Until the Sun Burns Out

by Amber Garza

  In that moment, I knew the truth. It rattled around in my bones, it thrashed in my veins. Yet I was still in denial, as if the simple act of denying it could make it untrue. I stared down at the phone in my hand. “Then where is he? He’s not returning my texts,” I mumbled.

  Dad moved toward me, his arms coming up around me, holding me steady. “Austin’s dead, Mina. I’m so sorry.”

  I hated Dad for spelling it out. For not letting me live in denial just a little longer. Now I had to face it. To look at it head on.

  “No.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. I was just with him last night. He was fine.”

  “Oh, Mina, I’m so sorry.” Tears fell from his eyes then, and it split my heart in two. I’d only seen my dad cry a couple of times in my whole life.

  I backed away from him, my lips quivering. Tears were fighting their way out, but I blinked them back in. This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. And the minute I let myself cry I was giving in. Admitting defeat. Austin wouldn’t like that. Not one bit. “It can’t be true, Dad. Maybe Penny was wrong.” Swallowing hard, I pointed down the hall. “Go call her back. Find out for sure.”

  “Mina,” Dad’s voice was desperate now. “You have to listen to me. It’s true. Austin is gone.”

  When his arms encased me, I felt like I was under water. Like waves were crashing over me. Like I was drowning. My eyes swam with tears, my throat burned as sobs poured from it, and my body ached from shaking so hard. As I crumbled against my dad allowing him to hold me up, my phone slipped from my fingers. It crashed to the floor loudly. But it didn’t matter.

  I knew Austin would never be calling me back.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dad said that Austin died of sudden cardiac arrest. It didn’t make any sense. How could a healthy seventeen-year-old die of cardiac arrest? Wasn’t heart disease something old people got? People who’d eaten too much bacon or smoked cigarettes or drank too much alcohol? But that wasn’t Austin. So then why was he dead?

  I knew guys back home who thought they were invincible. Guys who smoked in the school parking lot, who did drugs, who street raced or jumped off the rocks into the lake even though they knew it was unsafe. They had no regard for their life. Yet they were still here.

  Austin loved life. And he made this world a better place. He was kind and charming. Happy.

  So why did he have to be the one to die?

  After dad told me, grief had swallowed me whole. It started as a dull ache in my chest. It hurt so bad I thought my heart had physically broken. I expected to see pieces of it protruding from my skin. But then it spread like poison through my veins, traveling to my extremities. I could hardly move. I could scarcely breathe.

  And a part of me didn’t want to. A part of me wanted to let go, to soar up into the clouds to find Austin. Wherever he was, I was sure he was having fun. Certainly more fun than I was having.

  Now the grief had waned somewhat, anger replacing it. Anger more ruthless, more violent than I had ever experienced simmered beneath my skin, pumped through my veins, gurgled deep in my belly.

  It was irrational how I felt, but I couldn’t control it. My anger wasn’t designated to any one thing. Everything and everyone upset me. I looked around at people breathing, living their lives, and I wanted to scream, “Why are you still here if Austin’s not? What makes you worthy of life and not him?”

  But I knew I couldn’t ask those questions. And even if I did, I’d never know the answer. Life was unpredictable. The saying, “life isn’t fair” is true. I’d always known it was. I’d just never realized how unfair until now.

  You know what you need?

  You need to get out your aggression.

  It was Austin’s words from two summers ago that finally gave me the outlet I was looking for. That’s how I found myself in the gym, gloves encasing my hands pummeling the shit out of a punching bag. Austin always said I was good at boxing, but even he would be shocked by how hard I was hitting now. The bag swung so far I feared it would come off the chains. But that didn’t stop me from punching it again and again. Let it come off the chains. Let it fly across the room. Let it crash through the wall and bring this whole place down.

  I didn’t care.

  The only thing I cared about was Austin, and he was gone.

  Sweat poured from my body as I threw my arm forward again and again until it ached. Until it burned. Until it screamed for me to stop. Even then I kept going. I welcomed the pain. It felt good to finally feel something other than anger or overwhelming grief. I savored the pain in my arm because it got my mind off the pain in my chest, in my heart. This pain I could handle. That pain was unbearable.

  Eventually, my arm stopped working. I tried to hit the bag, but it dropped limply to my side. I was too weak to keep going, and that only made me angrier. Body sagging, I fell forward on the mat. My knees hit it with such force, I bit my tongue. A primal cry surged from my throat. My hands fell to my sides, the gloves brushing over the mat. The punching bag still swung back and forth, reeling from all the hits.

  “Why?” I whispered, hanging my head. “Why did you take him from me, God? Why?” There were other people in the gym, but I couldn’t stop the tears from coming; couldn’t stop the cries that tore from my throat. I pounded on the mat with my tired hands, animalistic sounds pouring from my lips. “Why take Austin? Out of all the people in the world? Why him? And why now? When he had his whole life ahead of him? When we had our whole lives ahead of us.”

  The pain in my chest was so fierce, I struggled to breathe. We’d made a commitment to each other. Austin was the first boy to tell me he loved me, and I loved him back. Oh, did I love him back. Being with him was what I wanted more than anything in the world. And it seemed I was finally getting what I wanted. I’d always thought it was too good to be true, but for some reason I’d allowed myself to hope, to believe. And then it was cruelly taken from me.

