by Jessica Wood
“Yeah, I heard. I’m so sorry, Clo. I wish I was there for you.” Then I heard all the snickering and laughter from the crowd. “But listen, I can’t really talk right now. Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
“Oooohhh! Can I call you tomorrow morning?” a number of the guys from the crowd chanted sarcastically. To them it was all a game, but I could tell Chloe was really hurting. If only I could focus and think through the fog, if only I could get up and find a way to get to her, then maybe I’d know what I could say to comfort her right then.
“I guess so.” Her voice was barely audible and then the line went dead.
I wanted to call her right back because I knew that I had somehow upset her. But instead, my body felt heavy and I sprawled onto the floor. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, the crowd standing over me laughing, slowly disappeared and all my thoughts went to Chloe. There was a nagging feeling that pricked at my insides, and I had an odd feeling that she wasn’t okay. I’ll call her first thing tomorrow morning. She’s my best friend and I need to be there for her. That was the last thought that went through my mind right before I finally passed out.
***
But I didn’t call her the next morning.
When I woke up the next morning on one of the couches in the frat house, I immediately leaped up when I saw the time on my phone. I raced out of the door, hoping I could get back to my dorm room to grab my backpack and then make it to my Econ. 101 class before it started fifteen minutes later. I knew I couldn’t miss any more classes that semester or I might fail out. With everything that was happening between my parents and their divorce, I didn’t want to stress my mom out more if I flunked out of Harvard after just one semester.
But in my rush to get to class, I’d accidentally left my cell phone behind at the frat house. By the time I finished my last class of the day and returned to the frat house to pick it up, another party was already in full swing. Luckily everyone was out in the other room playing beer pong, and I found my phone where I’d left it on the mantel of my fireplace next to the couch. I cringed with guilt when I switched on my cell phone and saw that I’d received several missed texts from Chloe.
I quickly shot a text back to her.
Me: Hey Clo. Sorry, I left my phone at the frat house all day and just got it now and saw your texts. You okay?
To my surprise, Chloe texted me right back.
Chloe: Hi Jax. A lot has been going on and I need to talk to you about it.
Me: Sorry I’ve been MIA. I finally crossed into the frat, so I’ll be more free now b/c I’m not a pledge anymore. What’s wrong? Talk about what?
Chloe: That’s great Jax. I know getting into the frat was important. I haven’t said anything b/c I wanna tell you over the phone. I also didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.
Me: I’m not busy. I can call you now, if you want.
I was feeling a tinge of guilt grow inside me as I texted back and forth with Chloe. It seemed like something serious was going on with her that she’d been waiting to tell me.
Then another text came through from her:
Chloe: I’m about to get off work in 15 mins. Should be home in 30 and can talk any time after that.
Me: Okay. I’ll call you in 30. :)
As I put away my phone and made a mental note to call Chloe at six-thirty, I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned she had a job. I’ll ask her when I call her in a bit.
Before I could think about it for any longer, I saw Tyler and the redhead from the night before walking toward me. It was clear from the way the girl had her arms around Tyler that they’d hooked up.
“Hey, Jackson! We’re having a beer pong competition in the next room. Up for a round against me?” Tyler asked. “Jill, here, wants to see if I can beat you.” He shot me a look and I could tell he wanted to impress the girl.
I wanted to turn them down, go back to my dorm, and call Chloe, but I knew that if I backed down from a beer pong challenge on my first full day of being a brother in the house, I’d never hear the end of it. I sized up the competition, and I could tell Tyler was already well on his way to being drunk. I was completely sober and was pretty good at beer pong. I knew it wouldn’t take long to beat Tyler and sneak out afterward. My dorm was only a five-minute walk from there, so I knew that I had plenty of time before Chloe was free to talk.
“You’re on, bro. I’m always game to kick some ass.” I flashed them a competitive smirk as I followed them to the other room where a round of beer pong was already in progress.
Before I knew it, three hours had flown by, and I was laughing and having the time of my life as the new beer pong champion of Alpha Sigma Delta house. I had a crown made of aluminum foil on my head, a blonde on one arm and Jill, the redhead, on the other. I felt like I was on top of the world as the whole house chanted my name in victory.
It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning in one of the extra bedrooms in the house that I realized I had never called Chloe like I’d said I would. I rubbed my forehead, feeling like shit. I was officially the worst friend ever. I looked over to the blonde and the redhead who were both naked in the bed with me, stinking of alcohol.
Fuck! How did things get so out of hand last night? I had to squirm out from under both girls to get out of the bed. I looked around the room for my cell phone but couldn’t find it anywhere.
“What the fuck is wrong with me? This is the second time in twenty-four hours.” Feeling annoyed, I threw on my clothes and went downstairs, hoping I had left my phone in the room where the beer pong competition had taken place. To my relief, it was there under the beer pong table.
I immediately groaned when I saw how many missed calls and texts I had received from Chloe. I punched the wall with my bare fist in frustration and anger at myself. “I’m the shittiest friend in the world!”
