Life After (Book 2): The Void

by Bryan Way

  Since Anderson will ultimately confirm that Tracy won’t be coming back, I volunteer to mop up the mess in the bathroom. As he works her legs, I inform Karen of the situation and discover that she was helping Jimmy take a shower while Elena napped, so both of the kids managed to be undisturbed by the shot. When I tell Ally, she chews me out for my piss-poor psychological tactics and intimates that Tracy would not have killed herself if she had spoken to her. I restrain the urge to deconstruct her logic by pointing out that Tracy was dead no matter what and that there is no such thing as a cure for whatever happens after we die.

  Karen goes through Tracy’s personal effects in an attempt to offer an explanation that Ally will interpret, but the entire exercise strikes me as futile. Once it’s time for Anderson and Jake to do the deed, I get the mop and yellow Continental bucket from the janitor’s closet. The job is fairly easy, given Tracy’s proximity to the drain. I spend a long time staring into it after I’ve finished, the swimming pressure in my head intensifying after about ten minutes. In spite of the solemnity, I get a brief comical charge from my decision to set up a ‘wet floor’ sign.

  When I’ve returned the cleaning items to the closet and washed them out, I return to my room and attempt to calm myself by playing my keyboard. As I have many times in the past, I reach a point of desperation where I question my desire to do anything other than lie down and die. Jimmy’s mother realized her son’s vulnerability and essentially tricked us into taking him. This episode validates my assertion that we shouldn’t advertise to outsiders, but it was my decision to invite her.

  Unable to continue thinking about this without deteriorating, I repair to the cafeteria for a long awaited first meal of the day, carefully avoiding Ally as she dines with Karen. I don’t bother to ascertain the time, but I can tell by the light that it must be late evening. Aside from the windows facing the back parking lot and those facing the courtyard, the cafeteria is the only place in the school where we experience natural daylight.

  Once I’ve finished eating, I make myself another big white Russian and head up to my room, realizing about halfway through my trek that Karen is following me and trying not to be noticed. I get inside and sit down in my computer chair. “What’s up?” I ask without facing the doorway, a churlish attempt to reveal her blatancy. Karen sighs from the hallway, walks in, and leans against the countertop. “Where are the kids?” I ask. She looks down, rolling her tongue around her bottom teeth.

  “They’re with Colin.” She starts, stone-faced. “You know, I didn’t sign up to be den mother.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want you thinkin’ of me as the one who takes care of us. Especially the kids.”

  Somehow, it feels like I’m seeing beyond this conversation, almost as though it was scripted, and I can’t stifle the urge to adlib.

  “…uh… I get what you’re saying… but is there a reason we’re having this conversation…?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “…are you telling me I shouldn’t have let them in?”

  “Of course not… what I’m sayin’ is… Colin has a responsibility to Elena… who’s gonna take responsibility for Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “That’s my point.” Karen states.

  “I don’t… I’m not sure what you want me to say…”

  “I want some fuckin’ help!”

  This may be the first time Karen’s raised her voice to me. She clearly regrets it.

  “Look, I’m on call 24/7… if I’m not testin’ the water, preppin’ food, takin’ care of Rob… I’m watchin’ the kids… I can’t do it on my own.”

  “Karen… one of the reasons I don’t involve myself in that… is because I’m 19. That’s not an excuse… I literally have no idea what to do with them…”

  “You think I do?”

  “You’re a nurse, you told me you dealt with kids all the time…”

  “Yeah, in a hospital, with a dozen other nurses each shift…”

  “What about Ally?”

  “Jeff…” Karen does everything she can to restrain her anger. “Is there some reason you think the women should take care of the kids?”

  “…what? Ally’s a fucking psychiatrist, and we haven’t given her any other responsibilities… isn’t she sort of… uniquely qualified?”

  “Okay, fine… what I’m sayin’ is everyone is gonna have to take an active role in raisin’ ‘em… we’re gonna have to tell him what happened to his mom… they’re gonna ask what’s outside, and we can’t lie… we’re gonna have to stop ‘em from gettin’ out when they get curious…”

  “Okay… I agree… but what good comes from telling Jimmy his mom shot herself?”

  Karen reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded swatch of notebook paper, motioning it toward me. “It was in her purse.” I hesitate before taking and unfolding it. The paper still has eraser dust clinging to the many corrections.

  Jimmy,

  Mommy’s going away again, and this time, I’m not coming back. I’m so sorry it had to be this way, but mommy was sick and didn’t want to get you sick. I know I told you we’d see daddy again, but the truth is, daddy was sick too, and he didn’t want me to tell you. I just want you to know that you’re not sick, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re going to live with new people now, and they’re going to take care of you, so listen to them and do what they say. Every day with you was a gift, Jimmy, and I don’t want you to forget that. Don’t worry about me or daddy because God will take care of us. Just know that we both love you more than anything and we want you to be happy.

