I finish my rice and decide to go for a road trip within a road trip. I told my mom to think about this as a long college visit, so I might as well actually look at a college. The GPS finds the address pretty quickly. It was only five minutes away. I makes it to campus and just drive around. Tacky Sweater Lady was right: the place looks totally deserted. Everything looks so old and big and impossible to navigate on an everyday basis. How do people actually walk around with backpacks and make it to class on time? How do you find people to be friends with in a place like this? It seems so intimidating. Maybe rooming with Amanda isn’t such a bad idea. Looking at a place this huge, it seems impossible I’ll ever get to know other people. Coming in with someone I have history with seems like the only solution. She could be the only person I ever really get to know. Maybe things will get better in college. It’ll make us both grow up and be able to live together somehow. The campus just seems so..adult somehow. I do not feel prepared for this.
My stomach knots up and my palms sweat. I’m nervous. I’m feeling something about something again! This makes me happy. I never thought I’d miss emotions, but now that they’re back, I cling to them to reassure myself I’m still alive and the world is still turning. I take a deep breath and head back to the highway. I left my fortune cookie unopened back at China Wok, but that doesn’t seem so important right now. Time to move on to stage four.
“You cannot control others’ actions.”
Guilt is one of those things you can’t really feel on command, but once you get it into your mind to feel guilty about something, it’s a very powerful emotion. It also happens to be my fourth stage of grief, which is why I am spending so much time thinking about it. Other than having my mom try to get me to do something for her, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do to make myself feel guilty about William’s death. It’d be easy if I’d been doing drugs with him, or sold him drugs, or pushed him in front of a car or something. Even if I’d broken up with him the night before he died, I’d have something to feel guilty about.
I guess I could just feel guilty about being alive when he’s dead. That’s something. The thing is… I don’t. Everything I’ve read or been told seems to indicate it’s totally normal (and expected) to go through some sort of “I’m here and they aren’t” guilt. It never even occurred to me to feel that way, though. I mean, briefly, it might have, but it wasn’t one of those thoughts that stuck. It just flitted around and disappeared.
The traffic is starting to pick up and it’s starting to get harder to just drive and contemplate. I actually have to start paying attention to the highway. I don’t know what it is about the interstate that brings out the idiots, but everyone driving seems to have a problem with every other car out there. I probably drive too fast (I’ll be the first to admit it)but that’s what the fast lane is for. I watch out for cops; I haven’t gotten a ticket yet, but I just like to get where I’m going as quickly as possible. Unlike the person in front of me who seems to think highways and school zones aren’t much different. I can’t stand people who drive like that, and of course some asshole is tailing me like it’s my fault. I swear, these are the same people who complain about teen drivers and how we shouldn’t be on the road. If I had a chance I’d get on a soapbox and complain about their driving. Not much of an example they’re setting.
I really should be spending more time worrying about how to feel guilt for an hour. The time passes a lot quickly when I need it for something than when I’m waiting for something to be over. That obnoxious GPS voice will yell out the next exit soon enough and then it’ll be too late.
I don’t know how I’m going to eat any more food today. I’m just going to have to stick to sides and sodas. As long as I get my cookie. That’s the important thing. But I shouldn’t be thinking about food. I should be thinking about William and how I feel guilty about it. I’m sure I’ve felt some kind of irrational guilt over it. That sounds like something I’d do. Why is it so difficult to remember how I feel about things all of a sudden?
I felt guilty at the funeral. Well, maybe not guilty exactly, but I thought everyone was blaming something on me. They weren’t, at least not out in the real world, but in my world everyone was blaming me for his death. I think I blame myself a little. I mean, what if it was something I could have stopped? I might have been able to say something or do something differently and change the course of the universe. The universe wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe this was why. I hadn’t done something I was supposed to and someone who wasn’t supposed to die, died. It’s not like I actually killed him and I realize that, but what if I’d stayed with him for one more hour, or not seen him at all, or called him before I went to bed? There were so many things I could have done differently. I wish I could go back in time and try out each different scenario, just to see how things change. See if there was any way he’d be alive now. I guess I’m not the only person to wish something like that, but I do wonder if there’s anyone out there who wishes it more devotedly than I do. I don’t think there is. If willpower and wishes could change the world. William would be back from the dead ten times over by now.
My GPS yells at me and I turn off the highway. This time it’s not a Chinese food stop. My car needs to eat too. I’d almost forgotten about gas. I never have to stop in the middle of a trip to fill my tank normally, so it isn’t in the front of my mind. If it hadn’t been for the cute little gas pump showing up on my GPS screen, I would have just driven around until my car stopped. I’d never say this to my parents (or anyone else), but I’m not sure I’m ready to be out in the real world on my own. I thought I was. I really did. William’s death changed things. It made the “real world” real. I don’t like it. People my age dying is difficult to make sense of, but people my age who I love dying --- it’s just a miracle I’m still functioning.
I always hate getting gas at strange gas stations. I’m always worried about the other people there. I mean, if something were ever going to happen to me, it would happen at a gas station. They seem like the perfect place for sinister things to start, or the background for an opening scene in a horror movie. Sure, they only really seem sinister at night, but anything sinister at night has to be somewhat sinister during the day. The fact that this gas station is right off the highway and deserted doesn’t add to its safety appeal, but the pumps are on and I’m not in the mood to travel anywhere else. Besides, this place is closest to my next Chinese place. I slide my card at the pump, fill up, and leave without anything out of the ordinary happening. I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping something would happen to make things different. I’m not sure why I thought that, but at least I still have hope.
The next Chinese place is called “China 1” and yet again it is sandwiched in a strip mall, this time between some kind of 24-hour gym and sub shop. It’s a strange in-between-meals time so the place is empty, but the inside can probably only hold about five people. They have watercolors covering the walls showing different landmarks of China, and even the tops of the tables seem to be hand-painted. I like it. The place has real character.
“You ready order?”
I turn back to the counter and finally look at the menu. Everything looks good but I don’t feel like eating any of it. I have to buy something to get a fortune cookie, though, and that’s the whole point of the trip.
“Um, just an appetizer order of egg rolls, a large soda, and a fortune cookie.”
“That all?”
“Yeah.” I hand the woman some cash and she goes in the back to cook the order herself. Egg rolls are usually better cold anyway in my opinion. I figure I can just stow them away somewhere in the car and snack on them later. I can always bring them to my aunt’s house. Last time I checked, her son, my cousin, had an iron stomach and would eat anything. I’m not sure how old he is now. He may not even be living at home anymore. I guess I’ll be finding out soon enough.
The woman comes back with my egg rolls wrapped up in what looks like rice paper, and hands them to me with
a fortune cookie and an empty cup. I am thirsty. I should have filled up a couple of water bottles before I left. I’ll remember for next time (not that I’ll ever be taking a trip like this again). I don’t think I’ve come too far with the guilt stage. There are so many “what-ifs” I could drive myself crazy thinking about them. Maybe there was something I could have done to keep him alive. If I’d known, I would have done it. I don’t think anyone would argue that, at least not anyone who knows me. If I could have kept him alive I’d go back in time and do anything. Maybe thinking about all those what-ifs is a different kind of guilt.
I slump into the driver’s seat and crack open my fortune:
“Think about a problem is not solving it.”
Well, it isn’t exactly a fortune, but at least it applies to my life. I can’t tell if the universe is coming around or if it’s just stringing me along. I guess the optimistic answer would be that the universe is trying to tell me not to give up. I like that perspective the best, but I haven’t been the most optimistic person in the world recently.
“Emotions consume. Empty yourself.”
Anger is easy. The hard part is trying to figure out who to be angry with. I’ve been angry at my parents a lot the past few months, but I don’t think all of it was because of William. I’ve heard I’m supposed to be arguing with my parents more because I’m leaving soon, but I don’t know if that’s all it is either. I mean, I’m not even sure I will be leaving home after this year. Nothing is really making a lot of sense. That makes me mad too, at the universe and everyone else who seems to understand how it works.
I’m angry with Amanda. If I ever needed a friend, now would be the time, but she’s decided to take off and make things worse. If the situation was reversed I’m not sure what I’d do. I like to think I’d be the bigger person, even if we were in the middle of the fight-about-nothing that’s going on now. I hope I would be there for her and put things aside to focus on what’s important. In reality though, if it had been Jake instead of William, I’m not sure I would have done that. I’d probably be handling it the same way Amanda is now. Well, I wouldn’t have written anything like what she put on the Internet, but everything else. I’d wonder why she was acting so differently and think she was making a big deal out of nothing. If it had been Jake instead of William, I wouldn’t understand. But I’m still so angry I can’t help but hate Amanda. I hate her for all the things she didn’t do, even more than the things she did. She could have been here with me. We could be having a girls’ trip and figuring things out together.
Of course, if Amanda were here she’d be giving the orders and I’d be footing the bill. Not exactly the trip I want. It’s weird. I know I’m better off without her, but I’m still angry she isn’t here. She shouldn’t be able to abandon me even if I don’t know whether or not I want her here.
I’m angry at William too, maybe more than anyone else. People always say not to speak ill of the dead, so I haven’t really thought about all the bad things since he died. But this is all his fault. I mean, it’s not exactly like he had cancer or something. He could have prevented all this from happening just by making some better life choices. He could have kept himself alive for me.
The son of a bitch. He spent all that time telling me how he’d love me forever and stay by my side. Bullshit. If he had wanted to be with me forever, he could have been. He’s the one that messed it all up. It wasn’t the universe or the fortune cookies. It was all a choice. He had a choice , and he made it, again and again. So what if he finally went to ‘‘That Place?”So what if he wanted to make things right? So what if he wanted to build us a future together?
He could have kept this from happening. He is the one that threw me and the universe out of whack. He ruined my future. He’s the reason I’m here all alone.
I’m crying tears of rage and the rational part of my brain is telling me to pull over. The rage part of my brain (whatever the technical term might be) is telling me to hit the gas and just Go.
Luckily for me and my car, the GPS chirps before either one of the sides can take over, and I turn off to head to the next fortune cookie. I make it there in one piece, but I’m shaking so much I’m not sure how I managed to hold onto the wheel for this long. My stomach feels sick but I don’t want to get out of the car. I pull my legs up into my chest and try to hide from the world as the tears finally come in full force, a mix of rage and depression.
How is it possible to hate and love someone this much at the same time? It’s not fair. I don’t want to feel anymore. I give up. I quit. Just let the world stop. Life isn’t fun anymore.
I’m not sure how long I cry, but I do know that the parking lot isn’t empty. I don’t want to think about all those people who are watching me have a breakdown. They probably think I just got dumped, or found out I’m pregnant, or both. Either option seems better than whatever the hell this limbo is. The tears start to slow and I’m too tired to summon anymore. I’m exhausted and still have four hours to go. I hate this. It’s going to start getting dark soon and I’m probably not done crying. Crying always makes me tired. It wears out my eyes.
I drag myself out of the car and into the next Chinese place. I am in no mood to deal with humans right now, but I go in anyway. I should have used the drive-thru, although it doesn’t look like they have one) or called in a carry-out order and spent as little time inside as possible. I know this as soon as I get out and walk to the door. I’m looking for a fight. Every cell in my body is tense and ready to snap. I just want someone to say the wrong thing so I can let everything out. This is not the mood I should be in before going into a public place. I feel like one of those people who goes shopping just so they can yell at the sales associates.
I push though the door anyway and walk to the counter.
“I’d like to make an order!” I bitch at an elderly woman who is standing in the back room. She looks too old to actually be working,but she’s the only person I can see to yell at.
“Sorry! Didn’t hear you.” A young Asian girl comes running from a back room somewhere to the counter.
I assume this is the granddaughter, family-run restaurants are the best. Too bad I’m in no mood to enjoy the place.
“Is all your staff infirm?” I don’t know where the words are coming from. It’s this all-consuming rage talking. I don’t feel like I have control of my mouth anymore.
“Your order, ma’am?” The girl is trying her best to be polite. I beg for her efforts to turn my heart back to normal,but I just get annoyed.
“Egg rolls, large coffee.” I don’t even look at her.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have coffee. I could make hot tea for you, though.”
“If you can make tea then you can make coffee.”
“Ma’am, we don’t have coffee. It’s not on our menu. There’s a gas station acro…”
“If I wanted coffee from a gas station,we wouldn’t be having this little debate.”
“I am sorry.”
“Fine. Egg rolls.” It’s like I’m looking out through my eyes but something else is controlling my body. I want to break down, cry, tell her I’m sorry. But I can’t get my mouth to do what I’m thinking. Instead I pay for my egg rolls and toss them in the trash as I walk out. There was a fortune cookie with them, but I smash it while it’s still in the wrapper and throw it out along with the rest. I hate everything. I hate myself. I hate hating everything.
I sit in my car and try to figure out what to do. I drive to the gas station and get some coffee. Hopefully, I can make it to Minnesota in one piece. The anger has started to drain. I make a mental note to never try and make myself angry again. Too dangerous.
“Do not ask.”
I realize bargaining isn’t exactly an emotion, but it seemed so important on the little list thing that I didn’t want to leave it off. When people talk about the stages of grief they always get around to bargaining, who knows why I guess we’re all just hoping death is negotiable. Now, I don’t really care why bargaini
ng is on the list. I’m just glad I don’t have to feel anything for an hour. I mean, obviously I’ll be feeling something, but regular emotions are a lot different than these one-hour concentrated emotions. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold out. Bargaining seems like a nice break from exhaustion and tears.
I’m not really sure how to start the bargaining process. Who am I supposed to be bargaining with? God? Maybe, but I’m not sure what good that will do. I guess I believe in God, if only because that’s the only belief that will let me see William again, but I’m not sure I want to talk to “Him.” I don’t believe in that kind of God. God’s never shown much interest in talking to me and I’m not too crazy about talking to Him. The only thing that’s ever seemed to make sense are the fortune cookies (crazy, I know) but I can’t exactly bargain with a cookie. That’s a little farther over the crazy line than I’m willing to go. I have to stop somewhere.
I could argue with William, I guess, try to bargain with his ghost. His ghost has been around about as often as God, though. I could antagonize him little. William never was able to resist an argument -- especially with me. It’d be so nice to be able to talk to him. I know I keep thinking that over and over again, but it’s so true. Things would be so different if I could talk to William. Everything would be different. Amanda and I could still be friends. I wouldn’t be so alone. I wouldn’t be so angry all the time. It’d be easier to come to terms with things. He could still be gone, if that helps to balance things out. We’d just still be able to talk. Not even in person, just over the phone or through the computer. Like having a ghostly pen pal. I’d love to hear his voice again, but I’d settle for a text message. It doesn’t have to be a long and ornately written letter, just a short “you’ll be okay, I’m okay” message would be enough. I just want to know he’s okay and he hasn’t forgotten about me. I guess I do also want him to hear some of the things I didn’t get to say when he was alive, but just knowing he’s okay would help. I guess that sounds a lot like bargaining.
Chasing William Page 9