Tears rolled down my cheeks as I shook my head. “Nothing. I know he had his phone; he’d texted earlier before all of this. I don’t know why he’s not answering.”
We pulled into the overflowing parking lot and grabbed a haphazard spot. As we faced the mass of parents searching incoming busloads of kids, he reached over and put his hand on mine and squeezed.
12
Charlie never stepped off of one of the busses. If I’m being honest with myself, I knew he wouldn’t. I’d somehow known from the moment I first read the damning headline back in my classroom. When the last bus left, those of us who remained were corralled by a woman with a clipboard who started collecting names. Feeling dazed, I shared Charlie’s name, his description, my contact information, and then was advised to head to VCU Medical Center for further updates. I stood still, staring at her uncomprehendingly. As the small crowd disbursed, I finally shook myself out of my paralysis and turned to leave. It was then I remembered I didn’t have my car. I was having trouble thinking; I knew there was a solution to this, but nothing came to me.
I heard a throat clear and turned around to see Robert, standing with his arm around a woman I knew must have been his wife. They were both looking at me with a look I could only identify as pity, and those looks only added to my dread.
“Can we give you a ride to the hospital?” he asked. I nodded, unable to speak.
On the ride there, Robert introduced his wife, Sandy. I instinctively said, “Nice to meet you.” and then felt a hysterical laugh bubble out. I had no more control over that laugh than I did the sob that punctuated it.
Sandy turned around and reached her hand back to me. I stared at it for a second and then clutched it, hard. “Did you… were you near it?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Other end of the hallway.” Her face was expressionless, she seemed to gaze off at something a thousand miles away. “We heard the shots, and I ran and locked the door. I went to call 911 and realized I’d left my phone in the faculty lounge. I never forget my phone; I just couldn’t believe it.” She shook her head, as if freeing it of cobwebs.
When we arrived at the hospital, I followed Robert into the building. Sandy was planted firmly at my side. I was confused, where was I supposed to go? The emergency room? Was he in intensive care? Robert turned to us and said, “The information desk is over there.”
When we reached the clerk, I struggled with the words I needed to say and Sandy explained softly, “Her son, he was at Cooper Middle School.”
The attendant pulled out a folder discreetly placed under his keyboard and compared my driver’s license to whatever document was placed inside it. He avoided eye contact with any of us and then directed me to a private lounge on the second floor.
I turned to the Edwards. Robert was looking down at the floor. Sandy was so pale; I’d never met her before, but I knew instinctively it was an unnatural pallor. She didn’t speak but instead nodded subtly at me, and Robert finally said, “I think the elevators are around the corner, we’ll go up with you.”
I shook my head. I wanted to do this alone. I managed to thank them and tell them to please go, then turned and slowly made my way to the second floor. With each step up the stairway, my stomach clenched harder. They don’t send you to the second floor for an emergency. They send you to the western side of the building for that. They don’t send you to the second floor for ICU. They send you to the fourth floor for that. I wasn’t sure what was even on the second floor. As I reached the landing, I suddenly recalled an odd memory. Narek, describing the horror of the Baku pogrom and how he got over it.
“It was just a week.”
If Charlie was okay, even if he was hurt, then someday I would be able to say, “It was just a day.”
The doors along the long, empty hallway were numbered, and I knew when I’d reached the designated place, but I didn’t stop walking. Instead, I walked past the door I’d been directed to and headed straight into the restroom. My stomach was cramping so badly, I was afraid I was about to soil my pants. After leaving the stall, I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face and stared into the mirror. My own face was barely recognizable. It was splotchy and swollen; a stranger’s eyes were looking back at me. There were dark circles under my eyes, the product of mascara that had run and smudged. Had I really just put that mascara on this morning?
