Fall Out Girl

by L. Duarte

  I gathered the little strength I had left and walked to my car. I retrieved the spare key I kept on the visor and drove away without looking back.

  An overwhelming and soul-writhing loneliness squeezed my heart.

  No money, no house, no Jake, no Caleb.

  I was a broken compass with a dislodged needle, and if someone shook me, he would be able to hear the rattling of the scattered pieces.

  I drove to Gold Sand Park. I climbed out of the car and sat on the ground, grabbing a handful of sand and watched as it slid between my fingers. The sun had risen from behind the water. Hues of pink and pearl shell clouds smudged the deep blue sky. It was perfect, breathtaking even, so beautifully at odds with the storm roaring inside my chest.

  I stayed at the beach until the sun was high in the sky and millions of glittering spikes reflected the water in a blinding beauty. I didn’t want to leave, but my butt was numb, and the feeble sun had failed to warm my body. I got in the car and drove away. I needed to take care of Jake. One last time.

  At the police station, a detective with purplish shadows under his eyes introduced himself as O’Brien. He pulled me into the privacy of a room to restate the information that I refused to accept.

  He sat behind a desk and motioned to a seat facing him. I sank into a chair, obedient and defeated.

  “I’m sorry, let me find the file. It’s been a hectic morning.” He flipped through papers. “Yes. Here. Sorry.”

  I wondered why he was apologizing. Was it the deaths, the disorder of his table, his awfully tired appearance?

  “We’ve confirmed the identity of the bodies found at the scene last night.” He avoided eye contact.

  “I know, I just… I just need it to hear it from you, I guess,” I said.

  Although I was surprised how quickly it had all happened, I didn’t mention it. In movies, the process was much longer and complicated. His disheveled hair, the coffee stain on his button-down shirt, indicated he had been working diligently.

  “It was a priority to the department. Mrs. Cahan didn’t want to prolong your wait.”

  Oh, the perks of knowing influential people, I mused bitterly.

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the female body was identified as Lace McCoy. The male body was identified as Jacob McCoy.” Though his face was sympathetic, his tone was clinical and matter-of-fact.

  With effort, I opened my mouth, moved my lips, and produced a horsey voice. “Can I see Jake?” My stomach churned with a dreadful anticipation, and my breath came in little puffs of air.

  “No, the bodies are beyond recognition.”

  I perked up on a chair. “So how do you know it was Jake?” A glimmer of hope flickered through me. It was a silly thought, but people made mistakes every day, right?

  “In this case,” he said and pulled the collar of his shirt. “Fingerprints were not a viable option, but we found the probation bracelet on his ankle. It had mostly melted away, but forensics matched the serial number to the one issued to Jacob McCoy.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  Oh, that settled it. I deflated into the chair. “What caused the fire?”

  “Apparently, the fire started in the oven. That’s the only information I have thus far. We haven’t ruled out a criminal fire. We need more time for conclusive facts,” he said apologetically.

  “Where were they?”

  “Lace McCoy was in the living room, Jacob McCoy in a bedroom.”

  I thought about Aunt Lace’s crack and heroin experiments. I could bet one of my kidneys that was what originated the fire.

  “Where are they now?”

  “Morgue.”

  The word seeped through my mind like a drop of acid. I sat still, tongue-tied. No, it felt like my lips had been stitched together, turning speech into a terrible, painful task.

  After a moment of silence, I noticed how uncomfortable the officer was. So I decided to put him out of his misery, and I asked, “Who, um, I mean, how do I go about arranging a funeral?” Certainly he could give me the number of social services where someone would help me. I was clueless on how to handle those things.

  “Mrs. Cahan took care of everything. She stopped by this morning. She had hoped you were here. She and her son are worried about you, you know?”

  I nodded. “Thank you for your help.”

  In a haze, I strolled out of the building and under the sun. It shone too brightly, almost as if taunting me. I always associated bright days with happiness. It was utterly offensive that the sun wouldn’t join in on my grief, mourn my pain, cloak itself with gray, gloomy clouds. I felt betrayed by the sun.

