It’s hard to see in the dark. But on the other side of the truck, a body sprawls in the bushes against the building. Half naked, flat on his belly.
I race toward the familiar body, the one I care about more than myself. I know exactly who it is. It’s when I reach him that I haven’t a clue what to do. Tears shoot down my cheeks.
Do I run? Scream? Get more damn towels?
“Get up!” I whisper-yell, brushing glass from his back, pushing and poking his shoulder. “Please. Please! Get up!”
I’m shouting now, but he won’t move. He won’t do anything he should. He’s piled on his stomach, cold and bloody, with a gash at his ear, another on top of his head.
Near the truck, Toby moans, “Help! Somebody help!”
My body shakes. I can’t breathe.
I rub my best friend’s back, his flesh like ice. “Ham! Ham! Please move. Please get up.”
I push at his side, breathing in and out, not for myself but for him. He won’t budge. He won’t make a sound.
“Why aren’t you moving?” I’m sobbing now. “Why won’t you get up? Don’t you know how much I love you?”
“Is he dead?” Toby moans. “Oh God! Did I kill him?”
I drop my head to Ham’s waist and groan from my gut. “I should never have left you alone. I’m sorry! So fucking sorry!”
I fall onto the bushes splattered with broken glass and scream.
Chapter Fifteen
I SPEND THE NIGHT IN a shallow hole I scooped with my bare hands. In the dirt. Behind my school. Far from the dugout, but close enough to pay homage to my best friend. It is the least I can do after abandoning him, twice. I tuck myself away in the hills behind the building, where the only things alive are dying tumbleweeds. My life, my loss, my guilt battle my brain for space. Each talking over the other.
Why did I leave Ham alone? Why didn’t I stay with him, make sure he got home safe? Friends don’t leave friends. They hold them close to their heart, even when they’re away.
Only hours have passed since I rubbed Ham’s back and told him I was sorry. I want more minutes, hours, days. More time to waste with my best friend. All those nights at Seung’s, watching the world’s worst Mafia movies. All those mornings waiting for my Ham sandwich. If only I could ruffle his hair, kiss his cheek. If only I could feel his arms squeeze my shoulders one more time . . . but time makes no promises. You’re never guaranteed how many minutes you’ll enjoy with the person you love before they disappear from your life and the only things left are memories.
All I have are memories of those I love.
All I have are thoughts about those I’ve lost.
Everyone leaves me. Everyone close to me, gone.
I didn’t think there were any pieces to my heart left to break. But like shards of glass, even the innermost chambers have shattered and smashed.
After placing an anonymous call from the emergency phone in the school hall, I nuzzled Ham’s cheek, covered his shoulders with a towel, and told him we’d be together again, someday. I whispered to him the same shit I tell the nursing-home residents. All the same shit I don’t know now if I believe. I told him how sorry I was, two thousand times. That I only left to get towels but should never have abandoned him. I should have stopped him from leaving the convenience store with Toby. If I could rewind the clock, go back in time, start over, none of this would have happened.
Principal Falls and Deputy Boggs were the first to arrive on the scene. I turned my head when the ambulance showed. I listened for its siren, though, and watched as the paramedics drove in the opposite direction from the county hospital.
Construction workers arrived this morning and unloaded piles of wood and plastic. I’m watching, waiting for the flag to lower, but it’s flapping at the top of the pole like it doesn’t give a damn.
I wish I could speak to Seung, but I’m afraid to hear details. Images brand my brain every time I shut my eyes. The glass. The truck. Ham’s half-naked, blood-spattered body.
Moving myself from this hill is hell, but I can’t sleep here another night, even though I want to punish myself somehow. Guilt from leaving Ham consumes me. I should have held his hand and waited until they carried him away on a gurney. That’s what a good friend would do. Risk all that they’re hiding for a friend.
I trudge toward the road to wander the town like the true homeless girl I am. No longer pretending, no longer keeping up a charade.
