by Kim Turrisi
Once Jen left for college, my parents both hit their peak at work, leaving very little family time other than Sunday dinners, the once-a-semester sojourn to visit Jen and our yearly family vacation. The one where the annual Christmas-card pictures were taken. Dad worked late every night, then ate his dinner in the man cave with ESPN on a loop. Mom threw herself into real estate, which started out as a hobby, but anyone who knows my mom knows that she has to be the best. And damn, she’s good. She could sell a cape to Superman.
“Let’s get going,” TJ says.
“Do we have to?” I try to switch it up.
“Five minutes, ten max,” Emily promises.
Like a dog with a bone.
I relent. “Okay, okay. We can do a drive-by. I need to do that anyway, just to take some pictures in the parking lot. You know, for my mom. We’ll go inside for a few minutes to snap a few more for posting to prove we went, then we are outta there. Mom’s been lurking on Twitter since Jen died. My Instagram is an alert on her phone.”
The three of us stage a mini–photo shoot beginning in the middle of the parking lot at our high school.
“I want to be in the middle.” TJ jumps up and down like a maniac, planting his powder-blue torso between us.
“Hey, can you take a picture of us?” Emily stops some random passerby in the junior lot as she thrusts her phone at him, leaving him no option.
We strike a few poses, varying our positions, Em and I perfectly positioning our hands on our hips to avoid any unflattering side views. Just the right jutting of the hip and perfect centering of our hands.
“See if you like these or need me to take more?” he says, showing Emily the pictures on her phone.
We all lean in to scrutinize them.
“Post-worthy,” I say as I download a picture for my mom to find. BEST NIGHT EVER AT THE DANCE WITH EM AND TJ.
“Thanks, man,” TJ says as the photo guy goes back to his group of friends.
“He was cute,” I comment.
“The dark suit was standard but the way he filled it was not,” TJ notes, watching him strut away.
“Really? He’s so not your type,” I crack.
“Maybe I’m stepping out of my comfort zone.”
“Um, okay,” I say.
“The necklace is dope,” TJ says, noticing the clear quartz crystal with black flecks of tourmaline hanging from a cord of black leather.
“Jen got it for me when she was in Brazil. It’s supposed to keep you safe.”
“I remember.” TJ strokes the nape of my neck. His touch soothes me for a moment.
After a shot or three of vodka, we weave through the parking lot of stoners and cheerleaders piling out of a limo and slip unnoticed through the double steel doors of the school auditorium.
“Looks like Katie Hanson and the decorating team worked overtime transforming the drab auditorium into a Starry Nights extravaganza,” observes TJ. He sees me give him the look. “I know I sound a little queeny, but come on, look around.” I have to admit he’s one-hundred-percent correct. I bow down to him.
“I love the glow-in-the-dark stars.” They cover the ceiling, which is veiled with black lights that turn the walls into a purple haze. “I wouldn’t mind those in my room,” I add. Another something I could get lost in.
“We can totally do that,” Emily offers.
Luminescent white twinkle lights drape gently over the palm trees they’ve rented from the local nursery. It’s impressive, and under different circumstances I might even enjoy myself.
But being here ... with all the laughter ... I want the old me back. I want to join in but all this does is remind me of Jen. She took me shopping for a new dress before my first dance in middle school. Insisted I go when I didn’t want to. She promised I’d have a good time if I just gave it a chance. I know she’d say the same tonight. But I just can’t. Not without her. It’s not right.
TJ and I pose under the glittery STARRY NIGHTS sign near the photo booth. Emily hands me back my phone.
“I’m saving that to strategically post later.”
“You don’t actually think your mom is gonna buy this, do you? It’s a little over the top even for us,” TJ asks, filled with doubt.
My sense of calm from the vodka dissipates and anxious terror takes over once I zero in on the maroon writing on the band’s drum set: STEELHEART.
I feel the color drain from my face and invisible fingers grab hold of my heart, then wrench it. Hard. That familiar feeling of heartbreak creeps back in. Suddenly sophomore year is like yesterday.
Though he was a supreme douchebag, I have to give Chris Santini props: At least he was discreet. He never shared our story with his bros.
His only plus.
That, and he played the drums. For Steelheart.
TJ scoops his powder-blue arm around my waist. “Time to go.” We walk with purpose toward the back door, flagging down Emily. “Emily knows where the car is, she can meet us.”
“It’s just —” I start to explain.
He stops and turns me, squaring me up directly in front of him. “I know, Kai. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to see Chris and you’re drowning in unimaginable grief. We’re here to protect you. Let us do our job.”
I take his face in my hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“That is one thing you’ll never have to worry about,” he replies with such conviction that I have to believe it is true.
By the time Emily joins our mini-party next to the Jeep, I’ve killed half a joint and a few swigs of lukewarm Budweiser.
“Let’s go to the beach, your sister loved it there. We can have our own party,” she says.
TJ kisses my forehead.
“I love you guys.” I slur just a bit.
