by Mary Adkins
That day that Iris won the science fair, we probably ate takeout and watched TV and did our homework as usual. But the next morning, when I got to class, there was a note in my backpack: I won the science fair.
Somehow it made it worse that she included “the science fair.” Not even just I won. As if I may have even needed to be reminded what it was she was competing in, despite the fact that I had helped her heat up the water in the microwave, then place it under the ice cube as I’d seen Ariella Franklin do at my previous school the spring before. I had helped her draw pictures of evaporation and paste them on the three-panel cardboard our mom was willing to buy for the occasion. I had done all of this, but in the end, I’d forgotten to ask how it went.
I had a million things on my mind. I’d just started at a new high school. I had boys on the brain, as well as who I was going to be, what kind of person. Would I pass my driver’s test? How and when would I ask my mom to teach me? Would there be any guys at my new school willing to take a chance on the new girl with no social status? There were so many unknowns. It was remarkably easy for Iris to slip off my radar.
But it wasn’t just that time. So many others—her wedding. Her school dance. From childhood to adulthood, all the moments I could have noticed Iris but didn’t, because I was preoccupied with Jade.
I’ve tried to make it better. To do what she would want, now that she’s gone.
Maybe this is my mistake—trying to fix it at all. The world is different now. She left with a part of me that isn’t coming back.
I miss Smith.
Henry is now doing some sleuth work for me on the malpractice claim. Sort of—he thinks we should sue the cannabis company that sold her tinctures with promises of recovery. The things he’ll do for me when he’s hungry for reconciliation.
I don’t know . . . I’m sort of over the whole lawsuit thing. I owe Henry details on the pot company, though. It’s nice of him to look into it for me. I don’t remember what it was called—I’ll have to go back into her email to get it.
But if this angle at the suit is also a nonstarter, I’m done. Okay, universe? I’ll be done.
* * *
Dear JADE,
Thank you for your submission to TAN™. We will make sure your provider receives this message. As Pablo Neruda says, “You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.”
TAN™ is not to be used in case of emergency. If you are in crisis, call 9-1-1.
Sincerely,
Your friends at TAN
Saturday, November 7
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
MOM
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 12:00 PM
subject:
DRAFT no subject
* * *
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry that I’ve resented
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
MOM
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 12:04 PM
subject:
DRAFT no subject
* * *
Dear Mom,
As your son, I maybe should have been more understanding of
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
MOM
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 5:55 PM
subject:
no subject
* * *
Dear Mom,
When you read this, we’ll have seen each other. I’m bringing it with me next time I come.
I am sorry that I’ve struggled to talk to you about what happened.
I miss Dad a lot. I did right away. I didn’t know how to deal with that and also have a relationship with you. Like I wasn’t supposed to love both of you. Like I had to choose between loving you and missing him. I didn’t have a choice, though, because I did miss him, as dumb as it seemed to miss someone who made our lives so hard. I still do.
Now I realize you must have missed him, too—in ways I can’t understand.
I want us to have a relationship again. I’m sorry.
Love,
Smith
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 5:59 PM
subject:
Thanksgiving
* * *
Hi Wally,
I think I’ll be there prior to Thanksgiving, actually. I’m going to come visit Mom next weekend.
Would you mind letting her know?
See you soon!
Smith
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:13 PM
subject:
Thanksgiving
* * *
Of course. Great to hear. I’ll tell her in the morning, and she’ll be thrilled. She’s just sleeping off some congestion. See you in a week!
* * *
from:
[email protected] via BOXITWEB
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:27 PM
subject:
UNDELIVERABLE: no subject
* * *
The e-mail address you entered “MOM” could not be found. Please check the recipient’s e-mail address and try again to send your message. If the problem continues, please contact your help-desk for troubleshooting.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:31 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Carl,
I know it’s a Saturday and you’re probably at an ayahuasca ceremony or something, but what does this app you installed do besides delay emails? Tell me it isn’t doing what I think it’s doing.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:39 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Hmm. What might that be? I need a bit more direction.