I don’t care who sees me in blood-speckled sweats. I’m hiding in plain sight and no one is looking because they’re focused on the details of their own lives. If they listened, they’d hear. If they looked closely, they’d see. The charming guy who’s really a monster. The pretty girl forced into thinking she should take his abuse. The homeless girl who lives among them.
The next two nights I spend in the broom closet at Nowhere Near Like Home. Eva, the head nurse, refuses my explanations. She knows I’m there to sleep. She’s never asked many questions, and I never overstay my welcome.
I force myself to eat a plate of chicken-fried steak soaked in white gravy and let my mind drift into the dark places. The space where my mother lives. Where Ham is.
There’s Mama, stirring oatmeal and asking how I slept last night. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and kisses my forehead. I reach around her waist and squeeze. There’s Ham, shutting his locker and telling me he’s in love. I ruffle his hair and peck his cheek. I’ll never hear about his one true love. I’ll never see him adored and cherished and doted on like he deserves. I’ll never witness my mother’s happy ending. Ham’s, either.
When my thoughts become more than I can bear, I imagine that my life is a dream and none of these tragedies happened. I sleep more than I’ve slept in a year.
On Monday something inside my gut pushes me, shoves me, yanks me forward. I’m up. Awake. Sure, I’m going through the motions. But I’m ready to face the hard reality, and I long to see Seung.
Eva runs her fingers through my hair and stuffs my hand with buttered toast. She says, “Come back tonight if you need to. I’ll keep the closet door unlocked.” I thank her and tell her I might.
Engines rev in the school parking lot. Voices greet other voices.
I pass Statue Buddha on my way to find Seung. Someone moved him to the front of the hall to watch over students. His head is bowed. Arms folded. He’s probably praying. I imagine him tossing a supplication up for me. For my mom. For Ham.
The buzzer rings and the crowd scatters. Seung stands at his locker, frowning. He looks like he could use a friend right now, or maybe someone to kick him while he’s down.
I slap my hand against Seung’s locker. “Where were you?” I shout, holding back the tears. I don’t want to be angry with him, but I am.
Seung’s eyes light up—not like they should. They’re brighter, focused. “Linden? Where have you been? I’ve searched this entire town for you.”
“Liar!” I hit the lockers again, this time with my fist. “Where were you? We should have stayed together. We should have been with Ham. Together!”
Tears run down my face and pool on my collarbone. It is the first time I’ve cried since I kissed Ham good-bye. It’s the first time I’ve felt anything but regret.
“They found him,” Seung says. “You know that, right?”
I pound the locker in rhythm with my words, “I know! I know! I know!” and fall to my knees. Seung drops his books on the floor and falls with me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and all my weight pushes against his chest. He sits back on the floor, squeezing me tight. No more numbness. I feel everything there is to feel. And for some reason, right now, wrapped in Seung’s arms, I feel closer to Ham and everyone I’ve ever lost.
A second buzzer rings. Someone says Seung’s name, but I don’t look up. The sobs go deep, hollow me out.
“Are you going to be okay, Linden?” Seung whispers in my ear. He rakes my bangs to the side and flicks a tiny twig across the hallway.
I grab a clu
mp of my hair and twist. I’m not okay and I don’t know how to be. Ham needed me and I wasn’t there. I should have fought harder for my friend. I shouldn’t have stopped searching for him. I feel like I’m an accomplice to this disaster. And it’s not the first time I’ve had the job. Only this time, I hid afterward, not during the killing.
I’m not okay, I never am. I’m always hanging by a thread just to survive. Wearing masks made of sarcasm and jokes that make it easier to hide. That’s what I do best. Hide and survive. Hide to survive.
Linden?
Yes, Mama?
Don’t come out. No matter what.
Okay?
Listen to me. You hide. Always stay hidden.
Okay.
Nobody hurts you when they don’t know you exist.
I love you, Mama.
I love you more.
She was wrong, though. People hurt you whether intentionally or not. The pain comes when you’re aware of how you feel. The pain comes when you love.
Seung lifts my chin and scoops tears from my cheekbones with his thumb. He swipes my forehead with his finger and says, “My parents said I could go see him. I don’t want to go alone. . . .”