  Mom

  “Okay…” I start. “Why’d you show me that?”

  “It isn’t gonna take more’n a few hours for him to start askin’ what happened … what are we gonna say?”

  “Same thing we told Elena.”

  “That’s different… that’s her brother tellin’ her… he’s gotta hear it from a bunch of strangers.”

  “Do you think I have an answer? Because I don’t.”

  “Neither do I. So we’re gonna have to figure it out. Together.”

  I rub my eyes.

  “Okay… do you mind asking Ally if she has any ideas?”

  “…is there some reason you won’t?” Karen replies.

  “She’s pissed at me.”

  “And you can’t get past it?”

  “Karen, I just watched someone bleed to death after eating a bullet… if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a drink alone and try to remember a time in my life when that wasn’t the status quo.”

  “And alcohol’s the only way you can do that?”

  “Who are you, my fucking mother?!”

  “…no… I guess I’m not.”

  I regret saying that, but offer nothing to rectify the situation as Karen walks through the door. Feeling completely frustrated with everyone else in the group, I furiously bang away at my keyboard for a few hours. I eventually make my way to the cafeteria for another drink and help myself to some junk food. After I’ve returned to my room and finished my meal, Anderson comes by with his guitar and the two of us record a brief jam session, a choice that seems useless to me.

  Anderson leaves after mumbling something about moving in with Helen, and I again find myself alone. What a shitty day. How much better would things have been if Tracy never showed up, or we never invited her inside? Since I’ve had my fill of the keyboard for the evening, I find solace by listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I continue slowly enjoying my drink as I walk around the piles of paper to change into my sleeping clothes, then return to the computer and play solitaire.

  When I reach Concerto No. 2 in G minor, primarily known as Summer, I reflect on that season in 2003. The space between senior projects and graduation, as well as the delay before the beginning of college, afforded me the longest summer of my life. For the first time, I was awarded with a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that I could truly let my mind separate from school. My required
education was over, and it was time to embrace the possibilities of my future without concerning myself over the work necessary to achieve them. I didn’t take a job, and by the time of my senior prom, Julia and I were officially an item; the picture on my computer tower was our first as a couple.

  I’ll never forget the sublime feeling of driving with my windows down through the warm greens and yellows of the foliage, breathing in the clean air as the sun danced across every surface. The brisk scents accompanying my repose next to a chlorine pool as I watched the iridescent blue glow of surging water. Sleeping late every day and waking up without the fear of some impending deadline or responsibility. Spending every other day in the arms of my love or with my friends, entertaining ourselves by breaking into abandoned buildings or taking long walks at night.

  Before long, the alcohol overtakes me, so I decide to end another long, depressing day by carrying the bittersweet taste of these reminisces into my dreams.

  12-23-04, THURSDAY

  I wake up at 11:30, eat breakfast, masturbate, shower, get dressed, and futz with my computer until 3:15, at which point I bundle up for a trip to the roof. A half hour of walking shows nothing of importance in each of the cardinal directions, and I realize that I still don’t feel right. I’m starting to become concerned that whatever I did two days ago is just going to stay with me forever.

  When I return to my room, I find a note on the door from Ally asking me to come see her. As before, I find her in the tech lab, apparently still working on her thesis. “You wanted to see me?” She smiles as she continues typing. “Hey Jeff… have a seat.” She keeps typing as I sit awkwardly, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. Finally, she reaches a stopping point.

  “We’re going to have a talk with Jimmy and Elena.”

  “Together or separate?”

  “Separate. The important thing is that both of them need a sense of safety, continuity, and caring… that’s going to be a lot harder for Jimmy. I know you don’t feel a particularly strong connection to either of them…”

  Damn you, Karen.

  “…but it’s important for you to interact.” Ally continues. “Don’t be afraid to hug them. If they want to tell you something, listen. If they have a question, answer honestly. We don’t want to give them a reason to distrust us.”

  “Okay… do we tell them Santa isn’t real either?”

  “…what?”

  “Don’t parents lie to their kids about Santa? The tooth fairy? If you were a kid… and you lost a parent this close to the holidays… wouldn’t you ask Santa to bring them back?”

  “Did you ever have an imaginary friend as a kid?”

  “Yeah, I guess I did…” I admit.

  “Well, Santa’s a lot like that. I think it’s just as important for a child to figure that out on their own as to believe in him in the first place.”

  “Fair enough… and what do we tell them about Zombies?”

  “The truth.”

  “…you want me to tell Jimmy his mom killed herself…?”

  “No… it’s… do you curse in front of your parents?”

  “…what?” I ask.

  “Do you use foul language when talking with your mom and dad?”

  “…no?”

  “It’s the same sort of thing… there’s no need to be graphic… and you absolutely do not want to enforce the idea that their parents ‘left’ them.”

