Where It All Lands

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Where It All Lands Page 27

by Jennie Wexler


  “Sarah?”

  She runs full speed in my direction, throwing her arms around my neck. Her citrus shampoo envelops me and grounds me, a momentary escape from the immense hurt that has settled over my life. For the first time since Shane died, an unexpected smile breaks free on my face.

  “My work here is done,” Dad says, as he flashes me a thumbs-up. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” he says over his shoulder as he disappears from the living room.

  “I’m starving,” Sarah says as she releases my neck and marches to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. She pulls down a bag of chips, salsa, and Mom’s secret stash of chocolate, which she somehow finds easily.

  “How did you … How are you here?” I ask, sitting on one of the counter stools and swiveling around to face her. My throat catches when I notice the black and gold ponytail holder in her hair. She’s still wearing it, like I am.

  “Your dad bought the ticket. But I can only stay the night. My mom said I can’t miss more than one day of school. But I figured one night is better than none.” Sarah scoops a huge mound of salsa on a chip and pops the whole thing into her mouth, smiling. “Want?”

  “No thanks,” I say, my stomach still on strike.

  “Please tell me you’re eating.”

  “I’m eating.” My voice squeaks out as I shrug. Sarah raises an eyebrow.

  “Gotta bring out the big guns, then,” Sarah says, as she pulls bread, cheese, and butter from the fridge. I know where she’s going with this—her famous grilled cheese. “Where does your mom keep the pans?”

  “That one.” I gesture at a bottom cabinet and Sarah retrieves a large frying pan.

  “I cook,” Sarah says, lighting the stovetop. “You talk.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” I sigh. “Everything just…”

  “Sucks. I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Sarah doesn’t ask me if I’m okay because she knows I’m not and she knows that asking only makes it worse.

  “It was my fault,” I say, as bread and cheese crackle in the pan. Sarah presses a spatula onto the sandwich as the edges brown.

  “How was it your fault?”

  I launch into the whole story. I tell her about Drew and Shane and the coin toss that led to me to Drew. I tell her how first I fell for Drew, and then slowly for Shane. I tell her how being with Shane felt like coming home. I tell her about hiding in the bathroom and how Shane was in that accident because of me. And after I’m done telling her all of it, I begin to cry again, wet heavy sobs.

  “That’s not your fault,” Sarah says as she turns off the burner and transfers the grilled cheese to a plate. “That’s life.”

  “That’s not life,” I say, brushing tears off my face. “That’s death and it’s unfair and wrong and it makes no sense.”

  “That’s true,” Sarah says, sliding the grilled cheese across the counter until it lands under my chin, the smell of grease wafting up my nose. My stomach grumbles but I ignore it. “But it was an accident. Out of your control.”

  “Do our choices even matter? We all walk around thinking we have control over our lives. But in the end, we bounce around like a pinball in a machine, landing wherever gravity, and whatever other forces we want to believe in, take us.”

  Sarah grabs half of the sandwich and takes a bite, her eyes shifting to the side. When she’s done chewing, she looks straight at me.

  “It’s both, Stevie. Our choices matter. Your choices matter. But you don’t have complete control. No one does. This wasn’t your fault.”

  Sarah’s words are a release, but not a reprieve. Maybe one day I’ll believe her. I inhale and try to breathe it all out—the accident, my grief, a loss I may never comprehend.

  “This you have control over,” Sarah says, gesturing at the sandwich. “And you should most definitely choose to eat.”

  Sarah nudges my shoulder and I grab the grilled cheese from her hand, taking a big bite. As the gooey cheese melts inside my mouth, a sense of calm settles over my tired body. But it’s not only the food. After months of wishing Sarah was by my side, she’s finally here.

  “I made my first grilled cheese in fourth grade when my grandfather passed away,” Sarah says, a shadow passing across her pale blue eyes. “Sometimes it’s the smallest things, the least expected moments that help.”

  “How did I not know that?” I ask, my heart breaking for a young Sarah grasping for comfort, searching for a way to mend her broken world.

  “You never asked,” she says, and she’s right. There’s a lot I don’t know about Sarah because I never asked, never took the time to notice. I always figured I was moving, and the more I knew, the more I would eventually have to leave behind.

  “I should have asked,” I say. “About a lot of things.”

  For the first time, I realize it’s me. It’s been me all along. I worked so hard to shield myself from the pain of leaving friends behind that I never really let them in. Except Shane. He was the one person who got through. Maybe it’s not about the moving and leaving. Maybe it’s about being in the moment while it’s happening and living.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” Sarah says. “I’ve been a shitty friend. The time difference is so hard. Every time I try to call you it’s either too early or too late, you know? But that’s no excuse. The bottom line is I miss you like hell.”

  “You can’t be a shitty friend to someone who doesn’t let you in to begin with.” My voice is filled with regret for holding Sarah at arm’s length, afraid of losing her. I wasted too much time protecting myself.

  “I love you,” I say, the words falling from my mouth easily. I’ve never told Sarah how much her friendship meant and still means to me.

  “I know,” Sarah says, smirking. “I love you too.”

