by Ashley King
A knock on the door makes me turn my sad gaze to it. “Yeah?” I call.
The door slowly opens and my Mom’s standing there. She’s got this pitiful smile on her face and I know she remembers. Of course she does. She was more of a mother to Jamie than his own mother was.
“Honey,” she starts as she walks in the room. She quietly shuts the door and sits on my bed. “I know you miss him,” she continues, her voice soft and warm like a blanket enveloping me on a cold night. God, I’ve missed my Mom. I scoot towards her, wrapping my arms around her and she tightens the grip. I smell the perfume that is distinctly her and it makes me smile.
“I say you celebrate him today. We all can, if you’d like,” Mom says again, surprising me.
“What do you mean?” I pull back, puzzled at her words. Ever since Jamie’s death, it's been all about the hush hush. We didn’t talk about it, didn’t show emotion, and didn’t let it become a part of our lives. Now my mother wants to openly celebrate the birthday of my best friend. The thought fills my heart with so much joy that it threatens to burst and tears sting my eyes.
She’s still smiling at me as she speaks, “Well, it’s Friday. I think Ryder has some things planned for you guys today.”
I look to her. “Really? He knows?” She nods and I pause, my wheels spinning. “Wait, but it’s a school day. Are you condoning a skip day?” A small smile plays on my face.
“Just this once, I am. It’s the week before Thanksgiving break anyway. You need this. I think we all need this,” Mom stops for a second and her eyes get watery. “Honey, your father and I are so sorry we haven’t really been there for you or helped you to properly grieve Jamie. It was such a…. tragedy that we thought if we ignored it or acted like… I don’t know,” she looks down at her hands folded on her denim-clad lap. “Maybe you’d be better, but we were wrong. You need to celebrate Jamie’s life, and you need to grieve his death. That's the only way we're going to get through this.” Her voice cracks and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. “When you and Ryder come home, we’ll have a party with just the four of us. We’ll have a party for Jamie.” Tears stream down her face and my own tears have loosened and trickle down my nose. I squeeze my mother tight and I let a small sob bubble to the surface. A party for Jamie. The ache in my chest feels like it doubles in size. Such a sweet idea, but why am I so torn apart by it? The thought leaves me in shreds; the thought of him not being here is what seals the deal.
My mother and I cry on each other until finally, it feels like there are no more tears to give and we break apart. Mom wipes at her mascara and then smiles at me again. “Is that okay?”
I nod, “It’s perfect.”
She gets up and smacks my leg, “Then you need to get ready. I think Ryder’s downstairs waiting for you.”
At the mention of Ryder’s name, I come back to Earth. My heart constricts at the thought of him and what he must think of my grief for Jamie, my best friend, my first love.
“Gotcha.” I smile back at her as she lets herself out of the room. Slowly, I crawl from my bed. My body feels weak as if my joints have frozen from disuse. I stop at the pictures of Jamie and press my fingers to my lips. I place a kiss on one of the pictures and then get dressed. I don’t put a lot of thought into it. I throw on a long mustard cardigan and white tee over leggings and my Converses.
When I get downstairs, Ryder is watching television. He’s dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, along with those black Converses that look like they've lived a thousand lives. When our gazes meet, we both smile. I get crazy butterflies when I see that one side of his lip curl higher than the other. I know my eyes have to be puffy, my complexion ruddy, but I don’t care, because I know Ryder doesn’t.
He stands silently and comes to me. His arms wrap around me and his mouth is near my ear. “I love you,” he whispers.
Those three words have the power to do so much to a person. They have the power to break them, to make them, to put their entire world back together again. I find myself laughing into his chest and then I pull back and look in those pretty gray blue eyes always full of mystery and secrets. “I love you, too.”
When we break apart, I grab my purse and follow him out to his car. “What’s this you've got planned?” I ask as I slide inside.
