Chasing William (9 page)

I try to focus on my exam but it’s hard to
keep my mind from wandering. I keep looking over at Amanda, trying
to figure out what she might be thinking. I do manage to finish the
exam, even with all the breaks to look up and make sure Amanda’s
still there. I have to start my new plan today. Everything has to
start starting now. I’m tired of living in limbo. Amanda gets up to
turn in her test and I follow her. She tries to rush out the door
and down the hall, but she’s not quite fast enough.

“Hey! Amanda!”

She stops and turns around, her eyes dark
and ready for another loud, public fight.

“Merry Christmas!” I smile as wide as I can
without looking too fake. I can’t help but laugh a little, she
looks so ready to fight.

“Fuck you, Crissy,” Amanda snarls and turns
around. I don’t bother following her. There doesn’t seem much
point.

I should probably be insulted, but she uses
“fuck off” as such an interchangeable insult-slas-term of
endearment she doesn’t sound half as badass as she’s trying to be.
She just sounds like a broken record, a non-creative, one-insult
kind of girl. I actually feel like the bigger person. I know
something I could have used against her, but I didn’t say anything.
She is the one who can’t move on. I walk out to meet my mom with a
clear conscience. I’m ready for my trip. It’s time.

To:
William Davis

Message:
It’s almost time! I don’t
think I’d be more excited if I were seeing you in person. I’m a
little scared too, though. How do I do this? You were always the
confident one, didn’t need anybody. I guess that was always your
biggest flaw,too. You were too proud to go to people when you
needed help. You just had to go out and cope with everything on
your own. But maybe that’s better than me. I just shut up and hope
my problems go away. Never take risks, never do anything the “good”
kid wouldn’t do (except be with you).

We’re both so screwed up and we’ve made such
a huge mess of our lives in different ways. I guess I want to set
things straight for both of us. You’ll always be such a huge part
of me, so maybe if I figure things out it’ll be like you getting a
second chance. Do you think it works like that? I hope it does. I
really miss you, and you deserve a second chance at life even more
than I do. At least you’d do something with it. I guess I’ll have
to take a few risks and make a legacy for both of us now. So, I
guess I’ll set off tomorrow for both of us then. You and me, kid,
out to take over the world! What do you say? You all in, Will?

“
Do not think.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my
brief time as an adolescent, it’s that the most important part of
any road trip is the music. I’m not going for your classic mix tape
songs though. I need something different because this trip is
something different. Being around William always made me want to
explore. If I told that to most people they’d assume he wanted to
drag me down and get me addicted too, but that was never the case.
William was probably the reason I never even thought about trying
anything. He would always talk about the future, about the man he
was going to be once he got out of ‘“That Place”’, all the things
he wanted to do now that he was clean, and how happy he was I could
do all those things without the wait. It made me feel like I had
all these opportunities to take advantage of. The problem was
William could see all those possibilities and I couldn’t. I guess
when you’re in a position to have something it’s a lot harder to
see than when you know you can’t have it. But I want this to be the
start of me taking advantage of those possibilities, if not for
myself than for the boy who would never get to try. This is a risk
I can take, and after this things will get easier. At least I hope
they will.

While thinking about all these opportunities
I decide on a foundation for my mix tape. I find a website that
lists off all the seven stages of grief and their subcategories.
After doing some more research I manage to make a list. I will have
a nine-hour trip, both ways (give or take an hour or two). The
point of the mix tape is to have two very different mindsets there
and back. The way up I will have nine emotions to work with, one
for every hour, with music, and a Chinese restaurant I’d found
along the way to accompany it. The way back home will be the two
final stages, with a blank playlist to be filled out as the trip
progresses (although the stages are more important than the songs).
This is my plan. I can do this. I will not talk myself out it no
matter how much I’m starting to second-guess myself.

I grab the two duffel bags I packed the
night before and head out to the front door. My parents have been
giving me plenty of space, but I can tell they’re worried. Every
time I walk out of my room, one of them appears to make sure I’m
not leaving without saying goodbye.

