In the days before the wedding they were so busy and so tired and it was so hot up there in their apartment—the heat from the street rose, and also beat down through the roof from their ceiling—it was hard to sleep. Plus, she still had to work, which was a nightmare. Every morning he’d help her crutch her way to the bus and then go back upstairs to bed. Two days before they were supposed to go before the judge, in the middle of the night, she needed to pee. In her efforts to be a good wife in advance, and because he was sleeping so angelically—he looked like a Caravaggio when he was sleeping, that odd mixture of cherubic and alluring—she tried to get down the ladder by herself, but slipped. Amy swung out from the rungs and then swung in again, wrenching her arm and bruising herself pretty badly along her right side, before she fell to the floor in a laundry-like clump.
Fuck, said Amy, and she cried into her own arms. She had not wanted to wake him up. She spent the rest of the night on the futon couch below the bed and wondered why she had not thought of this before. How stupid could she be? Why couldn’t she see the nose on her own face? From then on in, that is where she would sleep until the cast came off, or they moved out to Colorado, fingers crossed.
On the day of the wedding, Lauren came over to help her dress. She wore a brand-new white satin lingerie set, tap pants, and bra under her mini, which thankfully covered the bruise down her side—it spanned from her ribs to her hip—and Lauren helped her get the undershorts over the cast. She helped Amy slip the dress over her head and piled her long, dark hair loosely on top of her head with lily of the valley flowers cascading down with her curls. Lauren even did her makeup. And she brought with her a matching bouquet of lilies for Amy to carry. They are so beautiful, Amy said, sniffing deeply. If it’s a girl, I’m going to name her Lily. Calla Lily.
That’s a pretty name, said Lauren.
You’re my best friend for life, said Amy.
You’re mine, said Lauren.
They air-hugged so they wouldn’t mess up Amy’s dress.
Amy’s boyfriend was wearing a tuxedo jacket he had bought on Broadway at a thrift store called Reminiscence. He looked surprisingly dashing in it, and Amy couldn’t help loving him as he helped her down the stairs of their building, and then they all took a bus to City Hall. The passengers were staring because of the veil, until Lauren yelled, They’re getting married, and then the passengers burst out in applause. Hal, the roommate from prep school, met them up in the judge’s chambers with four plastic champagne flutes and a bottle of Asti Spumante. The four of them were giddy with excitement. Like something new and great was about to happen, which Amy thought was true—something new and great was about to happen! This time for her.
The ceremony was short, the two witnesses kept goofing around and taking pictures, and Amy flash-forwarded for a moment and thought: I bet they sleep together tonight. Everyone was in a good mood.
Then they all went out to that old Ukrainian place, Veselka, for brunch, Amy still in her wedding dress and veil, and the boyfriend in his tuxedo jacket. Kasha and eggs. Sour coffee. Challah French toast. Table syrup, read Hal, when he picked up the squeeze bottle. That means no maple trees were involved or harmed. Lauren smiled big at that, and then Lauren and Hal played footsie under the table. When the check came, they split it. Now we don’t have to get you a wedding present, Hal said. Amy wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, but she was so happy, it was funny either way.
Back at the apartment, Lauren and Hal took over. They went up to the roof to string lights and to show the keg rental guys where to set up. Some other friends brought dips and chips and finger foods, falafel from the neighborhood, black-and-white cookies from Moishe’s, and a big white three-tiered wedding cake from the Puerto Rican bakery on Avenue B. The guys moved the boyfriend’s stereo and speakers onto the roof, while he and Amy cuddled on the futon couch and basked in their young married love.
I’m basking in my young married love, Amy thought. She literally thought those words and then she laughed out loud. Soon I will be living in the Rockies. I will have a blond daughter named Calla Lily and we will be a family and get a dog and everything will finally be right.