  * * *

  Shane’s been gone for two weeks and I’m beginning to forget the sound of his laugh. After the funeral I called his phone and listened to his voice mail greeting, trying to memorize the exact timbre of his voice. But his mom must have canceled his plan, because now instead of Shane’s voice there’s a generic automated message.

  I turn the combination on my locker and yank the door open. It’s an absolute mess. Books are vertical and horizontal, and pens are loose in the back. As I grab a notebook a little folded piece of paper falls to the floor. The hall empties out as I pick it up. I slowly unfold it and recognize the handwriting immediately, falling against my locker, my heart pounding.

  I’m not sure if I can read it, but I can’t not read it. As my eyes skim over the first sentence, I can hear Shane’s voice clearly, as if he’s standing right next to me. My throat catches as the paper shakes in my hands. I miss him so completely, so desperately, like a hole that can never be filled.

  Stevie:

  I thought about writing you this letter every day this year. I really should have had the courage to tell you in person. I also should have told you sooner. I should have told you the second it happened. But I’m telling you now. That first day we all met … Drew and I flipped a coin to decide who would get to ask you out. I promised him I wouldn’t say anything, but some promises are made to be broken. The penny landed in Drew’s favor and the rest is history, but I thought you should know. You should also know it wasn’t a bet or game for either of us—it was real.

  But this note isn’t about Drew. It’s about me and the way I feel about you. I should be thankful really. It’s because of that coin toss that we became such great friends. Hanging out with you is the best part of my day. I can’t fall asleep without first hearing your voice on the other end of the phone. But, at the same time, I’m tired of pretending. I can’t not tell you anymore. Because I think you might feel it too.

  If I could turn back time, I would tell Drew to forget his coin toss. I would have told you then what I’m telling you now. I love you.

  —Shane

  TAILS

  CHAPTER 8

  Stevie

  MILLBROOK HOSPITAL

  An i
ncoming text dings on my phone and jostles me from sleep. My neck spasms as I uncurl myself and slowly sit up on the waiting room bench. I’m still in my audition outfit, my white button-down wrinkled and untucked. It’s been two days and still no change. My phone dings again and I check the messages.

  Sarah

  Update?

  Sarah

  Any change?

  I pop a piece of gum in my mouth as I write Sarah back. She’s been checking in nonstop, our friendship slowly piecing back together. But it’s like we’re building an entirely new puzzle, the pieces of us changed by time and distance.

  Me

  Nothing yet.

  Sarah

  Okay keep me posted. I’m here.

  Drew slowly wakes up and wipes the corners of his eyes. He winces as he sits, cradling his bandaged right arm.

  “What time is it?” he asks, his voice raw.

  “Nine a.m.,” I say, the sun streaming through the window, making everything in this waiting room too bright. Drew suddenly laughs and I turn to see Ray barreling toward us, a giant bouquet of blue and gold helium balloons trailing behind her.

  “Guys!” she yells when she sees us.

  “Shhh!” An older lady presses her finger to her lips and glares at Ray.

  “Sorry!” Ray hunches and pulls the balloons through the aisle of chairs to the corner. I spot a couple blue ones that say Get Well.

  “What are you doing here?” Drew asks, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question, like Ray has no right visiting Shane. They aren’t exactly friends, so I get where Drew’s coming from, but knowing Ray, she’s trying to do what’s right.

  “She’s allowed to be here,” I say, standing next to her, raising my eyebrows at Drew. He blows out a breath of air and manages a small smile.

  “Sorry, just stressed,” Drew says as he stands and hugs Ray. “It’s cool you came. What’s up with the balloons?”

  “They’re from the football team,” Ray says, struggling to untangle the ribbons. “We also want Shane to have this.”

  Ray pulls a card from the pocket of her jacket and hands it to me.

  “You can read it,” she says. “I know you want to.”

  The card says Get Well Soon on the front and the inside is filled with signatures from the team, from people who aren’t friends with Shane, but still care about him. My eyes scan the names until they reach the corner of the card. Someone wrote an actual message.

  I’m sorry for all of it and you’d better pull through.

  —Brent

  I flip the card around and point to Brent’s message as Drew’s eyes skim the handwritten note.

  “About time.” Drew smirks and shakes his head.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say to Ray, as she throws her arms around my neck, hugging me. “For being here for Shane.”

  “I’m here for you too, you know.”

  Ray’s not only here to deliver the balloons and card. She’s here for me, and even though she’ll probably never admit it, I bet she’s here for Drew too. She gazes at him as he scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. Ray shifts her attention to me and asks how I’m doing. I’m about to tell her that I’m scared, that even though I’ve left so many people behind with each move, I’ve never truly lost someone. And the difference between leaving and losing is so clear to me now, a difference I wish I could have understood years ago. But I don’t get to tell Ray any of it because a loud beeping fills the hall. Drew snaps his head to the noise, then looks at me.

  “Let’s go,” he says, taking off toward the sound, me right behind him. “Wait here,” he shouts back to Ray.

  Drew and I round the corner as a team of doctors rushes into Shane’s room. Kathy and Lainey are ushered into the hallway.

