Chapter 16
The movie ended and Marlo flipped on the lights.
We’d met in a different room this week. In fact, a different building than the Student Union, where we normally met.
And had been told we would go longer than our regular two hours.
We were in the ComArts building, and Marlo had secured a small screening room.
I wasn’t sure what it was used for in the normal course of classes.
Tonight, it was a makeshift movie theater for a viewing of the movie Ordinary People.
We sat up straighter in chairs that were less comfortable than we were used to during Wednesday group. Our room was quiet. There may have been a sniffle in the general direction of Paige. And yes, perhaps in my direction too.
“So. What did you all think?” Marlo asked. She’d brought a chair around to the front of the room so we were all facing her as opposed to our typical circle setup. “I know some of it feels dated. Beyond the fashion and those types of things.”
“I loved that preppy phase of fashion,” Paige said, her voice steady even as she took one last sniffle. “The lady from Downton could bring it.”
“Oh, that’s who that was. It was driving me crazy,” Dustin said, causing all of us to turn to him with deep surprise. “What? So I watched Downton Abbey. It was inescapable in my house.”
“Hey, man, no shame in good TV,” Connor said.
“Elizabeth McGovern. The actress,” Marlo said.
She had a wistful look in her eye when she added, “I had clogs and a sweater just like she wore in the movie. And a down vest too. God, I loved those clogs.” She gave her head a little shake, pulling herself out of the eighties.
“Anyway. Like I said, some of it doesn’t hold up.
In good ways. Obviously this behavior, from a lot of the characters, can still be prevalent today.
But I think, and it’s a good thing, that a lot of issues that plagued this family are much more recognizable to people of the protagonist’s age.
Timothy Hutton, by the way,” she added with some more wistfulness in her voice.
Would I look back to this time in my life with such wistfulness in my voice when I was nearly sixty? I couldn’t imagine ever feeling nostalgic about where I currently was in my life, but who knew?
“You mean that we would know our parents were fucked up and wouldn’t blame ourselves for their shit?” Connor said.
“Yes. Sort of. You’re a much more sophisticated generation about things like that,” Marlo said.
She was right. I could have diagnosed Conrad, the protagonist, myself, as could anyone in this group. Classic survivor’s guilt. Grief 101. Intro to Downward Spiral.
And his mother would have been branded toxic early on.
“But,” Marlo said, “being more aware of feelings, knowing what they stem from, does not take away from the very valid feelings themselves. There were cracks in the Jarrett family before the boat accident, to be sure, but grief can absolutely take a sledgehammer to even the tiniest cracks. Can each of you think of something specific in your family, or friend group, that has significantly changed since your loss? And I don’t mean the loss of the person itself. Something that stemmed from it?”
“Like the Conrad character trying to kill himself?” Paige asked.
“Yes. Like that. It’s extreme, this example, but it does happen. In fact, fourteen percent of people who have survived a traumatic event where others died attempt suicide. Many others experience PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and choose unhealthy ways of coping.”
We looked at each other, eyes darting mainly to Connor, who had survived the car accident that took the lives of his two best friends.
“And it doesn’t have to be an actual survivor—of an event or an illness—to feel the same effects of survivor’s guilt. It could be more of a ‘why not me’ guilt.” She looked pointedly at first Logan and then Paige. Logan had lost his brother to illness, as had Paige with her twin sister.
I could imagine the “why not me” thinking went through her head all the time.
Hell, even I’d done the “why not me” a few times, and it wasn’t like I was even in the same state when my mother died in a car accident in Nebraska.
Logan only cleared his throat. Paige played with her fingernails, painted a bright orange today.
“Unfortunately, the movie took up all the time we have tonight, but I’d like you to think on what I just said.
Think about how it may apply to you. In a previous session, we talked about focus being affected by grief, a fact a lot of people don’t realize.
But also, decision-making is greatly affected.
And here you all are, making major decisions, such as living arrangements, new friends, areas of study—all things that will have an impact on your future.
All while you still have three to four years before your frontal cortex—the decision-making and impulse-control part of your brain—is fully formed.
It’s a veritable minefield for you all. But if you’re aware that some decisions are going to be harder to make, it may ease that burden. ”
“Jesus,” Dustin said under his breath, echoing all our thoughts.
Marlo smiled gently. “Don’t freak. You’re going to have to deal with all this life stuff anyway, no getting around that.
Just be gentle with yourself if the fact that you can’t decide if you want pizza or burgers throws you.
” At our nods of acknowledgment, she wrapped up.
“And, as always, be mindful of your needs. Simple things, like getting good sleep, eating healthy, and staying hydrated go a long way to helping with these types of emotions.”
“Yeah, this is going to save me from slitting my wrists à la Conrad,” Connor said as he held up a metal water bottle.
Marlo gave an indulgent smile while the group did a small laugh in commiseration, even though it didn’t feel all that funny.
