That was somber. I wondered if that's how it was for everybody, or if he had lost the love and didn't realize it. "So what do you regret?" I knew I shouldn't ask that, but I was becoming a moth to the flame of sorrow.
He surprised me when he said, "I regret not loving you more." My mouth dropped open. I was waiting for the punch line, joke, or swear. But his eyes locked on mine and then looked away, as he added, "I've pretty much ignored you your whole life. I never meant to take you for granted."
It was too real for me, and it made me think of Mags again, and how I had treated her the whole time we were together. I had never given her the part of myself she wanted the most. My heart. And I had ignored her heart. I felt the tears rushing up to my eyes, from my choking throat. I nodded sympathetically and quickly left the room.
Before I hit the stairs, I could hear him cracking a beer.
Beer and ice cream. Whatever.
This was the world I wanted to escape. I had always known that. That much had not changed.
[ 100 + 17 ]
With all the breakup, fights, guilt, and death occupying my mind, I had forgotten the concert tickets that Ryan had bought for everyone on Bo's birthday.
I was sitting in my room doing homework when a text came in on my fancy new smart phone. I didn't normally get texts from anyone, so at first I thought it was some sort of spam-mail, like FaceBucket telling me it had a new service or something.
Then I saw it was a group message from Bo. My heart skipped a beat. It said, "I'm at the concert. Where is everyone?"
I replied, “Home. Totally forgot. Didn’t know anyone was going.”
Bo switched out of group mode, since no one else had replied, and texted me some photos of the concert. Six empty seats, front row center. Best in the house. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from Ryan. "I'm really bummed that no one else showed up,” she said. “But I guess I understand."
I replied. "I totally forgot about it. So many things have happened. Why didn't you say you were still going?"
Moments later, she answered, "Thought about it, but it felt weird. Decided to leave it up to fate. I'm having a beer. Have one with me?" She attached a picture of the beer she was drinking.
I laughed, and ran downstairs, grabbing a cold one from the fridge, dodging the 20 questions from my folks.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting on my bed, holding my phone in one hand and a beer in the other, drinking a beer with Bo, virtually. "Got one,” I said. "How's the show?"
"Just about to start. Going on stage."
She told me the first song they were doing. I replied, "Hold on. I don't know their songs by name. Let me YouTube it."
Moments later, she prodded, "Did you find it? Are you watching it?"
Multi-Tasking on my phone was new to me, so it took some fumbling, but I was able to get the song loaded. “Oh yeah,” I replied. "I like this song. I didn't know it by name, or the band, but I like it."
Moments later, she told me the name of the next song. "How about this one?"
"Give me a minute," I said. Waiting for the ads to buffer so I could skip them was brutal. I expected the new phone would come to a crashing dead halt before loading the song, and guessed that in the real world half the song was over before I could even start to watch. "Oh yeah. Cool," I told her. I knew this one too. “These guys are good. I didn't even realize these songs were all them. Am looking at their Playlist on YouTube right now."
"I wish you were here," she told me.
"If you had reminded me, I would have been there in a heartbeat. All you had to say was where and when, Bo. Where and When." I felt a part of my heart wake from its slumber. I had held my feelings in check when we were all a group because it was the right thing to do, and she had Ryan. And then my feelings went numb, and dark, and sore when Mags died. But there we were. Not even together, but somehow occupying the same experience across a span of space and time, and it felt so good and so right.
She told me the next song, and I queued it up and watched along, sharing some details of the video that she wouldn't be seeing on stage. We got to share those different elements of our experience, making it exciting and fresh for each of us.
After a while, she sounded guilty, "I don't mean to tie you up if you have something to do. I was just saying hi."
On one hand, I felt bad that everyone had bailed on her, but on the other hand, I was having one of the best times of my life. I had never done anything like that before, and it was incredible. We were sharing a moment without even being together. I was determined I was going to stay there with her until the end, or until our phone batteries ran out, which ever came first.
As the night went on and we consumed our beers, our typing suffered, but the party did not. I felt like I was right there beside her.
At one point, she enthusiastically asked, "Are you listening to this one? This is so our song!"
"Our song." I repeated that inside my own head. I had to see the video. I wondered if we really had a song now, or if she just meant it had something to do with the kind of virtual concert experience we were sharing. It took me too long to find it and load it, but I did. “The Writing’s On the Wall.”
The video was about the illusion of perception, that under-the-cover concept that spoke so deeply to me. The words, I think, were about breaking up, but somehow they represented exactly what Bo and I had gone through, with all the sadness and tragedy that had been keeping us apart. Tonight, we just needed to be happy. And that was the upbeat message. Live for the moment. Forget whatever else that may mean. And Bo and I needed a moment like that, where nothing else mattered. Despite everything, we wanted to live. We were hurt. We were broken. But we were determined to share this night, and pretend that all the pain was in the past.
She was right. This was our song.
By the time her battery had only four percent left, we knew we were going to get cut off, but she did get to tell me the name of the very last song at least.