More of their guests started arriving, including this girl Tessa, whom he had slept with over the summer, and another of his old girlfriends, Isadora, who had gone to Cal with them and one time had broken them up. They’d stop and poke their heads into the apartment to say congrats and grab chairs or pillows before heading up to the roof, but he only had eyes for Amy. He was literally “doting” on her—he didn’t leave her side. Maybe marriage, vows, and all that, commitment, would make a difference. Some of the girls, including Isadora, gave Amy a cold, hard look, but she tried to shake it off. I wonder how many of these girls he’s slept with? Amy thought. She made an effort to purge the negative brain waves right out of her head: this is my wedding day. The music was blaring so loud, Amy could hear it down the stairs and in the apartment and on the futon. “Uncle John’s Band.” The Grateful Dead. That had been his and Isadora’s song. Had that bitch put it on?
The boyfriend said, It’s time we made our Mr. and Mrs. Entrance.
What tune do you want us to play for the first dance slash hobble? Lauren asked. I’ll tell the boys.
“They Love Each Other,” said the boyfriend, now her husband.
Okay, she said, and she left the apartment and headed up to the roof.
Ready? said her husband, and he extended his hand to Amy to help her stand up. She swung up on one foot.
Ready, she said. Except I need to pee.
So, she hopped on that same foot, holding on to him, until she got to the bathroom. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked in the mirror, and thought, I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful and I’m the bride and I’m married and I’m in love. Her eyes sparkled with happiness and her cheeks were pink. Her hair had tumbled down and now it was petal strewn and wavy from the heat.
She hopped over to the toilet and straddled it. She lifted and gathered her dress, and pulled down her tap pants. She sat on the wooden seat and looked down between her knees. Her white satin underwear was dark and meaty with blood.
* * *
“Jesus Christ,” said Donny. “What the fuck are you doing in here, Naresh?”
Amy pulled off the goggles. She pulled off her headphones. Her heart was going a mile a minute. Her heart was beating in her throat. Apparently, Naresh had just burst into Donny’s office.
“I’m sorry,” said Naresh. “I’m so sorry, Amy, but I finally remembered to plug in your phone . . .”
Amy stared at him like he was welcoming her to this earth. She felt wet and new and uncomprehending.
“It’s been ringing like crazy. Plus, you’ve got about a million texts. Something’s wrong,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”
Amy reached out her hand and Naresh handed the phone to her.
She tapped into voice mail and put it to her ear.
“Oh, my God,” said Amy. “It’s my son.”
“Which one?” said Naresh.
But she was scrolling now. Reading her texts. Her emails.
“Oh, my God,” said Amy.
“I’ll drive you,” said Naresh.
“What?” said Donny. “We’re in the middle of something important.”
“Give me your hand,” said Naresh. “I’ll help you stand up.”
Amy looked at him. She looked at Donny. She handed Donny the goggles and the headphones. She gave Naresh her hand.
“Let’s go,” said Naresh. He helped her up and they rushed out of Donny’s office.
“You can’t leave,” said Donny. Then, when he saw Amy’s face: “Shut the goddamn door.”
So Amy did, just in time to see him put the goggles on.
In Naresh’s car, on the way to the high school, Amy’s fingers flew across her phone.
I’m on my way, she texted. Tell him his mom is coming
She tapped on Dan’s icon and it rang and rang and then went to voice mail. Sh
e screamed: “Pick up the phone!”
She wrote: I don’t care where the fuck you are or who you’re with you better come home Jack is in trouble
She started to write Kevin threw himself in front of a train but then she deleted it. Let him worry about what it was.
She wrote: thank you, Lily, for reaching out I’ve got this now we’ll all facetime you later. Glad to know you’re with your mom.
She wrote: Dear Ms. Zhang, thank you for your note. I can’t come to school right away, there has been a tragedy at the high school and my older boy needs me. Please find Theo a quiet space in the library to cool down.
She wrote: Marilyn, there are no words. Our darling, beautiful Kevin! Please, please let us help you all. The boys are like brothers. Then she deleted the word are and replaced it with were and then replaced it again with are.
“That poor kid,” said Naresh. “Do you have any idea why?”
