24. Callum
Callum
Iopen and close the cap of my water bottle, staring at one of the paintings on Dr. Jain’s wall—a sketch of tree branches covered in ivy. It’s vaguely similar to the artwork on the walls at Peyton’s office, and I sigh, thinking of her.
After Peyton left, I called Dr. Jain’s office to see if she had any last minute cancellations. Her assistant scheduled me for thirty minutes in the late afternoon, and I don’t have an inspection until this evening, so… here I am.
I spent the first five minutes in complete silence. I know she’s waiting patiently for me to explain why I’m here, but is “I fucked up. And I’m fucked up,” a good enough answer?
My fears and insecurities got the better of me with Peyton. The fact that she questioned if I was breaking up with her has been eating at me all day. Ending things with Peyton didn’t even cross my mind. Guilt trickles down my throat when I remember how crushed she looked, the way she cried.
I’m frustrated that I wasn’t able to regulate my emotions, and now I’m terrified Peyton won’t want to be with someone like me.
“I fucked up.” I toss the heavy words out there, but I don’t feel any lighter.
Dr. Jain doesn’t pick up her notebook. Her hands remain in her lap as she says, “Tell me more.”
I set my water bottle on the coffee table. “I told Peyton everything. I told her about Tyler, about what happened, about my past.”
If she’s surprised I’ve said his name for the first time since we started meeting last year, she doesn’t show it, only adjusting her glasses. “That was a big step, Cal. How did it feel?”
“It was hard, but it felt good. It reminded me of feeling sore after a workout. Painful, but for a good cause.”
She nods, her neutral expression unchanged.
I pull in a shaky breath that does nothing to steady me.
“But, then I woke up and everything changed. It turns out she has epilepsy, and she didn’t tell me—not that I gave her much of a chance.
I panicked. I don’t think I handled it well.
I mean, I know I didn’t handle it well. I asked her to leave with no room for discussion, and she seemed really hurt.
Early in our relationship, I assured her that getting reactively angry was just a PTSD stereotype, and then there I went, being stereotypical. So… I fucked up.”
Dr. Jain’s eyes are filled with curiosity, not judgment. “Reacting to triggers, especially one directly related to your source of trauma, will happen on your healing journey.”
I shift uncomfortably on the couch. “But it feels like I failed. I don’t want her to see me as someone who can’t handle their own shit. It’d kill me if she viewed me that way.”
“Do you view yourself that way?”
I give it some thought. Picking therapy back up again last year resurfaced a lot of hard emotions for me, but I’m also feeling stronger than before. “No.”
Dr. Jain hums thoughtfully. “What coping techniques do you think you could use next time?”
“I think if I had slowed down and reminded myself it wasn’t an emergency, I could’ve explained myself. Peyton probably would’ve understood I needed space without me even having to ask.”
“That sounds like a strong plan.” She pauses and sets her glasses down on the end table.
I start fiddling with my old phone, turning it over in my hand. I’ve been holding onto this voicemail for too long. And if I’m serious about healing, I know I need to listen on my own. Especially this one.
The final keepsake.
The day of his funeral.
I unlock my phone and stare at the voicemail length beneath the harrowing date. Three minutes and twenty-three seconds long.
“One voicemail left. Do you want to listen to it today?” Dr. Jain asks.
“I think… I think I want to listen by myself. The timing’s never going to feel right. I just need to accept the fact that it’ll be unbelievably hard, and do it anyway.”
Dr. Jain says something, asks about my plans for the rest of the day, maybe, but I stand abruptly. It has to be now. I walk straight to my truck, the cold wind barely registering against my face.
My surroundings seem hazy as I sit in the driver’s seat. The parking lot’s a black blur as my focus zeroes in on my phone. The little gray bubble with Tammy’s initials watches me, and I brush my thumb over the letters. Giving the screen one last glance, I press the blue triangle and flip it over.
“Hi, Cal, it’s Jeff.”
“And Tammy. Your mom said we could call. We missed you at the funeral today, bud. We weren’t sure if you were going to make it, but we saved you a seat next to us in the pew. It’s strange not seeing you come by the house every day.” Her voice hitches. “Not seeing both of you, now.”
I hear muffled sniffles through the static, and there’s a long pause before Jeff takes over.
