18 Things (4 page)

OTTAWA COUNTY LIGHTNING STRIKE

TEEN KILLED, GIRL SURVIVES

[FROM THE GRAND HAVEN TRIBUNE,

APRIL 2, 2012, REPORTER MELISSA TRACY]

A seventeen-year-old boy struck by lightning on Lake Michigan has died, authorities said late Tuesday night. A girl, who was also on the sailboat when the lightning struck, survived.

Ottawa County Coroner, Michael Wallen, told the Grand Haven Tribune that Conner Anderson died at the North Ottawa Community Hospital from heart failure, following injuries from the lightning strike.

Paramedic John Croley told GHT that the teens rented a sailboat around three o’clock yesterday afternoon, and Anderson was struck by lightning around eight. The strike caused him to fly off the boat and into the frigid waters of Lake Michigan. Since the teens weren’t wearing life jackets, the seventeen-year-old girl, Olga Worontzoff, had to jump into the water to retrieve Anderson. After swimming back to the boat, with Anderson’s body draped over a lifebuoy, she managed to dial 9-1-1 on Anderson’s cell phone. That’s when she apparently noticed Anderson wasn’t breathing and administered CPR before being rendered unconscious when a gust of wind knocked the sailboat boom into the back of her head.

Anderson was in cardiac arrest when the Coast Guard arrived and was pronounced dead at the hospital an hour later. Worontzoff regained consciousness while being loaded into the ambulance on shore, Croley said, and was treated for a Grade 3 concussion and moderate hypothermia at the hospital before being released.

This article and others flashing on my laptop screen suggested the lightning strike wasn’t the only factor contributing to Conner’s death, that he didn’t receive the proper care in time. Nicole and my parents had spared my feelings. I guess that’s why the news crews were at school; they were trying to get my side of the story. Again, I’d agree with them. I was surprised there hadn’t been a citizen’s arrest for not doing more to save Conner’s life.

I should be in jail right now
.

No medicine existed that could help me get over losing my best friend, my soul mate. But a bottle of prescription pain meds the hospital gave me sat on my nightstand, next to a glass of water. It still had ice floating on top. Mom brought it in this morning with a cup of applesauce, a piece of peanut butter toast, and a sliced banana. I still wasn’t hungry. I didn’t think I would ever be hungry again.

I didn’t want Mom to add anorexia to her list of worries for me, but how could I eat when I felt like puking all the time? My body shook with sobs.

Blood pounded faster than normal behind my ears, a panic attack on the horizon. My throat burned, so I sipped my water. The glass shook because my hand was unsteady, but I left the pills alone. I figured I deserved my pain and lay down.

Although I desperately felt the need to sleep more, I couldn’t force my eyelids shut with the guilt of responsibility gnawing at my insides. Tears wouldn’t stop, but after an hour of hearing myself weep, I couldn’t stand the noise anymore. I reached for my iPod and scrolled until I found the playlist for Cantankerous Monkey Squad, then hit the arrow button seven times until the title
Haunted
displayed on the screen.

This was the most recent song he wrote before they laid down the tracks to produce their first album a few months ago. Conner’s rich parents paid for the whole thing as part of his Christmas present. I cranked up the tiny speakers, drowning out my sobs, and heard Kyle tapping out the beat and Sean strumming his guitar at the beginning of the song before Conner’s voice filled my ears.

“We ain’t the same children who scared the other neighborhood kids/ When we made spooky sounds from the closet where he hid/ We ain’t the same best friends who up on my backyard hill/ Engraved our initials on that old oak for summer thrills/ We ain’t the same homies who to Detroit we’d go/ Just so my bro could hook up with some hoes/ Well, maybe I’ll make my dreams come true someday/ Move to Florida and have a son that bears my name/ But in this haunted house there’s danger in every direction/ I pray to God he would give me some protection/ And in this haunted house we’re not the same people/ But you, my friends, are my sanctuary, my steeple/ I hope if I die young, I’ll find my way back home/ So you’ll feel me and know you’re not alone/ In this haunted house.”

Kyle went all out with his long drum solo at the end, and it felt like a metaphor for how I’d been battling my emotions. The words to Conner’s song were truly haunting, like a premonition. He wrote the song in October, inspired by Halloween, even wanted me and the rest of our friends to spend the night in a real haunted house.

I’d joked with him, asking, “What—the one we created in sixth grade doesn’t count?”

“Not a ghost of a chance,” was his response, typical corniness.