I stared down at my sensible grey sketchers and willed them to move across the dingy white tiled floor, back down the hallway, toward the designated room. I paused outside the door. I could just leave, just turn around and call an Uber and head home to wait for Charlie. Surely, if I reached the safe haven of our home, the world would right itself again. He would come charging through the front door and I’d admonish him to slow down. I’d nag him for not texting me and letting me know he was okay. He would tell me how he’d left his phone behind and a friend's mother had scooped him up and taken him home for safekeeping. We’d have a somber talk about how dangerous the world could be, but I’d remind him most people were still good. I’d tell him the chances of ever being in that situation again were so statistically low, he had nothing to fear. Probably, he would drag his feet about returning to school whenever it finally reopened, and I’d wrestle with my own fears, but common sense would prevail and I’d scootch him out the door with his backpack on that morning.
Then I thought about calling my parents, giving them an update, letting them know I was okay and that I wasn’t with Charlie yet but soon would be.
Thinking of my own worried parents, I suddenly wondered if anyone had thought to call Becca’s parents, to bring her a change of clothes. I’d forgotten to pass that message along. As I tried to think of something, anything, that would require me to leave that hospital and avoid that room, a woman appeared in the doorway.
She looked a little startled to see me standing there, so close to her, and asked, “Mrs. Buyukian?”
“Miss Sanger, I’m not married to Charlie’s father,” I corrected automatically. This address was an oft-repeated mistake I’d experienced many times over the previous thirteen years by people who knew Charlie before they met me. But she didn’t know Charlie, I reminded myself. She was a stranger in our world.
She nodded, and with a gentle voice, said, “Miss Sanger, I’m Diana, one of the social workers here; why don’t you come inside and sit down so we can talk about what’s happened.”
She motioned into the room, and I looked around wildly, desperate not to go in there. I shook my head feebly and said, “I don’t think I can.”
“I understand, but we need to talk about what’s happened to Charlie, and it’s best not to do this in the hall. Miss Sanger, just take my arm and we can go in together.” We stared at each other for a moment.
My phone made a sound, and I broke eye contact to pull it out of my purse. It was Mom again.
Where are you and Charlie? Neither of you are answering your phones.
I looked at my call record and saw four missed calls from her. Did that mean Charlie also had four missing calls?
Glancing back at the social worker, I held up my phone and said stupidly, “My mother tried calling me.”
She nodded again and put an arm around me and began to physically steer us into the room. I felt my strength depart me; I wasn’t sure if my legs could even get me to a chair; I gave up resisting and leaned on her as she led me toward a chair.
“Miss Sanger…”
“Nell,” I said dully.
“Nell, I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, Charlie didn’t make it.”
I wondered vaguely if perhaps I was having a stroke. The room had tilted, and I couldn’t focus my eyes on anything. A strange siren wailed in my ears; maybe it wasn’t a stroke, maybe it was an aneurysm. The siren wailed louder; I threw my hands over my ears to protect them and that’s when I realized the sound was coming from my own mouth.
13
A half dozen fish were suspended in the cerulean, pebbled world, oblivious to the dra
ma beyond their glass prison. I envied their singular purpose, simply surviving until they didn’t anymore. Nobody asks a fish if it’s okay. Nobody tells a fish anything at all.
I thought I’d called Ben, but as I sat watching the tank, I suddenly wasn’t sure. I couldn’t remember actually speaking to him. Maybe I hadn’t really called. Maybe I’d sit here and just wait out the end with the fish. I did remember shrugging off the legion of nurses, doctors, and social workers upstairs, ignoring their pleas for me to rest in a private room for a while. I’d swallowed the Xanax that was offered to me and then told them to leave me the fuck alone and made my way down to the lobby to wait.
I’m not sure why I chose Ben, I had plenty of friends I could have called to come get me after all, but maybe it was just an innate need to be with someone who loved Charlie too or maybe I’d chosen him because he too was solitary. Maybe I wanted to be around someone as utterly alone in this world as myself, someone who valued silence.