  “But Tracy’s note…”

  “She’s not a psychologist.” Ally says bluntly. “If you go down that path, you let them believe that their parents had a choice in the matter, and that’s a dangerous game. They’re liable to believe they did something wrong and that by correcting certain behaviors they can bring them back.”

  “That’s ironic.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “Jeff… you were a child once… do you remember how you thought of your world?”

  “…that’s an oblique question… can you just get to the point?”

  “…children don’t concern themselves with the world around them… it’s a safe place. They wake up with breakfast ready, go to school, eat again, come home, do homework, eat more, get put in bed, and repeat the cycle… parents are responsible for maintaining that cycle, ergo, when you take away a child’s parents, the illusion that the world is a safe place disappears. They may become focused on their own mortality, or shut themselves off completely. We have to keep them talking, and reassure them… this isn’t easy for anyone… we’re all dealing with loss… but if we handle this properly, they can have a better transition than us.”

  I think I retained about four words of that. “Okay…” I mutter. I get the sense Ally detected that I wasn’t listening.

  “Karen and I will come up with the language to break it to them gently but firmly.”

  “Alright… and I just back your play.”

  “…yeah. Jeff… how do you feel about this?”

  “About what?”

  “You know… telling them the truth.”

  “They’ve gotta figure it out sooner or later. I mean… we can’t say things’ll get better. It’s not like we can move on. I mean… is that something you want me to tell them?”

  Ally nods, producing a thoughtful yet neutral hum. She clicks the mouse a few times, and when I get the sense that she’s done with me, I stand up.

  “Oh, Jeff…” She starts. “Think we can have lunch together?”

  “It’s… 4:20… and you want to have lunch?”

  “Or dinner, whatever you’d call it.”

  “When?”

  “Say, 5:00ish?”

  “…yeah, okay.”

  I again get the sense that she’s done, and this time she lets me leave. What a bizarre conversation. Ally has never asked me to have a meal with her, since most of us generally eat only when we’re hungry. I suppose regimenting meal times will go a long way toward preserving our food caches, though, so I’ll meet her and bring that up. With a half hour to spare, I use the bathroom and return to my room to continue on my keyboard. At one point I think I hear someone knocking on my door, but I choose to ignore them; if it were important, they’d let themselves in. At 5:05, I stop and head down to the cafeteria.

  I enter the back way to check out the food supplies first, discovering that we still haven’t finished our recently expired pre-packaged lunch cache, so I take a box out into the cafeteria to find almost everyone seated at one table. Elena, Jimmy, Rob, and Mursak are the only ones absent, and as soon as I enter, everyone gets quiet and avoids looking at me. I don’t like the look of this. “Jeff, have a seat.” Ally says impartially. I drop the box on the table and sit down one seat away from Anderson while Helen sizes me up. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to avoid pussyfooting.

  “Jeff, we need to have a talk.” Ally says, trying and failing to sound non-confrontational.

  “About what?”

  “Well… about you.”

  I don’t merely dislike this. I’m going to hate it.

  “…okay…”

  “I was… a bit… distressed… about our conversation earlier.” Ally continues.

  “Look… if you want to bluff, sell it at another table…” I start, taking a bite out of some crackers. “Play the board.”

  “Are you aware of the Kübler-Ross grief model?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Describe it.”

  “There are five stages of grief following loss…” I sigh. “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.”

  “Where do you think you are?” Ally asks.

  “With what? Jules?”

  “With everything.”

  “Acceptance. I get it, you know… it’s a new world and we have to deal with it. Are we done?”

  Ally sighs.

  “You admit that… but do you accept it?”

  “Of course.” I reply.

  “Tell me about that.”

  “You mean… tell everyone ab
out that? Is this an intervention?” I’m met with silence. “Look, guys, I get it…”

  “No you don’t.” Rich offers firmly.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “You tell me!”

  “You’re angry.” Ally says.

  “What, about this? You invite me to eat with you and ambush me with this psych bullshit…”

  “I just want you to answer a question.” Ally interrupts, taking an irritatingly long pause. “When was the last time you felt better?”

  “Than what?”

  “About anything.”

  “I dunno… what kind of stupid question is that? When did I feel better about Julia dying… about never seeing my parents again? About us… running out of food… about the fact that there are fucking Zombies? When are you supposed to feel better about any of that…?” They all stay quiet. “Oh, I see… I’m supposed to just get over it. Find me one person in this group who’s fine with it. You do that, and I’ll show you someone who’s lost their goddamn mind.”

  “It’s not about bein’ fine with it…” Karen interjects. “It’s about acceptin’ it.”

  “…does that word even mean anything anymore?”

  “Dude…” Anderson adds. “You’re angry.”

  “What makes you think you need to tell me that!? I accept it, okay? How are the rest of you not angry?”

  “At what?” Rich asks.