  I staggered to the car, the gravel crunching under my boots. My stomach felt queasy and my mouth dry. I had a horrible wheeling sensation as if I were trying to walk a straight line on a spinning carousel.

  I stopped in front of my beat-up Mustang, the only place I could go. Then what, drive where? The interior of the car smelled of cigarettes. When I glanced at the passenger seat, I pictured Jake’s slow and easy smile, full of sadness and love. I gripped the steering wheel and pressed my forehead to it. Jake had a sorrowful and soulful expression that made him look years beyond his actual age. I was going to miss his smile.

  I drove to the willow tree. I had no money to buy bird food, but I could grace them with my dreary company.

  When I finally reached the tree, my legs were trembling, weak. I sat against the trunk, my back pressed against the bark, watching the wind whisper through the leaves. The birdfeeders were empty, but a few birds ventured to them in the vain hope of finding food.

  I thought of Jake, I thought of Dad. I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

  I heard the crackling of a twig breaking under someone’s steps. Not long before, flight or fight would flare up like firecrackers on Fourth of July. But that day my body remained inert. My lids closed.

  “I thought you might be here.” It was Caleb’s voice.

  He sat beside me. “I’ve been driving around, looking for you. I drove past the entrance to this place a thousand times. Finally, I saw your car,” he said in a soft voice.

  I remained still, my eyes closed.

  “I went back to the police station and Detective O’Brien said you had stopped by. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  A deep sigh escaped my lips. I dreaded the comfort his concerned words released in me. He had no right to act this way.

  I felt his fingers wrapping around my cold hand. “Please, Luna, say something. Yell, call me names, say one of your witty snarly comebacks, but please talk to me.”

  I felt a nudge inside my chest, it was the monstrous pain lodged inside me. It was so real it felt as though it were part of my flesh, like a tumor feeding off my sorrow and pain. It throbbed and ached. Its size was increasing, sieging my heart and lungs. It was becoming me.

  “Please, love. Say something,” Caleb whispered, causing my undo.

  A loud, dry sob choked its way out of my throat. Caleb pulled me into his lap. I crawled into a tight ball, vulnerable and small. I wept, trying to dislodge the growing grief in my chest. Purge it out of me, out of my soul.

  Tears fell, wetting my face with sorrow.

  “There. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

  Time passed. The traitorous sun went away and the night grew colder. But we remained under the willow tree where I had thought I had once discovered paradise.

  We all have our way of describing facts and deviating from the pure truth. In all honesty, I don’t have a good recollection of the day I buried Jake. A few things stand out in my memory. The debt I acquired to Ana—she had taken care of all of the arrangements. She even paid for everything.

  Also, I remember Caleb’s warmth and unwavering strength. His hands were always attentive to my every movement. Not a breath left my lungs without him noticing it. If I were in the business of self-deception, I would have confused his diligent attention for love. But I knew better.

  Also, I vaguely remember Andrew (wit
h a bruised eye and a banged-up nose), trying to talk to me but reproached by Caleb. The rest is all a blur, which I’m weirdly grateful for.

  Not many people attended the funeral. Besides Aunt Lace’s best friend, Marjorie, I remember seeing Brandon, Maggie, and Vanessa.

  When the ordeal ended, and the bodies were laid to rest, everybody but Caleb and I left.

  I looked at Caleb and whispered, “I want to be alone.”

  Hesitantly, he agreed. “Sure. I’ll be in the car.” He hadn’t left my side for a moment. He must have thought I was suicidal or something.

  My heart felt heavy in my chest. “Oh Jake, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. If I could turn back time and switch places, I would. You deserved a chance to experience love and happiness. Maybe it wasn’t intended for us, Jake, but there is happiness out there. We just had to find it. I experienced it once with Dad. It does exist. But you will never find out, will you? Life dealt you a bad hand.

