The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter.
But always with the promise of sweet
perfection. All it takes is sugar—
that certain someone’s kiss, flavored
with possibility. If Dani has taught
me anything, it’s that life is brimming
with possibilities. Every single day
brings choices. Make a bad one,
you deal with the consequences.
Make a good one, you get a reward
of one kind or another. Bad choices
or good, if you never take chances,
someone else will build your life
for you. What if you decide you don’t
like their vision? What if they put you
up on a pedestal and you hate the view?
I’ve never been much of a thrill seeker,
mostly because I’m afraid of falling.
I’m eyeing the mountain. But I’ll never
climb it with my parents calling the shots.
Possibilities. Choices. Decisions.
Influencing my own fate scares me.
But it’s better than the alternative.
I think. Right now, the future stares
back at me, posturing. Challenging.
Graduation is two weeks away. June
was supposed to be my escape, but I
wish I could hold on to May just a little
longer. Can’t say that I want to hang
on to my childhood, because I can’t
remember having one, at least not
the kind a kid should have. But am I
really ready to be out on my own?
Ready or not, here I come, I guess.
Just not sure where I’m going.
Or if I’ll ever want to come home.
The Phone Rings
And caller ID says it’s Aspen Springs.
They don’t call here often. Three rings,
no one else answers, so I do. “Hello?”
It’s Dr. Starr, and she sounds shaky
when she asks to talk to one of my
parents. What’s Conner done now?
“Mom? Dad? Pick up the phone.”
Dad’s just coming in from a run.
He goes into the kitchen, and I’m
about to hang up when I hear Dr.
Starr through the receiver. I … uh …
I don’t know how to tell you this
but … uh … there was an accident.
Uh … it’s Conner. I’m afraid … he …
didn’t make it. Didn’t make what?
What is she saying? Dad asks the same
question, and she answers bluntly,
He’s dead. Dead. Dead? He can’t be
dead. My stomach swells with bile.
Dread. No. Not Conner. Not my brother!
I drop the phone. Don’t want to
listen to the details. I run downstairs,
find Dad collapsed on the cool
kitchen tile. One of the chairs is
overturned, like he missed it. “Dad!”
Daddy?” Tears streak his face,
and his hands shake so hard he can
barely hold the phone, let alone speak
into it. But he won’t let me take
it from him. No, he says. Go find
your mother. I turn around, run
blindly into the living room. Not
here. Upstairs, to her bedroom,
don’t bother to knock. She’s asleep,
and I don’t want to wake her. “Mo …”
Now it’s me that can’t talk. “Mom!”
She comes up out of her dreams,
and it’s all I can do to say, “Dad
needs you. Now,” before I crack
into a million pieces. Not Conner.
But Conner Is Dead
It wasn’t an accident. He stepped
over the edge of a very tall cliff.
Brought our world crashing down.
Smashing us into the rocks, right
along with him. We are zombies.
The living remains of the dead.
They flew him out of the wilderness.
Already cold. Almost as cold as Mom.
She is frozen. All emotion ice dammed
inside. She never even cried. Someone
has to stay calm, she said. Someone has
to handle the details. Will she ever cry?
Kendra
The Details
Of death are the fabric
nightmares are sewn from.
They weave
daylight grieving with
deep-of-night memory.
They chase
hope into the shadows,
leave it trembling there.
They menace
summer’s green dawning
with winter’s gray shroud.
They strike
like lightning. Electric,
unstoppable.
They stab
like wooden spears, drive
splinters into the heart.
Irredeemable
That’s what Mom called Conner when
I told her the news. No way to save him.
I don’t believe that. Everyone can be
saved, if they just have the right person
trying to save them. Right? How could
he want to die so badly? He looked okay
when I saw him that day at the movies.
Almost like his regular self. I didn’t see death
in his eyes. Didn’t see the desire
to leave this world behind. Leave us behind.
Goddamn you, Conner. You always
were a selfish prick. You got us this time.
