Page 69 of After His Eulogy
Mendez calls on day twelve, on Reed’s line. Reed phones me from his apartment — come over, he’s calling back in twenty minutes. I put on my coat and walk it in fourteen. He is at the desk with the phone in front of him, the way he was the morning we called twelve days ago. His hand flat on the desk. His face still. His shoulders too high. I sit on the couch and don’t say anything. The phone rings. He puts it on speaker.
“Mendez.”
“Hi.”
“Reed. Griffin there?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Griffin.”
“Hi.”
“Okay. Here is where we are.”
We listen. We listen for ten minutes. Mendez talks the way Mendez talks, which is in numbered points, and he goes through the points the way he went through them last time. The decision has been made above him. The decision is that Reed is being moved. The move is going to happen at the end of the term, late March, early April, to give Reed time to finish the academic year and exit cleanly. The relocation is to be determined. Mendez does not yet know the destination. The new placement will be in a town with no academic connection to either of us, which is going to mean Reed is not going to be in a graduate program in his new placement. The program has decided that the academic-program placement was a mistake the first time and will not be repeated.
“Reed. You will exit your program with whatever cover story we agree on. Family emergency. Health issue. To be determined. Hellman gets a letter. The school gets a letter. You disappear cleanly.”
“Okay.”
“Griffin.”
“Yes.”
“Your decision still stands. Three options. Stay and have no contact. Stay and have specified-protocol contact. Or come.”
“Okay.”
“You do not need to decide today. You need to decide by the first week of March. That is six weeks. That is the window.”
“Okay.”
“Questions.”
Neither of us has questions.
“Okay,” he says. “Six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” Reed says.
“And Griffin.”
“Yes.”
“Whatever you decide. There is no judgment from this end about which thing you decide. I want you to know that. The three options are real options. People pick all three. There is no… the people in my office do not have an opinion about which one you should pick. We will support you in any of them.”
“Okay.”
“Decide for yourself. Not for him.”
“Okay.”
He hangs up.
The apartment is quiet. Reed is at the desk. I am on the couch. Reed has not turned around. His back is to me. I watch his back. His shoulders have not come down. His hand is still flat on the desk. I get up. I go to him. I put my hands on his shoulders. I do the thing I did twelve days ago, which is press down, gently, until the shoulders come down. They come down a little. Not all the way. He puts his hand on top of mine. He does not turn around.
“Late March,” he says.
