The Girl Next Door

by Selene Castrovilla

  I held my breath and wished she’d let go.

  “You don’t have to suffer.”

  I looked down again and shrugged.

  “Just keep coming back,” she said. “I promise you, it gets better.”

  Finally she released my hand.

  I felt tingly, like when I did the tapping.

  Maybe it was a good thing, being here, even if I couldn’t participate. Maybe just being here was enough, for now.

  “Okay,” I told her. “I’ll come back.”

  She smiled; it looked good on her. “Excellent,” she said.

  ***

  Jess and I didn’t talk in the cab on the way home. Maybe he didn’t want me to feel pressured to talk about the group, or maybe he was thinking about his own experience. It was just as well. I had a lot to process, and it would’ve been hard to say anything that made sense.

  Silence was easy for us—we’d known each other so long.

  I pressed into his arms, closed my eyes, and listened to the rhythmic groove of tires against the pavement. The shadowy city lights flickered across our faces, and we were warm and in motion. And for the first time in a long time, I felt just a little bit good.

  Then I thought of Sylvia’s smile.

  I wondered what that would be like—to smile again.

  ***

  Of course Mom was worried about me, too; there was no hiding anything from her. She was always asking me to come home for a meal, or at least a snack. So, the day after the support group meeting, I showed up at her door for breakfast.

  Jess was still sleeping. It had been so tempting to just lay there with him, but something inside me had woken up at that meeting, and it wanted to get up and move.

  Mom was so happy to see me. We sat at the kitchen table and she listed a smorgasbord of breakfast options. I told her I only wanted a toasted bagel with cream cheese. “Oh, fine,” she said. “Be that way.”

  As the toaster oven hummed, I told Mom a little about the group. She was thrilled, of course. “I knew that was the right thing for you,” she said.

  The toaster dinged. She took out my bagel and smeared cream cheese over its nearly burnt top. Mmmm—just the way I liked it.

  I crunched into the bagel; and for just a moment, I actually tasted it—it was delicious. But then guilt and sorrow flooded through me, and I felt so bad for having enjoyed that bite. What remained in my mouth suddenly tasted like cardboard. I dropped the rest of the bagel on to my plate. It landed with a thud.

  “Oh, Sam—,” Mom said.

  “Mom, don’t.” I couldn’t take any more. The meeting had been enough.

  “It’s just—”

  “I know what it is.” She was going to say what Sylvia had said, but if I heard it again too soon—I just couldn’t take that.

  “Sam, it’s not like I don’t understand. Don’t you think I miss your father? I talk to him all the time—”

  “Do you ever see him?” The words came out before I could stop them.

  “What?”

  “I, uh— Oh, never mind,” I said, stunned that I’d let my secret slip.

  “Do you see your father?”

  I couldn’t lie to my mom. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Does he say anything to you?”

  “No. It’s always so quick… .” I told her about a few of the times I’d seen him. “I just thought maybe—you said you talked to him.”

  “I guess I’m not as lucky as you. I talk to the air and hope he hears me.”

  “Lucky? You think I’m lucky? It drives me nuts, seeing bits and pieces of him like that. Not having him whole … One night, I just smelled his cologne—and that was even worse.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to tell you something.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “No, baby, not at all. There’s so much evidence of life after death. … You’re not alone in this, you know.”

  It was a relief, finally telling her—and having her believe me.

  Teddy was at preschool; Mom suggested we go shopping.

  And the funny thing was, I wanted to.

  ***

  “You look better,” Jess told me when I came back home.

  “I told my mom—about seeing my dad,” I said.

  “And?”

  “She took it well … didn’t think I was bonkers at all.”

  “There you go, Sam. You have to learn to trust people. Have faith, you know?”

  “Faith’s a problem for me.” As if he didn’t know.

  “Just take it one day at a time,” he said.

  And though it was a cliché, I knew he was right.

  ***

  I went to bed thinking about Dad for the first time in ages. I mean, I thought about him a lot, but I always caught myself and stopped before I got in too deep—before I got to the memories that ached so much I thought I’d die if I let them surface.

  Jess was already sleeping, breathing lightly, pressed tight against me like a warm shield. So I dropped my guard and did it: I remembered my dad.

  A kaleidoscope of moments swirled through my mind. I remembered my dad holding me when I was little like Teddy and burning up with a fever, his cool lips kissing my forehead, his whisper that I was going to be fine.

  I remembered my dad watching me in an elementary school play, cheering me loudly, even though I played the inauspicious, silent role—of grass.

  I remembered my dad at the dinner table every night, always interested in the events of my day, even though each was remarkably similar to the one before it.

  I remembered these and dozens of moments like them, so ordinary, and so unappreciated at the time. In and out they swelled, until I drifted off to sleep.

  Then I heard a voice calling me back.

  “Wake up, Sam.”

