Goodbye Days

by Jeff Zentner

“I’m not asking you to.”

  “You’re so generous. Thanks.”

  “Adair, look.” Don’t say, “We used to be friends.” Anything but that. “We used to be friends.”

  She folds her arms across her chest and laughs, clipped and acrid, blinking fast and eyeing me with an incredulous expression. “Really? That’s why you stopped me in the hall? To remind me that we used to be on friendly terms?”

  “Could we maybe talk about this another time? Like go have coffee or something?” I keep my voice low.

  “No.”

  “Adair.”

  “I’m serious. You didn’t have any shame in currying everyone’s sympathy yesterday. Now you’re embarrassed to have it out in the hallway?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Of course it is. And you should have thought of that before you stopped me. So. What was going through your head, if anything?”

  “I just thought—” My face burns.

  “Go on.”

  “I—”

  “Huh? Thought what? What did you think?”

  “I—thought we could, you know, support each other.” I’m fully aware of how stupid and small I sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone start to enter the hallway and then hastily reconsider. I’m remembering why I was so afraid of people fearing Adair.

  Adair’s voice turns cloyingly sweet and innocent. She bats her eyes. “Aw. Are you lonely, Carver? Is your life hard now? Does it suck to be alive?”

  “I’m—”

  She raises her finger. “See, here’s the thing: I have plenty of friends. But I only had one brother. If you were so worried about being friendless, maybe you should’ve had more friends than could fit in one car and maybe you should’ve been more careful about texting them when they were driving in said car.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right,” I murmur. Her words are flaying me.

  “But you’re not all alone, are you? You and Jesmyn are becoming friendly, I see.”

  “Who else do I have? Not you, obviously.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “I’m not trying to move in on Jesmyn, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “What a prince.”

  “Adair.”

  Her eyes narrow in contempt.

  I stand there like a drooling, flustered idiot. “I’m sorry.”

  Adair draws closer. “For what? Huh? What are you sorry for?”

  An apparitional Mr. Krantz floats into my mind. This is dangerous territory. “I’m sorry about Eli and Blake and Mars. I loved them too.”

  “Well, what did you do to Eli and Blake and Mars that you’re so sorry?”

  I swallow hard, imagining my Adam’s apple looking cartoonish. “Sorry that they’re gone. I really miss them.”

  Adair returns to her cloying sarcasm. “Aw. Yeah, Carver. Me too. I’m sure it’s terrible for you. I mean, Eli and I shared a womb and lived under the same roof for seventeen years, but let’s not forget about your pain.” Her voice begins to crack and tremble at the finish.

  “I’m sorry.” My face reddens and heats further. Another person hurriedly slips past us, looking determinedly at the floor. This will be all over school in about fifteen minutes.

  “You said that already.”

  “What about Mars?” I ask quietly, my heart collapsing in on itself. What about Mars? Even you blame yourself more than you blame him. Coward.

  She gives a curt laugh—more of a pointed, stabbing exhale. “Oh, I have plenty to say to Mars too. It’s just that, well, he’s not here because he’s dead and you’re not.”

  We stare at each other for a moment. Her gray eyes seethe like molten lead. They burn my mind clear of words. But once more, Adair rescues me from having to say anything.

  “I hope you go to jail. I really do. I hope you die there,” she says before she turns and walks away.

  I slip into the buzzing cafeteria and scurry to a corner. I wonder how much of the low hum of conversation is already about my run-in with Adair. I lean against the wall and pretend to check my phone for nonexistent messages from friends, also wondering if any human being has ever had a worse first two days of school. I try to will my blood to absorb back the adrenaline. After a bit, the churning in my gut subsides, the redness leaves my face, and I try to find Jesmyn in the buzzing swarm. She finds me first, sneaking up on me from my left.

  “Hey, mister,” she says.

  I jump. “Hey.” We laugh nervously.

  Then Jesmyn hugs me. It’s the first truly pleasant sensation of this whole day. Her body seems to fit me perfectly. Her cool cheek is against mine and the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria stream through her hair. She smells like laundry detergent and cherry candy. I wish I could enjoy it unreservedly without wondering if Adair saw.

  You should tell her. You should tell Jesmyn that Adair is watching us, and that Adair thinks you’re moving in on her dead brother’s girlfriend. You should give Jesmyn the chance to get out while she still can and make some friends at school. You should let her choose not to be a pariah and a target like you. You should—

  “You looked like you needed a hug. So, are you crazy?” Jesmyn asks.

  “Rude. What if they said I am? Awkward for you.”

  “Kidding. Do you feel better?”

  There’s a good question. Before my run-in with Adair? Slightly better. And I didn’t melt down upon entering the school building, so: “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  “I just had a fight with Adair. Really more her tearing me a new asshole.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’ll take time for her. Like all of us.”

  “A long, long time in her case.”

  “Let’s sit. You bring your lunch?”

  “Yeah.” I pull out my turkey-avocado sandwich and unwrap it, even though I’ve lost my appetite. “What are you eating?”

  “Peanut butter, banana, honey, and bacon,” Jesmyn says, covering her full mouth.