“Probably not. But it can’t hurt,” Marlo said. “And with that, I’ll see you all next week. Back at the Student Union.”
I gathered my backpack, putting my Stanley back in its side sleeve. Logan had his already slung over his shoulder and was waiting for me halfway to the door. “Food?” he asked.
“Definitely,” I said. “Want to see if Connor wants to join us?”
We both turned to see that everyone else was walking past us to the doors except Connor, who was standing by Marlo at the front of the screening room where she was gathering her bag.
We couldn’t hear them, but their body language indicated Connor was saying something semi-heavy, because Marlo put down her bag and placed a hand on his arm.
Connor continued whatever he was saying, his arm movements becoming more expansive.
Marlo motioned for him to sit in one of the armchairs, which he did, and she sat next to him.
Their backs were to us and Connor was leaning forward, his hands on his knees.
“Shit. Hope he’s okay,” Logan said.
“Me too. I wish there was a food court in this building so he’d know where we were if he needed to talk or something.”
“Would it make sense to go to the Union? Eat there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s closer than the dining hall anyway.”
We walked mostly in silence to the food court in the Union. Logan knew a couple of people and greeted them with “hey, man” on our walk. I went with Panda Express and Logan chose Subway.
Connor didn’t shown while we ate. When we were done, Logan said, “I guess if he was going to show here—and that was a leap of an if anyway—we would have seen him by now.”
“Right. I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just wanted to ask Marlo about schedules or something.”
“Yeah, probably,” he said. We made uncertain faces at each other and then tried to shake the thought of Connor—and his possible reaction to the movie we’d just watched—from our minds. Which wasn’t easy.
“It’s weird that seeing Red October kind of threw me, and now maybe this?” Logan said.
“The power of cinema,” I said, adding a faux-pretentious accent, like I was some film critic or something. I was dying to lighten the mood, but also didn’t want to ignore things like triggers.
“Huh. Yeah,” he said. He picked a few stray pieces of lettuce from his sandwich wrapper and ate them.
“Still hungry?” I asked. “Want to go back for something more? I can only imagine the calories you expend on the ice every day.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said.
Neither of us made any move to clear our places or grab our stuff.
“Any plans this weekend?” he asked after a few minutes of silence. A comfortable silence, it should be noted.
I shrugged. “Not sure. It’s only Wednesday, and a lot can happen in two days.” It was said lightly, but what we both knew—and the reason we were sitting here together after Grief Group—was that, indeed, a whole world could change in two days.
It had for both of us.
“Agreed. Let me throw this at you. Would you like to come to the hockey game on Friday? It’s the home opener. I won’t push my luck and ask you to come to both games—you can if you want to, and that’d be great—but it’d be nice knowing you’re in the stands the first time out.”
I wanted to say yes. Fast and decisively. And I knew we were in a new place, that the awkwardness of the night I was at his house and met his friends had been cleared up. But this felt like another shift. This felt like girlfriend territory.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said.
“Because of the ‘complicated’ thing?”
“Right.”
He waved a hand around us, then between us. “Yes, it could get complicated. But isn’t it already?”
“But this level of complicated I can handle,” I said—way more honest than I’d planned to be.
He snorted and sat back in his chair. “Megan. You can handle this. It’s just a hockey game. Come. Bring a friend. We’ll all grab some food after. No pressure.”
I thought of Emily and how she’d probably like to go. It’d be a good, safe, non-threatening-in-any-way-to-Caleb activity for her to do.
“Okay. I’ll bring Emily.”
“She’s the one with the short hair, right? Your actual roommate?”
“Yes. And she likes hockey. Her dad is a big Florida Panthers fan. Season tickets.”
His face lit up, making the dent in his chin more prominent. And adorable. “Yeah? That’s funny—that’s one of the teams Veeti’s dad played for. I think Veeti was born when he was playing with them. I’m not sure, though; he played on a lot of teams.”
“But not still?” No. That couldn’t be, right? But I knew nothing of the longevity of NHL careers.
“No. He’s retired. For a while now. From playing, anyway. He coaches. In Finland, for the past couple of years.”
“That’s cool,” I said.
“So, yeah, bring Emily the hockey fan. I’ll leave two tickets for you at will-call. We get two comp tickets per game. If you wanted to bring more friends, there’s always players who aren’t using both of theirs.”
I thought of Chloe and Abby. It would be fun for the four of us to go to something together other than a dorm room party or the dining hall.
But then I thought about Chloe making posts there, or filming, or whatever, and that felt wrong somehow.
Not that Bribury hockey was sacred, nor was Logan, but maybe for the first game it would be better to be just Emily and me.
I didn’t closely examine that my thinking meant I’d be going to more games than just this first one.
“No, that’s okay. Two is good. Thanks,” I said.
His smile was bright and I couldn’t help but share it.
Guess I was going to be a hockey fan.