  “Jess?” I opened my eyes and asked, even though I knew it wasn’t him. He was still asleep against me, still breathing in his light way. Easy breathing–something I doubted I’d ever experience again.

  No, of course it wasn’t Jess. I knew who it was; I knew this voice so well.

  It was my dad.

  But how could it be Dad? I must’ve been dreaming, but I felt awake. I even checked the

  clock: four a.m.

  A long way from dawn, I’d conjured a ghost. Maybe I’d read too much Shakespeare.

  “Look at me, Sam,” my dead father said. I didn’t want to; I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed my body against Jess like he was a barricade.

  “Sam, it’s time to look at me.”

  Time? When did spirits start worrying about time? What does time matter when you’re dearly departed?

  I didn’t say this, or anything, out loud.

  “All these months you’ve been thinking about me, calling me back with your thoughts, but then refusing to see what was right in front of you—refusing to look me in the face.”

  Was that why I’d never seen his face? All along I’d thought it was—that he wouldn’t show himself fully. I couldn’t understand why.

  “That’s right, Sam. You wouldn’t look at me—”

  “Stop it!” I broke in, eyes still shut. “Now you’re reading my mind? That’s awful! Don’t I get any control in this, any privacy at all?”

  “You’re controlling everything, Sam. You’re letting me into your mind. But part of you can’t admit it to yourself.”

  There was a warmth in the room, like a fireplace was lit. The air carried his cologne.

  He said, “Tell me what it is that’s so painful.”

  But I couldn’t. “You know, you have to know.”

  “You have to say it out loud. Let it out, honey. Let it out before it eats your insides.”

  I opened my eyes.

  He was next to me, wearing the same blue suit he’d worn the last day of his life.

  I stared at his tie, the light blue one with red polka dots that I’d adjusted for him because Mom had been busy with Teddy.

  I couldn’t look up.


  He had no right to be here, so real, too real. He had no right to appear back in my life when all he was going to do was vanish again.

  So I said it: “You left me.”

  There was a long pause.

  Then he said, “Sweetheart, please look at me.”

  It had always been such a problem for me to look anyone in the eyes. I was afraid of seeing the truth in them, and maybe I was afraid of seeing myself.

  But he was right. It was time. So I did it.

  Finally, I looked him in the eyes.

  Oh God, it hurt so bad. It hurt so bad to see how badly he was hurting.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

  Of course he didn’t want to—I knew that. But that was the logical part of me. The emotional part, that was a different story.

  “Sam, the hurtful things in the world weren’t designed to hurt you. They just are. Stop holding this grudge against the universe. You have to let go.”

  “Surrender,” I said. It was maddening, how that kept coming up.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Surrender your anger. Sam, when people are angry, all the wonders and the beauty of everyday life pass them by. All they have left is their rage. Is that what you want to happen?”

  “I don’t know how to let go,” I said.

  “You do, Sam. Live in the beauty of each moment.”

  “What’s beautiful about this moment?” I demanded. “You’re only going to leave me again, if you’re even here at all. I’ve probably just gone mad!”

  “You’re not in the moment; you’re worried about what comes next.”

  “Pardon me for not being perfectly Zen. Yes, I care about being left again!”

  “Everyone leaves, Sam, in one way or another. But death can never rob us of the love we give away. Love stays with us—it never dies. You carry my love with you. Let go and feel it, Sam. Death is only an end if you see it as one.”

  “How can you say that? Of course it’s an end,” I said. I put my palm against Jess’s back. “See how I can touch him, feel his warmth? I can’t do that with you. You can’t touch love, Dad.”

  He said, “Sam, that’s the point. Death is an end to something limited—something physical. But it’s not an end to love. Think about it, Sam. I know you’re ready.”

  I grabbed on to Jess and squeezed into his arms. It was lucky he didn’t wake up. But maybe part of me wanted him to wake up, to tell me if this was real. But he didn’t.

  “How do you know I’m ready?” I asked my father. He looked at me with so much love, it was almost like I could touch it.

  “Because you called to me. You were ready to see.”

  Then he was gone.

  Just like that—gone.

  I thought I’d cry. But I didn’t; there was nothing left. No tears, but maybe no reason to cry.

  I felt hollow, kind of spent. But I also felt on the cusp of something. For the first time in a long time, I felt like there was a way out. I wasn’t there yet, but reaching it was a possibility.

  My dad’s words floated through my mind: “Death can never rob us of the love we give away.”

  I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

  me and jesse

  in the park

  on the

  blanket

  with

  red and white

  squares

  pretzel smell

  in

  the

  air

  jesse

  leans on me

  he is

  warm

  we are

  tired

  we

  bang heads

  laugh

  laugh

  his

  curly black hair

  tickles

  my

  cheek

  we

  played

  tag

  zig-zagged

  round and

  round one

  two

  three

  trees

  three like me

  i won

  he said

  i

  did

  not

  win

  i fell

  yuck grassy mouth

  grassy nose tickles

  laugh

  laugh

  he fell

  too

  on me

  we

  banged heads

  laugh

  laugh

  he smells like

  bubble

  gum

  he says i

  won

  i was

  ahead

  but

  i fell

  on accident

  he

  did

  not

  wind blows

  gentle

  pretzel smell

  in

  the

  air

  jesse leans

  warm

  warm

  warm on me

  voice

  across the squares

  mom

  turns

  pages

  story time

  I woke up the next morning remembering my dream, remembering the love Jesse and I gave away that day to each other.

