18 Things (5 page)

By the time I reached Dr. Judy’s office on the third floor, I was five minutes late. The secretary informed me Dr. Judy was on an emergency phone session with another patient, then asked if I’d mind waiting for ten minutes.

I agreed, then plopped down in the waiting room and noticed a guy staring at me. I stared back. He was cute if you liked Zac Efron look-alikes, and okay, I did. Clutching my purse tightly in my lap, I marveled at even noticing another guy. I’d been in a fog for the past eight weeks; I knew that at least. My grief-stricken, guilty self was my new normal. The ordinary world seemed foreign to me now. I didn’t know how to live there without Conner. So, the fact that this attractive guy gazed at me really penetrated me to the core, as if someone unexpectedly threw a bucket of cold water on my face and woke me up.

He had perfect posture: shoulders back, straight neck, muscular arms rigid at his side. As if to challenge me to a staring contest, he leaned forward, but then he extended a hand and smiled. “I’m Nate Barca.”

“Olga,” I said, shaking his hand, which felt cold and clammy like a dead person, but my cheeks still burned with mortification. Since Conner was my soul mate, I never expected to find someone else so… hot. I wanted to undo my ponytail to hide my shame, but if I did, it’d look like I was flirting with him.

Tossing his hair back, which I affectionately noted was the color of coffee, he laughed. “Olga-who-doesn’t-have-a-last-name?”

I cringed like always. My parents dubbed me Olga to honor my grandmother. I couldn’t go by my middle name—it was more horrible—Gay, in honor of my other grandma, and, to top it all off, the Russian last name proved hard to pronounce or spell. “Worontzoff.”

Air escaped his lips like a leaky tire. “Quite the name for a pretty seventeen-year-old to have.”

I nodded. “It’s after my grandmother. How’d you know I was seventeen?”

Wait—did he just call me pretty?

“I guessed. I’m seventeen, new in town.” His voice was loud, conveying authority. “Just moved here last week, which sucks. And before you ask, because everyone always wants to ask these things but doesn’t want to pry,” he said the last word in air quotes and rolled his eyes. “I’m in therapy because I drag-raced my way home on the last day of school and ended up flipping my car and flying through the windshield. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. My parents figured I had a death wish and needed some counseling. Actually, the court demanded the therapy.”

I couldn’t believe he told me all this so casually, and I wondered if he was this honest with everyone right off the bat.

“You’re lucky to be alive.” From what I could tell, there wasn’t a scratch on him.

Adopting a pondering pose, elbow on knee, hand clasping his chin like
The Thinker
statue, he said, “Am I?”

I shrugged. “I guess. At least that’s what they tell me.”

He stretched his legs in front of him, then placed one ankle on top of the other. “Yeah, it’s weird because there was this moment where I thought for sure I was dead. I was lying on the ground, covered in glass and blood, and then I felt like I was floating and staring down at myself. Before I could look around for the other kid, I blacked out. When I woke up, I was home. I don’t even remember the hospital.”

I shifted in my chair. The similarity of our situations made me uncomfortable. Two accidents, the feeling of responsibility I was positive we shared, the floating above our bodies, even though that didn’t happen for me until the pills. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the pills, though. “Did the other kid make it?”

He uncrossed his ankle and put the other foot on top. “My parents told me he was doing better but wouldn’t even let me see him. I wrote a letter to apologize and mailed it the next day, then went to court. The judge revoked my license for a year, and I was sentenced to therapy.” He smirked and twirled his finger in the air in mock fashion. “That’s why I’m here so early for my appointment. I’m at the mercy of my parents’ schedule to drop me off at places. So, what are you in for?”

Did I like this guy? He was confident and weird and cute and I dunno. But I realized I’d been at ease from the moment I saw him. “Conner, my best friend”—
and secret crush
—“since I was five, was killed by a lightning strike while we were sailing last month, and I feel responsible. I wasn’t able to save him.”

Nate’s eyes were the color of the ocean, and he narrowed them at me as his eyebrows drew together. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“That’s what everyone tells me. But it’s easy for you to say. Your guy lived. Mine died.”