As he turns the key in the ignition, Ryder looks at me with a mischievous smile, “You’ll see. First we’ve got to admit that your parents are the coolest. A parent sanctioned skip day? It's like every normal kid's dream."
I laugh again, reminded briefly that Ryder and I are anything but normal.
I plug my Ipod into his car. “Where are we headed, then?”
“Some place amazing.”
“Is it far away?” I ask as I scroll through all the playlists. I find the one I’m looking for.
Ryder shakes his head, his eyes remaining on the road. “No, it’s in town. It’s a place you love, a place that you’ve neglected.” My interest is piqued and I shift an eyebrow up as I look at Ryder. He must feel me looking at him, because he turns and smiles. He grabs the hand that's not fiddling with the Ipod and rests it on his leg.
What I feel for him swells in my chest. “You know we don’t have to do this, right?” We've only talked about Jamie once, but there’s no doubt he understands the intensity of my emotions for my dead friend.
“I know that, but I think we should,” he continues.
He’s right and we both know it. We drive the rest of the way in an easy silence, the soft sounds of Something Corporate is the only noise filtering through the car. Before long we begin to pass into Briarmont’s historical downtown area, which is small but cute. Ornate brick buildings line the tiny cobbled streets, cute flags hanging from businesses signaling that they’re open for business. We pass the ice cream shop I used to frequent, the thrift shop clothing boutique where I often bought clothes from, but we don’t pull past Spinners. No, we pull up in front of the large glass display window and the white and black tiled doorway of the record shop.
Ryder puts the car in park and turns to look at me, eager to see what I think, how I feel. He wears his vulnerability, his anxiety like a cloak, but what he’s done is brilliant, wonderful, perfect. I haven’t frequented Spinners as often as I used to, actually only once and that was to see if Rick could help me line up a show for Ryder. The sight of the place still fills me with awe. I can remember the way it felt when I first set foot in the store, the magic that those dusty records held for me, the dream of one day having my very own record player on which to play them.
I do not want this to be a place of sadness, a place that haunts me because like most places, most corners of my life, Jamie’s ghost resides there. No, I want this to be the place it was when Jamie was alive, a place of inspiration, a place for dreams, a place to hold the good times.
I turn to Ryder, unlocking the seatbelt in one fluid movement and I throw my arms around his neck. I breathe in the sweet, clean scent of Ryder and feel his warmth against me, his steady breaths, in, out, in, out.
“Thank you,” I mumble against his shirt, the soft fabric rubbing my cheek as I move to meet his eyes.
“It’s okay?” he asks softly, one hand around me, the other in my hair, running down my cheek.
“It’s perfect,” I smile. My gaze wanders to the doorway and I can make out Rick’s silhouette, the long ponytail, the tie-dye shirt as he helps a customer. I’m itching to get in there, to share this place with Ryder.
Ryder grins, satisfaction lazily crawling upon his handsome features. It makes my heart swell, makes this day a little easier. I think I can definitely handle it with Ryder by my side. “Then let’s check it out,” he offers as he gets out of the car. We meet in the middle and he holds my hand, safe, secure, as we walk into my past.
RYDER
I wasn’t sure if this would be the right move, but seeing her face, feeling her arms around my neck, I know it was. I know how much the record store means to her. I’ve seen all the records she has stacked up
in the corner of her room and I know that’s where she met Jamie. It was a place they hung out at a lot, a place she really loved until his death. Since today is about celebrating his life, about trying to help Claire properly grieve, I figured this would be the best place to start.
The hippy looking owner, Rick, comes out from behind the counter to greet Claire and me.
“Claire! How are you? It’s so good to see you, what twice in two months?” he smiles, revealing crooked teeth beneath a gray mustache.
Claire smiles, “I know I’ve been bad about coming around. But I want to introduce you to my boyfriend. Rick, this is Ryder.” She motions between the two of us and we shake hands.
“Nice to meet you, son. Make sure you take care of this one right here,” Rick continues as he nods his head towards Claire.
