You Are Not Here (8 page)

I was in the park, sitting on a swing.

He came up behind me

and gave me a push.

I turned back to look at him,

waiting for him to say something.

I knew that whatever he said

would be meaningful.

But there was nothing.

He pushed me again, higher.

I looked back.

Still not a word.

Typical Brian.

That’s when I realized

the only sound I could hear

was a rhythmic thumping.

Thump. Thump.

Brian pushed me forward.

Thump. Thump.

I swung back.

Thump. Thump.

Brian pushed me forward.

Thump. Thump.

I swung back.

I looked around,

expecting to see someone with a drum,

but I couldn’t find the source.

When I turned back to Brian,

I saw that he was shirtless.

His chest had been crudely ripped open,

and blood pulsed

down his stomach in waves.

The sound was coming

from Brian’s heart.

He was the source.

empty

confused

hurt

numb

disoriented

mad

vulnerable

insignificant

blurry

tired

sweaty

overwhelmed

temporary

anxious

I can’t stop thinking

about something terrible

happening to my mom.

I tiptoe to her room.

The door is open just a little.

She is tangled up in her sheets—

one foot hanging off the bed.

An open book is next to her face.

She snores softly.

Without her,

I would be lost.

And furiously regretful

for not

spending more time with her.

For not

really talking to her.

I lean against the door frame.

I want to wake her up and tell her

about Brian.

I want to tell her lots of things.

But I can’t.

I always stop myself.

Maybe because it doesn’t feel safe.

Like if I tell her anything,

it will open me up

to having to answer all her questions.

I walk along the very last row of graves.

It’s so deep in the shade

that only moss grows here.

Most of the gravestones are buried

under dirt,

so only part of the story

can be read.

Some of the gravestones creep

out of the ground only a few inches—

determined to remind us

that they are still here.

All that’s left to see are the words

F
ATHER
or
IN MEMORY OF
.

I wonder what happened.

I wonder what made the earth rise up.

want to do anything.

I don’t

have the energy to do anything

besides watch TV,

read, and visit Brian.

I don’t

want to talk to my friends.

Being alone somehow seems safer.

I don’t

want to go back to school in the fall.

I don’t

know how I’ll be able to sit still in class,

learning useless crap like calculus.

I don’t

want to apply to college.

I am changed.

My perspective is changed.

I don’t

think I can come back from that.

I don’t

think I can live the way I did before.

Not thinking

about all the terrible things that can happen.

Not knowing

what it feels like

to have a part of me ripped out.

How do I come back from this?

to get in to see Brian.

Sometimes when I go to the cemetery,

there’s already a person there.

So I stand with the Dearly Departed

or in front

of a stranger’s grave

and wait

and watch.

I saw Brian’s mom there once.

She was holding a bunch of sunflowers.

Even from a distance

I could see that she was talking to him.

I wondered what she was saying.

Did she tell Brian how much she missed him?

How her life would never be the same?

Or maybe she wasn’t talking to Brian,

but to God, telling him how she was furious

for taking away her only child.

Who knows, maybe she was praying,

offering God her unwavering trust.

I’ve also seen several people my age.

The guys seem to come alone.

The girls in pairs.

Some cry.

Some bring flowers.

Some stand there

for a few moments,

then walk away.

When I see someone at Brian’s grave,

I am torn.

I want to go over.

I want someone to grieve with,

to share stories with.

But I also want to avoid

explaining who I am,

what Brian was to me,

and most of all

the inevitable

lack of recognition on their faces.

I suppose I could just say we were friends

and leave it at that,

but that doesn’t feel right either.

or the higher purpose,

or if there was any purpose at all.

Did God have a master plan?

And if so,

how could taking Brian away

possibly fit into it?

I don’t want to hear bullshit excuses like:

“God took Brian

because he wanted Brian near him.”

What was gained

by taking Brian away?

I can only see grief.

I can only see pain.

Why did Brian only get a partial life?

Why do I get to live when he doesn’t?

It doesn’t make sense.

It makes me furious.

It makes me think there is no God.

Maybe if Brian had known

how short his life was going to be,

he could have lived it more fully.

If I could ask Brian

what he would have done differently

in his short life,

what would he say?

make it through all this

without actually living it—

curl up in a dark cave

and sleep, belly full,

like a bear

until springtime.

It’s hard to explain,

but all this has shocked me.

I feel like I have electricity

running through me,

like I have been turned on

in a way that I wasn’t before.

I am so much more aware

that I am a person,

my own person.

And that makes me feel big,

but it also makes me feel small.

There are billions of people in this world,

and we are all alive and buzzing and thinking

that we are the center of the universe.

And we are so far from it.

Just thinking of how I figure

into the vastness of space

scares me.

