Flat-Out Celeste

  As she had done every day since her return from San Diego, she ran through her phone and computer looking for anything left of Justin. She was afraid that she had missed something, and she needed all physical evidence of him out of her life. The emotional evidence was taking work to erase, but she fought every minute to keep emotion at bay. She had a very practical search to do. Granted, it had neared obsessive levels, as she knew that her browser history had been cleared and photographs, emails, and texts deleted. Yet something nagged at her. There was something that she was forgetting.

  Her bedroom door swung open. Matt.

  She glanced at him for a split second before turning away. “Please leave.”

  But he strolled into the room and sat down on her bed. “Are you still giving me the silent treatment? That’s got to be boring. I mean, passing over compelling discussions with someone of my intellect has to be killing you.”

  “I asked you to leave.”

  “Mom says you decided to go to Harvard.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “And you’re going to live at home? Why would you do that? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  “I would very much like for you to get out of here,” she said flatly.

  “Celeste, come on. Enough.”

  “Get out.”

  “I said I was sorry for what happened. Really. You can’t just pretend that I’m not your brother.”

  “I can. I will.”

  “Look, I give you points for stubbornness. Really I do. You win, okay? Now tell me what to do to get you to knock off this game.”

  She swiveled slowly in her chair. “You can get the hell out of my room. Now.”

  He looked so sad. “Celeste…”

  She raised her voice. “Get the hell out! Do not come back. Graduate with your degree, go on your interviews, and accept a job far away from me. I am toxic to you!”

  “That is not true. I hurt you, and you’re mad. I know that. Tell me how to make this up to you. Free burgers from Bartley’s for life? Or… or… or I’ll only type in Comic Sans for the next year.” He held a hand up. “Swear on my life.”

  “I have no wish for your jokes. None. Stay away from me.”

  “You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this act. Pushing everyone away is a huge mistake. Are you even talking to Dallas anymore? Dad just told me that she’s been calling the house saying that you’re not returning the messages she left on your phone.”

  “That is not your concern. I am not your concern. Not anymore.”

  The truth was that she was still talking to Dallas, although mostly only in school. Ending that friendship would be more effort than she had now. They would graduate soon enough, and Celeste could slip out of the small social life she’d established. Arousing too much alarm now was impractical. So she smiled at school, she asked lots of questions, and she did everything that she could to keep the focus off of herself. She knew that Dallas wasn’t buying it, but Celeste pawned it off as not wanting to talk about her break-up with Justin. It was enough to satisfy Dallas for now.

  “You’re my sister. You really think I can just stop caring about you?”

  She slammed her hands down on the desk. “You will not be encumbered by me any longer! I cannot stand it!” She was panting, and it took a minute to regain control. “You will go and live your life as you were meant to. Without me and without restraint. I will ask you for a final time to vacate my room.”

  Matt looked at her for a long time, tolerating her steely glare, until he finally stood.

  “I’m not giving up on you.”

  “You should.”

  “Never,” he said as he walked by her, finally leaving her alone.

  It was not easy to remain stoic and unaffected. But she did it.

  Back to the work at hand.

  Celeste walked the perimeter of her room, rooting through items, throwing everything that did not give her an answer into a heap. The floor of her bedroom was becoming progressively more and more covered as she cleared off shelves, the nightstand, her dresser drawers. Some piece of Justin remained, and she had to find it. She opened the door to her closet and sifted through each hanger. Then she searched the floor, hurling shoes behind her. Nothing. There was nothing. And yet, there was something, somewhere. She could feel it in her heart, and that feeling had to be eliminated. Celeste stood on her tiptoes and pulled down a stack of sweaters, hurling each one behind her.

  And then she saw it. And remembered. The pink sweater that she’d had on for her date with Justin last December. The one that he had gently pulled over her head when she’d been so distraught, and the one that she’d had on when she walked through his winter wonderland. And when they had been lifted into the air to look down on the Christmas tree.

  The Christmas tree. The star.

  Celeste took a deep breathe in and out through her nose, shutting her eyes to keep her composure.

  The box that had their notes in it. That was still out there in the world. And she needed to get that back so that it, too, could be destroyed.

  Calmly she walked through the mess in her room, did a quick search for a phone number, and sat down in her big chair. She dialed the number.

  “Good afternoon, Eastern Communications. In order to better assist you, may I have your account number, please?”

  “Hello,” she said brightly. “I am not calling about my account. I am endeavoring to contact an employee of yours. His name is Trent, and much to my dismay, I cannot provide you with his last name. Would you be able to be of assistance?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I am only in charge of account services. May I have your account number?”