“You can count on it,” I lie, even though for the time I’m here, I’ll do the best I can.
The bell rings over the door and Rick looks disappointed to have to leave us.
“Don’t worry about it, Rick,” Claire says with a grin. “I plan on being back soon.”
"I hope so," Rick smiles as he heads over to help the new customer.
Claire leads me to the back of the store, all brick with crazy hot tamale lights strung everywhere. "I want to show you something," she smiles. She sifts through the record stacks and pulls two, both that she keeps hidden from me.
Without another word she takes my hand and pulls me into a listening room set off to the side of the store. Beaded curtains mask each entrance to the rooms. Inside ours there is a puke green velvet chair and footstool. In front of it sits a record player with headphones plugged in. I sit down on the footstool, curious as to what Claire's got up her sleeve. She gives me a bright smile as she maneuvers one of the records from its holder and onto the player.
"You really need one of these for yourself," I joke as she hands me a pair of headphones and sits next to me. She's so close that she's practically in my lap, but I try not to think about it. I try to think about whatever records she picked out, but it's hard with the smell of her perfume, with her leg touching mine.
"Yeah, in my dreams," she scoffs as she slides her headphones on and then the record begins to play.
"It's Tricky" by Run DMC meets my ears and I can't help but laugh. Claire's eyes are bright as she sings every single line. She even has an embarrassing dance to go with it. There are a thousand questions I want to ask her, because this is a totally different Claire, but I wait until the song is over, because she's in another world.
"Run DMC? I'm impressed," I say, sliding my headphones off.
"Raising Hell is one of my favorite albums ever. One of these days I'm going to buy it," she answers me as she looks longingly at the album.
"Those dance moves were something else, too," I laugh as she gets up and messes with the other record.
She playfully swats me when she sits back down. "Ha ha, very funny. At least I've got moves."
I pretend to be offended, but she sees right through me.
"Okay, so this next album makes me think of you, especially this song. It's definitely on my top 5 most romantic songs list," Claire admits as the record begins to play.
"Oblivion" by Bastille filters through the headphones, starting out with just a piano and Dan Smith's voice. I listen to the lyrics, feel the violins all the way to my bones as Claire closes her eyes. She's gone again, but I bring her back to me by taking her hand, pulling her into me. She snuggles against me running her hand across my chest and I can hear her softly singing. I've never seen her look so relaxed and I can't believe she's mine. I want nothing more than to kiss her, so without wasting anymore time thinking about it, I tip her chin up, her eyes pools of green looking up at me. I kiss her softly as the violins ring out in our ears, as we are taken away from this world, and it's just the two of us. I catch myself thinking about a future with her and I pull back, just slightly so she won't question me. She gives me a little smile and we sit there, arms around each other as we listen to the rest of the album.
A few hours pass and we finally get the text from her mom that she's ready for us to come home. Claire holds my hand as we walk to the car, her head leaning on my shoulder. As soon as we get inside, she scrolls through her Ipod and plays Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know." My gaze flicks to her before I put the car in reverse. I could feel the change in her while we were still in the record store, the infinite sadness weighing her down.
"Is this okay?" she asks, voice thick. She looks at me with wide, watery eyes.
"Yeah, sure," I answer and grab her hand. How could it not be okay?
When we get on the road, I notice the tears falling down her face and my mind races with what to do. I've barely touched her like I normally do out of respect for Jamie. She doesn't even sniffle, not once. She's hunched and silently crying as the song plays on. There's nowhere for me to pull over, so I wait until we get near a gas station. The darkened sky has the fluorescent lights spilling over the gas pumps and the storefront, so I pull far enough away not to be noticed. Claire tries to inconspicuously wipe her face with her cardigan sleeve. Once the car's in park, I take her into my arms and hold her, my hands running over her hair, my lips kissing the top of her head.
"It's okay, Claire. It's okay," I whisper.
I whisper all kinds of reassurances and condolences so much so that they fill the tiny space of the car and threaten to suffocate us. Claire's tiny body is shaking and I just hold her and let her cry.