I hold my breath. What does he mean? The thought of seeing Ham’s body causes every cell in my own to freeze. I want to tell Seung I’ve already seen Ham and I can’t handle another visit. But Seung’s eyes are teary, too. He needs to say his good-bye, and for that reason alone, I nod.
“Meet me here after school.” Seung hops to his feet and snatches his books. “You sure you’re okay, Linden?”
When I look up, Bea is standing beside him, clutching her math book at her chest. “Are you okay?” she asks with care in her eyes.
There’s that question again. Are you okay?
I’m sitting on the floor of my school, wearing blood-spattered sweats, making plans to do something I swore I’d never do again. No, I wouldn’t say I’m okay. Had I avoided Beth’s house and searched for my best friend, left Bea alone to handle her own affairs, Ham would be at school with me. History rewritten.
Bea tugs at Seung’s shirt and whispers, “We should probably go.”
Seung’s posture stiffens and he wiggles his arm loose from Bea. His face is twitching when he turns and says, “Meet me here, Linden. After school. Don’t forget.”
If only.
Instead of going to class with my books, I walk empty-handed to the newsroom, where I find Mr. George sipping on coffee and staring at a magazine from New York. I walk to the computer and flop into a chair. I’m breaking all the rules for living homeless. My rules, that is. I’m in need of a nap, carrying too much stuff in my bag, and authentically looking the part of a stereotypical homeless person.
If anyone could miss the clues, though, it would be Mr. George. He always looks for the bright mark on a dark horizon, always finds the positives in a negative picture. I am nothing but muck.
“Linden,” he says. “How do?”
I say nothing.
“Can I get you anything?”
My best friend?
“There are water bottles beneath my desk. Help yourself to the snack drawer, too.”
I slump over a desk chair, and the hum of the computer lulls me to sleep.
When I wake, Mr. George is gone and two freshmen are in a heated discussion about vegetarianism as spiritual practice. My face is flushed and there’s drool pooled close to my chin. I wipe my forehead and let the spit hang from my lip while I command the two guys to move far from my Realm of Existence. They grab their books and scurry out the door. Weird homeless girl, pointing and shouting, is a lot to absorb, especially for freshmen.
The world won’t pause for anything. The carousel of life continues with or without you. No one cares that Ham’s not at school. No one’s concerned about the accident. It’s unreasonable, unjust, un-fucking-fair.
I walk over to Mr. George’s desk and plop into his padded chair. I prop my feet on top and close my eyes, grabbing and grasping for nostalgia and times-when, but every detail I remember about Ham rips my heart. His springy hair, bellyful laugh. His sarcasm in the most serious of moments. I imagine him saying, “Linden, zombies look more put together than you. Can’t you at least comb your hair before grieving my good-looking ass?”
I rake my fingers through my hair and scan Mr. George’s desk to prevent my eyes from dripping all over his magazine.
One oversized coffee mug-jug. One French press in need of rinsing. Picture of Andrew, Mr. George’s handsome husband. Rechargeable batteries. I open a drawer and see six different protein bars that all look unappetizing. There’s that scholarship packet from Willamette University’s School of Journalism. The one labeled with my name. The school I was supposed to go to with my friends. I want to shred the papers now that my heart’s ripped in two.
Mr. George walks in and clears his throat. I sweep my feet off his desk and refuse to look him in the face. The letters on the envelope blur into a block of black ink behind tears. I was supposed to help Ham get into school. It was my job, my duty.
“You’re not yourself today, Linden,” Mr. George says.
“How could I be?” Whatever myself even is.
“No classes?”
“None for me.”
“You’ll need a note.”
“Will you write one for me?”
Mr. George nods and tells me to make myself at home. Already on that, Mr. George. If he only knew how at home I was.
I spend the day in the newsroom. I drop fifty cents in a cup on Mr. George’s desk to pay for the apple and piece of turkey jerky I ate. Munching on the snack Mr. George’s husband packed is a five-star restaurant experience.