Even though I knew she wasn't on the other end anymore, at least not on her phone, I was still with her, listening along, wishing I was at her side, with my arm around her.
Then I waited a few more minutes, just in case, but there were no more messages.
I counted my SMS folder. All in all, we had shared one hundred and seventeen moments.
The familiar seventeen. Plus a hundred. I wondered if that meant there was cause for hope. I desperately needed to be reminded that life could still go on, despite everything.
I wasn't sure I could let myself, but maybe it was a sign.
***
The next morning we did share a couple of happy texts, reminiscing about the experience, but then, as before, our conversation trailed off and we lost touch again for a while.
[ Stone Angel ]
It was a cold bleak December day, with a bit of blowing ice and rain; not the kind of day you normally associated with Georgia. It had been a strange winter, and a strange year leading up to it.
I couldn't stand to be cooped up in my bedroom any longer, and the thought of suffocating in the ashtray of the living room was even worse. The weather made me somber and that helped me decide it was a good day to visit Mags. I didn't have a lot of warm clothes, but I bundled the best I could, topping off t-shirts and a sweatshirt with a hoodie. I didn't have gloves, but I figured the pockets and sleeves would come in handy.
On the way there, I cranked up Jason Aldean’s “If she could see me now,” and sang along, hurt and nostalgic. I felt like I shouldn't show up empty handed, so I stopped at a 7-11 and picked up a few single flowers to put on her grave.
At the cemetery, trying to forget Robby’s radio-blaring statement at the funeral, I placed the flowers, distributing them equally between the grave and the headstone.
I talked to Mags as if she were there, hoping she was well, wondering if she could hear me, wondering if the afterlife was better to her than this life, and wondering if it even existed at all.
The number one
question that was usually on my mind was whether or not she could forgive me. I was living out a sentence of unresolved guilt, with no hope of pardon.
I wished that she could find some way to let me know, but I wasn't seeing any miracles manifest.
I was so absorbed in my own thoughts, and the chilly precipitation blowing against my hooded face, that I was startled when someone appeared beside me. At first, I thought it was Mags’ ghost; not for any logical reason, just because she seemed to appear out of nowhere.
But it may as well have been a ghost. It was Bo. I hadn't actually seen her in person since the funeral.
She dropped some flowers onto the grave, a handful of roses from a professional florist. They made my convenient store bunch look sad, but it was the thought that counted. I hoped. I wasn't all that familiar with florist shops, but I knew where to buy my lottery tickets and Red Bull. And I hoped Mags would appreciate that. I had a small nip of tequila in my pocket I was going to pour on her grave too. I took it out and unscrewed the cap, then gestured to Bo that I was going to dedicate it to Mags. I took a swig, then handed it her, wiping off the bottle top with my sleeve. Bo took a swig too, then handed it back to me. I poured the rest over her grave. Bo made a sign of the cross and seemed to say a little prayer. I hadn't thought of that. It seemed like a good idea, but I wasn't about to do it now. It would look like I was copying her. And I would be. Not that that mattered. But it did. Somehow. I made a mental note to do it the next time I was here.
"How are you doing?" she finally asked. Her voice sounded distant.
"Been better," I admitted. "You?" We didn’t talk about the concert. It didn’t feel right.
"I've been pretty bad. Went to a very dark place. There was no way I was prepared to handle something like this, after everything with my dad..." She didn't finish. She still hadn’t told me what happened with her Pa. I always wondered.
Since she seemed to withdraw, I gave her a moment and then asked, "You ever talk to anyone from the old gang? Chris came to see me once. He was pretty upset. I don't blame him. Then I fixed up my old junker and gave it to him. I think he appreciated it. I hope so."
"Yeah," she confirmed. "I've talked to Amane and Chris a couple times. He did. He loves your car and thought it was really nice of you. But I've needed my space, so I’ve …" She cast a meaningful glance my way, and added, "You should know I've needed space. How often have you heard from me?" There was that old hint of a smile. Fainter than before, but there.
"Not enough." My reply was honest.
Her lip curled sadly. She asked, "You talk to Robby?"
"Nope. We're done." I was bitter.
"That's too bad. You guys were so close."
"...is what it is." It seemed like an appropriate time to quote him.
She cleared her throat. There seemed so little to say, even though that had never been a problem in the past. She rubbed her hands and cleared her throat.
I noted, "It's cold. You want to get some coffee?"
"I do." Her eyes met mine. "But not today."
Nothing had changed. We were still a day behind our dreams.
I flashed a small grin, respectful of Mags' grave. "Some ice cream?" She and I had shared ice cream more than once.
She remembered and cracked her own smile. "I'll take a rain check."
"Unless I'm mistaken, it's raining." I tried to be charming.
"I'll call you," she said.
I joked, "I've heard that before too."
It was the wrong joke. It brought back too many bad memories. Like the night that Mags died, when Bo was trying to call me and my phone was on mute. Then Mags tried to call me. If I had picked up or called her back, would everything be different now? I would never know
We both became silent.