  “I do not have an account number. I have a need to locate one of your fellow employees.”

  “I can’t help you with that, ma’am. Perhaps you’d like to upgrade your service to one of our new bundle packages? May I have your account number?”

  Celeste hung up and redialed, reaching a different person.

  “Good afternoon, Eastern Communications. In order to better assist you, may I have your account number, please?”

  “Hello. I am not calling about my account. I am endeavoring to contact an employee of yours. His name is Trent…”

  And so it continued. Until finally she had a phone number.

  Two hours later, she was in the car and heading to Dedham.

  The Christmas tree lot was, of course, empty. Deserted, covered in muddy slush, and dismal, it looked nothing like it had the last time that she’d been here.

  That made the ache worse.

  Celeste stopped herself. She would not go back to that night, to that hope. She slammed the car into a parking spot and began the walk. There were no lights this time, no halo cast over her, no boy there romancing her and easing his way into her heart. She was grateful for that, because she had no room for those memories. She couldn’t. There were puddles, there was gray sky that broke through the evergreen arch, and there was emptiness. Those, those she had room for.

  When she reached the clearing, she immediately steered herself to the driveway without looking up at the tree. The rumble of the truck was relaxing. It meant this would soon be over.

  Trent pulled his phone company truck up next to her. “I was certainly surprised to hear from you,” he said with a smile. “Lordy, you must be freezing! No coat? No hat? It’s goddamn sleeting like crazy out there.”

  He was right. Celeste hadn’t noticed her lack of winter attire until Trent pointed it out. It was only now that she realized that her thin shoes and socks were drenched with ice water. No matter. She barely felt anything.

  “I am fine,” she said. “You also are not sporting appropriate clothing.” She nodded in his direction. “You have on only a light shirt.”

  He winked. “So I guess we’re both tough mother—” He winced. “Well, you know what I mean. But we are both tough, and I’ll leave it at that.”

  He could not be more wrong. Only one of them was tough.

 
“So how is Justin? What’s going on with that boy?” he asked. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks, and he’s not calling me back.”

  He might as well have ripped a knife through her chest. Of course he would mention Justin. It was incredibly stupid of her not to have considered this. And now she had no response for him. Celeste looked up at Trent. “Would you… would you…” She swallowed hard. “Would you be so kind as to help me retrieve something from the top of that tree? It would be most appreciated, as I surely cannot climb or otherwise rise to such heights, but it is of great necessity that I obtain an item left there.” She could hear the crying start, the choking, but she could not stop it. “It is with great urgency… I simply had no one else to whom I could extend the request…” She wiped her eyes. “I am very sorry for putting you out, as I imagine that this weather is causing telephone wire damage, and your services must be needed elsewhere.”

  “Hey, hey, easy there, little love.” Trent frowned, the confusion on his face clear. “I’ll help you. You wait here, okay? I’ll get you what you need.” He put the car in gear. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.” Celeste caught her breath and turned to point at the upper branches of the tree. Justin’s tree. The lights were gone, as was the star. With every ounce of her being, she needed the box to be there. “In the top branches, there should be a small plastic container.”

  He nodded. “Hold tight. I gotcha.”

  Trent drove forward and pulled the truck up next to the tree and lowered the cherry picker. Nimbly, he stepped into the bucket and steered the crane to raise him to the top. It was with great anxiety that she watched him lean over the side, his hand disappearing among the branches. It felt like an eternity, but eventually he held a hand in her direction and waved his arm. He had found their notes. The last piece.

  She felt relief. She felt devastation.

  She felt nothing, and she felt everything.

  Trent lowered the bucket back to the bed of the truck and ducked back into the cab, then circled the truck back to her. He held out the box, but kept his hand on it when she tried to take it from him. “You gonna be okay?”

  Celeste met his eyes. She didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve known Justin for years,” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “He’s my best friend. Like a brother. I know what you mean to him.”

  She froze. “Do not tell him about this. I beg you. It will make it worse. I know that.”

  “And I know that it’s not over until it’s really, unforgivably over.” He let go of the box and faced forward. “Make sure it’s unforgivably over, or you’re going to regret it.”

  HINGES

  THE BOX WITH their Christmas notes sat on her nightstand for a week. Celeste was unable to destroy it as planned. It would make sense to, and it would finalize everything. But it sat beside her bed. She lay on her side with her head on the pillow and stared at it. She would not open it; she would not read what he had written. She would not.