He stood, and I noted he was about average height, maybe five-foot-ten, then sat in the chair next to me. Nate shifted so we were face to face. “I’m really sorry to hear about your friend. And I’m sorry if I’m scaring you with all the heavy. I ramble a lot. My mom says I suffer from verbal diarrhea, among other things.”

I looked at my hands in my lap, took a deep breath, and counted to ten, trying to decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. Instead, I just muttered, “Thanks, and it’s okay.”

“So, is this lady any good?” He nodded toward Dr. Judy’s office.

I shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, I always thought talk was cheap. But maybe…”

He smiled, leaning a little closer. “Yeah, I’ve always been an action kind of guy. Some might call me an adrenaline junkie.”

Dr. Judy swung open her door. “Olga, I’m ready for you now.”

Looking over at Nate, I held out my hand this time. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

Dr. Judy waved to Nate before inviting me in. Her wavy, butterscotch colored hair fell over her tiny shoulders, making her look angelic. “Did you bring your journal?”

I started my weekly grief counseling sessions with Dr. Judy the day after my pill episode. That’s what I called it in my head, ‘the pill episode,’ not ‘suicide attempt.’ I still didn’t think I was suicidal, no matter what everyone else said. Swallowing all those pills was a terrible mistake. The only thought I had at the time was
I’m tired
, tired of hurting, tired of guilt, tired of sadness, tired of pain, tired, tired, tired.

During our first session, Dr. Judy tried to get to know me by asking about my interests. Sailing definitely wasn’t making My Favorite Hobbies list anymore, so I shrugged and mentioned writing. She suggested I keep a journal. Last week, she asked if I would bring in my journal and read a page aloud. Mostly the pages were filled with stories of Conner, so I wouldn’t forget, but today, I read the one about my reoccurring dream where faceless Conner haunted me.

I’m alone, running home from the hospital in the dark. A black-hooded, faceless figure follows me. I sprint into Conner’s massive Victorian house, locking the door quickly, then hurry down the stairs to his basement bedroom. There’s a chair by the sliding glass door, with its back to me, rocking slowly. In the window, I notice a girl’s reflection holding something, but I can’t make out what.

I curiously approach the chair, then peer over the girl’s shoulder. I spot the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, dressed in a white christening gown. I walk around the chair, to see who the mother is, and jerk back when I see myself. The only exception being I am faceless, just like the hooded figure chasing me moments before. Startled, I draw in a breath. I turn to the sliding glass door, ready to run again, but it opens before I reach it. The hooded figure floats in, lifts his finger and points at me. “You were supposed to save me.” It’s Conner’s voice.

Dr. Judy remained quiet for a moment. I was thankful for the secretary’s reception area buffering Dr. Judy’s office from the waiting room. Otherwise, I’d be a little paranoid Nate could overhear my whole psychosis.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, the papers shaking in my hands as I waited for her response.

“Well, the dream actually makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? I mean, Conner is wearing black, representing death. You’re faceless, like his ghost, because you don’t view yourself as having a future anymore. You feel dead spiritually and emotionally speaking. Not only did you suddenly lose your best friend, whom you love, but also the many dreams you had for your future, like maybe even having a child together some day. Am I right?”

I wondered how she became so wise. I was book smart but not wise. Of course she was right, but saying so would’ve hurt too much. My gaze flickered to the framed picture of Grand Haven Pier hanging behind her desk.

Dr. Judy turned, admired the photo for a moment. “Have you visited his gravesite yet?”

“He was cremated.” My voice came out subdued, trancelike. I could force myself into a trance whenever I wanted, so I didn’t have to feel things. The outside world disappeared around me, like staring into one of those 3D pictures for a really long time. “They scattered his ashes on Lake Michigan.”

Why, why would they do that? No, don’t think, don’t feel.

Though thin and delicate, Dr. Judy stared hard at me now. “That’s what I mean. I think it could be cathartic for you to take a boat ride again. Send up some balloons, or leave a message in a bottle. It’s time to face your fears and release this guilt you’re holding onto.”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself, no matter how many balloons I release.”

