Losing You

by Corina Eichholz

  Cody grabbed my arm. “We’re going to be late,” he said pulling me up. I got up and went to history feeling like a robot. I was doing everything but not feeling anything. I couldn’t look at Mickey at all for the rest of the day or really anyone. I was so angry, I’d never felt this angry before. Not at Mickey when I thought she was the one who called the cops, not at Gert when she made me say those things to Mickey in order for me to join the popular crowd. Not when my granddad passed away from a heart attack, never. I had thought my best friend betrayed me in one of the worst ways, no second thoughts, I had just accused her. I didn’t even ask her about it. She had all the right to betray me, what I did was still worse and now knowing she had never betrayed me after everything I had done to her! I had no right to be angry with her and now I had no reason to hate her, when the truth was, I really wanted a reason to hate her. I knew it was selfish but I wanted to hate her to make myself feel better, happier and now I had nothing but a grudge against her for not doing anything. For not stopping me and letting me treat her this way when she didn’t deserve it. Every time I saw Mickey, I was reminded of all the things we did together and how happy we were and looking into her sad eyes, I knew I ruined it. I made it all stop and hurt her more than anyone and for no reason and there was no coming back from that. I was truly a horrible person.

  I walked home from school not really feeling anything at all. People spoke to me but I didn’t really hear them, my feet moved but I didn’t feel them. I wasn’t in control of my body, it was just working from memory, going through the motions. My brain was empty of all thoughts, even the questions I was wondering disappeared, vanished without a trace.

  “Are you okay James?” June asked me concernedly when she got home from school. I nodded, not really listening, but nodding usually worked. I lay on my bed in the dark, the curtain closed, blocking out the view of Mickey’s room and her talking on the phone on her bed.

  “James, come down and eat,” mom called up from downstairs. I slowly got up off my bed and walked to the kitchen. My family looked at me like I was a zombie, which pretty much summed up how I felt.

  “James, are you all right?” mom asked, worried. I nodded and sat down, they all watched me as they ate and I continued to play with my food on my plate, rolling the peas around with my fork. “Aren’t you hungry?” mom asked. I shook my head no and continued rolling my peas around on my plate.

  “Can I be excused?” I asked, speaking for the first time since English class.

  “Yeah. Are you sure you’re okay?” mom asked again. I nodded and went back to my dark room. I could hear them talking about me as I left.

  “What’s wrong with him?” mom whispered.

  “I don’t know,” dad said, confused as well.

  “You know what tomorrow is, last year he was sad too, but not like this,” June said. I walked faster not wanting to hear anymore. What was tomorrow? I had no clue, what day was it anyway? I looked at my calendar, tomorrow was the third of November. Mickey’s birthday. I instantly regretted checking the calendar. Tomorrow Mickey would be eighteen. We had promised each other that when we were both eighteen, we would go on a trip across Europe together, take the year off as a sabbatical before college. When I’d turned eighteen in May, let’s just say it wasn’t as fun as I expected it to be, it was more depressing, knowing Mickey should be there. Tomorrow her dad would wake her up and then he’d make these awesome crepes with fresh berries and all the fixings and real maple syrup; that was the best, I loved real maple syrup and we’d all eat them together like the family we were. I missed those birthdays and then later in the day we’d all go out for dinner or ice cream or to the movies. I’d miss that again this year, this was the second birthday that I’d missed since our fight. I thought it would mean less with time, that she’d mean less to me but I was dead wrong. She still meant as much to me as she always had, which made it hard to forget her and keep my distance.

  “James,” June said coming into my room, not bothering to knock, she never did. I didn’t say anything, I was still in too much pain. June sat on my bed and put her hand on my head checking my temperature, which would be fine because I wasn’t sick. I was sad, angry, happy, well not really. I was happy that Mickey didn’t betray our friendship but I was mad she didn’t too, I was a confused mess of emotions. “What’s wrong?” June asked, looking almost scared. I loved June, she was the only one I could tell almost anything to and she wouldn’t judge me or anything, besides Mickey of course. When I was arrested, she didn’t even act surprised or angry, she was calm and helped me when I was angry and mostly, she just listened.

  “Mickey didn’t call the cops on me,” I said out loud for the first time and listened to the truth in those words. June flinched and moved her hand off my head and onto my own.

  “I know,” she told me, surprising me even more. How did she know? “Do you know where Mickey was the night you got arrested?” she asked me. No. I didn’t say this out loud but June knew my answer. “She was in the hospital,” she continued, her voice calm and even.

  “No. She drove past me and phoned someone,” I told her. I remembered that much by heart.

  “She did but then she came home and started freaking out and then Mr. Lesage brought her to the emergency room. She never called the cops,” June told me. Mickey had to go to the hospital? Why?

  “How do you know everything that she did that night?” I asked, not believing any of it.

