I lit a smoke. “How’s school?”
“Fine. Same old, same old.”
“Good.”
“What’s with you? You’re being weird.”
“I’m just a little tired. I’ll go to bed soon.” I took a long drag and finished my tea. “What about you? You seem…different.”
“Maybe so,” she responded.
“How?”
“Remember months ago when I told you I was afraid I wouldn’t want to live again?”
Of course I remembered, because I was on the verge of emotional suicide telling her Live me, Leah, as if it wouldn’t bring trouble. I nodded.
“Well, I’m not afraid of that anymore. And that’s liberating. As if everything is falling into place.”
I furrowed my brow. She noticed.
“What? You don’t like that?”
“Yes and no.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a step, but you can’t stay there. Answer me a question, Leah. What do you think is easier? Ignoring something that hurts and pretending it’s not there so you can get up every day with a smile on your face, or confronting that pain, internalizing it, understanding it, and still managing to smile eventually?”
I lit another cigarette just to keep my hands still and not run over and console her like I used to when I’d hug her.
“You’re harsh,” she whispered.
“It would be worse if I was the other way, if I said, ‘Sure, everything’s fine now…’”
“What do you want, Axel?” She raised her voice.
“You know…”
“That’s not true.”
“For you to accept it.”
“What?”
“That they’re dead, Leah. But that even if they’re not here, we don’t have to act like they never were here with us. We can go on talking about them, remembering them. Don’t you think so?”
Leah held back her tears and got up. I was quick and I grabbed her wrist before she could make it into the house.
“Remember that notebook where your father painted a field full of flowers and life? In the corner there were these beetles cut open with daisies inside. I wondered why for years. One time I asked him to explain it to me and he started laughing. We were right here, you know? On this porch, drinking a beer on one of those nights when he came to visit me and chat.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Because I remember them a lot; I think about them every day, but I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. And I would like you to be that person, Leah, to be able to tell you anything that passes through my head without having to watch every word.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Why does it still hurt so much?”
“Come here, babe.”
Then I hugged her.
I hugged her while she sobbed against my chest. I told her to cry, to let it all out, to not swallow her pain. She shared it with me, holding me tight. I closed my eyes and thought how that was one of the realest moments of my life.
68
_________
Leah
Once at school a girl a few years ahead of me tried to kill herself because some of her classmates were making fun of her, and her ex-best friend started calling her slut in the hallway and writing it on her desk. I remember it hit me, maybe because of her age, maybe because they got all the kids together in the auditorium to tell us what had happened. That day, while the principal talked about respect, camaraderie, and empathy, I heard the girl behind me say it wasn’t such a big deal. I turned and scowled at her. She looked down, she was too scared to face me, and that made me realize that lots of people who spend their time judging others do so to make up for their own insecurities.
Years later I thought about that. About the different ways human beings channel the same realities. There were girls who responded to teasing by flipping the bird or blowing it off. Others cried or tried to be invisible. Some couldn’t handle it and changed schools.
I guess it’s impossible to know how to manage an emotion until it hits you and you’re living it in the flesh. If I had asked myself before, I would have said I was strong, that I would have a normal process of mourning, that I would never be one of those ghosts who barely talks and wanders around with headphones on seeing the world in black and white.
But sometimes we’re wrong. We fall.
Sometimes we don’t know ourselves as well as we think.
Sometimes…sometimes life is so unpredictable…
69
_________
Axel
The first weekend in august, Leah met with some friends to take an evening walk. She asked me if I could run her down to the boardwalk. I stopped in front of the ice cream shop she pointed out and sized up the three guys waiting for her with Blair. Two of them had the acne typical for their age. I watched her get out of the car and walk up the street. I stayed there like an imbecile staring at them until I realized I looked more like a kid than they did, then I pressed the gas hard.
I stopped at my family’s café. Justin greeted me.
“Why the long face?”
“You talking to me?” I muttered.
“No, to the invisible customer who came in behind you. Yes, Axel, I’m talking to you. You look like you’re constipated or something. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. You gonna serve me a coffee?”
“Depends on your tone.”
“Please, Justin.”
“That’s better.”
He walked over to the machine and passed me a coffee a minute later, along with a slice of cheesecake. I grabbed my spoon and brought a bite to my lips.
“Well, look who’s here. Nice to see you, dude.” Dad came out of the kitchen and squeezed my shoulder. “How’s work? Lots of commissions?”
“Don’t ask; he’s in a bad mood,” Justin said.
“You want to shut your mouth for once?”
“Hey, come on now, positive energy.” My father smiled.
He was wearing a shirt that said, I’m a virgin, I swear on my children. I had to struggle not to laugh as he sat on the stool next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“You’ve got bags under your eyes. Did you sleep badly?”
“I’ve had a couple of rough nights.”
“You want to talk with your old man?”
“Dad…” I rolled my eyes.
“Okay, dude. No problem.”
He got up, his smile still on his face, and told Justin he was going shopping and would be back in a few hours. The doorbell chimed as he left.
“Mom’s not here?”
“Fortunately, she’s got a meeting about the fair in two weeks. Obviously she offered to make twenty or thirty cakes and take them there. The usual.”
“Have you tried to talk to her?”
“Yeah, but it’s pointless. She doesn’t listen.”
“And Dad?” I finished my cheesecake.
“Dad…he’ll just do whatever she says.”
“I don’t get it.”