  “We were so close to heading out in the pursuit of happiness. Oh Jake, so close. What do I do now, huh? I’m so lost, Jake. So lonely.” I stood next to the freshly stirred dirt. It was mortifying to think of Jake all alone in this place.

  “Goodbye, Jake. If I ever find that thing called happiness, I’ll come back to tell you all about it, all right. I love you, Jake.”

  I walked away without looking back, the heels of my shoes sinking into the grass. I looked unrecognizable in a black wool suit, courtesy of Ana.

  Caleb leaned against the side of his car. His arms were crossed over his chest. He wore a black suit and moussed hair. His face held a longing expression that I couldn’t quite decipher.

  I paused briefly, drinking in the sight of him, imprinting every detail of his face in my memory. I had no false hopes of having him back. In fact, I blocked any thoughts or emotions that might lead me to beg him to come back to me.

  My heart would move on. Eventually. Or not. It didn’t matter. Certainly I wasn’t the badass I had claimed to be, but I had a minuscule amount of dignity left. It prevented me from begging.

  Caleb sensed my stare and looked at me. We gazed at each other for what could have been seconds or minutes.

  Wishful thinking might make one delirious because I swear I saw the old Caleb, (the one I thought adored me) again. He held out his hand for me. Out of civility, I accepted. I had avoided his touch like the plague; my skin reacted strangely every time his fingers touched me. I wanted to be immune to him, but I wasn’t, not even in my grief.

  “I have to warn you; Mom bought a cake.” He broke eye contact to look at our entwined hands swinging like a pendulum between us.

  “How did she know it was my birthday?”

  “I kind of told her,” he said with a sheepish smile.

  “You traitor.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “No, you’re right, I don’t. You can’t let your eighteenth birthday go unnoticed. It only happens once.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So how does it feel to be an adult?”

  “Um, the same.”

  “C’mon, give me something to look forward to.”

  “Caleb, um, thanks, for, um, everything.”

  He caressed my face with tenderness and something else I refused to acknowledge. “Anytime, love.”

  I resented that he called me that. It didn’t jive with our current relationship. The word had the same effect of someone poking a wound that refused to heal.

  He guided me to the passenger’s side.

  I sank into the seat, inhaling for the last time the mixture of Caleb and the smell of leather.

  We rode in silence. My hands itched with the desire to touch him one last time. But I wrung my hands and stared out the window. The best way to rip off a Band-Aid was fast.

  Caleb parked outside the garage, opened my door and asked, “Ready for cake, balloons, and hugs?”

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, there is a place I need to go. I won’t be long.”

  “Sure, why didn’t you say? Get back in, I’ll drive you.”

  “Um, this is something I have to do alone.” I studied his face one last time. My hand, without a command, raised and slid across his face in a long caress.

  “Caleb, I’m not suicidal. No worries.”

  “Oh, I know. I just don’t want to be apart from you.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  I got in my car and drove into the lonely sunset. No destination, no plans, no looking back, just the road stretching in front of me.

  I HEADED SOUTH. Going across country until I reached the Pacific seemed like a reasonable goal. Except I didn’t have enough money for that. I decided to pay Mr. Bakosi a visit.

  So I bought a map, and I drove.

  I made a stop at a rest area. I gathered the clothes I had put into the trunk without Caleb seeing. I washed in the sink of the restroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a simple top Ana had given me. Then, I slept for a few hours. The few hundred dollars I had cashed out from the last week I had worked was strictly for meals and gas. At least until I reached Virginia, where I would meet with my father’s will executor. I had hoped to have access to some of the college fund my father had told me he would leave me.

  Mr. Bakosi, my father’s will’s executor, wasn’t surprised when I rolled in his office, unannounced.

  “I was expecting to hear from you,” he simply said, motioning for me to the seat in his modest office.

