You Are Not Here (12 page)

my cell phone rings.

Marissa is calling.

She tells me

my mother is dead.

Suddenly, Marissa

is in my room.

Her arms and legs

are wrapped around me.

She is holding me.

Rocking me.

She is my skin.

If she lets go,

my body will fall apart.

as she sits down in a booth.

“What guy?”

“The tall one behind the counter.”

“Oh. That’s Ethan.”

“He’s hot,” she says as she adjusts

the absurdly large silk flower in her hair.

“I guess.”

“You don’t think so?”

I lean back

and take a good look at Ethan.

“Yeah. I guess he’s cute.”

“What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know.

He just finished his first year

at Woodson.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.

I don’t think so.

He hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

“You should totally go out with him.

He’s looked over here

like a million times.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

I pause.

“Because of Brian.”

Now Joy pauses.

“Really? But Brian—”

“I better get your pizza,”

I say as I get up.

I don’t need her

to finish her sentence.

I don’t need her

to remind me

what Brian and I were

or weren’t.

how long grief lasts.

Will there be a day

when I don’t feel like this?

When I don’t think about you?

I wonder

how long that will be from now.

Weeks?

Months?

Years?

Will I be thirty and still miss you?

Will I always wonder

what our life

could have been?

Maybe we would have

only lasted another few weeks.

Maybe I would have

gotten angry enough

to demand that I be

your actual girlfriend.

Or maybe you would have

ended things with me,

found someone else

you’d rather be with.

There are so many endings

that our story could have had.

But I will never know

any ending besides this one.”

to create an obituary for Brian.

It says to focus on positive things

like his talents and pastimes.

Brian Dennis was seventeen.

He was kind

when he wanted to be.

Funny

without even trying.

He loved music,

especially hearing it live.

He liked to draw.

He was a great kisser.

I stop.

I’d like to be able to

write about his relationship

to his parents or his friends,

but I can’t.

I’d like to be able to

write what was really important to Brian.

But I don’t know that either.

Apparently, I don’t know much.

9:00 a.m.: Alarm goes off.

9:15 a.m.: Get out of bed.

9:18 a.m.: Shower.

9:25 a.m.: Pull wet hair into ponytail.

9:29 a.m.: Put on white shirt, black pants, and sneakers.

9:33 a.m.: Dab on concealer, brush on mascara.

9:40 a.m.: Eat bowl of cereal.

9:50 a.m.: Walk out front door.

10:00 a.m.: Arrive at Renzo’s.

This is a new sort of routine.

the late lunch and early dinner crowd,

I ask Ethan about college.

He says,

“I might major in sociology or anthro.

Not sure which yet,

but definitely something

that involves studying people.

Have you thought about college?

It’s about that time, right?”

“Yeah, it is.

I should be thinking

about it this summer,

but I’ve been distracted.

I might just apply to some state schools.

Or maybe take another year to decide.”

“Aren’t your parents on your ass about it?”

“Nah. My mom’s not too bad.

But she does keep leaving college catalogs around.

I think she hopes they’ll inspire me.”

“And what about your dad?”

“He’s not around…

So I never asked.

Where are you from?”

“Michigan.”

“How come you didn’t go home for the

summer?”

“And miss the chance

to work with you at Renzo’s?

Just kidding.”

As he says that,

he knocks his shoulder into mine.

“I’m taking a summer class

and renting a house with some guys.

Besides, home is not a good place

to be right now.”

“Oh,” I say as I neaten a stack of napkins.

I’m curious about what he means,

but I don’t want to ask—

especially since I changed the subject

when he asked about my dad.

But to my surprise,

he keeps going.

“My parents are getting divorced.”

“Oh.

I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.

I’m just glad they’re doing something

besides fighting.

I get it.

It took a while,

but I get it now.

They’re not meant to be together.

Or maybe they were,

but only for twentysomething years.

Like their marriage had an expiration date.”

I can’t believe

Ethan’s telling me this stuff.

Brian never talked about his family.

The most he ever said was:

“My dad’ll be home soon,

you better go.”

Parker says when he walks into Renzo’s.

“What do you mean?”

“In all the years I’ve known you,

I’ve never, ever

seen you in a polo shirt.

And it’s white.

And tucked in!”

Parker is laughing so hard

that his face is turning red.

“Come on.

It’s not that bad.”

“You’re right.

I suppose it could be worse.

It could be a poncho,”

he says, wiping tears from his eyes.

I shake my head and laugh with him.

It is a real laugh.

Not one I am trying on.

to visit Brian tonight.

After seven hours at Renzo’s,

my arms and legs are sore

and I have a major headache.

I just want to go home

and wash my face

and get into bed.

I sleep

heavy,

hot,

and dreamless.

starting to feel a little bit happy,

starting to look forward to things

like going back to school in a few weeks.

But then I am struck

with fear.

What if I get into a car accident

and get seriously hurt?

What if I die?

What if something terrible

happens to my mom

or one of my friends?

These thoughts creep

up on me.

The death book says

that when my thoughts race,

I should try to stay present.

To be where my feet are.

But I don’t want

to be

where my feet are.

They still feel

for fault lines.

to consider getting back to my routine—

to find myself again.

It wants to know if I am ready

to move on,

to try to get back to normal.

But I don’t know

what normal is.

