First and Last (4 page)

Present

I’
m weightless, flying through the air. But gravity is a bitch, and it’s not long before my body slams into the ground. I tumble down some more before my momentum is stopped by a large boulder I crash into. A loud crack comes from my back before I flop over and finally come to a stop. A pain like I’ve never felt before travels all over my body. My eyes squeeze shut and I grit my teeth while a gut curdling growl escapes me. I attempt to sit up, but the pain is unbearable.

Blowing short breaths in and out of my mouth, I brace myself for the hurt I know is coming when I try to move again.

“Arrgggh!” I yell out in pain and frustration.

My head spins and I can’t stop the ringing in my ears. I’m completely disoriented and having trouble getting my bearings. Fuck!

As I lie here trying to catch my breath, visions of my dad flash through my mind. God, please don’t let me end up like him.

September 17, 1999

E
ven though sophomore year has barely started, I’m already tired of it. And nothing is worse than starting each day with American history. I swear my teacher’s main goal each morning is to try to kill us with boredom. The only plus is that my girlfriend, Hilary, and Mia are in this class with me.

Hilary and I started going out over the summer. We worked together at a miniature golf place. She’s cute and has a killer smile with short, brown hair and big hazel eyes. She’s tall, but not as tall as Mia. Hilary’s not as smart as Mia either, but she’s nice.

Mia isn’t mean to her, which is more than I can say about the other girls I’ve hung out with. I’m always hesitant to tell her when I’m into a girl. I hate seeing the judgment, the snarl, the roll of her eyes, and hearing the negative comments.
This girl is a slut. That girl is dumb. This one’s annoying. That one hardly talks.

I used to be naïve as to why she’d act that way, but I understand now. She’s jealous, and I can relate. I hated the last guy she was with, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it. We’re in this gray area. I know she likes me more than a friend, and I’m pretty sure she knows I like her. But we’ve both decided it can’t go any further than that. What would happen if we crossed that line and broke up? I’d lose my best friend, and I can’t let that happen.

“So what are we doing this weekend?” Hilary whispers to me.

When the teacher turns her back, I respond, “I don’t care. What do you want to do?”

“I thought we could go to the movies. I reeeeeally want to see
Runaway Bride
.”

God, not another chick flick. I have to resist the urge to slam my head against my desk. I mean, would it kill her to watch something else for a change? Mia never makes me watch that shit.

“Blake Collins, can you answer my question for me?” My head snaps to the front of the class to see Mrs. Hampton, our teacher, staring at me waiting for a response. With her hand on her hip, it’s obvious I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the question.” I readjust in my seat.

“Maybe if you were actually listening instead of socializing, you would’ve heard it. This is your last warning or I’m moving you.” Before she can get onto me anymore, the class phone rings and Mrs. Hampton walks to her desk to answer it. I glance to the back corner of the room to see Mia shaking her head at me. I roll my eyes and face the front.

Hilary leans over, no doubt to continue our conversation about this weekend, but the teacher interrupts her. “Blake, you’re needed in the office.”

Great.

I don’t think I’ve done anything to be in trouble. So, with a shrug, I grab my stuff, get up from my desk, and head toward the office. It’s crazy how a person can go from not having a care in the world, to feeling the weight of it on his shoulders, but that’s what happens as soon as I open the door and see my mother.

She’s sitting in one of the chairs against the wall with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. No one has said anything to me, but they don’t have to. I already know.

Dad.

Something bad has happened.

I feel it in my gut.

It’s in the way the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and the way my mother looks up at me like her world just ended.

The walls are closing in, suffocating me as each second ticks by that my mother doesn’t say anything. Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It’s as if she can’t bring herself to do it, to completely shatter me like she is.

I don’t move. Maybe if I stand here long enough, it’ll all go away. But no matter how still I am or how much I wish it away, that’s not life, and it comes crashing down on me with the sole purpose of destroying my soul.

“Blake, sweetie,” my mom’s broken voice says.

“Where is he?” My mind knows what’s going on, but my heart refuses to accept it. It’s not true, it can’t be.

She stands on shaky legs as tears run down her cheeks. Her arms reach out and she grabs me, clutching me to her body as she trembles. My arms lay limply at my sides, unable to comfort her in return. I’m numb and in a state of disbelief. Mom lets go and falls back into the chair. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and presses her lips together to keep her chin from quivering. The image only breaks me. Knowing the cause of it makes it almost impossible to breathe.

“Mom?” My voice cracks despite my efforts to come across strong.

