This Is Falling (35 page)

“Stop it! Just…just stop this! Both of you!
Quit pretending this…
this…
is normal!
”
I shout,
turning slowly in a circle, my hands gesturing to the packed house
and the darkness that seems to be settled everywhere. “None of this
is normal! And I don’t need you to feed me make-believe!”

“I told you. But you wouldn’t listen,” my
mother says under her breath, walking away from my father and
pushing through the kitchen door. My dad stares after her, his face
pained. He’s upset that my mom is upset, that this situation is
upsetting
her.
But what about me?

“Hey! Here!” I say, snapping at him and
forcing his focus on nothing but my face. My dad is speechless, and
all he can do is cover his mouth with his hand and shake his head.
“You don’t get to feel bad that she’s angry. She’s right! This was
a bad idea, keeping this from me. You stole
everything
from
me!
Everything
! Josh is dead! And it should have been me! I
get to live, but he died. And I didn’t even see him!
”

My dad is still frozen, staring; I can feel
my mom coming back behind me. Her fingers are on my shoulder, and I
jerk, but she holds on, and I jerk again. “Rowe, honey…” she says,
and somehow my cage cracks the tiniest bit, and my lungs stutter
with one big cry, but I bite my lip quickly, doing my best to hold
it in.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I say, my
voice softer now. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. He didn’t know I
was there. He was alone. I left him…alone. And I didn’t even say
goodbye…”

My eyes are flooded with tears now, and I can
no longer stop myself from feeling. Anger can only carry you so
far, and mine has run out. Now, I am only devastated. I collapse to
the floor, and my mom collapses with me, pulling me to her body and
rocking me in her arms while my dad still stands in front of us—his
hand to his mouth, and his eyes crying just as hard as mine
are.

I cried for a solid hour, and I don’t
remember breathing. My mom managed to find a box with towels and
pulled one free for me so I could take a shower. I feel like a
zombie—not as ugly as the
Walking Dead
, but as animated. I
pull a clean outfit from the top of my suitcase, a purple sweater
and a pair of jeans, and then run a comb through my tangled
hair.

“I packed the dryer. I’ve just been towel
drying,” my mom says behind me.

“That’s fine,” I say, scrunching the ends of
my hair until the dripping stops. I turn to face her, and she
reaches up to my face, holding her hand to my cheek, and I close my
eyes because I don’t want to pull away. But I’m still so angry.
“When do the movers come?”

“Tuesday,” she says, her hand still there.
It’s making my face feel hot. “We meant well, Rowe.” And just
hearing her say that starts a new chain reaction through my
bloodstream. I breathe in long and deeply, forcing the boiling
inside back down to a simmer.

“I know,” I say, but it comes out cold. I
can’t say it any other way. I know they meant well. Everyone
meant
well. But it doesn’t make me forgive them, not yet. I
still can’t forgive myself. “I need to go to his house.”

“I know,” my mom says. We stand there in this
face-off for several seconds, and in that time, I play out
everything I’m walking into—so I’m prepared for it, prepared for
everything I’m about to feel. “They’re expecting you. I’ll take you
when you’re ready.”

My mom leaves, and I spend the next few
minutes putting on eyeliner and lip-gloss, and then twist my hair
up into a clip. I look like that girl…the one from two years ago
who used to get dropped off at Josh’s house for movie night. It
feels right to go there looking like this.

My dad doesn’t talk, but he comes along for
the car ride with my mom and me. We pull up to the Andersons’ home;
I notice the
For Sale
sign planted in the
yard, and it makes my eyes tear up again. I remind myself to
breathe, just breathe
, and then I put my hand to the car
door, still not convinced if I can do this. “Do you want me to go
in with you?” Mom asks.

“No, I’m okay,” I croak. One last inhale, and
I pull the handle and step to the curb. Everything here looks the
same—the same black door with the gold handle, the same bench
sitting off to the side, and the same pillows stitched with owls on
the front. I can almost visualize Josh sitting there, pulling his
cleats from his feet and banging them together to get out the
chunks of dirt.