I’m pretty sure I flash anyone in the nearby vicinity. There is no ladylike way to climb into a Jeep with a dress this short. TJ eases into the driver’s seat, cranks up the engine and puts the car in reverse. It’s always a victory when the ignition turns over. Gertie can be a little testy like the rest of us.
We peel out of the school parking lot, leaving the pavement and this glimmering soiree in the dust.
The moment I hear the waves roll in, crashing on the sand, I know it was right of Emily to insist we come here. TJ opens a diet orange soda, pours out half of it, then replaces it with vodka. We pass it around quietly, listening to the lulling sound of the water rushing back and forth on the mostly white sand across from the Holiday Inn on A1A.
A blustery wind coming off the open sea kicks up, causing our hair to whip all over our faces and the sand to exfoliate our cheeks. I throw myself back on the fuzzy beach blanket and count the stars and wonder what else is up there, if anything.
“Do you believe there’s a heaven?” I ask my two closest friends.
“I’m not sure. Conceptually, it’s a hard sell. Emotionally, if you don’t think so, what do you have to hang on to?” Emily reasons.
“Buddhists believe rebirth after death can take place in any number of existences. Heaven is a temporary place you gain access to according to the manner you lived your life in before death,” TJ pontificates.
“Seriously?” I ask. My voice is dripping with sarcasm.
“We’re studying it in Religion. It makes some sense.” He takes off his jacket and bow tie and unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt.
“If you believe in some kind of heaven, do you have to believe in God?” I can’t let this go.
“I don’t know if you have to, but I definitely believe in God. Don’t you?” Emily asks.
“No. If there was a God, he never would have let my sister take her own life.” I unscrew the cap on the vodka bottle and wash down that acrimonious dose of reality.
“I’m so ragey all the time. It’s like I forgot happy,” I admit.
/> TJ takes my hand. “You’ll find it again. Time.” The ocean looks so peaceful, lit by a multitude of tiny lights in the universe over our beach. I want to reach up and grab one but I know I can’t. What I can do is grab one of the millions of twinkling lights swooping in and out with each wave. Touch the stars in the water with my very own hands.
I leap up, peeling off my dress, and race to the freedom of the vast, inviting ocean.
“What the hell are you doing?” screeches Emily.
“Going swimming!” I hit the water’s edge, and the wet sand squishes between my toes, then the cool water washes over my feet, working its way up my legs. God, it’s like stepping into a constellation. I keep going, diving under, swimming straight out into nothingness.
“Kai!” TJ’s voice gets more and more faint. My arms grow weary after a few minutes and my legs start to weigh me down. The warm, salty water feels so soothing on my skin. I close my eyes, then slip under the surface and let myself drift with the current. It’s so freeing. When I pop up from the surf to catch my breath, I squint and see Emily and TJ swimming toward me, screaming something I can’t quite make out at first. As they get closer, I realize it’s my name.
“Kai!!!”
“I’m okay!” I shout. They don’t seem to hear me.
“Kai, don’t move. I’ll be right there.” TJ sounds frantic. His rapid stroke cuts through the water, leaving almost no wake. I dive back under and propel myself toward him. I hear Emily’s muffled voice shout my name yet again.
“Kai! Kai, Christ, Kai.”
I surface nearby. “What?”
As we all tread water, TJ screams, “Are you fucking crazy? We thought you were going to drown. Drunk fool.”
“I’m okay.” Other than the invisible ten-pound weights wrapped around all four of my dog-tired limbs.
“I swear to whatever God you don’t believe in, if you say that one more time, I will kill you myself,” Emily hisses.
“Same,” TJ agrees. We swim back to shore with no more discussion.
Dripping water with every step I take toward the blanket, I inhale the sea air, then let it out. TJ tucks his arm around my waist, helping me up to our blanket.
“I’m sorry. I’m really drunk.”
They look at each other, then back at me.
“Oh, Kai, I’m so worried about you,” says Emily. Her voice sounds tired and sad. I know that feeling well.
TJ wraps the warm blanket around me. Emily adds her arm to my shoulder. The three of us stumble up to the Jeep soaking wet, carrying our dry clothes. Once inside, I lie across the backseat on the verge of passing out and tug my dress around my wet body. I stop fighting and just let go.
Chapter 10
Arbitrarily throwing an outfit together, no longer worried about my appearance, just trying to get through the day without collapsing under the weight of grief, I hear my parents arguing downstairs.
Again.
“Listen, we have to pick up the death certificate. We’ve dragged it on long enough,” lawyer Dad states.
He’s been trying to get my mom on board since we visited the funeral home. It’s the only thing not checked off on the death list. But when she found it had been ruled a suicide — officially and forever — it was way too real.
“We are not keeping suicide on the death certificate, John.”
“Marie” — his voice perturbed — “it’s how she died whether we like it or not.”
I feel my dad. Truth is truth.
“I want it changed. Mr. Barnes said he knows of other families who have requested that, especially when there’s no insurance policy involved.”
My mom has had this on a loop for days.
“It isn’t going to change the result, Marie. Our daughter is dead. I don’t give a damn about the paperwork. She’s gone.”
Her voice cracks. “Sheehans don’t just kill themselves.”
Breaking down, my dad corrects her. “They do now.”