“A person with no forgiveness in their heart for the things they’ve done is doing nobody any favors. It’s a punishment worse than death, worse than Hell. Is condemning yourself really what you want? What Conner would want?” She reached across her desk and grabbed a piece of pretty stationary and a fancy pen. “For you.”

“For me? For what?” I asked, rearranging my position on the chair so I sat cross-legged.

Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Grief never ends.”

Duh!
Anyone who looked at my face could make that assessment. Some days my grief only hurt a little, like being electrocuted by a tiny spark when plugging in something. Other days, my sorrow used a jackhammer to excavate my heart.

“Are you listening to me, Olga?” She leaned across the desk toward me. “You won’t ever forget Conner’s death. But you can learn how to live with the loss, make the pain manageable enough to overcome it. Maybe you’re not ready to let go of your guilt yet, but you could write it down as part of a bucket list.”

I grimaced. “Bucket list, like the movie with Jack Nicholson?”

She nodded curtly.

“Sorry, but I don’t think trekking around Nepal will help me any.”

She waved away my words. “Life lists aren’t just for older people. And it can be full of anything you want. Starting to make some new goals for yourself is a way you can honor Conner, living life to the fullest. It can be stuff you want to do, or things he wanted to do. Either way you’ll be taking positive steps to move on.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to give in—
after all, she can’t make me, can she?—
so I stood, wandered to her open window, arms hugging myself for what felt like a long time. “How long does this list need to be?”

“The length is up to you,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.

Dr. Judy lived for crisis management, but I admired how this strong woman kept her voice soft and controlled, especially when I felt like a ticking bomb all the time.

“I’d rather you decide. You’re the expert.”

While I waited for her answer, I kept my back to her. The air was thick with the smell of air freshener, lavender to calm the senses. If only serenity came so easily.

“How about eighteen?”

I leaned against the side of the windowsill. “Why eighteen?”

People walked the streets, enjoying the start of summer. People who were eating ice cream, walking their dogs, window shopping, bike riding, skate boarding. I didn’t envy them, and none of them should’ve pitied me. I deserved this pain.

Metal grating against tile caused me to turn. “Well, you’ll turn eighteen this year, correct?”

I nodded, even though I couldn’t imagine celebrating.

“You could title your list, ‘18 Things’. Eighteen things to do the year you turn eighteen, a journey to remind yourself to stay positive as your soul is on its way to wholeness again. I want you to carefully think of each task, visualize yourself completing it, and then do it. By the time you finish, it’ll be time for you to leave this place, hopefully with some closure, and ready to begin the next chapter in your… life.”

Moving on should’ve sounded comforting, but her words didn’t console. And why had she paused before that last word, like she wasn’t confident I could do it? “You said hopefully. What if it doesn’t work?”

Actually, that wasn’t the scary part. Not the question, ‘what if nothing ever works to fill this giant void left inside me?’ The scary part was not having my pain, because then I’d have nothing.

Shaking my head, I reached in my pocket for my asthma inhaler but came up empty. I didn’t have it. In fact, I hadn’t needed it since the day after Conner’s funeral, which was weird since I’d never been so panicked.

Judy’s eyes widened. “Let’s not focus on what ifs. One day at a time. See where that takes us, okay?” She stood and handed me my piece of paper and pen. “And one more thing: I think we’re ready to cut down your weekly counseling sessions to twice a month. Does that sound all right to you?”

“Yes.” I moved toward the door, but glanced backwards at the painting of Grand Haven Pier, unsure.

As I exited her office, she told Nate he could come in.

Now I was sad for another reason. I didn’t want him to feel as alone as I had these past two months. Plus, if I was being honest, I was drawn to him in a way I couldn’t understand, but I wanted to.

“Um, Nate, I’m going to the beach with some of my friends on Monday around noon for a picnic. You’re welcome to meet us by the Grand Haven Pier and hang out.”

He smiled and nodded, and I couldn’t help but notice Dr. Judy did the same thing.

“I’ll see you there,” he said.