Nailed us right to the wall. And
some of us will never heal completely.
I Got The News
From Cara, the day after they brought
Conner’s body back. Laid him on a chilled
slab to poke and prod and probably
dig around in his brain for some tumor
or other abnormality that might make
a perfect kid like Conner choose to die.
I was sitting by Jenna’s bedside,
watching her pick at her hospital food,
when Cara’s call came. Um, Kendra?
I knew something was wrong from
the way her voice quivered. I wanted you
to hear this from me. She drew two
long raspy breaths. Conner died
yesterday. He, um … committed.
My first thought was bullshit. Why
would you make up something like this?
Then I realized immediately that no
way would she. “Oh my God. Are you …”
I almost said “sure,” but of course
she was, so I finished it with, “all right?”
Not really. I have to go. The wake
is Saturday. Will you let people know?
“Definitely. Cara, if I can do anything …
help … anything … please call me, okay?”
I felt like someone had just smashed
into me with a semi truck. And I must
have looked like it too. What? asked
Jenna, eyes wide. What’s wrong?
I couldn’t tell her. Repeating it would
make it real. The dam failed, and I cried.
The Wake Is This Evening
Mom’s taking me because I don’t
want to go by myself. We drive into
Reno, on the same highway as always,
passing the same trees. Same billboards.
Same buildings. But nothing
will ever be exactly the same again.
“Did you ever lose someone you loved?
I mean, did someone you loved ever die?”
Mom is quiet, remembering. My first
boyfriend died in a car accident.
A drunk driver ra
n a red light, hit
him going sixty. It was horrible.
“Does it still hurt, thinking about
him? Does the pain ever go away?”
The pain diminishes over time.
But it still hurts thinking about him.
The pain is sawing me in two.
I can barely breathe, and part of me
doesn’t want to. “Did you ever want
to die enough to think about suicide?”
I think everyone considers it at some
point. But I never would have done it.
Too many people rely on me. Too
many people love me, and I would
never want to make them feel the way
you’re feeling right now. You know?
Life is precious, Kendra. Never throw
away a single second. And never
forget about the people who love you.
There is tremendous value in that.
Sean
Never
Again. Never again.
Few things create never again
like death. Biting the big
one,
and not talking burgers.
Kicking the bucket.
Taking a one-way trip
to
who-knows-where.
Is there a heaven? Hell?
I mean, who can really
say
what happens after
the lights go out? Is there
a “hello” after the final
good-bye?
Word Travels Fast
Along the “someone died”
grapevine. It might not
always be accurate, so
you have to do some
double checking to make
sure what you heard is
something close to true.
I heard about Conner
from Duvall, not exactly
the most reliable source.
But this time, it seems, he
was right. Conner fell off
a cliff, somewhere out
in the Black Rock Desert.
He was on a wilderness
challenge. Still not clear why.
Not like Conner couldn’t hack
a challenge course. But why
was he there? And did he fall
by accident? On purpose?
Hell, maybe someone pushed
him over. Some pretty rough
kids go on those challenges.
Rougher than Conner, who was
a total prep, if a jock prep.
Was. Hard to use the past tense
when talking about someone
you know. Someone your age.
Someone who could be you,
if things were a little different.
Aubree and I are going to
the wake. I didn’t want
to. Not like Conner and
I were tight or anything.
Plus, dead people give me
the creeps. Too many bad
memories. Ghosts, walking.
But Aubree says we have to.
It’s expected. Everyone will be
there. They’ll talk if we aren’t.
Not Going To Argue
Dad would expect me to go.
Conner and I were teammates,
if not friends. The team will
all be there, for sure. The least
you can do when a teammate
dies is go to his wake.
They’re having it at
the biggest funeral home
in Reno. Aubree was right.
Everyone is here, to judge
by the parking lot. “We have to
park on the street and walk.”
It’s a long few blocks, made
easier by sneaking peeks
at Aubree’s legs, mostly
exposed by the very short
skirt of her black dress.