  “It’s not fair.” I sucked in a breath, sobs racking my body. “It’s not fair!” I screeched.

  A shadow cast over me.

  “Miss, are you okay?” A man’s voice asked.

  The concern in his voice broke me further. My shoulders shook as I bent down so low my hair hit the ground. “Please,” I said to him. “Just leave me alone.” Everything around me was blurry, tainted by the tears filling my eyes. I heard people talking behind me.

  “It’s okay,” A familiar voice said. “Let her be.” Without looking, I knew who was speaking. It was one of the trainers who’d worked with us before. Clearly, he knew what my meltdown was all about. And I was grateful that he wasn’t making me leave. I wasn’t ready yet.

  The mat was cool against my face as I pressed my cheek to it.

  “I miss you so much, Austin,” I whispered. “None of this seems real. I just keep thinking you’re going to come back.” Squeezing my eyes closed, another round of sobs overtook me. “But you’re not, are you? You’re never coming back to me.”

  I held my breath, half expecting to hear his voice. But I heard nothing except for the men behind me and the rattling of the chains from the punching bag above my head.

  ***

  I wasn’t expecting her.

  Austin’s family hadn’t called me when he died, and they hadn’t reached out to me in the two days since. Therefore, to say I was shocked when she showed up would be an understatement. Yet here she was, standing in front of me in my dad’s living room. I wanted to be angry with her, but she looked too sad, too worn, too tired, and too grief-stricken for me to feel anything other than sympathy for her.

  “I found this in Austin’s room at the beach house.” Alyssa thrust a multicolored gift bag in my direction, pink tissue paper sticking out of the top. It seemed too festive for today, and it made my heart ache as I wrapped my hand around it. “It’s for you. He must’ve been planning on giving it to you at some point.”

  Staring down at it, my heart was in my throat. I was curious about its contents, but I had no desire to op
en it in front of Alyssa. So I set it down on the coffee table. “Thank you for bringing it by.”

  Nodding, she studied me a minute. “Austin didn’t really talk about his feelings, but he did talk to me about you. He loved you, Mina.”

  A flood of emotion smacked into me, tears burning the back of my eyes. It had been like this. Sadness ebbed and flowed like waves crashing and receding. “I know,” I finally whispered.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said. “With Austin gone, it’s too hard to stay.”

  I completely understood, because I’d been feeling the same way. Last night I’d even talked to Dad about possibly going back home early. Memories of Austin lingered everywhere here, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to face them right now.

  “We’ll have a memorial service for him back home. I can send you the information if you want,” Alyssa offered.

  “Okay,” I said, but I knew I wouldn’t go. That Austin was a stranger to me. The Austin I knew was here. I feared if I went to Colorado and met his friends and family, I’d realize I never really knew him.

  Besides, to me he’d always be my summer boy.

  It’s the way I wanted to remember him.

  On the beach, the sun on his face.

  “Take care,” Alyssa said, spinning around.

  Desperation bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t let her leave. I had too many unanswered questions. “Alyssa,” I called after her.

  She whirled around.

  “I hate to ask you this, but I just have to know how it happened.” I bit down on my quivering lower lip. “My dad said it was cardiac arrest, but I’d been with him the night before, and he was fine. How does a healthy person die of cardiac arrest in their sleep? I don’t get it.”

  Pity splashed across her features. “Austin had a heart condition.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. “He never told me.”

  “He didn’t know. Well, not officially anyway.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Alyssa sighed. “About three years ago, Austin fainted during a basketball game. Mom took him to the doctor and they ran some tests. Everything came back normal. But my parents didn’t feel comfortable with him playing sports anymore. Mom said that Austin had confessed to the doctor that he sometimes felt like his heart was racing out of control. So, my parents pulled him from the basketball team.”

  My mind whirred, remembering our conversation about why Austin didn’t play basketball. Had he lied to me? “He told me it was because of grades.”

  “That’s not exactly a lie,” she explained. “Austin insisted he was healthy and begged our parents to let him play again. But his grades were poor, so my parents told him they weren’t letting him rejoin because of that.” She paused. “Apparently, Austin had something called Long QT Syndrome. Funny how my parents took him to the doctor several times over the past three years hoping for a diagnosis, but we never got one until he was…gone.”

  “So he didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “None of us did. Mom and Dad suspected something wasn’t right. I think even Austin did at the end. Mom noticed that the last few months he’d been more tired than usual and hadn’t been doing as much physical activity.”

  I thought back over this summer and how we spent most of the time lying on the beach or walking around town. It made me feel bad for pushing him to play soccer with me. I had assumed his lack of interest in sports had to do with wanting to make out with me. I’d never suspected it was because he was sick.

  “He and I always played sports together. If I had known, I wouldn’t have pushed him so much,” I said, guilt wrapping around my heart and squeezing hard.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over that. There was no way you could’ve known,” she assured me. “Besides, I don’t think Austin would’ve done anything differently. He was happiest when he was out playing sports and pushing himself physically.”