Outside, a huge crowd of media had assembled. Every time the massive, tinted sliding doors automatically opened, I could see their reflection in the fish tank across from me. The hysterical thought occurred to me, they were not just disturbing me; they were disturbing the fish. I imagined they were supposed to stay beyond the main walkway because that’s where most remained, but periodically one or two would walk boldly into the facility and try to get past the security personnel at the information desk. It never worked, staff spotted them and turned them around and out the door they’d go again. I watched it all, dispassionately. The meds had kicked in and I felt like I existed within a liquid world where words were muffled and everyone moved in slow motion. I was a fish too.
At one point, I heard a woman in the lobby say to her companion, “It looks like number four won’t make it.” then she glanced over at me, grabbed his arm and moved along quickly.
Number Four. I wondered what number Charlie was. Somewhere in this hospital, Number Four’s mother was about to join me in hell.
He’d snuck in through a side door. I didn’t see him coming, but suddenly he was right in front of me. His wise old eyes brimmed with tears, but his face looked otherwise calm. I looked up at him, unable to speak. He reached down for my arms and pulled me up, and I allowed myself to rise and then fall into his arms.
“This way, Nelly girl,” he said calmly, as he led me away from the fray. We didn’t speak at all as we wove our way through the hospital and out of the side exit, he’d chosen. He led me to his truck and helped me climb in, still silent. I glanced at him as he began to drive toward my house, and realized his hands were covered in paint. I’d interrupted his work, and I wondered if I should apologize for that. Then I remembered again that Charlie died. Numbly, I turned back toward the road, staring straight ahead until we reached our house.
Our house was now my house. My house needed tidying. Breakfast dishes cluttered the sink, and the full garbage bag sat tied by the door. Charlie hadn’t taken it out when I’d asked. A basket of clothes that needed to be folded erupted from the sofa. I glanced at Ben to apologize but could only manage the smallest shrug. He led me to the living room and moved the clothes to some unseen corner so I could sit on the couch. I cleared my throat and croaked out, “They didn’t let me see him. They said I couldn’t yet.”
Ben nodded. “They have to clean him up properly. It’s hard to wait, though. Part of you just can’t believe it’s real until you see it firsthand.”
I remembered he had lost a son. Not that he had lost a son too, the too part wasn’t real yet. I shook away the thought, I was too immersed in my own horror story, to think about his. He nodded and said, “It’s okay, Nell,” then sat next to me, seemingly losing himself in his own memories, whether they were of his son or my own, I don’t know.
We sat in silence for a while and then I confessed, “I don’t know what to do.”
He wrapped his arm around me and pulled my head onto his chest and then said, “You don’t have to do anything right now. Nell, is there someone you want me to call? Your parents maybe?”
His offer made me think of someone else who would have to be called and I shuddered.
“Oh god. Narek.”
I’d forgotten Narek had even existed. Of course, someone had to call him, but who? I wanted to ask Ben to do it, I knew he would, but Narek shouldn’t hear this from a stranger. I’d taken another pill, I wasn’t sure I could even speak without slurring my words, but I had to get to him before he somehow heard about it online.
As if reading my mind, Ben said, “Nell, I can call him. It’s fine. We don’t have to do it right away either. There are no rules here.”
I looked across the room and fixated on Charlie’s latest completed painting. It was one of Ben’s horses, the red one, munching on an apple in the field next to the gazebo. It wouldn’t have passed in a gallery as the product of a professional artist, but it also wouldn’t have been something people would attribute to a twelve-year-old boy. Thirteen. Thirteen-year-old for one day of his life, boy.
“He told me you offered to let him ride her. He told you he wasn’t feeling well, but really he was scared,” I said, my voice sounding strained.
“I knew. They’re big animals, a lot of people are scared of them. I told him when he was feeling better if he wanted to give it a try to let me know.”
I couldn’t look at Ben, I choked out, “He loved you.” and Ben replied quietly, “I know. I loved him too.”
Finally, I said, “Okay, I can do this,” and I picked up my phone. Narek answered on the fourth ring, and I realized it was still early morning there.
“Nell?”
“Narek. I had to call to tell you…” except that I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say the words out loud. I looked at Ben pleadingly and he gently took my phone from me.