The song told briefly about our haunted house. We didn’t care if it was summer. We’d devised a plan, made invitations, and delivered them to the neighborhood kids’ mailboxes. Nicole dressed up as a witch and stood in Conner’s foyer, greeting children and stirring dried ice in her cauldron. She led them into the kitchen, where Conner’s sister stuck the kids’ hands in bowls covered with napkins. I thought she used JELL-O and put weird stuff in there, and the kids guessed what they touched. Then Kyle, dressed as a zombie, led them upstairs to where Conner and I told a scary story in the dark with the flashlights shining on our white-painted faces. Sean hid in the closet, making spooky sound effects. At the climax, I led them out of the room, screaming down the stairs. Except I tripped on the last step, and everyone tumbled on top of me. I split my lip open on the hardwood floor, and Loria took me for stitches. That was the only time I visited a hospital, until last week.

Last week… because of last week, Conner will never get to move to Florida, never have a son, and it’s entirely my fault. Holding up the bottle of pain pills, I read the labels. I hadn’t taken any yet. The directions said to take with a small meal because the medication may cause drowsiness or dizziness. The instructions stated I was only supposed to take one tablet a day.

Screw that, it wouldn’t even make a dent in my pain.

Pushing down on the cap, I turned it counterclockwise, then dumped the tablets into my left hand. The pills were white, oval-shaped, and about two centimeters long. There were twenty or so pills in the bottle, and without thinking, I took them all.

The tablets didn’t catch in my throat. In fact, they went down smoothly with my drink of water.

The word ‘suicide’ flashed in my mind.

No
, I wasn’t attempting to end my life. I just wanted to escape my pain. Although a small part of me knew I could be risking death. I should’ve Googled the name of the medicine first to see what the effects could be. Oh well, I’d let God decide what He wanted to do with me. If I awoke, I’d know there was a reason for me to go on.

A new kind of dizziness washed over me, much stronger than the concussion I sustained seven days ago, weighing down my muscles just as the cold waters of Lake Michigan had. But I didn’t feel cool; I felt warm. Heat spread from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, sinking deep underneath my skin.

Soon the weight of my muscles disappeared, and I knew this was more than just a simple side effect. This tingling feeling took over, like being disconnected from my body, the air around me static with electricity. As I floated toward the ceiling, my bed seemed like a distant mile.

Closing my eyes, I let the sensation carry me away from the pain and guilt, heading toward numbness instead.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
―Winston Churchill

ic leaned over the cash register, flipping through a ‘Sexy Styles of Summer’ article in
Cosmo Girl
magazine. The bookstore where we worked—that her parents owned—was super slow today. “I can’t believe I got this huge frickin’ pimple on my chest this morning when we’re supposed to be beaching it in two days.”

Yesterday was the last day of school, and Monday is the annual Memorial Day picnic at Grand Haven State Park. Not that it meant anything to me. When Mom and Dad found the empty pill bottle and hate letters, they agreed to let me homeschool the rest of the year. The only catch was I had to do my schoolwork at the marina clubhouse where they worked, so they could keep an eye on me, and I had to start grief counseling. I promised never to take another pill. I didn’t know what I was thinking—well, clearly I wasn’t.

I sighed loudly.
Lord, help me see past my feelings. I pray for your grace to mold me into the person you want me to be. Help me find the courage within to forgive myself, to face the ghost in the mirror. Please take away this relentless darkness, and help me find the light of your peace again. Amen.

Nicole continued her diatribe about the upcoming summer, and I half-listened while washing the store windows with listless effort. They were spotless anyway. I kept my hands busy all the time now. Mom’s mantra about idle hands being the devil’s workshop made so much more sense to me as of late.

Fingers snapped loudly. “Hello? Are you listening?”

I walked to the counter, then set the Windex and roll of paper towels down. “Um. No. Sorry.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and held out the magazine. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. What do you think of this bathing suit? I’m thinking of ordering it off this website.”

I reached for my glasses from atop my head but realized I didn’t need them.

Weird. The print describing the suit was really tiny.
I’ll have to Google if vision can improve on its own
. “I think it’s cute. You should get it.”

“I think I will. So it’s almost time for lunch break. How about we go throw eggs at the guy in the chicken costume dancing like a freak outside Chicken King?”

Staring at her, I asked, “Am I missing something?”

“These days? Usually.”

I threw my wet paper towel at her over the counter, and she laughed. I giggled with her for a few seconds before remembering I didn’t joke anymore.

“Sean got hired there and starts today. He has to stand on the street corner, waving a sign about the daily specials.”

I hadn’t seen Sean or Kyle since the last day I attended school. Hanging out with them would make me think about Conner even more, and that just plain hurt too much. “Sounds finger lickin’ good, but I actually need to head over to the hospital for my counseling session.”

With a down-turned mouth, she asked, “On a Saturday?”

“Yeah. I missed Tuesday’s appointment because I was studying for finals, so Dr. Judy rescheduled.”

She stepped around the counter, purse in hand. “See you when you get back then.”