  “Because she phoned me,” June confessed. I jumped off my bed, like her touch burned me, which it actually did. My own sister, flesh and blood had betrayed me and got me put in jail, I never would have guessed but now it all made sense. She was never surprised or in shock to see me behind bars like mom and dad had been. She knew, she had made that call, she was already driving to the station when she made the call. It also explained why the police went easy on me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before, I should have. Even when I told her what had happened, she said she already knew. I assumed that the cops had filled her in but they didn’t, she knew before even them. How could she not have told me and let me believe it was Mickey. I would never be able to forgive her for that.

  “You called them,” I accused. She looked a little hurt as I looked at her with hate now.

  “I had no choice, you were drunk James, you could have died or, worse, gotten someone killed,” she said, not looking sorry at all.

  “You let me believe it was Mickey, you lied to me,” I accused her.

  “You two weren’t speaking and I never agreed with you, I just never corrected you. I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” she explained as if it made it alright but she looked guilty now.

  “You should have told me,” I said, now more than angry, how could it have been June. “Go!” I shouted at her. She left me alone with no resistance, not putting in the last word like usual, she just left me. There was nothing I wanted more than to not see Mickey tomorrow or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I felt humiliated as I well should. What could I do tomorrow, how should I act? I couldn’t sleep all night, because every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face, the hurt. And it hurt me knowing I was the one to cause this and she had never deserved any of it. All she had done was be the best friend I’d ever had and what had she gotten for it.

  Michaela

  James thought I had called the cops on him! Even the thought was hilarious to me. So that’s why James hated me so much, I thought happily, which was weird because I shouldn’t be ecstatic that my enemy doesn’t hate me but the truth was, I was. James never actually hated me, he hated what he thought I did! A new question popped into my mind then, who did call the cops on him? Really, it could have been anybody at those parties, everyone showed up or maybe the cops had just seen him driving by but no, they said someone called and tip them off. Who? My memory of that night was a bit hazy and some parts completely blank, all I knew was that it wasn’t me. I remember James driving by me when I was driving home from my Gran’s. She l
ives over an hour away and I decided to visit her, so that she’d think being in the car and driving didn’t scare me anymore, even though I still get nervous and shake when I sit in a car or drive for a long time.

  Something only a few people knew, is that I was in the car when my parents died. It had all happened so fast but it was still imprinted in my brain, just like when James hurt me. I remembered what it looked like outside, what they were talking about, what radio station was playing, even the song that was on, and how it all happened. I remember the cold night air rush into the car as it crashed and the crunching noise the windshield made as it shattered. The smile my mom gave me just as the car jostled, how Miguel got thrown out of the car and went sailing through the windshield because he hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. How mom’s forehead was bleeding as she put her hand back and took mine and then how her eyes fluttered closed and wouldn’t open again, no matter how much I cried and begged. She was cold and stiff by the time the ambulance got to us. They tried to take me away from her body but I cried and wouldn’t let go. I held onto her hand for dear life, all the way to the hospital in the ambulance and wouldn’t let go until Grandma came and picked me up. Gran made me let go and promised everything was going to be alright and told me that we both had to be strong. Dad came and slept at Gran’s that night, which was probably weird for the both of them but it had helped me. Back then I only saw dad every second weekend but we were still pretty close.

  The funeral for mom and Miguel was big, they had lots of friends come to pay their respect. I wore a little black dress Gran had bought me that day, I had never owned a black dress before and I never wanted one again. I said goodbye to mom for the last time and looked at her beautiful face, memorizing the details; her ivory skin, her blonde hair, the small freckles she had splattered across her face and rest of her body. Her eyes were closed but if they were open, they’d show her sky-blue eyes that were the bluest blue I had ever seen. I had always wished my eyes could be like hers, but she said mine were even more beautiful and special. I couldn’t and still can’t see why she thought that, my eyes were a weird multicolored brown with blue in the outer rim of the iris and also blue specks scattered throughout the brown, they were weird, most people thought so. But mom always told me that people were just jealous, that my eyes were truly unique, I still don’t believe her though. I put a red rose in her casket and said a few words to her just before they closed it, I would have done the same for Miguel who was always my dad to me, I just had two dads when most people had one. I never thought of him as anything less but his casket was closed, I didn’t understand why when I was young and when I asked Gran, why they didn’t open it for me, she cried more and said, “He wouldn’t want people to see him like that, you know how he hated to be in a suit.” And gave a weak laugh as she started to cry harder. I wiped the tears off her damp cheeks from crying for the next two nights and wept some more myself. Only when I was fourteen did I realize the meaning of her words and why the casket was really closed and then I cried some more, I let James hold me and tell me how sorry he was. James had seen me at my worst and my best, but what really counted was my worst and the day I realized that Miguel’s coffin was closed not because Grandma wanted him not to be seen in a suit but because he was too disfigured and in parts to be allowed to be seen by anyone, was one of my worst moments.