Also, I don’t do ayahuasca. I’ve watched YouTube videos of people doing it, and the vomit deters me. Plus they all seem to be dummies.
On the other hand, I do like the idea of sensing an overwhelming, universal love . . . pros and cons!
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:42 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
I think it’s sending my drafts. I drafted a letter in my email account that I never meant to send. It just bounced back because I hadn’t even included a real email address. So OOF! must have sent it?
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:43 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
I know it autofills based on your recent email history . . . but no, it’s not supposed to automatically send drafts after it autofills. That would be a horrible feature of a product! Are you sure you didn’t send yourself?
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:44 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Yes. I just looked. It not only autofills . . . the fucking thing is sending my drafts to the people it autofilled. Ev
ery draft I’ve written since you installed it has been sent.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:50 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Yikes! That’s a HUGE bug. I’ll let Gus know.
Ugh, he’s going to be so bummed about this. I didn’t mention this before, but he’s having a rough year. Would you know, Gus Martin is one of the most coveted names by criminals? He’s only twenty-two and his identity has been stolen six times. Right now some car thief in Sacramento has his SS# pinned for $45K in CC debt.
AND he’s got shingles.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:56 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Can you get into Iris’s Gmail account? How do I do it? I need to delete something.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:57 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Um, Boss, that’s illegal.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 6:59 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
You do it all the time!
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:02 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
I go IN. I don’t DELETE. That’s a traceable crime.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:04 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Carl, give me the fucking password.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:11 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Now!
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:12 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Do you have snapchat? I’d feel safer snapping you.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:13 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
I’ll delete the text, Carl. For fuck’s sake.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:15 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Fine. Texted.
I’ve never seen you like this!
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 7:59 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
Well??? How did it go? Did you delete? I’m trying not to ask questions, but I am so curious what’s going on!
I will uninstall OOF! first thing Monday morning.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 8:39 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
I didn’t get there in time. It’s already marked as read.
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 8:45 PM
subject:
re: urgent
* * *
What??? She’s DEAD. Who else is in there??
* * *
from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Sat, Nov 7 at 8:47 PM
subject:
urgent
* * *
Doesn’t matter. It’s too late.
Saturday, November 7
TherapistAwayNetwork™
Patient Name: Jade Renee Massey
AUTO PROMPT: What is a first step you can take?
Ha. Joke’s on me. What I get for checking her email.
Of course he loved her. Or at least wishes he’d “let himself,” whatever that means.
I was the next closest thing.
Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess, given I suspected it all along.
. . .
* * *
Dear JADE,
Thank you for your submission to TAN™. We will make sure your provider receives this message.
In baseball, first base is a position on the field that requires an elite player, because it is the critical point where a run is determined possible or impossible.
Where does the ball get thrown more times than anywhere else? That’s right: first.
There is a reason for the saying that the first step is the hardest one, and it is the same reason that the ball is thrown more often to first base than other bases. When you start a journey, that’s when you’re most vulnerable. Make it past first, and you’ve survived the worst. (We didn’t mean for that to rhyme, but we like it.)
TAN™ is not to be used in case of emergency. If you are in crisis, call 9-1-1.
Sincerely,
Your friends at TAN
http://dyingtoblog.com/irismassey
April 12, 3:40 PM
Since I don’t think I’ll have time to finish writing out my dots, this week I made a list of a hundred memories and sorted them:
Feeling Seen. That’s what I remember best.
Which I guess means most of the time I felt unseen.
For my eighth-grade school dance, I wore a cream dress that I inherited from Jade. It had peach polka dots and satin buttons down the back. It was the first time I remember feeling pretty.
I was sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for my mom to finish getting ready so she could drive me to the dance when Jade came in on her way out for the night. She was seventeen and a senior in high school. I waited for her to notice how I looked, but she didn’t even glance at me. She looked beautiful, even in jeans.
“Bye,” I said.
She didn’t even say it back as she left.
The next year I got my first tattoo and dyed my hair hot pink, but by then Jade was in culinary school, and when she came “home” for break (I forget what hotel we were living in, maybe one in Kansas), all she said was “Rebel phase, I see.”