Chapter 12
Emmett
W
hen I wake up this morning, well-rested again, it feels oddly quiet in my apartment. No loud thuds or screams, but I’m still finding myself distracted by thoughts of Drew, which remind me of what she must be going through right now, which leads me to think about Lennon.
When Lennon died, I never thought I would outlive the suffering I felt every day. I wouldn’t survive the agony I felt at every waking moment, and I remember longing for someone who understood the pain.
My sister died twelve years ago, and sometimes it feels like that much time has passed; other days it feels like it was yesterday.
Grief works in such an odd way.
I remember my therapist explaining it to me as a balloon in a box with a button. The button was the grief, and when the balloon was big enough to push it, that is when you felt it. When my sister died, the balloon was blown up so big that it barely had room to move in the box, so the grief button was being held down.
All morning, all day, all night.
But, as time went on, the balloon began to deflate… Little by little, more on some days than others, and the button wasn’t being pushed as often. The balloon is still there, but it is small enough now to where it only hits that button occasionally.
Hearing a phone ring in the middle of the night never means good news because good news waits until the morning. Bad news, heartbreaking news, life-changing news comes in the middle of the night.
I recall just drifting to sleep, the time being somewhere just after midnight. It was a Friday night, and the stress of senior year was put on hold for the weekend. My dad gave me the night off from the bar, and I used it to play video games until my eyes were rimmed red.
I remember thinking that it was weird to be getting a phone call to the house this late, and the mumbling from my parents’ bedroom down the hall was all I could hear in the realm between awake and asleep.
My mom was the one who answered the phone because my dad was still at the bar. What started as inaudible whispering quickly transformed into a wail. I don’t remember how I got out of bed and ended up kneeling next to my mom because of how fast I moved. The phone was dropped between her feet and her head was in her hands, and I was no longer the least bit tired.
It all became a blur when I picked up the phone from the floor and said, “Hello?”
The words, “Lennon”, “hit”, “tree”, and “drunk” were swirling in the air as I hung up to call my dad at the bar. I have no memory of the phone call I had with him or getting to the hospital, but, the next thing I knew, I heard the doctors tell my parents that she didn’t even make it out of the car. She had died on impact, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in her system.
It was as if my life could have ended there, my parents' cries being the soundtrack to my demise. It was a living nightmare standing there in the hospital, watching them wrap their arms around each other and let out tears so filled with sorrow that the sobs were silent. My own eyes blurry with the tears I refused the let fall. I had to be strong for them.
My life didn’t end there, not even close, and I know that now, along with the fact that it wasn’t my job to stay strong for my mom and dad. Arriving at this took a lot of therapy and understanding my feelings surrounding what happened, but, in some ways, a part of me never left the hospital that day.
I wonder often what it would be like if Lennon was still around, still here, still alive.
Would she be proud?
Would she be happy?
My parents have their own ways of coping with the loss, and both cope in private. We don’t talk about Lennon much, and I don’t share that part of my past with anyone, not even Eddie. I talked about it with Riley once, but I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I changed the subject.
That should’ve been another clue that we were never going to work out.
I’ve been laying here in bed for the past two hours, and it’s still only 9 AM. With the bar closed today and tomorrow, I have two days to by myself.
I feel the button press, washing me with grief.
I grew up celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas, but after Lennon died, my faith died along with her. I couldn’t believe the God I learned about in Sunday school was the God that took her away.
My parents are in Florida, my sister is dead, and my friends are all visiting families of their own with significant others.
I have two days.
Alone.
I roll over, not even interested in scrolling on my phone or turning on the TV. Instead, I muster up the motivation to get myself out of bed and do something with the day.
As I walk to the bathroom, I remember the grocery shopping I was going to do on Friday that I never got to because of everything that happened. It’s Sunday now, and, even though it’s Christmas Eve, most stores are open until at least early evening.
The stores will probably be packed, but the busyness might keep me distracted from thinking about Lennon, or Drew.
I quickly brush my teeth, tie my hair up, and pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. I grab my phone to check the list I typed up on Friday. I add a couple other things before heading out the door, and I find myself half-hoping that I’ll run into Drew. Not to give her a hard time, but because I only recently realized the place that she’s come to have in my routine, and my brain, over the past six months. It’s like she snuck her way in and found her place, leaving me feeling like she’s always been there.
I hope the flush in her cheeks doesn’t disappear after what has happened to her. Same with the sparkle in her eye and the slight catch of her breath when she spots me.
Living through a trauma changes a person, and I hope the glimpses I got of Drew and the person she is are still there. I want her to be okay, selfishly and empathetically. I’ve experienced feelings so big and so hard to understand, and no one deserves that. Especially a teacher who went to work with no intention of having the worst day of her life.
I head down the hallway to the elevator and push the button. It lights up, and I hear the grating noise from the metal parts pushing and grinding against one another as the car makes its way to my floor.
One day, that cable is just going to snap, I think to myself.
Just as I hear the ding that tells me the door is about to open, I realize that I forgot to grab my jacket, and my car is going to be freezing from not driving it the past week. Before the doors can open, I jog back to my apartment to grab it.