“Oh, God, Blake,” she whispers. Her hand covers her mouth, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Slowly, I have a seat in the chair next to her. She grabs my hand and delivers the news. “There was a fire at a warehouse. And—and—he didn’t make it.” She swallows hard and her lip trembles while her tear-filled eyes stare into mine.

I feel sick. He was almost done. He was retiring in six months. This has to be a dream. I don’t say anything or cry. I’m just empty.

“You can take Blake home now if you want, Mrs. Collins,” the school guidance counselor offers.

Mrs. Collins
.

Not anymore. Now she’s a widow, no longer a wife. She has no husband just like I have no dad.

“Is there someone I can call to come pick you up?” she continues to ask.

Mom shakes her head. “No, we’ll be fine.” She stands and I follow her lead out to the car and eventually home. Luke is there when we arrive, his eyes red-rimmed and nose sniffling.

“Hey,” he offers weakly. I nod my head at him, walk by, and head straight up to my room.

Lying on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Dad was taking me fishing this weekend on his day off. That thought leads to several more, which all have to do with the things I’ll never get to do with my dad again.

I’m not sure how long I lie there unmoving, but suddenly there’s a soft knock on my door. I don’t respond or look that way; not that I need to, because whoever it is lets themselves in anyway. Seconds later, Mia comes into view.

“Hey.” Seems that’s all anyone knows how to say lately. When I don’t respond, she says, “I’m so sor—”

“No,” I say, cutting her off. “Just . . . don’t say it.” I’m not ready to hear people’s pity. If she says it out loud, it makes it more real. For now, I want to stay in my bubble and fight to pretend this isn’t happening.

The bed dips as she lies beside me and then holds my hand. I’m taking deep breaths in and out of my nose, focusing on my breathing and nothing else. If I think about anything, the emotion I’m trying so damn hard to hold back will burst, and I don’t want to lose it in front of her.

Mia must sense my internal struggle. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone.”

I crack, splinter off, then break into a million pieces. Sobs take over my body as I turn toward her. She faces me and I bury my face into her neck while I cry. Her arms are wrapped around me, holding me to her.

“Oh, God, Mia. He’s gone.” My loud sobs drown out whatever else I was going to say.

“I know, Blake. I’m so sorry.” Her hand runs all over my back in a soothing motion.

“I can’t believe it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way!” My voice gets louder as I become more hysterical.

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll get through this,” she says, her own voice cracking.

I don’t respond, I can’t. Because I don’t believe her. How can it be okay when my life will never be the same?

The next few days go by in a blur. I’m not sure how I get from point A to point B. All I know is that Mia has been by my side the whole way. She’s been my rock and the person I turn to. I don’t want to burden Mom with my sadness, she’s barely hanging on herself.

I’ve been dreading this day since Mom picked me up from school. It’s the day we bury my dad. The day that makes this all very real. The day that hammers home the point that I’ll never see my dad again.

Standing in front of my mirror, I button up my white dress shirt. My brown hair lays flat and my green eyes are dull with dark circles under them. I look pale and just . . . sad. A knock on my door pulls me away from my reflection.

“Whatcha doing?” Mia asks as she pokes her head in before walking through the door.

I sigh. “Trying to get dressed.” She sits on the bed and watches me. After my shirt is tucked into my black pants, I grab my tie off the back of my chair. My fingers fumble around with it and I can’t for the life of my get it right. After my third attempt, I ball it up and throw it across the room. “I don’t need a damn tie,” I mutter.

“Here, let me help.” She grabs my shoulders and turns me toward her with my tie in her hand. I stare at her as she fixes it. Her eyes are focused on the task, with furrowed eyebrows and her lips pressed together in a tight line. “There,” she says as she smooths it out, seeming pleased with her work.

I look in the mirror and it’s perfect. “My dad always did them for me,” I tell her, my throat clogged with emotion.

“Well, I might not be able to do everything he did, but I’ve got you covered if you ever need your ties done, okay?” She gives me a sad smile, her own eyes filling with tears too. This must be hard on her as well. With as much time as she spends over here, she’s become a part of our family. Almost like an adopted child. Dad adored her.

I complete the task of getting ready in a blur, letting Mia help me through it. It’s nice having her here because I don’t have to focus on anything. She gets it and does everything without me having to ask. Once we get to the cemetery, I don’t pay much attention to what’s being said. We’re sitting in the front row with Mom between Luke and me. Mia sits on my other side with her head resting on my shoulder and both arms wrapped around my bicep.