Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
longer. Can’t say that I want to hang
on to my childhood, because I can’t
remember having one, at least not
the kind a kid should have. But am I
really ready to be out on my own?
Ready or not, here I come, I guess.
Just not sure where I’m going.
Or if I’ll ever want to come home.
The Phone Rings
And caller ID says it’s Aspen Springs.
They don’t call here often. Three rings,
no one else answers, so I do. “Hello?”
It’s Dr. Starr, and she sounds shaky
when she asks to talk to one of my
parents. What’s Conner done now?
“Mom? Dad? Pick up the phone.”
Dad’s just coming in from a run.
He goes into the kitchen, and I’m
about to hang up when I hear Dr.
Starr through the receiver.
I … uh …
I don’t know how to tell you this
but … uh … there was an accident
.
Uh … it’s Conner. I’m afraid … he …
didn’t make it
. Didn’t make what?
What is she saying? Dad asks the same
question, and she answers bluntly,
He’s dead
. Dead. Dead? He can’t be
dead. My stomach swells with bile.
Dread. No. Not Conner. Not my brother!
I drop the phone. Don’t want to
listen to the details. I run downstairs,
find Dad collapsed on the cool
kitchen tile. One of the chairs is
overturned, like he missed it. “Dad!”
Daddy?” Tears streak his face,
and his hands shake so hard he can
barely hold the phone, let alone speak
into it. But he won’t let me take
it from him.
No
, he says.
Go find
your mother
. I turn around, run
blindly into the living room. Not
here. Upstairs, to her bedroom,
don’t bother to knock. She’s asleep,
and I don’t want to wake her. “Mo …”
Now it’s me that can’t talk. “Mom!”
She comes up out of her dreams,
and it’s all I can do to say, “Dad
needs you. Now,” before I crack
into a million pieces. Not Conner.
But Conner Is Dead
It wasn’t an accident. He stepped
over the edge of a very tall cliff.
Brought our world crashing down.
Smashing us into the rocks, right
along with him. We are zombies.
The living remains of the dead.
They flew him out of the wilderness.
Already cold. Almost as cold as Mom.
She is frozen. All emotion ice dammed
inside. She never even cried.
Someone
has to stay calm
, she said.
Someone has
to handle the details
. Will she ever cry?
Kendra
The Details
Of death are the fabric
nightmares are sewn from.
They weave
daylight grieving with
deep-of-night memory.
They chase
hope into the shadows,
leave it trembling there.
They menace
summer’s green dawning
with winter’s gray shroud.
They strike
like lightning. Electric,
unstoppable.
They stab
like wooden spears, drive
splinters into the heart.
Irredeemable
That’s what Mom called Conner when
I told her the news. No way to save him.
I don’t believe that. Everyone can be
saved, if they just have the right person
trying to save them. Right? How could
he want to die so badly? He looked okay
when I saw him that day at the movies.
Almost like his regular self. I didn’t see death
in his eyes. Didn’t see the desire
to leave this world behind. Leave us behind.
Goddamn you, Conner. You always
were a selfish prick. You got us this time.
Nailed us right to the wall. And
some of us will never heal completely.
I Got The News
From Cara, the day after they brought
Conner’s body back. Laid him on a chilled
slab to poke and prod and probably
dig around in his brain for some tumor
or other abnormality that might make
a perfect kid like Conner choose to die.
I was sitting by Jenna’s bedside,
watching her pick at her hospital food,
when Cara’s call came.
Um, Kendra?
I knew something was wrong from
the way her voice quivered.
I wanted you
to hear this from me.
She drew two
long raspy breaths.
Conner died
yesterday. He, um … committed.
My first thought was bullshit. Why
would you make up something like this?
Then I realized immediately that no
way would she. “Oh my God. Are you …”
I almost said “sure,” but of course
she was, so I finished it with, “all right?”
Not really. I have to go. The wake
is Saturday. Will you let people know?
“Definitely. Cara, if I can do anything …
help … anything … please call me, okay?”
I felt like someone had just smashed
into me with a semi truck. And I must
have looked like it too.
What?
asked
Jenna, eyes wide.
What’s wrong?
I couldn’t tell her. Repeating it would
make it real. The dam failed, and I cried.
The Wake Is This Evening
Mom’s taking me because I don’t
want to go by myself. We drive into
Reno, on the same highway as always,
passing the same trees. Same billboards.
Same buildings. But nothing
will ever be exactly the same again.
“Did you ever lose someone you loved?
I mean, did someone you loved ever die?”
Mom is quiet, remembering.
My first
boyfriend died in a car accident.
A drunk driver ran a red light, hit
him going sixty. It was horrible.
“Does it still hurt, thinking about
him? Does the pain ever go away?”
The pain diminishes over time.
But it still hurts thinking about him.
The pain is sawing me in two.
I can barely breathe, and part of me
doesn’t want to. “Did you ever want
to die enough to think about suicide?”
I think everyone considers it at some
point. But I never would have done it.
Too many people rely on me. Too
many people love me, and I would
never want to make them feel the way
you’re feeling right now. You know?
Life is precious, Kendra. Never throw
away a single second. And never
forget about the people who love you.
There is tremendous value in that.
Sean
Never
Again. Never again.
Few things create never again
like death. Biting the big
one,
and not talking burgers.
Kicking the bucket.
Taking a one-way trip
to
who-knows-where.
Is there a heaven? Hell?
I mean, who can really
say
what happens after
the lights go out? Is there
a “hello” after the final
good-bye?
Word Travels Fast
Along the “someone died”
grapevine. It might not
always be accurate, so
you have to do some
double checking to make
sure what you heard is
something close to true.
I heard about Conner