“This is Ben Hamilton, Charlie’s art tutor.” There was a pause where Narek must have expressed his surprise and then Ben said the awful words. “I hate to have to say this, but there’s been a situation. Charlie is, well he passed away.” Another pause. “Yes, it was an act of violence at his school. No, no, she isn’t.”
I couldn’t listen to another word. I got up and walked into my hallway, toward my bedroom. Charlie’s door. It was wide open; he wasn’t a shut-the-door kind of kid. I stopped in his doorway and peered in. He hadn’t made his bed; he pretty much never made his bed. As I stared at the tangle of blue sheets and blue and white comforter, I felt an overwhelming desire to drown in them. I crawled into the bed and wrapped the linens around myself. I imagined some essence of him was still in the sheets and I could absorb it if I breathed deeply enough. I curled into a ball, almost suffocating on the comforter that now enveloped my face and sobbed. Once I started, I knew I would never stop.
After talking to Narek, Ben called my parents and broke the news to them. Meanwhile, I lay helpless in Charlie’s bed and tried to imagine a world where I’d actually stand up, walk out, and keep living.
I closed my eyes and remembered our last dinner together, a quickie chicken stir-fry I’d thrown together from a frozen bag mix and slices of fresh chicken. Charlie was super animated, as he explained two of his classmates had a father who used to be in the NBA. The father would visit school soon and share how he had made academics a priority even when he was being scouted for college ball programs. I didn’t recognize the name he gave, but I wasn’t exactly a basketball fan. I’d just smiled and nodded, enjoying his excitement over almost knowing a hometown celebrity.
I’d finally had to tell him, “Hey, make sure you take some bites before it gets cold,” and he’d given me this gesture I’d seen a hundred times before, long before he was ever born. A casual, little wave of the hand, that he must have picked up from Narek during their regular video chats. Sometime around the time I pictured the wave, I drifted off into blissful oblivion.
My parents and sister Sarah arrived the next afternoon. My father was a shell of his former self, I recognized his near-paralysis; it mirrored my own. He sa
t in the big armchair Charlie usually sprawled out on and stared mutely at the painting on the wall. My mother greeted me with tears and hugs and a whole lot of prayer talk I didn’t want to hear. I knew she wanted me to fall apart on her. Her unsevered maternal strings needed to carry my burden, but her drive to be functional and helpful threatened to suffocate me. When my stiff shoulders and one-word answers rejected her efforts, she turned to Ben, sharing his productive energy. Sarah was uncomfortable being there at all. I knew she loved her nephew, but she had never been gifted with EQ. Sarah lived in a world where emotions were stifled, and a stiff upper lip won the day. I spent a short time in the living room with them, nodding but not really talking, hoping the pill I’d taken from the old Percocet bottle I’d found would kick in quickly. As the numbness washed over me, I excused myself, retreating once again to Charlie’s room.
When I awoke, Sarah was standing in the doorway, holding a mug and a plate. “I brought you some tea and a sandwich. Ben says you haven’t eaten in over 24 hours.”
I sat upright, and I felt a wave of nausea hit. For a moment, I feared my otherwise empty stomach would expel whatever remnants of the pills remained. Finally, after a few deep breaths, the room stopped spinning. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and said, “I’m so sorry, Nell. I really can’t believe it. I’m so angry this could happen.”
I tentatively took a small bite of the sandwich and fought the urge to vomit it right back up. I wasn’t sure what Sarah wanted from me, but we’d never been very close and I wasn’t going to start pouring my heart out to her now.
“I saw on the news Misty Framingham’s aunt and uncle are already organizing a march for next Monday.”
“What?” I asked, confused. “Who’s that?”
She stared at me and seemed surprised. “Misty Framingham, she was one of the other lost children.”
Oh. I hadn’t asked their names. I didn’t like the way Sarah used her name so casually, as if she personally knew her. I also didn’t like the way she said, “lost children.” No one had been lost. They’d been exactly where they were supposed to be.
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