“I’m leaving now!” I call out to the empty
hallway as I close my bedroom door. I wasn’t all that nervous
before(comma) but now that I’m actually going I’m in shock. My
stomach is flipping around and around. I’m grateful I told myself
there wasn’t time for breakfast. An unsettled empty stomach is
easier to travel on than a full one.

“Did you pack plenty of warm clothes?
Scarves and gloves and hats and layers? Don’t forget to dress in
layers!”

“It’s not my first winter, Mom.” I roll my
eyes, a pretty standard response for an almost eighteen-year-old ,
I think. Pretty soon I’ll be out of the eye rolling-acceptable age
bracket and I’d like to use it while I still can.

“But it’s going to be cold there. Probably
colder than you’re expecting, and you need to be prepared. You can
catch all sorts of things if you get too cold, and you’re never
good about bundling up. I think you should –“

“Mother.” I cut her off before it’s too late
to stop her. “Now is not the time for a lecture. I’ll make sure to
call every time I stop, I’ll keep my cell in reach, and I won’t
drive to the frozen tundra of Siberia without asking you to send
thicker socks first.”

“Socks! I almost forgot to ask you about
winter socks. Glad you reminded me.” She runs off, presumably to
the part of the house where all the secret winter socks are kept,
and I turn to my dad.

“Just remind her I’ll be fine. She doesn’t
have anything to worry about.”

“I know, but we are parents.” Standard dad
one-liner . It might not be worthy of a fortune cookie, but it is
the kind of thing that makes you feel safer when you hear it. “Oh,
I have this for you.” He pulls something out of his wallet. “It’s a
gas card. Should be enough on here to get you there and back. Think
of it as an early Christmas present.”

“Thanks, Dad. ” I give him a hug and start
to feel my nervousness turn into fear. It’s safe at home. No matter
what goes on in the rest of the world I’m lucky enough to be able
to come home to a place that feels safe. It doesn’t make sense why
I’m trying so hard to leave. Walking out the front door on my own
seems a lot scarier than it did this morning.

“I brought you some warm socks. Did you pack
enough warm socks? What kind of socks are you wearing now?”

I take the balled-up socks and stuff them in
my duffel. I’m too nervous to try and argue. I just have to get on
the road before I lose my nerve. I pick up my duffels and make my
way out to my car. It’s not as cold as I expected from December
weather, but it has to be colder in Minnesota, or at least that’s
what people keep telling me. I’ve never really traveled before,
haven’t gone much of anywhere at all. I just go to school and go to
work and things generally stay the same. This trip will be the
farthest I’ve ever been from home and I’ll be doing it all on my
own. I get in the car and program my GPS, keeping a written copy of
directions next to me, just in case. I wave out the window to my
parents. I have to look tough. I have to make them think I really
am capable of doing this on my own. I make it to the highway and
turn on my Ipod.

“
Life is unexpected, go with
it.”

Hour 1: Shock. As in “he can’t possibly be
gone.” Now, I know all the crap counselors and psychologists tell
you about the stages of grief, and how not everyone goes through
them all, and they all happen in their own time, but I don’t care.
These months after William died have been hard. I don’t know what
to do or where to start or how I’m supposed to feel. This list is
my checklist, the things people are generally supposed to feel. I’m
using them like Goldilocks, I guess, trying each one until I find
the thing that feels just right.

Shock is an easy one to start with. I tell
myself, “I can’t believe he’s gone” and I can’t believe he’s gone.
I couldn’t believe he was gone when I saw him at the wake. I
couldn’t believe all the make-up they put on him to make him seem
less dead. The real shock was that he didn’t come back to do
something about it. William was not the kind of guy to go anywhere
near make-up, let alone let people actually use it on him. Seeing
him there, covered in foundation to keep his skin from living up to
the “deathly pallor” he was supposed to have... Well if he didn’t
have any unfinished business before, I thought for sure he’d stick
around to haunt that undertaker.