  “And I was worried you wouldn’t like the milkshakes at Bobbie’s. What are you, Elvis?”

  “I wish. Speaking of, I’m going to be working on my audition piece after school. I need to start practicing with an audience so I can overcome being nervous about people watching. Wanna watch? You can do homework or whatever; I need somebody in the room.”

  “I’m flattered! You literally need a pulsing sack of human meat and organs to sit in a chair? And hey! That’s what I am!”

  She hmphs and pushes me. “And because you said you wanted to see me play sometime, dork. I’m not looking for random dudes to sit and watch me. I could go on Craigslist for that.”

  Speaking of random dudes, speaking of sacks of meat: I look up across the cafeteria and spot Alex Bishop. Our eyes meet, and mine say: No need to pity me, asshole. I’ve lost a lot of things, but I have this. I’m sitting here beside Jesmyn while she eats her Elvis sandwich and you’re not. So kiss my ass. I’d forgotten how triumph feels. It’s great.

  I enjoy it for about three seconds before I finally notice Adair scowling at Jesmyn and me and whispering to her friends. Our prior encounter echoes in my ears.

  “So?” Jesmyn asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Wanna watch?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Why?”

  “Because you’re looking especially Carverish.”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “What does that mean?”

  “Sort of lost.”

  “Oh, cool.”

  “No, I mean lost in thought. Like the mysteries of the universe are revealing themselves to you.”

  I’ve never gotten used to the idea of people thinking about me when I’m not directly in front of them. “They’re not. The more I consider the mysteries of the universe, the less I understand them.”

  “Is that what you and the therapist talked about? The mysteries of the universe?”


  “More the mysteries of my own brain.”

  “Fascinating,” she whispers.

  “So sarcastic.”

  “Only a little. You wanna try a bite of my—” Jesmyn starts to say, when a crack of thunder interrupts her. We can hear it over the chatter. An excited rush sweeps through the throng. Jesmyn’s face instantly blooms.

  She jumps up and grabs my wrist, yanking me to my feet. “Come on.”

  “What?” I ask, through a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Hurry. We gotta watch it.” She’s tugging me toward the hallway that connects to the cafeteria. It’s made of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  We get there and Jesmyn drops my wrist, leaving my skin hungry. She presses her hands to the glass—a child at the zoo, replete with wondrous expression. As if trying to absorb something. A blinding flash of lightning and another deafening crack of thunder. She shudders and giggles.

  The rain pounds down in sideways torrents. The wind driving it folds the trees almost in half.

  “Whoa,” she whispers.

  But I ignore the storm and marvel at her rapture. “It’s like I’m witnessing someone experiencing something holy.”

  Her eyes glimmer. “You are,” she murmurs, not turning from the window. “I love the energy of storms. They remind me of what powerful forces there are out there.”

  Another thunderous rumble. I wonder if you can hear thunderstorms in prison.

  “If you envision nature as a piece of music, then storms are the movements in that piece,” she says.

  My session with Dr. Mendez has put me in a listening mood, so I listen without saying anything.

  “Do you think I’m psycho?” she asks. It’s obvious she doesn’t care if I do.

  “No. I mean, don’t forget that I took you to a park to chase squirrels, so I can’t really talk.”

  The storm gathers in intensity. It’s noon but dusklike outside. Another flash of lightning, a peal of thunder, and the lights flicker.

  I stand close to her and turn my gaze outward. “Speaking of chasing squirrels, do you remember when we did that and I told you about how Blake’s grandma suggested that we have a goodbye day for Blake?”

  She turns from the window to me. “I remember.”

  “I talked with my therapist about that. Asked if I should do it. He left it up to me.”

  “You gonna?”

  “Might help.”

  “Then you probably should.”

  A flash of lightning illuminates the side of her face nearest the window. I suddenly become acutely aware of how alive and breathing I am. And I also have the momentary sense—a flash—that even though Mars, Blake, and Eli aren’t here anymore to screw around with in Mr. McCullough’s history class, now I have something different, which is watching a thunderstorm with Jesmyn Holder, and maybe that’s okay. I try to grab onto the feeling, but it’s too ephemeral to hold and it disappears into the ether.

  Jesmyn gives me a half smile and turns to face the storm.

  After school, I watch her play. I’ve never sat nearer to someone doing something better. She sways and murmurs to herself while her fingers glide over the keys like wings. She pauses midphrase to pencil in notes on her music.

  If Adair should happen to peek in and see, it will only make things worse for both Jesmyn and me.

  I should be at McKay’s right now, asking for my job back and putting in some hours after school, to pay for my legal defense.

  Instead, I watch her play. If I could leave my body and see myself, I likely would resemble her when she was watching the storm. As if I’m in the presence of something hallowed and true. Like I’m witness to someone’s hidden heart, to some secret ritual. For a while I forget myself and everything I carry. The grief. The guilt. The fear.

  Whatever mysteries may exist in the universe, or within the recesses of my own mind, what Eli saw in her is not among them.

  I have a Facebook account for the sole purpose of corresponding with my grandma in Ireland. I made her get one because she wouldn’t stop forwarding me dumb emails. I get a notification that I have a message from her. As I go to read it, I see the little “recommended pages” bar on the side of my page.