The door opens before I ring the bell, and
Josh’s mom, Patty, is smiling softly. Not the happy kind, but the
understanding kind—the kind full of words without speaking. She’s
older, even though it’s only been four months or so since I last
saw her, she’s wearing years on her body and face. Everything about
her is tired.

“Rowe, it’s so good to see you,” she says,
and seeing her glassy eyes make mine sting as well. I step into her
arms, and she hugs me tightly, her hand gripping the back of my
neck. “Come on in,” she says, holding a hand up to my parents who
are still out in the driveway. She doesn’t ask if they want to come
in too. There’s no need. Everyone knows what I’m here for.

I follow Patty to the kitchen where she has a
plate of cookies and a glass of milk already prepared. She always
had snacks for me—even when I came to visit when Josh was under
their care. She pushes the plate at me, and I pull a cookie into my
hand, not really hungry, but not wanting to be rude.

“I didn’t know,” I start, and I can feel the
burn in my eyes instantly, so I suck in trying to keep it together.
“I would have come. I would have been here. But I didn’t know.”

I put the cookie down on the table and look
down to my lap; Patty reaches across the table and puts her hand on
mine. “I know you would have, sweetheart. I know,” she says, just
holding her hand there for a few minutes while I sob softly.

“Where’s Mr. Anderson?” I ask, doing my best
not to notice the small things that are familiar around me. This
place is more familiar than my own home at this point.

“He had to work. He sends his
hellos
though. He’s sorry he didn’t get to see you,” she says, and I nod
in response.

“Was it…I don’t know…fast? I mean, that’s
stupid…” I fumble through my words, and the more I talk the more my
gut hurts. “I guess I mean, did he suffer? At the end?”

“No, Rowe,” she says, the faint smile coming
back to her lips, and I know she’s being honest. “He went in his
sleep. He had been failing for months. It was his time.”

I nod again and look back to my lap, doing my
best to swallow the lump choking my throat. I reach for the milk
and take a sip, then pick up my cookie again, breaking off a small
piece and eating it. Like everything else, it’s familiar, and it
floods my mind with a dozen more memories, so I put it back
down.

“Rowe, you know you couldn’t have done
anything, right?” Patty asks, tilting her head down to force my
gaze up to hers. I shrug, because even though I know I couldn’t
have, I feel like I should have tried, or at least been here.
“Rowe, my son was gone the day that madman entered the cafeteria.
These last two years…while he was here, it wasn’t really
him
, you know? He was alive, but his mind was gone.”

“But I should have said goodbye,” I say,
unable to stop myself from full-on crying now. Patty moves her
chair close to mine and pulls me into her arms, her hand rubbing up
and down my back while I convulse into huge sobs. “He died, and he
thinks I forgot him. That I didn’t love him. ”

“No, don’t you for once ever think that,
Rowe,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “I’m convinced, the last
thing my son remembers is that last day here on earth with
you—talking about summer, and the end of the school year, and your
date that night. I like to believe he died playing that memory over
and over in his head, the best memory of his life. He wasn’t even
aware of anything after.”

“But I never saw him. I couldn’t do it. I was
too…too weak,” I say, rubbing my eyes with my balled-up fists.

“I’m glad, Rowe, because you can have that
last memory, too. The same one Josh had. His dad and I, we weren’t
as lucky. And if I could have chosen never to have seen my son like
that, the way he lived…barely…for the last two years—I would have,”
she says, lifting my chin to look at her and taking a soft towel to
my cheeks.

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling ashamed for
being so afraid.

“I do. I know,” she says, forcing me to keep
my eyes on her. She studies me for several seconds, then she stands
and reaches for my hand. “Come with me. I have something for
you.”

Patty leads me down the hall to Josh’s room,
and my anxiety grows with every step we take. “It’s okay,” she
says, over her shoulder. “We’ve boxed up his things and the
hospital bed is gone. It’s not the same. You’ll be okay.”

I love that she understands, and I hate that
she has to understand. She pushes the door open, and the windows
are all open, the room sunny and bright. It’s almost a guest room,
as if he never lived here at all. She slides the closet door open
and kneels to the floor, pulling out a hatbox and bringing it over
to the bed. She pats the side next to her, and I come over to
sit.