As I scrolled through my missed call log, I noticed that one of her calls the night before—the last one she’d made to me at a little after ten—had been answered and the call had lasted almost half a minute. But I had no memory of this call or what we’d talked about.
Anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach as I quickly grabbed my stuff and headed back to my dorm. I knew I needed to talk to Chloe today, and this time, I needed to make sure I was sober and away from any distractions.
CHAPTER TEN
December 2003
Nineteen Years Old
CHLOE
During the last two weeks since my nineteenth birthday, anything and everything that could have gone wrong, had. Jackson broke his promise to visit that weekend. A crazy blizzard hit the area on the morning of my birthday, but because I didn’t want to be alone, I guilt-tripped Aunt Betty, Uncle Tom, and Charlie to drive into the city to spend the day with me. I knew the roads would be a mess because of the snowstorm. I knew I was putting them at risk. But at that moment in time, I hadn’t cared. It was my birthday, and I was more lonely that day than I’d ever been before. I’d convinced myself that it was okay to be selfish just that one time, that we’d experienced and driven through worse blizzards than that one so nothing would go wrong.
But of course, fate proved me wrong.
On their way to see me that day, they were going too fast on the icy roads, lost control of their car, and crashed into a tree. Aunt Betty and Uncle Tom both sustained several broken bones and some cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. But Charlie had been driving and didn’t have his seatbelt on. When the car had hit the tree, his body was thrown forward through the windshield, and he sustained severe injuries.
During the past two weeks since the accident, Charlie had had to undergo a number of surgeries, and today was his latest surgery where they’d go in and take a look at his spinal cord. Aunt Betty had been texting me throughout the day to update me on the status of the all-day surgery. After my morning shift at McDonald’s, one of my two new part-time jobs I’d picked up the previous week to help with some of the hospital bills, I rushed back to the hospital to be there when the su
rgery was over.
After ten hours of surgery, one of the surgeons came out to talk to us. Despite the odds, we were still hopeful, and prayed for a miracle that we’d receive some good news.
But we didn’t.
Instead, the surgeon said the words we’d been dreading all along: “We had to go in and insert rods and plates along his spine to help stabilize it. Unfortunately, we were also able to confirm that your son’s spinal cord was indeed severed during the accident. As a result, he’s lost all motor function from the waist down, and he won’t be able to walk again. I’m very sorry.”
“No!” Aunt Betty let out a hysterical wail as she collapsed against me, sobbing like I’d never seen her sob before.
My eyes full of tears, I tried to comfort her as she continued to cry in my arms. “I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating as I stroked her back.
Grief-stricken, Uncle Tom fell back onto one of the chairs in the waiting room. He hunched over and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t make a sound, but I could see his body move up and down as he wept into his hands in silence.
Even though the doctors tried to prepare us for this outcome, the news was just as devastating and hit us hard.
This was all my fault, and the immense guilt I carried inside only deepened the hurt I felt from hearing the news. I had done this to Charlie and he didn’t deserve this. Aunt Betty didn’t deserve this. Uncle Tom didn’t deserve this.
Charlie had always been like a brother to me, accepting me into his family even though I had taken over his room and a big portion of his parents’ time and energy. He’d never complained or resented me. Instead, he treated me like his equal and spoiled me whenever he’d visit for the holidays. So hearing the news that he was permanently paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life left me feeling empty and numb with anguish.
But I didn’t deserve to be comforted by Aunt Betty and Uncle Tom. Their only son—the young, successful lawyer they were so proud of—had just had the rest of his life ruined because of me, because of my selfishness, because of my inability to love someone without them getting hurt.
While I didn’t deserve it, I still couldn’t help but want to be comforted. I still wanted someone there to tell me everything would be okay. I still wanted someone to tell me that I wasn’t an awful person. I still wanted someone to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, even when I knew that wasn’t true.
Jackson was the only person who I could talk to about this. He was the only person who could comfort me. Since my birthday, I’d tried to call him a number of times, to tell him what happened, to hear his warm, familiar voice. But every time I called, he was never there to pick up.
A part of me was mad at Jackson for neglecting me and not being there for me. But another part of me—the part that increased with each passing day that I didn’t hear from him—was worried sick that something had happened to him. With everything that’d happened recently, and everything that’d happened with my mom, I was terrified to imagine possibly losing him as well.
So on my way back to my dorm from the hospital, I decided to try calling Jackson again. I heard the phone ring several times, and on the fifth ring, I knew I’d get voicemail again and was about to end the call. But just as I was about to switch off, I heard a click.
I put the phone back to my ear, but instead of Jackson’s voice, all I heard was the rustling of fabric against the phone and what seemed like a loud party in the distant background.
“Hello? Jax?”
I heard a sudden movement and then, to my surprise, Jackson’s voice.
“Hey. Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” His words were abrupt but slurred, and it was clear to me that he was drunk.
“Are you free to talk? Something’s happened recently, and it’s all my fault. I really need you right now.” The words flooded out of me in a trembling rush.
I expected him to say something right away, to ask me what was wrong, to console me in his own special way. But after a long period of time, I heard nothing but his heavy breathing, the party in the background, and the rustling sound of the phone being brushed up against something.
