The End or Something Like That (9 page)

I sat on my bed and watched outside for more dead people.

Or for Kim.

I was waiting for Kim.

I put on my ratty nightgown. Kim had the same one. I put it on and shoved Mom's sequin dress under my bed. Then I sat.

The streetlight that Ms. Dead Homeyer used to be sitting under stayed the same.

All night long.

No Kim.

No other ghosts.

No nothing.

By five in the morning, my legs were aching and my head hurt.

I wrapped myself in an old Disney Princess blanket, stepped into my bunny slippers, and went and sat on the front porch to watch the sunrise.

There was a bird.

Another bird.

The sky was gray and no one was out except for an old lady with a dog that barked at me, and the lady said shut up, and three more birds.

•

Today is the day my best friend died.

•

Today is the day my best friend died.

•

Today is the day my best friend died.

•

The sky slowly turned to pink with purples and blues and oranges.

It seemed like it shouldn't be so beautiful.

I put in my earbuds and turned on Dr. Ted Farnsworth's CDs that I'd downloaded. I hadn't listened to them for months. I carried his book in my bag, just in case. But I hardly ever listened to him. His voice made me itch.

But now I thought I should. I should try harder.

I closed my eyes.

You must be present during the visitation. You must concentrate. They want to be with you. They want to visit you. They yearn for it. You are the one stopping it. YOU.

I tried to concentrate. I tried to be present. I tried to let her come.

Please let her come.

Please let her come.

Please let her come.

She wants to come.

You must believe. Believe it. Know it. Be it.

Believe it. Know it. Be it.

Believe it. Know it. Be it.

I whispered the words, trying to fill myself with pure thoughts.

Waterfalls.

Mountains.

Rainbows.

Then I heard something.

I turned off the iPod, goose bumps all over my body. I looked around.

There was nothing.

I stood up and looked down the street.

Nothing.

I looked the other way.

Nothing.

I looked up in the sky.

Nothing.

I tried again.

Let yourself blend into the environment. Integrate yourself with the whole. Forget the past and the future and focus on the now. Only then will the veil become thin enough for someone to enter.

I turned it off.

Blend into the environment.

Be part of the whole.

Focus on now.

Now.

The morning.

The pink sky.

The birds.

The sound started up again.

My heart fluttered.

I didn't open my eyes this time, instead I focused on the now, and I kept listening to his voice.
Be your real you. Be your authentic self. Listen to the universe and the universe will listen to you.

I listened to the universe. I turned off the voice and I listened to the universe.

And the universe said, “Hey.”

In a boy voice. It said, hey.

I opened my eyes.

Joe was standing on the porch.

“Hey,” he said.

I sighed.

Sometimes I think about how I'm going to die.

There are so many ways.

You can die from carpet-cleaning fumes.

You can die from drinking too much carrot juice.

You can die from laughing.

One time on this show
1000 WAYS TO DIE
, which is also a really good show, one time a girl got killed tying her shoe.

“That would never happen,” Joe said.

“What? These are all true stories,” Kim said.

“They are not.” Joe flopped on the couch and I had to turn it up.

“You can only watch with us if you don't make dumb comments.”

Joe said, “Really? You have to make dumb comments when you watch something this idiotic.”

“It's the rule,” Kim said.

The next guy on the show died by eating too many Egg McMuffins.

“That is so gross,” Kim said.

“It is really gross,” I said.

Joe said, ”Shhhhh.” And then we watched the rest of the episode.

Joe sat on the bench next to me.

We sat there.

And sat there.

And sat there.

“What are you doing up so early?” I finally said.

He looked bad. His eyes bloodshot, his freckles redder than usual.

“I couldn't sleep,” he said.

I pulled my blanket tighter. “Why not?”

He looked at me. “What do you mean, why not?”

“I mean why not?”

“Em, I know what day it is.”

He knew what day it was. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one. The only one who remembered anything. But then that was stupid. Joe loved her, too. Everyone loved her.

We sat for a while again. Then he said, “I wish I hadn't bet on that kid.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“That kid,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah.”

•

A few months before Kim died, a kid had been killed on the New York-New York Roller Coaster. A boy from Joe's grade.