I hear his chair scrape the tile as he pushes it away from the table. His coffee cup lands with a bang in the stainless-steel sink. It’s followed by the front door closing and the sound of his car roaring away.
* * *
Our drive to school is quiet. Mom has returned to her stylish, put-together self. Chanel suit, silk tank and tasteful accessories. I decide it’s time to enlist her help.
“I need you to talk to Dad. I don’t want to go right to college after senior year. I need this gap year. After all that’s happened ...”
Mom keeps her eyes on the road. “It’s not up for discussion, Kai. You aren’t going. I agree with your father.”
“It’s one year, then I go to Florida State or wherever I get in. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Then you don’t need to go.”
This is such bullshit. She’s twisting my words around. “You know what I meant.”
My tone has taken a sharp turn and it’s bordering on indignant, which is fair. “I’m going. See if you can stop me.”
Suddenly, I’m thrown back in my seat when my mother jerks the car and pulls over just outside the school drop-off. She turns to me and I swear she’s spitting fire. “Your sister killed herself. Your father and I are hanging on by a thread. You aren’t moving five thousand miles away.”
“It’s a year from now.”
“We don’t care when it is.”
“Half the yearbook staff is doing it.” I keep at her.
“If they were all shaving their heads, would you want to do that, too?” she screams.
Such a Mom remark.
“It’s not my fault that Jen killed herself. I shouldn’t have to pay the price.”
My mom’s empty eyes match my heart. Still, I’m pissed off. I just want things to be normal again. And my parents won’t even let that happen.
I open the door and don’t look back. “See you later.” I don’t even wait for a response.
I walk toward the entrance of school clutching the SHEEHAN REALTY thermal coffee cup that’s housing my much-needed caffeine fix. It counters the Vicodin crash. Jen’s leftovers are saving me.
I’m greeted by the sound of the band in front of the school and a banner reminding everyone that there’s a pep rally to send our basketball team off to sectionals. The cheerleaders are shouting and the sidewalk is bustling with students having fun. Normally, TJ and I would revel in this. Mock the jocks.
Not today. It’s all too fucking much.
A text from Emily pops onto the screen of my phone.
Meet me outside the library
I ignore it.
The invisible walls are closing in on me. I manage to steer clear of Mr. Lancer, the assistant principal, who’s patrolling the perimeter of the senior lot for pot smokers and rule breakers. Then I slip behind the bus line, leaving me a clear shot to freedom.
A few blocks away, I stop at the deserted Chevron station that’s been boarded up for years. I sneak around back, out of sight, and dump my coffee in a trash can that’s overflowing with candy wrappers and rancid food. I dig a room-temperature IPA out of my backpack, then swirl an ounce or two around to rinse the coffee mug out before I fill it with tepid golden-colored 5.2-percent alcohol. I toss the empty bottle with a perfect arc, watching it land on top of the fast-food bags in the trash can.
“Yes. Two points.”
Make that six points: ditch successful, drink on, girl ready to roll. I am officially off the grid. Victory is mine.
Drinking my liquid courage, I stroll along a narrow sidewalk, careful not to be in the path my parents or friends might take this morning. A stray soda can litters my path so I make it my soccer ball for the duration of my expedition. I walk about a mile or so, struck by how little goes on this time of day on my side of town. I grin, thinking of how I used to kick rocks when Jen walked me to elementary school. She
’d egg me on until my final kick that would hit the same trash can every day, then she’d pump her fist in the air, yelling, Goal! Right before she hugged me in front of my school and told me to have a good day. So long ago. Not a care in the world. I take a big swig, then jog across the street. It’s in my sight, just a few hundred more feet. The cascading waterfall and old oak almost bring me peace until I remember who else is here.
For a long time and one more beer, I can only stand and stare at the outline on the lawn before me. The perfectly squared-off edges of the St. Augustine grass placed on top of the fresh grave. It’s only been a few weeks though it seems like a hell of a lot more. There’s still no headstone. My parents debated what it would say for days until my dad threw his hands up the air and screamed, “Do whatever you want!” to my mom. He didn’t surface until the next morning.
I fixate on the small red plastic flag on the end of a smooth, rounded stick, signifying the dead body underneath.
My sister.
Collapsing under the weight of my heavy heart, I can’t take my eyes off of her. Not really her, but the fresh sod on top of her. I can’t turn off the ghastly thoughts running rampant through my mind. Are bugs eating away at her? Is she dry? Was Mr. Barnes telling the truth about the seal? What does she look like? Why did she do this?
It always comes back to that.
I try it out loud to see if that works.
“Why?” It’s barely a whisper. No way she can hear me.
Louder, I try again. “Why?”
The waterfall seems louder, too. And the birds. And the wind. Like everything is amplified. Even the flapping of the flag planted on the grave. The sounds hammering my eardrums.
“In your letter you asked me to understand. The last favor you requested of me. And guess what? I just can’t find my way to do that. Disappointing you is the last thing in the world I want to do but it’s exactly what I’m doing. I don’t know what else to do. You’re the only one with the answer and you’re … you’re gone.”