Before school lets out, I check two bulletin boards near the administrative office, searching for an announcement or acknowledgment or assembly in honor of Ham. It’s as if he didn’t matter at this school. But he mattered to me.
I sit beside my locker and stare at a candy wrapper, lifeless on the floor. There’s no sign of Toby, either. I wonder how bad he’s hurt, or if he’s even hurt at all. Don’t some drunk people walk away from accidents unharmed?
Seung greets me in the hall, his happiness colliding with my sorrow. I glance around for Bea, likely the source of Seung’s glee, but she’s not with him. For a split second I want to ditch Seung, make him go alone. But only for a second.
“You ready to go?” Seung says at my locker. His eyes dart around the hall. He wrings his hands, fidgets, and glances over his shoulder.
I can’t resist. “Watching for your Queen Bea?” I snap.
Seung glares. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be looking for Reed?”
Oh yeah. Reed. The kiss. There’s so much Seung and I need to talk about. So much he doesn’t know. But the only energy I have is focused on Ham.
I stare at Seung’s face and will it to look as blank and formless as mine feels, but there’s always a light in his eye that refuses to dim. The carousel spins again. Picks up speed. Never stops for grief, for pain, for loss. It’s bright and showy. Flaunting how life goes on even when you’re no longer around to live.
Chapter Sixteen
TWENTY MINUTES ON THE ROAD and the silence inside Seung’s car consumes me.
“Why are we on the highway? Why are you driving so fast?”
“Seeing Ham, Linden. Remember?”
“Shouldn’t you slow down?” I say. “Drive like an old man? Yourself?”
Abide by rules of the road. Adhere to etiquette. Drive the proper speed while traveling to see a friend’s body.
Seung ignores my questions, so I toss another.
“Where is he, anyway?” Because not only are we speeding, but we are driving in the wrong direction, away from the town’s only funeral home.
“Bend.”
“Bend? That’s an hour away. Why Bend? What about Ham’s parents?”
Seung side-eyes me and says, “Ham’s parents are in Bend, Linden. Been there since the accident.”
I drop my head
against the seat. Of course Ham’s parents won’t leave his side. Maybe it’s a religious thing. Maybe it’s what they want to do for their one and only son.
I stare at the blur of pines and sagebrush moving at sixty miles per hour. Within seconds the greens and browns become hazy blobs and I free a much-needed moan.
“You don’t look so good,” Seung says.
“I look how I feel.”
“I don’t mean you look bad. You never look bad. I mean you look sick.”
And then I am. It crawls up my throat and sours my mouth. I slap my hands on my lips and fill them with vomit.
Seung doesn’t yell, Oh, shit! or laugh or swerve. He checks the rearview mirror, signals, pulls over, and flips on the hazard lights. He jogs to my side of the car, opens the door, and lifts me by the elbow. He pours a half gallon of water on my hands and dabs my face with a dingy blanket from the trunk. Supplies reserved for emergency situations.
We drive to a rest stop a few miles away and Seung waits while I wash my face and hands. When I reach the car, he is leaning against the passenger’s-side door. All four windows are down, welcoming fresh air. I smile and his slouch goes straight. “All better?”
I shrug.
He opens the passenger’s-side door and says, “Let’s go see our buddy.”
Seung smiles at the road. Either he is in denial or he’s mastered the art of coping. His eyes blink and his lips mouth words to the song playing on the radio. I want him to be angry and sad and queasy like me, but in actuality, I appreciate his still and stable mood.
“So, you and Bea.” Once the words spit out, I know I’ve ruined the stability.
Seung shakes his head. “No. No.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not how it is.”
“You’re the king and she’s the queen. It’s what it is. How it works at this school. Isn’t it?”
He smiles. Damnitall. He smiles.
Minutes pass while I stare at the dashboard, afraid to look anywhere but straight ahead. The green blur in my peripheral vision makes my jaw squeeze tight, bringing back the sour taste in my mouth. I push my head into the seat and close my eyes.
Where I Live Page 18