Jewish people

are meant to return to their routines

after seven days of mourning.

Muslims get three days

(longer, if a wife is mourning her husband),

and Hindus get thirteen days

after the deceased is cremated.

None of these

seem like enough time.

Even though I tell him I want to go home,

he insists that we go to the local carnival.

It comes every year at this time.

It’s nothing fancy.

Skee-Ball, ring toss,

and a few mildly scary rides.

Before we walk over to the carnival,

Ethan changes out of his uniform

and into jeans and a rugby-type shirt.

This might be the first time

I’ve seen him in normal clothes.

At the carnival,

Ethan buys a roll of tickets

before I can even protest.

“Let’s go on the Gravitron first,”

he says, pulling me

toward what looks like a spaceship.

Ethan hands the guy

enough tickets for the two of us,

and we go inside.

Cheesy techno music is blasting

as everyone finds a spot

and leans against the red-padded walls.

Once the ride is somewhat full,

the entrance doors dramatically clang shut.

The ride starts off spinning slowly.

But the longer and faster we spin,

the more we stick to the mats.

Everyone is laughing and screaming

because they can’t

pick up their arms, legs, and head.

Based on the ride’s name,

I suppose gravity’s at work.

Maybe if I’d paid more attention

in science class

I’d know what was happening.

Ethan looks really happy.

He’s laughing a deep belly laugh.

But all I can think is:

This feeling is familiar.

Feeling stuck.

Frozen.

I wonder

if I started crying,

would the tears freeze on my cheeks?

Or would they roll down,

defying gravity?

Thankfully, it’s not long

before the ride slows

and I can pull myself

off the mat again.

When we step outside,

I’m a little dizzy.

Ethan sees that the ride hasn’t affected me

the same way that it has him.

He’s still smiling.

I must look green.

“Should we try something

where our feet stay on the ground?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say

even though I’d rather go home

or sit and talk to Brian.

But he’s just too excited,

and I can’t say no.

“Come on. I see Skee-Ball,” he says.

I reluctantly follow behind him.

He’s like a kid let loose in a toy store.

“You know, I’m pretty amazing at this.”

“Really? I suck.

How about I just watch.

Maybe I’ll even cheer.”

“Okay. Prepare to have your mind blown.”

He sinks the ball into the forty pocket

over and over again.

Tickets are coming out of the side

of the machine like crazy.

I can’t help but cheer.

“You’re a Skee-Ball genius!

How’d you do that?”

“Raw talent, Annaleah,”

he says as he grabs all the tickets

and ushers me in the direction

of the prize counter.

“Your pick, cheerleader.”

“Me? But you did all the work.”

“It’s okay. Giant Hello Kitties

aren’t really my thing.”

“All right, then. That one.”

I point to a unicorn with a sparkly horn.

When the ticket guy gives me my prize,

I hug it tightly to my chest.

As Ethan walks me home,

I wonder,

Does he think this was a date?

It sort of feels like a date—

especially that last part

with the unicorn.

But he hasn’t tried to kiss me

or hold my hand,

so maybe it isn’t.

Just as I am wondering

if I even want it to be a date,

I see the edge of the cemetery.

I feel like I should duck behind a tree

so Brian doesn’t see me.

It’s like walking past the cemetery

with Ethan is cheating—

like I am doing something wrong.

Even though nothing has happened.

Ethan turns to me and says,

“I’m glad we finally hung out

somewhere that’s not Renzo’s.”

But that’s when he sees

that my eyes are full of tears.

“Oh, God, was tonight that bad?” he asks.

“No, no, it’s not that.

It’s just that,

there was this guy.

We were sort of together

and then…”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

But there’s no way he does.

We walk the last block to my house

in silence.

Ethan takes me to my door and says,

“See you at work tomorrow.”

Then we hug awkwardly

with the unicorn smushed between us.

I go inside, but not upstairs.

I wait by the door for a minute,

then look out the window.

When Ethan’s out of sight,

I slip back out the door.

I owe Brian an explanation.

He’s the guy I told you about

from the pizza place.

This is the first time we’ve hung out

besides at work.

I shouldn’t have to explain,

but I feel like I do.

Like you think

I was cheating on you.

I know that’s crazy,

but that’s how—”

The sound of footsteps

startles me into silence.

I turn and see a guy’s silhouette

making its way toward me.

Even though the air is warm,

my body goes completely cold.

As the person strides closer,

the details of a face

come into view—

it’s Peter.

Brian’s closest friend.

I saw him speak at the funeral,

but we’ve never officially met.

“I thought I was the only one

who came at night,”

he says.

For the second time tonight

I feel as if I have been caught

doing something I shouldn’t.

He sits down next to me and asks,

“How did you know Brian?”

I hope that what I am about to say

will be familiar to him.

That Brian talked about me.

That I meant more to him

than he let on.

“We were

kind of, sort of

seeing each other.”

“Oh. You’re Sarah?”

His question wrecks me.

Wrecks all of the stories

I have told myself.

I didn’t think it was possible

for words to hurt this much.

“No.

I’m Annaleah.”

Peter sucks in air

through his teeth,

then lets it out really slowly.

“Oh, God.

I’m so sorry.

I didn’t know you

and Brian were…”

But I’m already getting up.

“I should let you

be alone with Brian.”