“No,” said Amy. “He’s a great kid, Kevin. Brilliant, super-sweet, an athlete, an A-plus student. An A-plus-plus student. The parents are heaven. His mother and I are so close. We always joked that we were coparenting. They have twin little girls a couple of years younger than our twins. The girls can’t stand our twins. They’re like these perfect little princesses . . .”
Amy took a deep breath. She sighed it out.
“All those water polo bake sales and auctions, the picnics, the car pools, the meets. He grew up in my house and Jack in his. Oh, poor Jack.”
“Have they got the breathing under control?” Naresh asked.
He turned onto El Camino.
She looked at her phone.
What are you talking about? You’re scaring me.
She pressed redial: straight to voice mail. She screamed: “I know you’re there! You’re texting me, you stupid asshole! Coward!!!! Pick up the fucking phone!”
She wrote: Kevin jumped in front of the commuter rail after Jack dropped him off at school He’s dead Jack’s in the nurse’s office He’s had trouble breathing. An anxiety attack Naresh is driving me there now Come home!!
She read: I am sorry about the tragedy at the high school. The trouble is not with Theo. The trouble is with Miles. He is sitting in my office awaiting pickup. I can explain it when you or your husband get here.
She wrote: Miles is in Zhang’s office. I don’t care where you are. YOU HAVE TO PICK HIM UP!!!!!
She read: Amy please come. The pain is unbearable. I feel like my skin is melting. I don’t know what to do with the little kids. They don’t even know yet. Nellie took them to the playground to get them out of the house. How will we tell them? Wei is at the police station with his brother. My parents are on their way over, but I’m virtually alone here. Please come.
“Oh, my God, Naresh, Marilyn is alone. She wants me to come. Her husband is at the police station. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go first. Dan won’t even pick up the phone!”
“I’ll drop you off at the school. Jack first,” said Naresh. “Is there someone else to call about Marilyn? Maybe I can go over there? I think we’ve met before? At your Fourth of July party? Pretty, right? A little coiffed?”
She read: it’s not that easy. i can’t pick up miles.
She wrote: i don’t care who you’re fucking or what drugs you’re on but you better pick up miles, I have to pick up jack and poor marilyn is all alone. Grow a pair dan, you mother fucking asshole.
She read, I don’t want to alarm you Mrs. Messinger, but Jack’s getting hypotoxic from all the hyperventilating. His hand has cramped up and he can’t open it. We’ve called the EMTs. We’re afraid he’ll lose consciousness. Please hurry.
I’m on my way, wrote Amy.
I’m on my way, wrote Amy.
I’m on my way, wrote Amy as Naresh pulled up in front of the high school. She was out the car door even before he came to a full stop.
She hopped up on the curb and started quickly across the grass, sidestepping groups of children gathered in clusters. Some of them she knew and some of them she didn’t, some were hugging and some were crying and some appeared to be talking to teachers. There were police at the school, but Amy didn’t stop.
She ran.
Part Three
AFTER FRENETICALLY WORKING THE TRANSIT search engines from Maryam’s hotel room, and some even more frustrating forays on the phone—those damned interactive voice responses—Dan was looking at two straight days of travel. (He’d screamed a series of expletives into the receiver: You fucking bitch, I want to speak to a fucking person! Did you ever notice that they’re all female operating systems?” Maryam whispered into his shoulder; she’d curled up beside him on the bed, to console him. “All part of a misogynistic global tech collusion.”)
Once again, Dan was spending money that he did not have, but finally there was a semblance of a plan as to how to get back to Palo Alto.
It was only a twenty-eight-hour time differential from his original departure date, but his sense of urgency was on overdrive after Amy and the school nurse had put him on speaker in the Paly infirmary out of complete and utter desperation. In between the mellow bass notes of his own (he’d hoped) soothing phrasing—take it easy, kid, take it easy—Dan could hear the agonizing contrapuntal sounds of his boy Jack frantically fighting for breath.