  A montage of images flipped through my mind, of all the activities Austin and I did together. And he was always smiling. Always happy.

  “My parents never understood that,” she continued, staring off wistfully. It was like she was talking to herself, as if this was nothing more than a therapy session. But that was okay with me. Her words were helping me put the pieces together. And if this is what she needed, it was the least I could do. “It was why they were so hard on him. I know it seems like they were mean, but really they were scared. Especially Mom. She didn’t want to lose him.”

  “But Austin said that his parents were hard on him because he didn’t meet their expectations.”

  “I think he felt that way, and maybe that was partly true. My parents are both teachers, and sometimes they treated us like we were their students. They expected a lot. But they definitely were harder on him after that first fainting spell. Not only that, but Mom watched him like a hawk and put crazy restrictions on everything he did.”

  Again, I recalled all we’d done together. “I rarely saw her when I was with him.”

  “Summers are like that for us. They’re our time to unwind, to escape. My parents are pretty chill in the summer.” Her lips clamped together as if she realized she was talking in the present tense. Her face reddened, tears shining in her eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have pried,” I said.

  Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. You had every right to know. Austin would’ve wanted you to.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I told her, mainly because I had no idea what else to say.

  “And I’m sorry for yours,” she said, her voice wavering.

  Stepping forward, I hugged her. I hadn’t planned on doing it, and I was as surprised as she was by the gesture. But it felt right. When her arms left her sides to wrap around my back, I knew she needed the hug as much as I did. We held each other for a few minutes before stepping back.

  It was then that things returned to awkward.

  “Thank you for bringing the gift,” I said, swinging my arms by my side.

  “Of course,” she said, backing away. “I’ll contact you about the memorial service.”

  “Sounds good,” I answered, and then felt stupid. Nothing sounded good right now. The only thing that would sound good would be to hear Austin’s voice again. At the mere thought, my heart pinched.

  I walked Alyssa to the door, and then we said a round of stilted goodbyes before she left. Once she was gone, I went back into the living room and sat on the couch in front of the gift bag she brought. Staring at it, I wondered when Austin had planned to give it to me. As my fingertips ran along the tissue paper, anger welled up inside of me at the fact that he hadn’t been able to give it to me. None of this made sense.

  Austin was the most amazing boy I’d ever known. Why did he have to die so young?

  Swallowing hard, I mulled over what Alyssa had told me. When my anger resurfaced, this time it was towards his doctors. The ones who had misdiagnosed him. If they hadn’t, we might be at the beach right now. Or playing soccer in the park. Or eating ice cream. Or…doing anything.

  I wouldn’t care what we were doing, as long as we were together.

  In my anger, I had torn off several pieces of the tissue paper. They were now wadded in my palm. Dropping them, they fluttered to the ground like butterflies with mangled wings. Reaching down, I scooped them up. Today was the first time Dad and Luca had left me alone. Prior to now they’d been watching over me as if they were waiting for me to explode or something. But we were pretty much out of food, so I insisted that they go to the store. Luca had offered to stay with me, but I told him to leave. Told him I wanted time to myself. He appeared conflicted, but in the end he left with Dad.

  Now I was glad they were gone. I wanted to open the gift by myself.

  Yanking out the rest of the tissue paper, I dipped my hand inside. Something sharp poked me, and I grabbed it with my fingers. It was the edge of a card. After pulling it out, I set it in my lap. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes when I took
in my name scrawled on the front in Austin’s handwriting.

  Running my fingertips along the raised letters, my heart burst open.

  “I miss you,” I whispered into the silent room. “I miss you so much.”

  For several minutes I stared down at the card, unsure if I was ready to read what was inside. If looking at the outside turned me into a blubbering mess, I could only imagine what would happen when I opened it.

  Ultimately, curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped my fingers inside the envelope. When I pulled the card out, it popped open and a stack of photographs rained down on the carpet. Some landed face up, and others face down. When my gaze spotted Austin’s smiling face, it was a like a dagger to my heart. Abandoning the card on the couch, I bent over and gathered up the pictures. Eyes burning, I scanned them. There was a picture of Austin as a little boy wearing a basketball uniform. I traced his face with my fingertips, finding it hard to pull in a full breath. Next was a team picture. I had dozens of these from all of my soccer years. Staring down at the names on the bottom of the picture, my gaze hovered over three of them - Daniel Morgan, Coach Morgan, and Austin Parsons. I found all three of them in the picture, sobs traveling up from my throat. Finally, I could picture the man Austin told me about that night at Serenity Point and the friend he’d had since childhood. Setting those pictures aside, I flipped to the next one. It was of him and his sister on the beach. When I glanced down at the date stamped on the photograph, I realized it was the summer before he met me. I bit my lip and moved on.

  It wasn’t a picture this time. It was an ad. One of Austin’s department store ads he modeled in. And he’d written something in the corner of it.

  Since you were so interested in my modeling days, here you go, summer girl.

  I almost laughed out loud. And I might have if I wasn’t too heartbroken. Laughing wasn’t something I’d been able to do since Austin passed. I hoped I would again one day, but I had no idea when that day would come.