“I saved some things, and everyone has a box.
I made one for us, one for Josh’s grandparents, and one for you,”
she says, sliding the box to my lap and pulling the lid off, like
she knows I won’t be able to on my own. The first thing I see is
the picture of Josh smashing cake in my face at the baseball
banquet. Betsy took this photo, which makes it even more special,
and I can’t help but smile looking at it. I pull it out and set it
in the lid, moving on to the next thing. There’s a stack of
letters, and I realize they’re all notes that I wrote to Josh—notes
that he saved.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t read them,” she says
with a gentle laugh. “I wanted to…but I figured there wasn’t really
a parental reason to do that now.”

I smile and clutch the papers to my heart,
letting a tear slide down my cheek. I set them in the lid with the
photo and move on, pulling out the invitation for our homecoming
dance, more photos of Josh and me at various baseball games,
barbecues and parties, and then finally his old baseball jersey,
still dirty from the last time he slid on base. I put everything
back inside and close the lid, full-on weeping now, holding the box
to my body in a hug.

I mouth
thank you
, unable to get my
voice to work, and Patty pulls me into her arms for another hug.
“You’re welcome, Rowe. You’re welcome,” she says, letting me stay
right there for as long as I need.

Several minutes later, I finally make my way
back outside. I never ask them about moving or putting the house up
for sale, and I don’t ask about where Josh is buried. Because
everything I need—the things that I need to move forward, but
remember—are in this small box.

Once I’m back in the car with my parents, I
set the box next to me on the seat, keeping my left palm flat along
the lid, just to make sure nothing escapes. When my mom starts
driving, I reach forward and put a hand on my dad’s shoulder; he
sinks under my touch before reaching for my fingers and squeezing.
I hold his hand for the few minutes it takes us to get back
home.

Nate

It feels like the first day of school again,
even though Ty and I are only coming back for a few days for finals
before leaving again. It feels like the first day because it feels
like everything from before was a dream. Rowe isn’t here, and I
wonder if she’ll come back for her finals.

I’ve sent her a few texts, but she hasn’t
written anything back. I hope she’s not angry that I let her
parents know she was coming, but I wanted to make sure she got home
safely, and that someone was there for her. Her dad sent me a text
when she arrived, so I know she landed. But that’s the last word I
received.

Ty filled Cass in for me, and if she’s heard
anything from Rowe, she’s keeping it a secret. She comes in while
Ty and I slide our bags next to our beds, and all I can do is laugh
when I look around at this stupid pink room. She’s gone and painted
herself everywhere I look—there’s no escaping. I lie back and laugh
harder, because she’s all over my bed, too.

“Are you having a breakdown on me?” Ty asks,
flipping my foot from my bed.

“Yeah…I think I am,” I say, my hands pressed
to my eyes, trying to block everything out. “You hear anything?” I
ask, looking right at Cass now.

“Nothing. I sent her a text yesterday and
this morning. She has to take her finals, though, right?” Cass
asks, and I just shrug. Rowe doesn’t
have
to do anything. I
pull my phone from my pocket and check to see if she’s sent me
anything, but my message alert is empty. “Fuck!”

I don’t do outbursts, but all I want to do
right now is scream. Days ago, I had everything, and now the only
thing I feel is sickness and regret. If I just knew she was okay,
that she wasn’t back to being lost… I think if I knew that, I could
get through this.

“I’m going to the cages. I’ll be back…I don’t
know…later,” I say, pulling on my ball cap and pushing it low over
my eyes so I don’t have to look at anyone. I hear Ty and Cass
talking softly behind me when I leave, talking about me, I’m sure,
but I don’t care. My state right now is something to talk about,
and maybe they’ll come up with some answers for me.

During my walk to the batting facilities, I
pull out my phone and text her again, because something has to get
through.
Are you at least taking your finals?

There—a truly simple question. She can send
me back two or three letters—
no
or
yes
—and I would be
thrilled. I push the phone back into my pocket and jog across the
street. A few guys are already hitting, so I go to the locker room
and pull out my gear, getting my helmet and gloves on. I’m not
really dressed for much of a workout, but there aren’t any coaches
around, so I just stay dressed in my jeans and long-sleeved
baseball shirt—Rowe’s shirt, because I like to torment myself.