Through the chaos of it all, tears were streaming down Dan’s face, Maryam, alarmed but not flummoxed, intermittently kissed and stroked his back, and got up to get him tissues and water. He had proven himself totally useless in his efforts to settle Jack down, although his voice, the last vestige of his parental powers, remained preternaturally calm.
EMS arrived on the other end and Dan could pick up the gist of the male technician’s own practiced narration (“Hey, buddy, now we’re going to get you a little air”) as they strapped an oxygen mask on Jack and shot him full of Ativan, until Dan, absent and ineffectual (was this same phrase later to be engraved upon his tombstone?), was summarily disconnected. That’s when he made his plans, threw his clothes into his bag, had a quick fight with Maryam, and went to the Fukushima train station to wait for the next train, whenever it might come.
Now he was instead waiting for the bus, at the very same station, the Yokohama Tohoku overnight bus, the Suite, which would take him directly to Tokyo. The flight was longer from Tokyo, by forty-five minutes and $1,300, but at least he’d be on his way, because he’d already missed the Sunrise Seto/Izumo, Japan’s last surviving night train, which anyway required advance reservations.
“I understand you are upset, Dan, but the travel time save is truly negligible. You might as well come back with me and get some sleep. You’re going to need your strength for Jack’s sake and that poor boy’s family.” Maryam, in her nightie and bathrobe and slippers, had followed him across the street from the hotel to the train station.
“He couldn’t breathe! My son couldn’t breathe! And I wasn’t there to help him.”
“He heard your voice. The EMTs gave him oxygen. They gave him Ativan, hopefully that will give Jack a bit of relief. The doctors at the hospital are trained to talk to him.”
“I wish I was with him,” Dan said. “He must feel so alone.”
“His mother is with him and she’ll bring him home. He’s safe. He is loved. She is there.”
Dan shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t have children.”
Maryam stiffened. It was cool out, she was barely dressed, and she was shivering. From anger or from the cold?
“In another world, I might have liked to have been a mother,” said Maryam.
“I’m sorry,” said Dan. “That was thoughtless.”
“And in this world, like you, I am a former child,” said Maryam. “And in this world, like you, I am still a person.”
“I know that, Mar,” said Dan.
“I really hate that shit, Dan, as if we all have to be identical to understand the texture and taste of what are bedrock human feelings. One might think that you did not believe i
n the divinely human and universal qualities of compassion, sympathy; the ability to empathize is a gift we are all born with. It has to be beaten out of us, and regularly it is. But it has not been beaten out of me.”
Here she took a deep breath. Tears stood in her eyes.
“My heart breaks for your son. And I can see and feel how you long to be with him.”
Dan ran his hands through his hair.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I really do. And I didn’t mean you aren’t capable of feeling what I feel. Not at all. It’s just I’m upset! A boy I know, a boy I love—more importantly, a boy my boy loves—is dead. He took his own life. At seventeen! A seventeen-year-old lies down in front of a fucking commuter train and guess what? He’s not the first. He’s not the last, either, I bet. There must have been at least ten kids just like him in Palo Alto the past six, seven years.
“We’ve had all these training sessions and all these specialists and the media has been all over the place, and now not only is it another kid, it’s my kid’s best friend. Suicide by train! So please, Maryam, try to understand. Ativan isn’t going to help Jack with that, it’ll just turn him into an addict. And I am in Japan with you, not home with him. Not helping him. Not helping my wife. Not helping Kevin’s family.”
“You are right,” said Mar. “You are here with me. You are here with me working. Reporting a story. A story that needs to be told, a story that the world has forgotten. To their peril, Dan. And if you have forgotten, you are on your way home, to your son, to your wife, to that boy’s family. You are doing what needs to be done. I understand that. I want you to do that! I just thought you could be more reasonable—if you wait here or in the security of the hotel in my arms? If the bus is slower than the train but you get on it first, what does it matter? It doesn’t get you home that much quicker. I wanted you to rest.”
She shook her head. She gathered herself.
“But apparently, you are too upset. I erred. This is not the time for reason.”
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