Bo replied, "I'll email you." Then emphasized. "I will. I promise." She made a tiny wave with her chilly fingers, then stuffed them back in her jacket pocket, and started to walk away.
I called to her. "Hey!" She stopped. I continued. "You come here often?"
She wasn't sure if I was making another joke or not, and her face twisted into a curious grin. "Not too often," she said. "It's too hard."
"Yeah. Me too," I agreed. "What are the odds we both showed up at the same time?"
She shook her head, not knowing the answer, then she walked away.
I hated watching her walk away, never knowing when I would see her again. It killed me. More than once.
I wished I had brought a bigger bottle of tequila.
I had enough heartache for more than one heart.
[ Unanswered Questions ]
The period of obligatory silence had begun to lift.
Chris had made the first move, breaking the silence when he came to confront me. I followed it up a week later by giving him my car. We shared another beer after he took me for his first drive, to christen it.
I felt bad letting it go after all those years of hard work, and finally finishing it, but somehow it felt right. It looked incredible and drove like a monster. It is hard to say something like “Mags would have approved,” but I honestly think she would have. And Chris, who was used to being the chronic after-thought in the group, really enjoyed the gesture. No one could appreciate the uniqueness of that car the way Chris did.
Then Bo and I had attended a virtual concert, the distance melting away, bringing back the fun and spontaneity of the old days. But it wasn’t enough to sustain us.
Meeting her randomly at the cemetery was a powerful coincidence. We had promised to keep in touch, and this time we kept our word. Bo and I started emailing, and then talking again too.
She wasn't with Ryan. That was over. The moments at the hospital between her and him were the result of sorrow, and people reaching out to the one's they could trust.
I told her about my lucky bounce with the website, and the relative small fortune I had scored. She was genuinely happy for me. She was also pleased that I was already thinking about my next startup. I had come a long way this past year, creating and selling a small business while continuing to pursue promotions in my real job, and looking forward to graduating college soon.
In our talks, I dwelled on Mag's death, and often admitted my own feelings of guilt. I had contributed to it through my negligence, I said. Bo was silent, neither adding nor subtracting from my theory.
Sometimes, I thought about going straight to the police with my suspicions about Robby. But what would I say?
Could I tell the cops I thought Robby might have been involved somehow? They would ask, was he driving? No. Was he anywhere near her when she died? No. Maybe they had had a fight. But people have arguments; that doesn’t mean murder. Was it his fault that she drank too much, took drugs, and lost control of her car? Not directly. Maybe not at all. She did it all the time. I had been in the car with her more than once when she was driving too fast and took her eyes off the road for a second, nearly getting us in a crash.
There was nothing I could bring to the police except a nagging fear that Robby had done something and been the catalyst.
She ran away. She tried to reach me. Crying, she died. Possibly while trying to reach me – that part really killed me. Driving too fast, under the influence, using her phone.
No cellphones while driving, kids.
I guess I will always hate phones. Even smart ones. Whoever said life is fair, never lived.
I considered telling my theory about Robby to Bo or Amane, but I didn't want to start a witch hunt. I had no facts, so I kept it to myself. And let it eat me up inside. It did. Like a cancer of the soul.
I thought about confronting Robby, but what could I say? If Mags hadn't died, he might have boasted about what he had done. But if she hadn't died, she could have told me herself.
If she would.
Now, he would never say a word. It was a stalemate.
***
It didn't occur to me for a very long time that maybe the reason Robby had pulled away was because he knew about the fight
Mags and I had had. He knew how I had been trying to get together with Bo. And maybe he knew that Mags loved me. In fact, maybe she told Robby everything that night, and he hated and blamed me for her death.
He knew that she had called me that night, while I was having dinner. I had shut her out and silenced my phone. Maybe that was the last straw for Mags, and Robby knew that.
Yet, her posthumous letter had had a voice of reconciliation and hope. That was one of the pieces that never fit.
But how much emotional pain had she been in that she needed to write that letter at all? Maybe she shared that pain with Robby.
And maybe he was in love with her himself. I always knew he lusted her body, but maybe it was deeper than that. He had his almost-deep moments. And maybe that was why he pulled the stunt at her funeral with the blaring music, the lyrics of the song implying that love had killed her. He had been the last person to see her alive, and he knew how her world had been crushed by one single person. Me.
That was the theory that haunted me most. It all came back to me. My carelessness and negligence had killed her. And I could never stop blaming myself for her death.
But was it me? Was it Robby? An Act of God? A Phantom Stranger?
I did not know. I could not judge. And therefore, I stayed away from Robby and silently condemned. I would never know the truth.
[ A Confession ]
Months passed as February snoozed onto our calendars through the tail end of a moderately cold and inclement winter.
Robby’s birthday passed in early February and I didn’t bother to call or send a card. I sure as hell didn’t go over to see him. First time ever.
Mags’ birthday had been just a couple days before Robby. That date escaped with nothing more than silence, introspection, a heavy dose of guilt, another visit to the cemetery, and several heartfelt prayers.
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