Mom had said, “Did you know him, Joe?”

And Joe stuffed his bagel in his mouth.

Kim looked at me. I looked at her. He was being weird.

“Joe.” Mom held up the news article. “Do you know this kid? He fell out of the roller coaster?”

“He fell out?” I said.

“Yeah,” Mom said. “It says he somehow didn't have the restraint on properly, and it came loose during part of the ride.”

Kim turned white and I had to put down my milk.

Joe on the other hand was still shoving bagels in his mouth.

“You didn't know him?” Mom said.

“No,” he said, crumbs blowing all over.

Mom started reading out loud, “‘Baylor Frederick Hicks died in a tragic accident on the New York-New York Roller Coaster. Baylor was a sophomore at Palo Verde High and just recently placed in the district science fair with his hydraulics system. The ride will be shut down for the next few days to make sure the blah blah blah.'”

“That's strange,” Dad said.

“Yeah,” Kim said, “that's really strange. The restraints are high tech. They push them down when you get on.”

Joe turned red and in went another bagel.

“Family of Baylor are devastated. He was an amazing young man. Everyone who knew him loved him. Graveside services will be announced soon.”

•

After breakfast, we followed Joe upstairs.

“Who was that kid?” Kim said.

Joe never acted like this.

He kept walking. Into his room and tried to shut the door.

“What are you doing?” Kim said, and pushed in anyway.

Joe sat at his desk and Kim sat on his desk, knocking over pencils and papers, which you don't do in Joe's room, and I stood in the doorway.

“I have stuff to do,” Joe said.

“You did know him,” Kim said.

She was mad. Kim could get mad at stuff and you could hear it in her voice.

Joe said, ”Whatever. He was just a kid from my grade.”

Kim stared at him. “You knew him.”

“Sort of.”

“Why didn't you tell Mom?” I said.

He shrugged. “I don't feel like talking about it.” He turned on his computer.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Kim said. “I want to know what happened.”

Joe clicked on ESPN sports.

We waited.

“Joe,” Kim said, “I'm not leaving.”

I swallowed.

Finally Joe turned around, his face now more than red.

“I didn't know him,” Joe said. “I really didn't. But everyone was talking about how he was going to try to ride part of the roller coaster without a restraint. He was going to do the upside down part without the harness and then pull it back down.”

“What?”

Joe shook his head. “I don't know. He had it all worked out. He said he could do it. That the laws of physics would hold him in.”

“What?”

“He said that. He was bragging about it and someone said then do it and he said he would. Then it got to be this thing. People were betting.”

“People were betting?”

A bead of sweat formed on Joe's forehead. “The kid was a loser,” Joe said, and I felt like I'd been punched.

I'd never heard Joe talk like that about anyone. Did he say things like that all the time? Did he think I was a loser?

He kept going. “He was the one who planned it, you know. He was the one who figured out how to release the restraint. It was his idea. He said on the upside part you wouldn't fall out.”

I stared at Joe.

Kim said, “Did you bet on him?”

Joe wiped his face and turned back to the computer screen.

“Did you bet on him, Joe?” Kim said. Her voice rising.

He clicked on an article about steroids.

“Did you lose money or make money?”

Joe shook his head. Clicked on another article.

Kim stood up. “That's sick,” she said. “That's really sick.”

Joe's shoulders sagged and I stood there. Trying to figure out what to feel.

•

Now she was gone and we were sitting in the early morning hours of her death anniversary and he said, “I wish I hadn't bet on that kid.”

And I said, “I wish you hadn't either.”

And then my big brother started to cry.

I had never seen Joe cry.

Not when my grandma died.

Not when he got dumped by Amy Dudworthy.

Not even the time when he got cut from the basketball team in sixth grade.

But right then, the sun peeking over the hills, the sounds of the garbage truck making the early morning rounds, a new fresh day, and he was sitting next to me, not just crying, but sobbing.

I sat there and let him cry for a while I guess. I actually don't know what I was doing. I just felt sad.

So I did one thing. I put my hand on his shoulder.

