21. Tyler
TWENTY-ONE
TYLER
THEN
I read something, somewhere, by someone, that you start feeling acclimated to an area by your junior year.
It’s like counting the formative years of living in an area as if they were years in college.
Technically, it’s my seventh year living in the Eugene, but it’s my third year living in this quiet suburb of Charming.
I almost didn’t believe this was the actual town name when I applied for the job I have now, but it’s precisely that.
It lives up to its name, too. It’s almost as charming as my own hometown of Auburn Hills.
Charming has a small-block downtown and a yearly heritage festival.
That’s pretty much all that it has going for it.
However, living in this suburb, which is within driving distance of Miles and Alyssa’s apartment, has provided me with a stable job out of college.
With a kinesiology major, you can branch out into other avenues and professions.
You could even become a doctor if you wanted to.
Miles, for example, is working toward becoming a chiropractor, which is why he and Alyssa are still living near campus.
I got a job as a physical therapist’s aide at a private practice in Charming.
A few months ago, I completed the training to be a certified PT.
Though the job here is simple and rewarding, my dream is to be a PT for a major athlete or sports team.
Griff has even let me be his part-time PT when he does climbing competitions.
I’m still baffled that Griff took our hobby of climbing and is making it his profession.
This year, he was sponsored by an electrolyte drink company.
He slaps stickers of their brand on his water bottles and equipment, which gives him the financial support to keep climbing.
Whenever Griff is on the West Coast, I try to meet him to help his recovery when I can.
Since I’m in my junior year of living in Charming, my days are routine.
I have all my regular places to go and recognize the people I see almost every day.
I wake up just before my alarm goes off and head to the climbing gym.
Miles and I commit to climbing together every morning before we go off to our jobs.
I’m grateful for this because it tends to be the only time we can get together other than the occasional weekend hangs.
We climb for about an hour before getting changed and heading to our respective next stops.
For me, it’s my favorite bagel place on the way to the office.
Holey is owned by a group of college students who made bagels in their dorm and turned it into a small local chain.
I placed a pick-up order on my phone—a toasted everything bagel with veggie cream cheese and grape jelly.
The young student working the register has my bag ready for me as I walk in to grab and go.
The office feels like any other day. A few patients come and go. I assist the lead physical therapist with all the appointments and even handle one solo appointment before lunch.
“Hey, Tyler, we are walking to that new sandwich stand for lunch. Wanna come?” Michael, one of the RNs, asks.
“Yeah, for sure, give me one sec.”
At the lunch spot, we all order the most popular sandwich on the menu.
Each of us gradually laughs harder as the next person goes to place their order, and it’s precisely the same one as the person before.
By the time I get to the counter, I say, “What they’re all having!
” and my coworkers double over in laughter.
A few picnic tables are set up in a semicircle around a stand, and the six of us who decided to stay and eat here squeeze into one of the tables.
We keep up idle conversation, talking about what we are up to this weekend.
Michael and his wife, Andrea, are taking their kids to a river to learn fly-fishing.
Kelsey, a young doctor, then begins to tell a dramatic story about how her fiancé got his arm stuck in the mouth of a giant trout.
My abs are sore from all the infectious laughter.
My phone starts buzzing in my back pocket, and I click the side button to mute it.
“One time, I was at the coast in some tide pools, and a crab pinched my toe,” I say to the group, and am met with winces.
“How did that even happen?” asks Kelsey.
“Well—” My phone starts buzzing again, and I’m curious about the urgency. I pull it out and see a phone number I don’t recognize, but it’s in the Auburn Hills area code. “Sorry, one sec, I’m going to take this,” I say, getting up and taking a few steps away from the table.
I hear Kelsey starting another long rant as I answer the phone.
“Hi, is this Tyler Hastings?” the person on the other side asks.
“Yes, this is him. Who is calling?” I ask, feeling my shoulders start to hunch subconsciously.
“This is Officer Sousa of the Jackson County Police Department. I’m sorry to make this call to you, son,” he says, and then, in an instant, my entire world collapses under me.
As if an atomic bomb has gone off, my ears ring, and I’m silent.
My breathing becomes irregular, and I can feel my knees start to collapse.
My entire day flashes through my mind: all the mundane tasks I’ve completed today, all the years I’ve spent away from Auburn Hills, and all the memories I’ve missed.
I wonder what they were doing this morning.
What were they thinking about? Did they wonder why I forgot to call them this weekend? Were they scared?
I realize that I will never get to hear my dad’s laughter again, or the way my mom called to the animals in the morning, or know the feeling of my mom and dad pulling me close into a tight hug.
I won’t ever get those things again. I cannot take it any longer, so I lean over a nearby table, my phone still pressed to my ear, hearing the officer but not listening.
“Mr. Hastings, Tyler, are you still there?” he asks.
I haven’t processed anything since he said, “They are gone.” It feels like they were just here.
How could they be gone? I don’t get to say goodbye, and I don’t get to see them again.
The last time I visited was during spring break two months ago.
My mind is turning and spinning, and I can feel myself hyperventilating. I think I might be sick.
“Hey, Tyler, you good?” Michael asks from behind me, and I turn to him.
The look on my face must show everything because he immediately helps me sit and guides me to normal breathing.
He rubs my back in a circular motion. The officer is still on the phone, which is still pressed firmly to my ear, because he is the only connection I have left to my parents.
Michael gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze, signaling me to respond.
Finally, I ask the officer, “Are you sure?” I hear his deep sigh on the other end, and I know the answer before he says it.
“It happened on impact. The other driver wasn’t paying attention to the road when they hit your parents’ car in the intersection.
They didn’t suffer.” He says it like it’s supposed to make me feel better, knowing the last moments of their lives weren’t filled with pain or suffering.
I imagine my parents in the car together.
They loved to sing. They’d put on any music, whether it was the latest hits or golden oldies.
They’d sing together in the car, and if they didn’t know the lyrics, they’d make them up.
It used to drive me crazy as a kid in the back seat.
I would sing along to the words like them, but they would both sing off-key or the wrong lyrics.
I try to find comfort in the fact that my parents died together, singing and laughing, enjoying their company with each other. It’s something that made it easier for me to move away after high school, knowing they loved one another so much that they’d never be alone.
“Hey, keep steady breaths,” I hear Michael say as he’s still rubbing my back, and I realize I’m starting to hyperventilate again.
“What do I need to do?” I ask into the phone.
“You need to come home,” the officer says. He lists off a few other things and tries to give me his number. I can’t listen anymore, so I hand the phone to Michael, who takes down the information.
I don’t know how long I sit on the bench outside the sandwich stand.
Remnants of laughter about fishing and sandwich orders linger in the air.
Guilt over living away from my parents washes over me.
I should have been with them more because now, I will never make new memories with them.
I won’t get to see them grow old. They won’t get to see me fall in love or get married.
At some point, Michael helps me up and takes me back to the office.
Sitting in the break room, I feel immense hollowness. Nothing matters to me anymore, because the two people I care about most aren’t here to share it with me. I don’t even know what to do. I feel so young at twenty-four. My dad still helps me file my taxes.
I’ve been sitting with these thoughts for an hour when Miles comes in, and when I see him, I start to hyperventilate again.
“Hey, you’ll be okay. You’re not alone,” he says, pulling me into his arms. For the first time since hearing the news, I break and sob into my best friend’s chest. I wish I believed him, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay.