I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy and why I’d felt so strongly that I knew him. Every time I made my way across campus to classes and while sitting in the dining hall, my eyes roamed, constantly looking for him. As I walked the halls of our dorm, I would glance into open doors, hoping to find him sitting at a desk inside one of the rooms or splayed out on a bed. Something, anything, that would explain why I thought I knew him. He consumed every waking thought for nearly a week.
Then I got The Call and totally forgot about him and pretty much everything else in the world.
CHAPTER 8
“Jacey, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Trudy, Pops’ neighbor, said on the other end of the line, “but your grandfather has left this world for the next one.”
Why do people say such stupid things when someone dies? “Moved on.” “Passed on.” “Gone on to the next life.” They’re dead. End of story. They didn’t go anywhere except six feet under.
That’s what I thought about when Trudy dropped the bomb on me. The stupid phrases had irritated me as a little girl when my parents died, and now they abraded me like a cheese grater, shredding me into ribbons. And the reality of her words, no matter how nice she tried to make them, pushed me to the dorm-room floor and folded my body into a tight ball, wrapping itself around my heart and shielding it from the pain. And my brain—it refused to process her meaning. It only wanted to focus on the stupidity of hope for another life after this one.
Because to understand the true meaning behind her words—my grandfather was dead, gone, only a memory now—meant also understanding how completely alone I was. Pops had been the only family I had left. Now I had no one. Nineteen years old and no blood ties to this world. How does someone cope with that?
I didn’t. Bex found me crumpled on the throw rug next to her bed, a heaving, snotty mess. She enveloped me in her arms and rocked me back and forth. I centered on the pain of her metal-studded bracelet piercing into my shoulder, trying to ignore the agony of my heart breaking. She’d left our door open, as we and everyone else did when we weren’t naked or cramming for a test, and girls from our hall came and went, expressing their condolences. Some even stayed, sitting on Bex’s bed or crawling to my top bunk, or leaning against our desks and dressers, trying to come up with something to say to make me feel better. But it was all awkward shit, stupid words everyone says because we don’t know what else to say because, dammit, there just aren’t the right words to express ourselves when someone dies. Our brains and mouths aren’t equipped with the right tools to communicate what our hearts feel.
I wanted to yell at them, scream at the top of my lungs to shut the hell up, to get out of my room, to go to hell. To tell them that unless they’d lost their parents, and their Pops, the one person who had served as their parent and best friend for the last eleven years, the closest person in the world to them, then they had no effin’ idea what I was going through. I had no idea what I was going through yet, the only reason I managed to keep my mouth shut and tune them out.
Eventually our room emptied. Eventually my face dried and I could breathe without a hitch. Eventually the realization that I had to go home hit me. Needing something to do, needing to move, to not dwell, I began to pack.
“Take only what you need right now,” Bex said as she helped me. “The rest will be here when you get back.”
I nodded, trying not to break down again. “What am I going to do about school?”
She patted my hand, the motherly instincts I never knew she had kicking in. “No worries. I’ll take notes for you and tell your professors you’ll be gone a while, okay?”
I nodded again even as tears burnt the backs of my eyes. Pretending I would return in a few days or a week was just that—pretending. I wouldn’t return. Not this semester anyway. Somewhere in the recess of my mind, I knew I had things to do at home. Business to take care of. Pops had a house, belongings, things to be dealt with. But acknowledging this meant admitting to the terrible truth that I was the only one who could take care of the estate. That I was Pops’ only living relative and he’d been mine. And I still wasn’t ready to go there.
“You wanna get drunk?” Bex asked a few minutes later.
“Fuckin’ A, I do.”
* * *
The next morning I stared out the dorm window at the campus with its limestone buildings covered in ivy, the big clock tower rising above the quad, the freezing classrooms and cranky old professors. I would miss the energy found on a college campus, the buzz of youth as they lived new experiences, both inside the classroom and out, but as much as I enjoyed it here, it would never be home. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever find “home,” a place where I truly belonged.
With a heavy heart, I said goodbye to the friends I’d made in the dorm, lugged my overstuffed duffle bag down the stairs and out to my Jeep. Bex followed me out, lighting a cigarette as we crossed the parking lot.
“Love ya, girl,” she said as she hugged me for the hundredth time in less than twenty-four hours. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
I gave her a weak smile. “Yeah, sure.”
After the four-hour drive home, I entered Pops’ house and the wave of grief I expected to knock me over didn’t come. In fact, I didn’t feel any different than I usually did when I came home from school—that I didn’t deserve Pops and all he did for me, including the home he’d tried to make for me and Sammy, my dog. He’d stayed with me in my parents’ house for a couple of years after they died, not wanting to bring on too much change at once, but before I started junior high, he decided it time to return to his own home. He tried to make it my home, too, but it never would be. I never let it be.
After growing up as a perfect child, never in trouble and always earning good grades, I was rewarded with the loss of my parents and then moving to a new town and a new school. I’d decided being good hadn’t worked out so well for me, so I thought I’d try being bad, which I excelled at, too. Besides my name, I took on a whole new persona at my new school—the cool girl who cared about nothing, especially not school. The wrong kind of boys liked my attitude, though, and I didn’t want them to see what was under my clothes, so I made myself ugly. Well, different. I chopped off my long, red hair, and eventually dyed it. Then, when I found a new group of friends, came the face covered in white powder, the heavy black eyeliner and the wardrobe change. Along with an even worse attitude. And drinking binges.
I’d had never made it into college if not for Pops and the guilt I’d felt by junior year. I’d barely had time to turn my grades around, but he’d stuck with me, pushing me hard. If he’d only known I’d wanted it so bad just so I could get away and allow him to live a peaceful life. He’d barely been able to enjoy it.
The grief stayed away until I came into the living room and saw Pops’ armchair, the ugly brown corduroy one where he should have been sitting, waiting for me to get home. And the fireplace that hadn’t seen so much as a spark since I’d moved in—Pops had kept the hearth cold for me, even on the most blustery days. Because he knew that’s what I’d needed. All I ever did was disappoint him, and for some reason, he’d loved me anyway.
I retrieved a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet along with two shot glasses and sat in his chair.
“To you, Pops,” I said, my voice cracking on his name, then I threw the shot to the back of my throat. The burn of the liquor felt good. I eyed Pops’ glass. “Well, I guess I need to take that one for you, huh?”
I threw back the second shot, then poured two more. Rinse and repeat, until I could no longer focus on the glasses, so I pulled straight from the bottle. I drank until I passed out. And did so again the next night and the one after that. Then I didn’t even wait for night.
“Jacey!” Trudy’s voice came from far away, but at the same time boomed in my ear.
I sat up with a start. Well, sort of. I could barely keep myself upright. I blinked up at Pops’ neighbor who stood over me, her round face barely visible beyond her rounder
belly, and scratched my head. “What?”
The word came out gruffly, as if I had cotton in my mouth. Did I? I pushed my tongue out and smacked my lips. It felt like I had cotton in my mouth.
“My goodness, girl, it’s freezing in here. Why don’t you have a fire going?” She bustled over to the fireplace and bent over to peer inside it, the back of her dark gray dress riding up, exposing the tops of her stockings.
“No!” I yelled. At least, it sounded to me like a yell.
She clucked her tongue and waddled over to me. “You and your pops and your aversion to burning trees. Never understood that.” She peered more closely at me, then crossed her arms over her full bosom. “Are you drunk again?”
“No,” I said, wondering why she wore such a silly black hat. “Still.”
Trudy shook her head, then reached out and grabbed my hands, trying to pull me to my feet. I’d apparently passed out on the braided rug in front of Pops’ chair. “It’s time to go to the funeral.”
“Oh, yeah!” I nearly squealed. “No wonder you’re dressed so funny.”
“Yes. And you need to hurry up and get dressed, too.” She clucked her tongue again. “If you were mine, I’d give you a good whoopin’. That’s what you need.”
I ignored her and forced myself to my feet and upstairs to my room, then nearly crashed down the steps after I was dressed. Trudy drove me to the chapel, barely able to hide her outrage. Fuck her, I thought. I wasn’t hers. I wasn’t anyone’s anymore.
“Miss Burns, are you okay?” the pastor asked me as I weaved my way to Pops’ coffin sitting in front of the pulpit. Although I’d given up on God the night my parents died, Pops had always been pretty involved in the church.
“Just peachy,” I slurred, squinting at him. Not exactly the truth, obviously, but I wasn’t about to get into it with this guy. I just wanted this funeral to be done and over with so I could go home and drink myself unconscious.
Fortunately, Pops, the meticulous man who was always prepared for anything, had already planned out his funeral years ago. He’d even bought the plot! So I hadn’t really had to do anything but show up, which was a good thing because I realized now, I was barely capable of handling even that. I nearly ate carpet as I tripped over my own feet, making my way to the front pew. Pops lay in the open coffin not ten feet away, but the thought of going up there now made me queasy. I didn’t want to remember him pale and pasty, not like himself at all.
The funeral passed by in a blur, and when I thought no one was looking, I snuck swigs from Pops’ flask. My only clear memory of the service was walking up to the pedestal to say a few words about Pops, trying like hell not to look at him lying in the box. So I focused on the crowd instead, which I regretted nearly as much. They all stared at me, not expectantly or sympathetically. Rather, their expressions showed shock, shame and even disgust. Eyes roamed over me, not appreciating my funeral outfit of a black turtleneck, miniskirt, fishnets and combat boots. Heads shook in disapproval, and it was all I could do to keep from telling them all to eff-off. I rushed through my speech without remembering what I said, wanting nothing more than to escape those judging eyes. Trying hard not to ralph.
After the service ended and everyone had finally left, the funeral director was about to close Pops’ coffin once and for all.
“No!” I nearly screamed, and I stumbled for the coffin. “He won’t be able to breathe!”
The man stared at me, likely wondering if I’d really said that.
“He can’t breathe,” I said as sobs worked their way up my throat. The reality that once he closed the lid I’d never see my Pops again finally hit me. “He’ll never breathe again.”
He’ll never again sit in his ugly brown chair. Or smack his lips as he ate his bran flakes. Or light up his God-awful tobacco pipe. He’ll never again look at me with a frown on his mouth but a gleam in his eye that told me he knew I could do better. He’ll never again call me “little bird.”
I suddenly regretted not spending time with Pops sooner. This was my last chance. As I stared at him, looking as much like a wax figure as I’d expected and not like himself at all, the tears finally came. And I felt so ashamed. Not for crying, but for my behavior. I’d disgraced Pops the one last chance I had to make him proud. I’d made a fool of myself. Of him. How can one person be such a shitty granddaughter?
“I’m so sorry, Pops,” I said as I pressed my lips to his cold forehead. “So, so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll make you proud from now on. I promise, Pops. I promise to be the person you always wanted me to be.”
Although I knew he was gone, I could practically hear his reply: “Don’t do it for me, little bird. I love you no matter what. Do it for yourself. Always stay true to your heart and soul.”
Watching the coffin being lowered into the ground and then the groundskeepers shoveling dirt on top of it sobered me up. And I knew what I had to do. I went home, poured all the liquor down the drain and even tore up and threw away all but my least extreme clothes. If I didn’t do something then, I knew I could let the punk lifestyle take me. I had found my escape in the hardcore-ness of it all. I was allowed to be angry and bitchy and those people didn’t mind. In fact, they encouraged it. And we all drowned our poor-me sorrows in alcohol, or smoked them out, then banged against each other so the physical pain would outweigh the misery in our hearts. Right now, I could have used such an escape more than ever. But I knew I would lose myself completely in it. I was already on the verge.
I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I didn’t know who I truly was, but it was time to grow up and find out.
* * *
Pops died in January. He’d left his estate nice and neat, as if he knew the time was coming although he was only sixty years old and had seemed in perfect health only two weeks earlier when I’d been home for Christmas break. Apparently his heart had given out, and he’d slipped away in his sleep. At least he hadn’t suffered.
Even with everything nicely organized, it took me months to finalize it all. I sold the house, wanting to leave this town and all its bad memories behind for good. Everything inside also had to go, as did Pops’ car and various banking, investment, and insurance accounts. I was able to pay off the house’s mortgage and have some money left over for next year’s tuition, books, and rent. I’d planned to return to college in the fall.
Bex had kindly packed all of my things at school at the end of the semester a few weeks ago. She’d sent me the must-haves while keeping the rest in storage until we moved into the apartment we would share. I’d lost a semester but if I worked diligently, I could make up the classes and still graduate on time. That had been the plan anyway. The universe laughed at my plan.
See, Pops had pretty much taken care of everything except one small matter: a piece of property he owned in Florida. I hadn’t even known it existed until I went through his papers, and all I still knew was I’d inherited a structure on a piece of land in a small town right on the Gulf of Mexico. I called the real estate agent on the business card in the file so I could put the property on the market, but the jerk refused until I came down and looked at the place first. He even said, “Your grandfather insisted you see it before making any decisions. I swore to him I wouldn’t list it until you signed the papers in person, and I’m a man of my word, ma’am.”
So once everything else had been settled, here I was in early June, packing up my Jeep and preparing for an unwanted trip to Florida. I stood in the doorway of Pops’ house, now empty, just like my heart. As a child, I’d been constantly afraid of losing Pops since I’d lost my parents, but I’d never truly imagined this day to become reality. Leaving this house made me feel so old at only twenty. In the last five months, I’d had one birthday but aged ten years.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Bex had asked me for the sixteenth time last night.
“I’m sure,” I said, twirling the kinky phone cord around my finger as I leaned against the kitchen wall. “I ne
ed some alone time.”
I didn’t think I was ready to face Bex and all that she was yet. I hadn’t told her my decision to grow up and clean up. I’d hoped a few months away from it all would put enough distance between me and that way of life so it wouldn’t be so hard when I returned to school. Maybe once I cleaned myself up, I could be an example for Bex rather than her being a temptation for me. Besides, she needed to keep her job and her own plans for the summer, even if she had sounded disappointed on the phone last night.
“Ready to go, Sammy?” The words came out as only a whisper around the lump in my throat. The Labrador-retriever-mix nudged his head against my hand, and I dug my fingers into his soft fur. I’d left him behind to keep Pops company since I couldn’t exactly have a dog in the dorm, and he’d been over at Trudy’s until I’d sobered up. I’d never leave him behind again. “It’s just you and me now, boy.”
He let out a bark before bounding over to the Jeep, jumping into the passenger side and sitting on the seat, facing forward: Ready, his bright-eyed expression said. You’d never believe he was twelve years old. He still looked and acted like the overgrown puppy Pops and I had rescued from the pound about a year before Mom and Dad died.
As we merged onto the highway headed south, I vowed out loud to never look back. Mom and Dad and Pops, they were all in the past. I needed to tuck them into a safe place in my heart, and move on with my new life. Otherwise, the reality of being totally alone in this big world would send me back to booze and drugs. It would end me. I knew this as a certain fact, and a part of me felt as though I deserved it, which terrified the hell out of me.
However, I refused to let the idea of surviving on my own scare me. New me. New life.
“We’re on an adventure,” I said to Sammy as I squared my shoulders and focused on the road before us. Deepening my voice, I gave my best Bill-and-Ted impersonation. “Jacey and Sammy’s Excellent Adventure. Totally rad, fer shur.”
I gave him a pat on the head, pushed a mixed tape into the cassette deck, and sang along with The Ramones at the top of my lungs. Sammy returned my smile, his tongue hanging out, as the wind whipped his ears behind his head. Somehow, I vowed to myself, I would find a way to make it. After I tied up this one last loose end. If only it had been an easy square knot.
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