  “Stand back,” orders the doctor. Lainey’s hands cover her mouth and her eyes are wide, unblinking. Kathy stares at the ceiling, mouthing prayers at the fluorescent light. Drew paces in front of the window, trying to see past the curtain that blocks his view. The beeping grows louder and faster as white lab coats surround Shane.

  “They brought him out of the coma and his heart rate…” Kathy’s voice trails off, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. The beeping is so fast, a panicked alarm piercing the air.

  “Fuck,” Drew says under his breath, his eyes wild.

  Finally, the beeping slows to a steady pace and my heart slows with it. A procession of lab coats exits the room, nodding at us. Kathy rushes to the lead doctor.

  “He’s stable. Not out of the woods yet though.” The doctor is tall and authoritative, but his words are short and precise. Kathy nods, tears spilling out of the corner of her eyes. Lainey takes hold of her hand.

  “How long do we wait?” Lainey asks.

  “There’s no telling. I’ll be back to check on him during my rounds.”

  The doctor turns, his lab coat trailing behind him. He doesn’t hear me say, “But he’s going to wake up, right?”

  I close my eyes and will Shane to wake up, picturing the dimple forming in his cheek when he smiles. I imagine him sitting up in his hospital bed, forking a piece of cheesecake and rubbing his stomach as he swallows it down. I repeat the same word in my head as I feel Shane’s lips on mine, kissing away the fear that consumes my body.

  Please.

  HEADS

  CHAPTER 9

  Stevie

  AFTER THE FUNERAL

  I don’t tell anyone about the note. Not even Drew. And I never will. It’s a secret that keeps me close to Shane. I re-read it constantly, and it’s almost like he’s with me.

  It’s sundown and Mom thinks I’m in my room, but I’m outside under the weeping willow. I’m listening to “Fields of Gold” on my headphones, wondering if Shane is looking down on me. Pinks and oranges cut through the bare branches, bouncing off the grass, and the notepaper almost glows. I read it and reread it, and reread it again.

  I picture Shane at the beginning of the year, all sweaty and awkward. I dig my heels into the grass remembering how I longed to stay put in New Jersey, to find my place. How I cared so much about being the new girl. I always thought that with each move I was leaving the important things behind. But all the towns, people, and experiences came with me. They made me me. It doesn’t matter where I live. It’s the people who know me, who really know me, that matter. I understand it now. Now that it’s too late. Divots form where my shoes were, and I shuffle the soil back together, the ground hard and cold.

  The branches rustle, startling me, a dusting of snow falling to the earth. I quickly shove the note in my back pocket and take my headphones off. When Drew pokes his head in I scoot backwards. No one has ever been under the willow with me before. He sits, leaning back on his hands.

  “Cool spot,” he says, looking at the branches.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I saw your shoes poking out when I parked.” He taps my foot with his.

  Drew’s quiet, pulling blades of grass one by one from the ground. His hands move faster, his eyes darkening as he goes.

  “I can’t feel like this anymore,” he says, letting out a long breath. “It’s like I’m drowning.”

  “I know.”

  Drew reaches for my hand but pulls away fast.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Everything is upside down,” I say. After the accident, Drew and I didn’t just lose Shane. We lost each other.

  “I can’t make sense of it. I replay that whole day, trying to find the part where it all went wrong,” Drew says. “Me and the car and that fucking deer. Shane grabbing the wheel. Why did he have to grab the wheel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We sit in silence, the winter air picking up and shaking the willow. I pull my hat over my ears. The chill makes me shudder, and it’s like no matter what I do, I’ll never be warm again.

  “The coin toss…”

  “Drew, you don’t have to…”

  “I need
ed to come here and tell you. It wasn’t us trying to … I mean, we weren’t … You weren’t a bet,” he says.

  “I’m sorry I said I wished Shane won. That was awful, maybe the worst thing I’ve ever said.”

  “I deserved it.”

  “No,” I say, looking him straight in his bloodshot eyes. “You didn’t.”

  “We never should have flipped that coin. Maybe if it landed on the other side…” Drew runs his fingers through the grass. He’s quiet again, picking at each blade, until a small brown spot of dirt appears between his boots.

  “You can’t think like that,” I say.

  “You haven’t thought it? If the coin landed on tails, maybe you would have been with Shane. Maybe he wouldn’t have been in my car.”

  Of course I’ve thought it, and it’s maddening. The idea that something so small as a coin toss could change everything makes me sick to my stomach. But Shane was in Drew’s car because of me, not because of a coin toss.

  “Anyway, Mr. Abella wanted me to bring you this,” he says, pulling a white envelope from his back pocket. “It’s from All-State.”

  I reluctantly tear open the envelope, not caring what’s inside. A laugh escapes my mouth as I unfold the letter and read it. I throw the paper on the ground.

  “I got in,” I say, hating the letter because there’s only one person I want to celebrate with and he’s not here. “If I didn’t send you both that text … If I didn’t audition, Shane would still be here.”

  Drew stares at me, but his eyes aren’t accusatory, they’re compassionate, like he understands how it feels to relentlessly beat yourself up for something you can never take back.

  “It was my fault,” I say, forcing the words from my lips. “He was in your car because of me. Don’t blame yourself for this. Don’t blame a coin toss. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”

 

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