Page 41 of Goodbye Days

“Please?”

She sighs theatrically and makes the call.

We drive the rest of the way home, my mouth stitched shut in defeat. I guess I’ve finally lost a battle against myself that I needed to lose.

I wish I could have lost it more gracefully.

“I gotta run to work. I’m already late. You have keys, right?”

I nod.

“When Mom and Dad get home from work, you’re explaining all this to them. You are aware of this, right?”

I nod. “Thanks, Georgia.”

“I’m taking you to your appointment. I want to say hi to Dr. Mendez.”

“Okay.”

She drives off and I trudge up the path to my house. Inside, it’s tomblike. I hate the stillness of home-alone-when-you’re-not-supposed-to-be. Everything sounds way too loud. The refrigerator clicking on and off. Clocks ticking. The clink of glasses as you remove them from the cupboard. Heartbeats. The rush of blood in your ears.

And that’s under normal circumstances. Now, silences feel like absences. Absences feel like loss. Loss feels like grief. Grief triggers guilt. Guilt is a scarlet anguish.

I sit in my room, listening to the house creak and pop, when the overwhelming urge to not be so alone sets in.

I have a text to Jesmyn halfway composed when I remember: You have very bad luck when you text people at inopportune occasions. It does not turn out well for the people you are texting. And so instead I lie on my bed with a bag of frozen peas over my eyebrow and stare at the ceiling for a while. That turns out to be less fun than you might imagine.

I sit at my desk and wake up my laptop. Maybe I can at least be productive on my college admission essay. Maybe that will assuage my guilt over sitting at home on the first day of school. I lean forward in my chair and start typing.

Ever since I was young, I wanted to be a writer.

Okay. Not particularly original or interesting. But a start.

The possibility of creating new worlds and people fascinated me.

This blows.

Just as this essay is probably fascinating you already. Hey, another kid who wants to go to college and has been fascinated by [insert interest that would sound attractive to college admissions board] since he [insert age or formative experience engaging in said interest that suggests that the interest is genuine and not a contrivance to impress a college admissions board]. But guess where my love of writing took me. One day I wrote a text message that killed my three best friends. Now do I have your attention? Sure, I’ve written a few stories here and there, but my masterwork was a two-sentence-long text message that ended three stories. I’m the only writer in the world who makes stories disappear by writing. And who wouldn’t want to have such a unique and beautiful creature at their institution of higher learning, eh? So let me into your college and I promise to try not to kill anybody else with my writing. That’s assuming, of course, that I’m not in prison by this time next year.

It’s probably not the best idea, while you’re feeling lower than hammered dog turds, to try to write the essay that’s supposed to sell you to a college.

I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to rest. I’m restless, but I’m too tired to do anything about it. I want to forfeit these hours of my life and make this day be over.

I’m lying on my bed, reading, when my phone buzzes. That’s a much rarer occurrence now than it used to be. I jump up, making black spots appear in my field of vision, and grab my phone. It’s Jesmyn.

How are you?

Super embarrassed. Sorry.

No need to apologize.

I glance at the clock. Lunch should be about ending. I hope you didn’t have to sit alone at lunch.

No, Alex Bishop invited me to sit with him and his friends.

My innards clench. Of course. Alex Bishop. If you had asked me to imagine a worst-case scenario for the first day of school, it would have gone in roughly this order: (1) I have a panic attack in front of everyone, including Adair, and make a jackass of myself; thus leaving (2) Alex Bishop to try to worm his way in with Jesmyn on her first day there. Alex is a dancer who’s cut a fair swath through the female student body at Nashville Arts, including Adair, as it happens. I am not an Alex fan. Eli hated him. He would have loathed the idea of Jesmyn sitting down at a cafeteria table with Alex. I hate it on Eli’s behalf.

Be careful of Alex.