Everyone is in black except
me. I wore navy blue, just
to shake things up. Oops.
Okay. Cara is not in black.
She’s in a dark red dress
that fits her like skin and
she is beautiful, even in
her obvious grief. Or maybe
because of it. She looks like
a child. Vulnerable. Easy
to hurt. Aubree notices who
I’m staring at. She elbows
me. Kind of inappropriate.
Maybe. But I still want to
go to her, hold her, despite
her girlfriend (hair no longer
blue) standing so close
there can be no doubt that
they are an item. I turn away,
take Aubree’s hand, and we
go down a far aisle to find
two seats way in the back.
Who sits up front at a wake?
I Watch Who Goes Up Front
Conner’s family. His father,
who walks all bound up,
like if he lets himself sway
at all he might stumble and
fall. Conner’s mother, who
looks straight ahead, no
hint of expression on her
beautiful, sculpted face.
Cara, her own face a carbon
copy. Except hers is sorrow
streaked. Her girlfriend, who
scaffolds Cara. Kendra and
her mother. Shantell, with
some guy I’ve never seen
before. And just in front of
them, a young couple. Maybe
my age. Also strangers, but
apparently not strangers to
Conner. They hold tight to each
other, struggle not to fall apart.
Andre
Strangers
Death gives strangers
common ground
to walk on.
Encounter
obstacles on.
To fall
down and cry on until
it sponges their tears.
Muddied,
they struggle
to pick
themselves up,
clean off the dirt,
stitch their wounds,
and together fight,
no longer strangers,
to get on
with living.
I Never Knew
Conner Sykes or anyone in his family,
I’m only here because
Shantell didn’t want to come alone.
She brought me up front, close to Cara,
who I did meet that one
time. She seems different. Older, touched
by death. Sitting next to her mother, I can
see what she will
look like one day, when she is older still.
It’s an open casket. From here, the boy
inside appears to be
sleeping. Only his mostly colorless face
gives his lifelessness away. He is—was—
younger than I when
he left this earth. He will never marry.
Never have children. Never find his way
back from wherever
it was that he lost himself. He will never
live his dreams, whatever they were.
Did he have them? Lose
them? Can you lose sight of a dream
that you don’t have time to discover?
I think of Grandma Grace,
who will leave this planet soon. Did
she have dreams she never realized?
I will ask her when I go
visit her. I don’t want to see her sick,
but I have to tell her I love her. That
I will miss her. That she
helped make me what I am today.
A dancer. That’s what I am. Only a few
people know it
at this moment. But that’s going to change.
One Of Thos
e People
Is sitting next to me right now. A year
ago, I wouldn’t have
given her a second glance. Wouldn’t have
gotten to know her because she isn’t a classic
beauty. Doesn’t have curves
like Jenna. Isn’t model thin like Kendra.
But she is pretty, and perfect in her own
way, because she knows
who she is and doesn’t pretend to be
anyone else. Doesn’t care who she pleases,
as long as she is good
with herself, and what else really matters?
Shantell has her eyes firmly on her dream.
Is reaching hard for it,
and encouraging me to reach for mine.
Tentatively, I slide my hand over hers.
The Vs between her fingers
notch into mine, and she squeezes.
The Service Starts
With recorded music. Pink singing “Amazing
Grace.” Beautiful and kind
of weird at the same time. Like the singer.
Shantell glances at me, and we share
a smile. She must be
reading my mind. The priest gets up and
spends much too long talking about God’s
plan and how to recognize
it in our own lives. And now the eulogies
begin. Conner’s football coach outlines
his many and varied
records, then laments about talent
the world will never see. Kendra stands,
tries desperately
to put her love for Conner into words.
She only manages a couple before they are
swallowed by sobs.
More than a few people join her in tears.
A half-dozen schoolmates of Conner’s
say how much they’ll
miss him. Finally the priest calls a young
couple to the front. They go forward,
hand in hand. Hi,
says the auburn-haired girl. I’m Vanessa.
You don’t know me, but I got to know
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