Page 58 of Fragments of the Lost
I’d believed myself worthy not only of his affection, but of his trust. Except I’d misread the signs. Everything had been situational, a reaction, an answer to a question I had to first ask.
There was always something just under the surface, that I was trying to reach. He kept things just hidden enough to keep me hooked on the intrigue. Doling out the secrets—I don’t like my best friend’s girlfriend—to mask the ones he kept.
The way his eyes turned slightly downward at the edges, pulling me closer, so I could decipher him. The physical differences from his mother, a window to the father he must’ve once known, but whose picture I’d never seen.
The history of the marks on his body: lower stomach, appendectomy; outside of the knee, skiing accident; between the thumb and forefinger, a kitchen knife.
But he’d never let me all the way in. Kept that box of photos for him and him alone, now hidden underneath his bed.
Meanwhile, I gave him everything. What it was like living with Julian (like a shadow), exactly what I had done, and not done, with my last boyfriend (it wasn’t much), a trail of names, an open book. What I wanted to be (a pediatrician), where I wanted to be (somewhere warm all year round), what I wanted to do (Doctors Without Borders, see the world).
He answered by telling me what he wanted to be (happy), where he wanted to be (here, with me), what he wanted to do (not answering, instead giving me a smile that cracked my heart wide open).
I thought because he told me where he was born, brought me to see that old house, told me about his father and the trust fund, that he was letting me further in. That he was giving me everything.
But all I’m left with are these pieces of our lives, sharp-edged fragments that don’t fit the picture of the Caleb I thought I knew.
—
I’m shaking by the time I make it home, everything on autopilot. Running through the last day again in my mind: Caleb showing up at my race; seeing him while I stood at the starting line, and handing him my necklace.Please hold this for me. Please be careful.
What had he come back for? Where was he heading?
I see glimpses: The rain. Caleb launching himself down the steps. The bridge. The phone call. The police. Driving around with Max. The moment we heard.
Pieces of his car. Pieces of his life.
My phone dings in the cup holder, and I jump, too accustomed to the silence, to being alone. The message is from Hailey. It’s a time and location:The pizza place on South Ave. Six p.m. Be there!
It feels a little like neutral ground, like a baby step before we hang out at one of our homes again. Like we’re starting over. The clock in the car ticks forward. I can make it if I leave now. And I have nowhere else to be, no one else to talk to, just my own memories—and even those begin to feel like lies.
I can talk to Hailey, work it all through. She will calmly tell me that I’m not being myself, that I need to get out of that room, that it’s getting to my head.
—
But when I get there, I realize that’s not what this is at all. The pizza place is busy, full of people I know.
It’s a cross-country team get-together. Hailey waves me over. The coach places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. There’s no animosity. I wonder if I’ve manufactured it. Or if it’s just time, dulling the sting for them.
Life goes on, and these things are the same: Hailey will make the decisions, and others will follow; Oliver will take out a pack of playing cards at some point; Vivian will sit beside Brandon, in a well-timed maneuver; Brandon will pretend not to notice, but he does, everybody does; and nobody can put away as much pizza as a cross-country team.
I am the only element not the same, who seems to have forgotten her role, and her lines.
Max is there. Sitting in a booth across from Brandon and Vivian. He freezes for a moment when he sees me, then raises his hand and gives me a small smile. I’m a mirror image, doing the same, confused as to why I’m here at all.
Hailey makes room for me in the booth across the aisle, and I slide in beside her. She doesn’t even break conversation as she sets a paper plate in front of me. “Well, whatever, Brandon’s way hotter.”
“I’m sitting right here, Hailey,” Brandon said.
“Iknow,” she says. And she smiles while she takes a bite, leaning around me to look him in the eye. Only Hailey can make eating pizza look good. “I’m explaining why we have the better team. Obviously. I mean, so what if you can’t beat him in a race. Ever.”
He throws a balled-up napkin at her, but he’s laughing.
“Next year, fellas,” she says.
“Too bad I won’t be here to help you out,” Max says, and the table laughs. Max never got much faster than that day on the beach. He’s not slow by any means, but he’s a solid middle-of-the-pack cross-country runner, same as me. He picks up points for the team, but he doesn’t win. He’s essentially the male counterpart of my role.
I was a solidly above-average runner, but I wouldn’t be recruited for it. I had to work twice as hard as Hailey, just to be half as good. I didn’t even want my parents to come to my races most times, because it made me feel like they could only see the things I lacked—in comparison to their other child, one of the best pitchers in the state; a skill that had come so naturally for him.