It makes me feel insignificant

and that me mourning Brian is nothing,

not even a flicker in this world.

And even though I know

that this life is tiny,

it’s all I’ve got.

It’s my life.

It’s my universe.

is exhausting,

since I have to do all the talking.

I wish I could get a sign from him

that he’s listening.

It’d be nice to know he’s there.

I wonder how a sign

might look or sound.

Maybe a breeze would blow by,

and I would get a whiff of his cologne.

Or maybe a bird would land on Brian’s grave

and start chirping at me.

Maybe a leaf would fall out of the trees

and land in the palm of my hand.

I close my eyes

and wait, quietly.

I take a long deep breath in

and just when I am about to exhale,

a car backfires.

It’s gunshot-loud.

That sign

is loud and clear.

She wants to know

if I want to go shopping.

I say no.

Parker calls.

He wants to know

if I want to go to the movies.

I say no.

Marissa calls.

She wants to know

if I want to go for lunch.

I say no.

dressed and ready for the night shift.

I am in my pajamas and on the couch

watching an Iron
Chef
marathon.

“All right, I’m off to the hospital.

There’s lasagna in the freezer.

If you decide to go out with friends tonight,

just leave me a voicemail, okay?”

“Sure,” I answer,

knowing I’m not going anywhere.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

Have a good night.”

As I watch episode after episode,

the hours slip by.

The only time I move

is to refill my cereal bowl

or go to the bathroom.

And even that takes effort.

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m.,

I pull the blanket over my head,

turn my back to the TV,

and fall asleep.

I don’t even bother

to turn off the lights or the TV.

Motivating to go upstairs to my room

is completely out of the question.

The sound of the front door shutting

wakes me around 7:30 a.m.

“What are you still doing down here?”

my mom asks as she puts down her bag.

“I guess I fell asleep while watching TV.”

I push back the blanket and rub my eyes.

“I’m judging from your pj’s

that you didn’t go out last night.”

“I wasn’t in the mood,”

I say as I stand up

and head for the stairs.

All I want

is to be in my bed.

“You’ve been staying in a lot.

Is something wrong?

Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine.

Just tired.”

“All right, well, maybe

we can do something later.

Want to come get a manicure?”

“Maybe.

Let’s talk after you wake up.”

But I have no intention of being around

when she wakes up.

I’m spending the afternoon with Brian.

Parker invites me to Great Adventure.

I say no thank you.

Joy invites me to the flea market.

I say no thank you.

Marissa invites me to the beach.

I say no thank you.

to look in the mirror.

It wants to know what I see.

I see bad skin.

I see circles under my eyes.

I see eyebrows that need to be plucked,

pimples that need to be popped,

curls that are dry and knotted.

I see lips that don’t want to smile.

I see tired, cloudy eyes—

eyes that don’t want to cry anymore.

Staring into my eyes

is hypnotizing me.

But instead of bringing me calm,

it makes me feel a pain in my chest.

I am looking at a stranger.

if someone took an X-ray

of the ground at the cemetery.

Maybe it would look like

a scene from a beach—

dozens of bodies, stretched out

trying to get some sun.

When I let her in, she says,

“Hey, I don’t have to babysit today,

so I thought I’d come over

and see what’s going on.”

But nothing is going on.

I am sitting on the couch in my pj’s,

watching daytime talk shows.

“God, it’s so hot in here.

Don’t you have the AC on?”

“I didn’t feel like getting up

to turn it on.”

Marissa walks over to the AC

and puts it on
HIGH
.

She sits down next to me and asks,

“What are you watching?”

“
Oprah
. Why men cheat.”

“Sounds exciting.

Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“Nah. I’m tired.”

“Tired from watching Oprah?”

“Nah. Just tired in general.”

“Come on. It’s beautiful out.”

“No thanks.

I’m just gonna hang here.”

Marissa gets up.

It looks like she’s going to leave.

I’m glad.

I don’t want to talk

to anyone.

But then she suddenly turns back.

“Brian died, not you, Annaleah.

Your life can’t stop

just because his did.”

Her words take my breath away.

After a moment I say,

“You have no idea

what you’re talking about.”

“Well, then tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how it is for you.

You don’t talk to me.

You don’t call me back.

All you do is sit at the cemetery.”

“What? Have you been stalking me?”

“No, Annaleah.

I’ve just seen you there a few times

during my walks with Dana and Steven.

I don’t get it.

We stopped talking because of Brian.

And now that’s he’s gone,

we’re still not talking.

It doesn’t make any sense.

I thought that after the funeral,

things would change.”

“Things
have
changed.”

“Yeah.

I can see that.”

This time she leaves for real,

slamming the screen door behind her.

I stare out the window

and watch her walk down the street.

Once Marissa’s out of sight,

I go upstairs and get dressed.

I need to tell Brian about this.