And it’s not all right, not really. But it’s nice of him to say so.
CHAPTER 53
The Light and the Dark
WHEN I IMAGINE X dead, I don’t see darkness. In darkness there’s still hope. Some hidden thing in the places you can’t see. Grief to me feels like an endless landscape of white light. No secrets. And no surprises either.
You can see clearly all you have lost.
Everything that’s no longer there.
CHAPTER 54
One Million, Eight Hundred and Fourteen Thousand and Four Hundred Seconds
SOMETIMES THE ONLY thing to say about a period of time is that it’s passing and that you’re surviving it.
Graduation festivities kick into high gear. The yearbook comes out, and everyone, even the most jaded and cynical kids, turns nostalgic and earnest. We reminisce, sign each other’s books and make promises we really want to keep.
Cassidy’s parents go away to Europe, so she throws some kind of party almost every night. I go to all of them.
At my request, we start going back to Surf City Waffle. I have too many memories of X by the pool at Cassidy’s house to want to go there anymore.
Every Sunday, I wonder if this is the Sunday when Sophie and Cassidy will break up. Things between them have been getting slowly worse. They smile less and touch less and bicker more.
Martin notices, but we don’t talk to each other about it. What’s there to say? Every Sunday they don’t break up feels like a gift, like a little extra time the four of us get to share.
But finally, BreakUp Sunday arrives. They sit next to each other in our booth at Surf City Waffle but don’t touch at all. It happens just the way I saw in my vision. It’s like having a movie-length déjà vu.
After Cassidy leaves, Sophie cries for an hour. She tells us that things have been bad between them for a while. She says it’s like Cassidy had gotten bored with her. She did careless things, like forget when they had a date. Whenever Sophie complained, Cassidy told her she was too sensitive.
Martin and I hug her and let her cry until she stops. She tells us she doesn’t think she wants to go on the road trip. I’m disappointed all over again, but then I let it go.
Later, after I get home, I call Cassidy and listen to her side of the story. Surprisingly, it’s kind of the same. She says she thinks maybe she isn’t a good girlfriend for anyone yet.
The next Sunday, Martin and I go to Surf City Waffle alone, but it’s just too sad. We leave and go back to my house. I make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We eat outside on the patio.
Mom starts seeing Dr. Bob twice a week instead of just once. I want to tell her not to put herself out there again. Doesn’t she remember how she felt after Dad left? Doesn’t she remember taking down their wedding photos? Right after he moved out, we tried living in our house for a few months. I’d catch her staring at the places Dad’s stuff used to be. One toothbrush next to the sink instead of two. Empty spaces on the bookshelf, like missing teeth. The house became a museum of all the places love used to be. A few months later, she agreed to sell the house and we moved.
* * *
——
It’s been twenty-one days since I found out that the boy I love is going to die. I want to say that every passing day is better than the one before, but it’s not true.
There are places my mind refuses to go. Exactly when does he die, and how? I remember my vision of Archibald and Maggie standing in an open field, snowflakes drifting in the air around them, watching a coffin being lowered into the ground. How will they survive the death of their grandson? How will his parents? Kevin and Jamal and all his other friends? Will he know it’s going to happen? Will he suffer? What will his last thought be?
Sometimes I want to call him and tell him the truth. But telling him would be cruel. Just because I’m burdened with this awful knowing doesn’t mean he should be. I remember the round of Tipsy Philosophicals we played at our first bonfire, the one where we first kissed. I asked everyone if they’d want to know when and where we were going to die. X said no. He said it would take the fun out of everything. I said yes, that it was always good to be prepared.
Sometimes I want to call him and tell him the other truth, which is that I love him and I always will. But telling him that would also be cruel.
What would I say?
I love you, but you’re going to die, so I can’t love you?
I can’t because I’m scared I won’t survive the pain? Or, that’s not right. I’m not scared I won’t survive the pain. I’m scared the pain will never end and I’ll have to live with it forever.