Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Danny
The ceiling fan in Charlie’s living room needs dusting. I know because I’ve been lying on this couch and staring at it for some untold number of hours. Well, for some untold number of days. Weeks? Time is irrelevant.
Whenever I think I might get up, my mind plays the same thought loop:
Take a shower? Christina told me she loves me in the shower. Christina is gone.
Make some food? Christina likes to sit on the counter while I make food. Christina is gone.
See my family? Christina texts my family like they’re her own. Christina is gone.
And once Christina is gone hits my brain, I lose any will to move. I lose any will to think. I lose any will to feel.
I know I’ll have to get off this couch eventually. Charlie’s been bringing me enough food to subsist, and I think he may have even wrestled me into the shower at some point. I had to dissociate so thoroughly that I don’t clearly remember.
My ongoing doc projects feel unimportant. And maybe even impossible. Will I ever be able to hold a camera without thinking of her? Will I ever be able to interview a subject without grieving how much better it would be with her?
And then there’s the issue of our house, which resembles more of an empty box than anything else at this point.
How am I supposed to go inside that place?
Her clothes will still be in the drawers.
Her toothbrush by the sink. Her pictures in the studio.
Her little body’s imprint in her favorite bean bag chair.
Charlie offered to move all of her things out of the house, but that somehow felt worse. So I’m at an impasse.
All of her friends have called or texted, but I haven’t answered. Reese showed up one day, and he just sat at the foot of the couch for a while. He knows there’s nothing that could possibly be said. One day I’ll let him know how much I appreciated the gesture.
My ongoing stupor is momentarily shaken by Charlie hesitantly shoving my body further into the back couch cushions to perch on the edge beside me.
“Mom is insisting I take a gift to the graduation this afternoon,” he says.
The graduation. Christina’s graduation. From Hilltop.
“Is there anything …” He runs a distraught hand through his hair, like he isn’t sure he should be bringing this up to me at all. “Is there anything you want me to tell her? Or give her?”
I sit up slightly. More than anything, I keep replaying the devastation on her face when I pulled up to her apartment instead of our house. She knew that I knew she wasn’t choosing me. And it tore her apart.
I can’t have that. I need her to be okay. I need her to be happy. I’ll take on any misery if it means she can find the peace she deserves.
My voice is hoarse and sore from disuse when I finally find it. “Can you bring me a Post-it and a pen?”