Feeling my irritation rise, I finally tried again. “Hello? Jax, did you even hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said flatly, almost defensively. “I’m so sorry, Clo. I wish I was there for you.”
I felt my irritation subside at his words. I desperately wished he was here too. But then I heard a crowd of laughter growing louder in the background. Jackson quickly continued, “But listen, I can’t really talk right now. Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
Then I heard a crowd of people repeat, “Oooohhh! Can I call you tomorrow morning?” before breaking off into laughter.
“I guess so,” I managed to say, trying so hard to hold back the tears. Then I hung up on him. A sudden pain pierced through my chest. I knew I should be relieved that he was okay—and alive—but I didn’t feel relieved. I felt hurt—especially because the real reason he wasn’t returning my calls wasn’t because he was busy with his classes. It was because he was busy having fun with his fraternity and getting drunk at parties.
In spite of my hurt, I still wanted to talk to Jackson. I still missed him deeply. So I waited for his call the next morning.
But the call never came. By one o’clock in the afternoon, when I left my second part-time job at Starbucks, he still hadn’t called or texted.
At this point, I felt my patience reach its limit and I sent him a text. Then another an hour later. And yet another two hours after that. Still nothing.
It wasn’t until six o’clock, when I was closing out of my register at McDonald’s, that I’d finally heard from him. After a few text message exchanges, he said he’ll call me in half an hour.
I tried not to be hopeful, but when I arrived back to my dorm room, I couldn’t help but feel the anticipation of finally having a conversation with him.
But then six-thirty passed, and he didn’t call. I texted him to see if he was still planning on calling.
When I hadn’t heard from him by seven o’clock, I shot him a text message and tried calling him. Still nothing.
When eight rolled around, I texted again. Silence.
At some point into the night, I had fallen asleep on my bed on top of the duvet. It wasn’t until ten that I woke up and realized I’d fallen asleep, waiting for him. I looked at my phone hopefully but was disappointed to see nothing new from Jackson.
Feeling frustrated and emotionally exhausted, I pulled up his number and dialed it. His voicemail picked up.
As frustration turned into anger, I dialed his number two more times, thinking at some point, he would have to pick up.
Finally, on my fourth attempt, someone picked up.
“Hello?” a guy yelled into the phone. I could hear loud music and people talking and laughing in the background.
“Hi! Is Jackson there?” I screamed into the phone, hoping he could hear me.
“Who?”
“Jackson! Jackson Pierce! You just picked up Jackson’s phone!”
“Ahh, yeah, my boy, Jackson!” Then I heard him chuckle.
“Can you get him for me?”
“Sorry. No can do. He’s in the middle of some fun. I’m not going to cock-block. You know, bro code and all.”
“What are you talking about? What is he doing?” I knew what the answer was, but the masochist in me still wanted to hear it for myself.
“Jeez, do I need to spell it out for you? He’s up in some room fucking two hot broads right now.” He laughed again. “And let me tell you, that wild redhead is our resident slut on Greek row. She’s definitely going to show him and the blonde a fucking wild time tonight. He’s going to have so much pussy tonight, let’s hope his dick doesn’t fall off.”
“Hey, Tyler!” I heard someone scream in the background, “Get off the fuckin’ phone! We’re all shot-gunning some beers here.”
“Sorry. Gotta go,” the guy, who I assumed was Tyler, said quickly
before the phone went silent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
December 2003
Nineteen Years Old
CHLOE
Half an hour later, I strode into the closest bar to my dorm, determined to have fun and cut loose. Forget you, Jackson! He wasn’t the only one who knew how to get drunk and have fun. Tonight, I felt reckless and I wanted to hurt Jackson the way he’d hurt me.
I was wearing my hottest little black dress; cut low in the front and high on the thigh. I put on extra make-up tonight, hoping I could trick the bartender into thinking I was at least twenty-one so he wouldn’t ask for my ID.
I sat on the stool at the end of the bar, trying to look like I belonged. The bartender pointedly-drummed his fingers on the sign that read, Customers must be twenty-one to purchase alcohol, and I knew I was busted.
“Can I help you with something?” the bartender asked with a knowing edge to his voice.
“No thanks, I’m just here to meet someone,” I bluffed, jutting out my chin to show I wasn’t intimidated, even though I knew I was about be thrown out on my ass and humiliated in front of everyone.
Then a man sitting alone at a nearby table came over and smiled at me. “I believe you’re waiting for me. Hi, I’m Michael Davison.”
“Michael! I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you face to face!” I smiled brightly as he acted like a mutual friend had arranged for us to meet.
His lie of a blind date was the perfect cover and I was grateful for his willingness to help me out in this embarrassing situation.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Michael asked. He was a cute guy with handsome features. He was wearing a very expensive suit and looked like a successful businessman. Maybe he was visiting Philly on a business trip. He looked like he was in his early thirties and from the way he eyed me up and down, I knew that he was looking for a good time tonight.
He’s perfect for what I want tonight, I thought to myself as I actively forced out thoughts of Jackson.