Minutes pass by before she slowly pulls away from me. Her perfect eyes are red and puffy, her nose swollen. She wipes her face and takes a deep breath, offering me a small smile.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice raspy.
"It's okay to cry," I offer because I don't know what else to say. I don't exactly have experience in this area.
"Thank you," she says simply and then skips ahead to another song. "I think every thing just came crashing down and that song makes me think of him. I thought I would be fine, I really did," she continues, her face drawn and pale. "Let's go and get this party going," she finally concludes.
When we get back to her house, her parents are in the kitchen. They have the dining room table set up with a framed picture of Jamie at the head of it. I haven’t seen that picture before. He's alone and has this half smile on his face. Claire's eyes zero in on it immediately and then back to her mother. Everyone's waiting. Waiting for her to crack and crumble, waiting for her to freak out and leave, waiting for her to accept his death, waiting for her to grieve. She does nothing, says nothing, simply takes it all in. The table is covered in a nice white cloth with expensive looking dishes (then again everything looks expensive compared to cheap paper plates that we used at my place). There's a birthday cake sitting in the middle of the table decorated in blue and white and green. Candles are lined up down the center of the table. It's a nice tribute, really, but Claire's reaction scares me. She looks numb to everything that's going on and here I thought, and I'm pretty sure she thought, that this would be a step in the right direction.
Mrs. Watkins brings in a basket full of bread and puts it on the table. Mr. Watkins is right behind her with an even bigger dish of lasagna. Claire takes one look at it and she lets out a tiny laugh, the kind that escapes the lips of people who are on the verge of losing it.
"Claire, everything okay?" Her mom asks, her brow all pinched.
Claire nods and smiles as she takes her seat. "His favorite," she says so quietly that I'm not even sure she's talking to me. She's just staring at the plates of food.
"The food?" I ask.
She nods. Her parents take their seats and I have no idea what to do. Claire prepares her plate like a robot without saying another word. Her parents look at her worriedly and then back at me, like I might know what Claire's thinking.
"Claire, if you don't think…" Her mom starts, but quickly stops. She's confused, just like everyone else. Claire seemed like she was really digging this idea this morning. Then t
his happened.
Claire shakes her head as she moves the food around on her plate, making it look like she's actually eaten. "No, it's fine. It's just tough. It's the first birthday I've celebrated without…" Her voice catches and the fork clatters to the plate. Her hand is in front of her face and I can tell she's trying hard not to cry.
"Claire," I whisper.
Her eyes meet mine, tears threatening to spill all over her face.
"You can do this. I know this is Jamie's first birthday not being here, but you have to know that he would want you to be strong for him. It's okay to cry, you know that, but he wouldn't want you to stay so…broken for so long," I whisper into her hair.
Claire blinks a few times, the tears disappear and she takes a deep breath. I didn't know if I said the right thing or not. Her parents are watching us with wide eyes, but they say nothing.
"This is fine," Claire finally chokes out.
"You sure, honey?" Her father asks.
Claire nods. We eat dinner in awkward silence. Once everyone finishes, the dishes are cleared as we await the cutting of the cake. Claire's mom smiles and looks at everyone and then at the picture of Jamie on the table.
"Why don't we share a memory of Jamie in honor of this day?" She asks, her smile sad like Claire's.
"I remember the time I caught him in Claire's room for the first time," Mr. Watkins says with a laugh. Claire even smiles at that one. “I heard music playing in there and a boy's voice and I expected the worst. When I got there, though, it was just the two of them playing Monopoly." Claire lets out a laugh, a real laugh at the memory and we all follow suit.
"He did love Monopoly," Claire adds as she looks at me with a smile.
"I remember the time he offered to cook dinner because he ate with us so much," Mrs. Watkins says as she cuts slices of cake and puts them on tiny plates. "He actually bought take out and put it on our real plates. Was so proud of himself too."