That was another thing that was a little
shocking, how easily I could find myself joking about his death
like he was still alive and sitting right next to me. I didn’t do
it to be mean. Most of the time I didn’t even realize I was doing
it until after it happened. It was just how we were together. One
of us would do something stupid and never be allowed to live it
down. We kept each other humble. We also kept each other sharp. We
never agreed about anything, we were always fighting and pushing
the buttons we knew would get a reaction. No matter how hard I
pushed, he always pushed back. I loved him for that. I think it’s
what I miss the most.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

I can’t believe we’ll never get in another
fight.

I can’t believe I’ll never have someone to
disagree with like that.

I can’t believe he won’t make me rise to
another challenge.

I just can’t believe it.

I start to cry, but it’s not so bad I can’t
see the road. I just miss him. I keep thinking about all these
conversations we had and I’m trying to remember them happily. It’s
what you’re supposed to do. When someone dies, you hold onto their
memory and think of them fondly. I’m great at the holding-on part,
but every time I think about us together and happy I feel sad.
Those things will never happen again. I will never hear his voice
again. I will never hear him try to defend some outlandish
political opinion again. I will never hear him say “you’re wrong”
and then start to laugh again. How is that possible? He can’t be
gone.

The GPS chirps that it’s time to pull off
the highway at the next exit. It’s time for the second part of my
road trip to begin. If anyone asks, I fully intend to tell them I’m
just traveling along the highway trying to find the best Chinese
food. It’s a road-food-trip, and that really is a part of it. I
like Chinese food and I have to eat something. That’s not the whole
reason --obviously -- but I’ve found people (especially total
strangers) look at you funny if you tell them you think the
universe is trying to talk to you through a fortune cookie. They
tend to look at you even funnier when you go on to say the universe
has stopped talking to you and you’re trying to find that one
fortune cookie willing to tell you why. I feel a little crazy for
doing it, but hey, some people talk to God, some people chase
fortune cookies. Who are we to say what’s crazy or not?

The place I chose is called “China Gardens”,
fairly common if you’re familiar with Chinese restaurants. I always
make sure the place has a drive-thru before I go by myself. If they
have one, it means they’re a pretty laid-back place. If they don’t,
you run the risk of going to a “gourmet” Chinese restaurant. I’m
not saying those are bad places to go, but they usually cost more
than I’d like to spend and they aren’t too crazy about people my
age eating alone. China Gardens doesn’t disappoint (even though I
think the name is grammatically incorrect, which is a little
disappointing). It’s sandwiched in a strip mall between a generic
dollar store and a “for lease” sign. It doesn’t look very crowded
either, although it is still early for any kind of lunch crowd. The
bell above the door chimes as I walk in and the place looks a
little sad. There’s an empty buffet set up against the wall and
leather booths lining the opposite side. The floor is covered by a
plush red carpet that seems like an odd choice for this kind of
place. There are no dragons or Buddhas, not even an origami crane
or zodiac animal figurine. It looks like, well, nothing. There’s no
character anywhere. It’s the kind of building that makes you feel
sad.

“How can we help you today?” The woman
behind the counter is very American: blonde hair and blue eyes with
not a drop of Chinese anywhere. I realize American-Chinese food
isn’t really a representation of actual Chinese food, but at least
when it’s cooked by a Chinese-American it seems more authentic.
This place just isn’t trying.

“Umm, yeah.” I’m surprised to find that her
lack of broken-English is making it hard to order. The Chinese
place I go to when I’m home is run by an immigrant family and you
can always hear them shouting in Mandarin to each other when you
walk in. I don’t understand a word but it’s comforting anyway.
“I’ll have a hot-n’-sour soup with a fortune cookie.”

“That’s it?” She eyes me suspiciously. I’m
not sure what she thinks I’m up to, unless someone’s just come in
and stolen all their charm and she thinks I’m back for the food.
I’d believe that.

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s cold outside.” I
think I added that to defend my ordering soup, but
blonde-counter-lady just glares at me.