  “Morning, Sam.” Jess smiled at me. That love was still there, all these years later. Dad was right—it wouldn’t die.

  “Morning, Jess.” I smiled back.

  In that moment I felt peace.

  That’s what letting go was.

  It was as simple as a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  December was mild, for December. We wore coats, but hats and gloves weren’t necessary.

  December was harsh, for Jess. He weakened, started to fade.

  His body hurt him, but he wasn’t sore emotionally.

  He thanked me for my love.

  He said all he wanted was for me to be with him.

  Now, I could be there for him.

  And we’d had a great November.

  I helped Jess slip his coat on and wheeled him out of the apartment. We were going into the park to celebrate my birthday. It was December 11, and I was eighteen.

  “Happy birthday, Sam,” he told me in his weak, almost whispering voice when we got to our spot. I bent to be level with him and we kissed. He handed me the thin, rectangular box he’d been holding.

  I tore into the crinkly silver wrap. It was the poem he’d written for me, framed. I stared at it, then burst into tears, something I hadn’t done in a long time.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Jess … It’s just—so beautiful.” I wiped my face with my sleeve, heaved a breath in and out, and looked him in the eye. “I have to confess; I read your poems.”

  “Did you?” He wasn’t bothered at all, just surprised. “What’d you think of them?”

  “I guess— I guess I thought they were incredibly sad.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t show them to you.” He spoke slowly, with effort. “They were … they were like therapy for me, but I didn’t want to upset you.”

  He’d been trying to spare me, like I’d been trying to spare him.

  “God, I love you so much,” I said. I kissed him.

  “Your other present is back home, but I wanted to tell you about it here. Because it really couldn’t be wrapped… .” He stopped and coughed.

  “You okay, Jess?”

  He nodded. “Anyway, I got you—us—a star. I bought a star and named it ‘Sam & Jess’s Place in the Heavens.’ ” He coughed again. “The certificate’s wrapped up at home. I just wanted … I wanted to tell you here. I got the idea on prom night, when we were staring at the stars, dancing under them.”

  “Aww, Jess.” I hugged him, and couldn’t say anything else.

  He ran his fingers through my hair. “After I’m gone … talk to our star. I’ll be listening.”

  ***

  We sat there in silence then,
in our place. We didn’t have to speak to communicate, to relive all our times there. To see the grass stains on our knees, hear our laughter as we chased each other round and round the trees, smell the pretzels in the air, feel the sun shine on our cheeks.

  We had a place just for us.

  That was more than a lot of people had.

  I knew then that it was true—that the love we’d given each other would stay there always, indestructible. I absolutely felt it in the air, and in my heart.

  I walked up the path to a stand and bought us two hot chocolates.

  We sipped, steam piping up our noses. Still we sat, remembering. The warmth of the drink spread through my body and settled in my bones.

  It was then that I felt the second half arrive—the remaining part of the relief I’d felt when Jess had proposed. I hadn’t expected it, and I didn’t know I’d been missing it, but there it was.

  It felt permanent, this peace.

  It felt real.

  It felt right.

  ***

  After a while, Jess spoke. He asked if I remembered the talk we’d had about his ashes. Of course I do. He said he’d been wrong, that he didn’t want me to be burdened by keeping his ashes, and that he was afraid I wouldn’t be able to move on, staring at a silver urn every day. Before I could say anything, he told me what he wanted instead.

  He wanted to stay in our place, always. He wanted me to plant a tree for him, and scatter his ashes in its soil. He wanted me to come sit with him under our star.

  He said to visit him, but not exclusively.

  He urged me to go on, for us both.

  He asked me not to surrender my life.

  I agreed.

  Chapter Thirty

  We’ve been in bed, listening to Abba on low. Jess is against me on his side, lying on my arm. He’s shaking, but he’s yanked the tube that was attaching the pump with painkillers to his vein, and he turns away from the morphine lollipop I hold toward him.

  I blink away tears and face the bedside table, trying to absorb everything about this moment. I scan the opening of my poem, propped next to the clock.

  Eternity, evermore

  That’s how long your love is for

  The red numbers on the clock say twelve o’clock. It’s midnight. Christmas Day.

  I take a quick swipe at my eyes and turn around. “Happy birthday, Jess.” I kiss his lips.

  Jess is gripping the sheet—so hard that his knuckles are white and his veins are bulging. I offer him the lollipop again.