  This time, among the usuals, there’s a new recommended page: Prosecute Carver Briggs.

  My heart explodes against my ribs like a rabid animal at the bars of a cage. There’s not much on the page yet. It has a brief account of the Accident. It has a few statistics on driving fatalities related to texting. It’s shared the main article from the Tennessean about the Accident. The post has five likes. Two are from Adair’s friends. The page itself has thirty-seven likes.

  I close my laptop without reading my grandma’s message, get up from my desk, and start pacing. I shut my blinds for some reason. I feel naked and vulnerable.

  The thing is that none of the articles about the Accident have identified me by name. This page does. Now any future employer, any school that Googles me, will see this. And that’s if I have future employers or schools and I’m not in prison.

  I guess part of me assumed that someday I wouldn’t be stained by the death of my friends.

  What a silly thing to assume.

  “Why do you have to leave so soon? UT starts Monday,” I say.

  We’re on the porch. Georgia’s car sits low in the driveway, packed full.

  “Oh, that’d be fun. Wake up at three a.m. on Monday morning so I can roll up to UT at seven a.m., move in, and then run to my organic chemistry class,” Georgia says.

  “I don’t mean that. But you could leave Sunday. It’s Friday.”

  “This isn’t the last you’ll ever see of me. I’ll be home for the Dearly show in October.”

  “Let’s hang out today. Leave tomorrow.”

  “I seriously need to settle in.”

  “You need time to party, you mean,” I mutter.

  Georgia leans forward and cups her hand to her ear. “Oh, what? I didn’t quite catch that. Need what? Did you say ‘I need a wet willie’?” She sticks her pinky finger in her mouth and pulls it out dripping. She goes for my ear.

  “Georgia, no. Gross. Don’t be a dickhead.” I catch her wrist.

  She cackles, licks her other pinky, and goes for my other ear. I grab that wrist too. She squirms out of my grasp and makes a stab for my ear, glancing off my cheek. She’s a Pilates nut and, well, I’m not. So I’m having trouble fighting her off.

  “Georgia, quit. Come on. Quit.” My arm is shaking trying to keep her other hand away from my ear.

  “Okay, okay, truce?” Her cheeks are ruddy. She’s having a ball.

  “Okay, truce.” I let her arms go, already knowing I’ve been had.

  We separate, regarding each other warily. Then, like a striking cobra, before I can even raise my arms halfway, her left pinky is wet in my ear.

  I stand there. I’m so defeated, I don’t even try to swat her hand away. It’s very awkward to make sustained eye contact with somebody giving you a wet willie.

  She pulls out her finger. “You’re going to be okay.” Her voice is gentle.

  “Oh yeah?” I want to believe her, but it’s hard to imagine.

  “You’re talking with Dr. Mendez. That’s huge. You’re taking your meds. That’s important. You have Jesmyn, who seems supercool.”

  Jesmyn came to the goodbye barbecue we had for Georgia the night before. “She is cool,” I say.

  “Don’t screw that up, whatever it is.”

  My heart seizes with guilt. “We’re just friends.”

  “Promise you’ll keep seeing Dr. Mendez, even if things don’t happen right away?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can call or text me anytime you need to talk.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you try to let Mom and Dad in a little more?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “My offer to beat Adair’s ass stands.”

  “I know. Both of us don’t need to go to jail.”

  “Carver? Please be careful. Don’t
hand Judge Edwards anything. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come give me a hug.”

  I put both hands over my ears and walk into her outstretched arms. Once safely in her embrace, I return her hug. “I don’t have that many people left.” I try to say it in a jokey way but come up short.

  “Hang in there.” Georgia gets into her car, waves, and leaves.

  I wave as she drives away, my life shrinking again.

  I almost lose my nerve. My hands shake as I dial Nana Betsy’s number.

  “Blade,” she says, her voice brightening. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I’m surviving. Some days better than others.”

  “I hear you. So—I’m calling because I think we should have a goodbye day for Blake, as you suggested. I don’t know how this works, but I want to try.”

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Well, that’s wonderful. I guess we’ll play it by ear, won’t we?”

  “That sounds like the way to pay tribute to Blake.”

  She laughs. “How does the Saturday a week from tomorrow work for you?”

  “Should be fine.”

  “Then we’ll start bright and early and go until night. This’ll be a true last day with Blake.”

  “Okay.”

  “This means a lot to me. It would mean a lot to Blake.”

  “I hope so.”

  We hang up and I sit there on my bed for a while, listening to myself breathe. Wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Wondering if I’m equal to the task of laying my friend to rest once and for all. Wondering if I deserve any closure that may come of it.

  I dream about them again. In my dream we’re together and we’re doing something happy—I’m not sure exactly what; my dreams aren’t always so specific—and I’m relieved that they’re not gone. When I wake up, I beg them to linger with me awhile longer, but they don’t.

  As they have done so many times, they evaporate into the small hours’ dark, leaving me alone with my wild grief. With my searing guilt.

  Every so often in our lives, we face a challenge that seems more than we can bear. I had one of these challenges right before I began my senior year. I had to learn—