  After I realized that, James and I watched my family films, that had always been one of my secrets and he rubbed my back soothingly and held me against him as I cried, he even cried with me. We watched one of when I went out for Halloween, the month before the accident. I was dressed as a fairy, with a little pink dress that flowered at the bottom and pink little shoes with sparkly wings that shone with glitter in the light. Mom had worked for over two weeks to make the dress perfect for me and I loved it. I felt so special wearing my fairy costume to school, no one had the same costume as me and all the other fairies looked the same but me. I was one of a kind and they were all jealous. Mom always made my costumes for me, just like her mom had done for her. I never got the chance to meet my mom’s parents because they had died before I was born when mom was still in college. Mom had me a year after and dropped out of college when she was only twenty-one and dad was twenty-two, they married but divorced and luckily stayed good friends. Then mom met Miguel when she was three months pregnant with me and he married her thirteen days before I was born. They got married fast, they were so in love, the kind of love that lasts a lifetime, the kind of love I always dreamed to have myself.

  I decided I’d call Gran tonight, it had been over a month since I had been over to see her and it was time for a visit. I used to go to Gran’s every Thursday and Friday and whenever dad needed a babysitter. Gran pretty much took over mom’s role. She helped with my homework and cooked me dinner and did all the other things dad didn’t do because he was a workaholic, and then she acted as my friend; talked about boys, took me shopping, would take me to the movies, but mostly we baked. We baked for the numerous charities and parties she attended, and we’d bake just for fun. I learned all about baking from her and recipes, I even experimented with on my own, it had become my passion, baking and reading. I put on the pounds with my comfort eating and all the sampling of the creations I made.

  I used to bake all the time for James, one of his favorite treats where white chocolate chunk lemon macadamia cookies and they were good, there was a little orange in there but that was a secret. I tried to teach him to cook but he preferred it when I cooked because then the treats wouldn’t end up burnt or too salty. Whenever he did do a good job he’d still complain and say mine were better in the end. I missed baking for James and asking his opinion when I created a new recipe. I missed James. Even after all he did to me, I still missed him, in my heart I knew I’d take him back in an instant and forget all that he did, if I could just have him for one minute and have it be the way we used to be. I phoned Gran and made plans to visit her Friday night and sleepover until Sunday and then after our little conversation, I jumped on the elliptical machine dad had bought me and did my daily home workout.

  I didn’t ask for much and I was not extravagant, like Reggie, Gert or even Paix now, when it came to clothes, they were designer whereas I was Walmart, when they would go out, I chose to stay in, so when I asked Dad for the elliptical machine he agreed right away, there was no trouble. I’d been using it every day since school ended last year and the results were astonishing, that and I’d grown three inches. I turned on my iPod and began to cycle, I pushed myself until my legs were like noodles and I was sweating like a pig and then wobbled to the bathroom and took a well-deserved shower. I came out feeling clean and strong, a very refreshing feeling. I’d had a hard night full of buried feelings and tomorrow they’d continue to be dug up and it would be another hard day but like mom always used to say, it can only get better if you remain positive, so I thought positively and hoped she was right.

  Dad woke me up in the morning.

  “Happy birthday kiddo,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed. I smiled at him as he smoothed out my hair. Dad woke me up every birthday at 7:24 AM since my seventh birthday, when I came to live with him. That was the time that I was born.

  “Good morning Daddy,” I yawned, stretching out my arms. He kissed my forehead and then like clockwork told me breakfast was ready and that he’d made me my favorite. Then he left the room for me to have my privacy. I put on my mom’s old robe that was now worn thin and I went to the bathroom that I shared with my sisters and jumped in for a quick shower. I came down into the kitchen all clean and smelling of oranges, vanilla, and shea butter. Dad was sitting at the head of the table, reading the newspaper like he did almost every morning. He put it down when he noticed me and took a plate off stove that had a pile of crepes on it. I sat in my chair beside him and looked at the delicious feast in front of me; crepes, fresh strawberries, blueberries, whipped cream, chocolate, and real Canadian maple syrup, that he got me on one of his business trips. Nothing beat real
maple syrup. I loaded up one of the thin crepes and then took a bite, it was delicious, the flavors were bursting on my tongue; sweet, creamy, tart and rich flavors exploded as I took another bite quick, moaning in delight. Dad laughed pleased as I finished two crepes fast and then felt like I was going to explode.

  “Good?” dad asked, finishing his first crepe.

  “Fantastic but I feel like I’m going to explode now.” I laughed, resting my hand on my belly. He laughed at that.

  “So, do you feel eighteen now?” dad asked, smiling brightly.

  “No, I still feel the same. I thought I’d feel different now being a legal adult but nothing.” I shrugged. I still felt like I was a kid.

  “Well, you will always be my little girl,” he said and then put his hand on mine. “Your mom and Miguel would have wanted to be here, they would have been so proud of the person you’ve become. I know you miss them a lot because I miss your mom too and I know you still blame them but it wasn’t their fault honey,” he said, turning my happy aura into a sad one. He was right, I still blamed them for the accident, even if I still loved and missed them more than anything, it was still their fault. I nodded and looked my dad in the eyes. “I love you,” he told me genuinely.