying to apologize to me, but I just kept going. It's not that I felt she owed me an apology, exactly. I mean, I was the one who refused to go to their silly picnic in the first place. But I think my feelings were probably hurt that my parents would choose a bunch of church kids over me. Especially when I actually felt like I needed them for once.

Now wasn't that a change? It figures. If you don't want your parents around, you can't get rid of them. But the one time you want them, they're heading off for some lame picnic! Okay, maybe I am spoiled.

“Grow up, Kim,” I lectured myself as I took a long, hot shower. “Get a grip. Chill. Move on.” But I still felt bummed when I stepped out of the shower.

Finally, I thought maybe I should just change my mind and go to the stupid picnic with them after all. So I threw on my robe and dashed downstairs, but the house was quiet, and they'd already left. Oh, well.

I went to my bedroom, stood in front of my closet door mirror, and just stared at myself. With my long, black stringy hair hanging against my pale, sallow skin, combined with these dark smudges of mascara beneath
my eyes, I actually looked pretty ghastly. Almost corpselike.

I just stood there for the longest time, staring. What would it feel like to be dead? What was Tiffany feeling now? Then I began to imagine that I was actually dead…and I got this horrible empty feeling inside of me, almost like I really was dead. What's the difference? If I feel dead or if I am dead, what if both are the same?

Then I lay down on my bed and cried some more. Seriously, I am a total mess. I wonder if I should seek out some professional help.

All morning long, it's all anyone talks about. It's the first day back at school, but everyone is obsessed over Tiffany Knight's tragic death. like, “When was the last time you saw her?” Or, “What was the last thing she said to you?” And, “Did you hear that her mom is going to sue her dad if he survives?” Stuff like that. It's as if everyone is totally preoccupied with her life, or rather death, almost as much as I am.

But I must admit that it's kind of a relief to hear all this. Maybe I'm not so weird after all. It helps to know what other kids are thinking and feeling. And it's reassuring that not everyone is as confident about the afterlife as Natalie or Cesar or Jake.

Some “normal” kids, like me, feel pretty confused and depressed about the whole life and death issue. Then others act like, “Hey, it's no big deal.” Like they
figure we live, we die, so what's the difference? And as much as I wish I could be that laid back, I just don't get it. And quite honestly, I think they're just putting on a big front to look cool. Either that or they're in total denial. I'm not sure.

There's a grief counselor at our school today. She'll be there until after the memorial service tomorrow. But despite my earlier fear that I might need professional help, I have no intention of making an appointment with her. I figure she'll have her hands full with kids who were actually Tiffany's friends. Not that Tiffany had so many friends. But she had more than you'd think. Or at least it seems so now. And I'm not about to question them.

By the second half of the day, I'm surprised to find that everyone seems to be moving on. And by the end of the day, it's like they've totally forgotten about Tiffany. Now everyone seems concerned about things like too much homework in chemistry, or who's going to win the football game on Friday, or what happened to the old vending machine that used to be next to the office.

But I seem to be stuck, because I'm still thinking about Tiffany. And on my way to lit class, I thought I saw her ghost in the hallway. Okay, I'm sure I imagined it. But it's like I felt this weird kind of chilling sensation just as I passed by the girls’ bathroom. And for whatever reason, I thought maybe it was her. All right, maybe I do need professional help.

When I get home, I discover a large manila envelope
full of “Just Ask Jamie” letters sitting on the kitchen counter—some are still in their envelopes, and some have been printed off from the e-mails received at the newspaper office. On top of this stack is a Post-it note from my dad.

Well, that's all just fine and dandy, but when I open the envelope and start reading the letters, I feel like crying all over again. Most of them were written after Tiffany's accident and have serious questions about heavy topics like life and death and God. My favorite subjects. Yeah, right.

I sift through the stack again, until I finally locate a few of the lighter weight letters—letters I will answer. The other ones will be filed in my new JUST FORGET IT box (which is really a large shoebox from a pair of boots that I recently got). I will keep this box under my bed and hopefully, like it says on the top in bold black letters, I can JUST FORGET IT. But I'm not so sure. In the meantime, I will answer those rather obvious letters like this one.

Now I am seriously thankful that Natalie is such a good friend to me. And I just realized that I forgot to ask her if she wants a ride to Tiffany's funeral tomorrow. I decided that I need to go. At first I thought it would be
hypocritical to attend (since I really wasn't a good friend to her), but now I feel like I can go as sort of an apology to her and to honor her. Somehow it seems the right thing to do. And it will be much easier with Natalie sitting beside me.

The funeral is packed out, mostly with kids from Harrison High. You'd think that Tiffany had been the most popular girl in the school, but I wonder if some of these kids aren't here just to get the afternoon off. Okay, that's terrible of me, but I still wonder.

Natalie and I sit way in the back, but I feel it's appropriate since neither of us were close to her. The room is stiflingly quiet, like everyone is as uncomfortable as I am. And suddenly I almost wish I hadn't come. But there's no leaving now. That would draw attention, and I hate that. Mostly I like to slip by without too much notice. Not that I want to be ignored. But I don't want people staring at me either.

Here I go on and on again, thinking primarily of myself. Sometimes I wonder if I have a narcissistic personality. I hope not. It certainly wouldn't bode well for an aspiring Buddhist. If I really am.

As the pastor comes forward to speak, I tell my brain to shut up. This is about Tiffany, not me. Then I am surprised to see that the band Redemption is here. Chloe walks up to the microphone and introduces a song
called ‘The Heaven Song.” And despite my promise to remain in control today, I am crying harder than ever by the time they finish.