He stopped crying and looked at me, his face all streaked with tears. And I said, ”What?”

And he said, “What are you doing?”

And I said, “Trying to help?”

“What?”

“I'm helping you,” I said.

“You're helping me?”

So then he started to laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” I said. It was pretty rude.

He laughed even harder.

Then I couldn't help it, I started to laugh.

And laugh and laugh and laugh.

Then my mom came out in her old lady housedress and said, “You two are going to wake up the whole neighborhood.”

That's when we really lost it.

Five months after Kim died, my dad let me drive his Saturn Sky.

I'm fifteen and don't know how to drive and I didn't want to drive his Saturn Sky.

He said, “Come on, Em. It will make you feel alive.”

My dad didn't know how to make people feel alive.

He worked too hard.

But sometimes he'd try.

Like once he took me to Wendy's at one in the morning to get a Frosty. And another time he checked me and Kim out of school so we could see the premiere of
Tron
at the IMAX.

He tried.

Then Kim died.

We were sitting in the Albertsons parking lot and his face was red with excitement. “We won't tell Joe. We won't tell your mother.”

“Dad,” I said. “I don't want to.”

He said, “Just wait. Just wait. I promise you, Em.”

He was so different from Mom who kept buying me Chicken Soup for the Soul books.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Grieving and Recovery
or
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times for Teens
or
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You.

He put the Sky in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. I gripped the armrest.

“Dad,” I said.

“No talking,” he said. “Don't talk. Just sit here and relax.”

He turned up the music, Katy Perry, which was a weird choice.

I stared out the window and tried to think of things, like whether I should shave my head. He drove to a little two-lane road and stopped on the shoulder.

“You want to feel something, Emmy? You want to feel?”

Ugh.

“Not really,” I said, but he didn't hear because he was getting out of the car. He got out and I got out. He gave me a high five as he passed me and then I sat in the driver's seat, and he said, “Go ahead,” and I said, “Dad.”

He smiled. “Do it.”

“Dad, I really don't—”

He cut me off and said, “Do it.”

And so I drove his Saturn Sky.

One mile.

My foot back and forth on the gas, on the brake, because why would he think I'd want to do this? My neck getting sweaty under the weight of my fat hair and any second I knew, I knew we were going to get hit by a semi.

One mile.

He had his hand on the dash the whole time.

“Why'd you stop?” he said when I pulled over and the car almost bounced off the road. “Why'd you stop?” But he was already getting out and I was already getting out.

Mom made us come inside and it was warm and it smelled like waffles.

“You made breakfast?” Joe said.

My mom usually ate her diet food and we ate cereal.

“Your dad did.”

“Dad?” We both said.

My dad loved to golf on Saturdays. He believed in it. Like he believed in
Monday Night Football
and eating ribs on the Fourth of July.

Every Saturday he went with his same friends, to the same course, at the same time.

But not today.

Today he was in his pajamas in the kitchen, whistling and frying bacon, and when we walked in, he said, “Greetings, Earthlings.”

My dad could be such a dork.

I sort of forgot about that. How he was a dork. It was like I was coming out of a coma.

Mom had set the table and there was chocolate milk and bananas and strawberries and a bowl full of Skittles, a plate of Snickers, and a small chocolate fountain.

“What's this?” Joe said.

I bit my lip.

Mom said, “Your dad and I just thought we'd have a special meal this morning.”

Dad brought the food over and Mom started dishing things out, but then Dad said, “Can we say a prayer?”

We all froze.

Mom said, ”What?”

He said it again, “Can we say a prayer?”

We'd never said a prayer before in our house. At least not as a family.

Mom set down the waffle plate.

Joe looked at me.

Then my dad folded his arms, so we all folded our arms.

Then he closed his eyes.

So we all closed our eyes.

Then my dad, who is a corporate lawyer and takes power naps, my dad, he said a prayer.

He said:

Dear God.

Hey.

Please take care of our Kimberly. Let her know we love her and miss her.

I opened my eyes.

Mom was watching him.

I closed my eyes again.

Tell her we think about her every day.

Thank you for the food.

Amen.

“Amen,” we all said.

•

And then we ate breakfast.