  He had a stern set of eyes that perused me with curiosity and surprise. Then, he proceeded to update me on my father’s final will. “For someone not wealthy, your father managed to leave you a hefty sum that will pay your way through school. I highly disagreed with his estate plan, which was the surrendering of the total sum without restrictions at the time of your eighteenth birthday, but he was adamant that he trusted you.” He laughed mirthlessly. “As if one can trust a teenager.” He shrugged and continued to relate my father’s will. He showed me a list of the expenses of the funeral, taxes, selling of the house—along with my assets, which totaled over two hundred thousand in trusts and funds.

  After he had finished the explanation, I asked if he would agree to continue to assist me in managing the inheritance. To my relief, he agreed promptly.

  Since I had been awarded a scholarship that covered most of the tuition, he was going to send me a monthly amount sufficient for all my expenses. Surprisingly, it was more than I had expected.

  He took me to the bank to open an account and transfer the funds. Finally, he handed me a brown envelope. “Your father asked me to give you this once you turned eighteen.”

  We shook hands, he wished me good luck, and we parted ways.

  I checked into a motel. Money was no longer an issue, and I was in a dire need of a shower. It was funny (not really, it was tragic), but I wondered how much life and I were similar. We were both bipolar. My life, like myself, went from the most tragic events to the most miracle-like of things. One minute I lose everything, and the next I gain a new chance.

  I opened the stifled room and set the AC on high, the weather being unseasonably hot. After some rest, I would go to the mechanic Mr. Bakosi had recommended. My Mustang wouldn’t survive this journey without some TLC.

  I showered, changed into clean clothes, and sat on the bed. My fingers ripped the brown envelope open, and I pulled out a DVD. These were the final words Dad had left me. In a way, at the end of that footage, it would be like losing him all over again.

  I slid the disc inside the DVD player and held my breath. Tears blurred my vision and a weight lodged in my chest. I willed the tears away and inhaled a deep breath. An image of my childhood room appeared. I bit my lip and braced myself. A deep and familiar voice flowed out of the device and transported me to the past.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” Dad said, focusing the camera on his face and waving a happy hand at me. He turned the camera toward my bed. There I was snuggled under a cover with purple and red tulip
s, and Laska curled on my feet.

  Dad moved in the room and focused the camera on his face. “First, happy birthday.” His face beamed with a broad smile. “Look at you, all grown up and so mature at the tender age of eighteen. Oh, sweetheart, I hope you’re having the time of your life. We’re only young once.”

  He pointed the camera back at a sleeping me. From the point of view, I knew he was sitting on my gigantic beanbag. Laska left my bed and with a wiggling tail, pranced toward Dad.

  “I wanted to show you my favorite thing in the world. You. Did you know I watch you sleep almost every night? I do, corny and cheesy, I know. But looking at you is soothing, invigorating.” He turned the lens back to his face. His voice was jovial, casual, and a small smile danced on his lips, but I noticed the worry clouding his eyes.

  He ran his hand over his face and continued. “Oh, I have so many unanswered questions, but based on what I know of you, I’ll take the liberty of assuming certain things, for example, your career choice. I do believe you’re on your way to Vet School. The animal kingdom will be very lucky to have you as a doctor.”

  He continued to speak with candor. He spoke of his fears, and his dreams, of his hopes, and his plans. He spoke so much, yet not enough. And I dreaded the end of the prelude from the present.

  “I wonder if you have given away your heart or are holding out for someone special. If you did, I would hope the fortunate boy is worthy of such a treasure. I would hate to have to haunt some stranger for breaking your heart.

  “Anyway, how are you? Did you go to prom? Were you part of the Science Club? Did you get your license yet? Are you a volunteer? Are you still taking karate? Are you still passionate about the Yankees? Please say yah for this one, I couldn’t cope with you not liking my good old team. Did you continue to play softball? How many friends do you have? Are they nice? Are they into drugs? Is life treating you good, my darling?

  “I know I’m babbling and no matter how much I ask, I’ll never be able to ask all the questions reeling through my mind as I ponder on the next years of your life. It is my hope that wherever I go, I have access to you.