“Cal. What happened isn’t your fault. We don’t blame you. People leave the earth every day. But very few of them can say that their last moments were spent doing the thing they loved most with their best friend.”
The sadness in his tone seeps through the line, and it feels real, tangible, like he’s here with me. Like I’m watching him sob.
“Don’t surrender your future to your past, Cal.
When Tyler’s memory knocks on your door, don’t let the painful parts in.
Not on his behalf. I think you know him well enough to know he wouldn’t want it.
He’d hate to be the reason you…” His voice falters.
“He’d hate to be the reason you’d stop living life the way it’s meant to be lived. ”
Jeff’s voice is hoarse. Raw. “You’re allowed to move on. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to celebrate good things without letting tragedy define you. Let that day make the sweet moments of your life sweeter, because you know what it’s like to go through something unfathomable.”
I hear uneven breathing, then Tammy’s voice again.
“Last night, I dreamt of your last soccer match. Do you remember when the team hoisted him up on their shoulders for scoring the game winning goal? I swear that smile was glued to his face for an entire week. His smile is so vivid in my dreams, Cal. And I think if I could take one memory to heaven, it’d be that one.
” Tammy exhales a deep breath. “It’s possible to carry a memory close without letting it bind you.
When we picture Tyler from now on, we’re not going to picture him as he was today.
We’re going to picture him at his absolute best.
Scoring that game winning goal.
Diving into the deep end at the community pool.
Playing with Zebra.
Laughing with you.
We love you big, Cal. And so does Tyler.”
Three minutes and twenty-three seconds.
It’s all it took for me to feel a sense of mental stillness I’ve never felt before.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel once I finished the voicemails. But now I know.
A life-altering calm.
No yelling, no blaming, no guilt-tripping. None of my assumptions took shape. And it’s only now, with the last keepsake unveiled, that I know what I need to do.
Buckling my seatbelt, I reverse out of the parking lot with urgency.
I glance at my watch—4:30 p.m. Tammy’s a kindergarten teacher, and Jeff owns his own farm equipment business.
I don’t know if they’ll be home. Nevertheless, I drive to the Sheldon house, filled with newfound purpose and determination.
The last time I was here, I’d just gotten my license a month before. I came to pick up Tyler, and before we could leave, Jeff lectured us for at least ten minutes about “no distractions, including the radio.”
The second we left the house, we popped in The Black Parade album and turned it all the way up. We felt so badass, like two rebels with the world at their feet. I haven’t listened to the album since, but as I pull up to a red light, I plug in my phone and turn it on.
The opening piano notes of “Welcome to the Black Parade” trill through the air. They awaken something in my soul, bringing the memory to life, and I have to check the passenger seat to confirm Ty isn’t sitting next to me singing along.
As Gerard Way sings about carrying on the legacy of a dead friend, I turn the volume as high as it can go without bursting my eardrums and start singing at the top of my lungs. The cold wind whips through my hair when I roll down the windows, and I feel so free.
“Maybe we should be My Chemical Romance for Halloween! Wear black marching band costumes or some shit!” Ty shouts over the speakers, the wind blowing his blond hair in front of his eyes.
“MCR has four members! We’re only two people! We’d look like dumbasses!” I yell back, doing my best to keep my eyes on the road.
Ty grins, the chip in his front tooth making an appearance. “So? We’ll go as Mikey and Gerard Way! They’re brothers! Just like us!”
The happiness I felt in that moment wraps around me. The feeling squeezes my chest in a welcome embrace, instead of the usual vice grip, until I reach the Sheldons’.
Bolstered by the positive emotions coursing through me, I walk straight up to their front door and ring the bell. A few moments pass in silence while I wait for someone to answer. If they’re not home, it doesn’t change my plan to see them again. I’ll just stop by a different time.
Another minute passes, and I decide to call it. But just as I swivel around, I hear the front door thud open.
“…Cal?” The motherly voice is familiar, but older. Weathered, but I can hear the notes of joy that used to lace every word back when we spoke. Back when this was my second home.
I slowly turn, and I’m met with a bewildered Tammy. Her blonde hair has grayed, and there’s a few new smile lines that weren’t there before. Tears well in her blue eyes, and her hand covers her mouth in shock.
“Is it really you?” she whispers behind her hand, completely still.
I nod slowly.
She opens her arms.
And I crash into them.