  Her room was back to its overly organized state. She had spent the morning cleaning and doing laundry, and she could still smell the bleach on her comforter. Her parents had asked her to join them on a day trip to Cape Cod, but the last thing she felt like doing was going antiquing or eating fried fish. Or pretending to be happy. Or doing anything, really.

  She could do nothing, feel nothing, and think nothing. She might as well be dead. This had to end sometime. If she waited it out, this would end. The peace that she reflected on the outside would seep into her soul, and she would feel it. That’s what she’d thought anyway, but it had been a month now, a full month, and her despondence held strong. She needed help, but there was no one to help her. No respite, no comfort.

  Before, in her darkest days after Finn’s death, when she couldn’t accept all that Matt tried to do for her, there had been Flat Finn. His arrival at the house immediately turned things around. Not that she had ever believed he was actually her brother. Her thinking had never been that twisted. But it had been as a young child is with a beloved blanket or stuffed animal. A transitional object one uses and imbues with the feeling of a relationship. One can feel loved and supported by unconventional means.

  Celeste knew what she had to do.

  She rose from bed and left her room, walking to the door to the attic. The light flickered when she turned it on, but did not go out. Confidently, she made her way up the creaky stairs and scanned the dusty room. Tucked in the messenger bag that Julie had given her, he was right where she’d left him so many years ago behind a hope chest. Rather amusing placement, she noted to herself. The bag was dusty, but she wiped it with her hand, hung the strap over her shoulder and marched back to her room. And then, with exceptional care, she slid Flat Finn from the bag and unfolded the cardboard cutout. She pulled out the flaps on the back and set him standing tall in the center of her room. Some of the photo paper had wrinkled a bit, but she was pleased to see that essentially he was in good shape. This was a positive sign.

  Celeste backed up and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. The gold hinges that Julie helped her affix were all there, put on so that this life-size replica could be folded and tucked away when Celeste needed him to be less conspicuous and more portable. For the first time in weeks, she smiled. The familiarity of having Flat Finn stand guard in her room was overwhelming. “We are back together, my friend. Things are just as they are supposed to be.”

  She stared at Flat Finn and waited. This would work. He would work. Going back to what had helped in the past was quite logical. If only she’d thought of this sooner. No matter. At least she’d thought of it now.

  So she sat, and stared, and breathed in the musty attic smell that rose off of Flat Finn and the bag. She sat for an hour. Then two. Then she decided that perhaps there was too much pressure this way and engaging in normal activity would help. It was a bit difficult to determine what was normal activity, though, since in recent days it had meant laying catatonic on the bed. What did she used to do? Celeste flinched. She was asking herself what she used to do before her life imploded.

  Read. She could curl up in her chair and read. She pulled a book from her shelf and sat down by the window. Four chapters later, and barely comprehending a word of what she was reading, she glanced at Flat Finn. He was failing to console her. “Come on; you can do this,” she encouraged him. “Work. Like you used to.”

  The sky outside began to darken, and Celeste’s anxiety grew. “I am asking you to help me,” she said forcefully. “Now!”

  She felt as lifeless as he was.

  A sense of fury rushed through her. She stood and hurled the heavy book at Flat Finn, knocking him to the floor. “This is unfair of you! This is a betrayal! You are failing me when I need you the most! This is a betrayal of the highest order!” Enraged, Celeste rushed to her desk and searched through the three drawers until she located what she needed. Now, with a box cutter in hand, she moved so that she was on all fours on top of the cardboard brother.

  And she started cutting, and cutting, and cutting.

  With each shard she sliced, her heart pounded more, and the shaking in her hands intensified. Over and over, she slid the blade across Flat Finn, splicing his arms and legs into strands. A scream poured from her gut as she slashed his face, the face of the brother who had left and taken with him his vivacious, bold spirit. Whose death had traumatized the entire family. She wiped a hand across the only part of the photo not in fragments, smearing her tears across the red of Finn’s shirt. “You are a piece of shit! You are a piece of shit! I hate you!” she yelled, unleashing every bit of her pain. “I hate you!”

  “Celeste.” Matt was there, kneeling on the floor behind her. “Oh my God.”

  Delicately, he took the box cutter from her hand and took her in his arms.

  She sobbed, unable to stop. “He is broken, Matthew. Flat Finn is broken! He is a piece of shit! What am I going to do?”

  Mat
t held her, rocking her back and forth as she cried.

  Suddenly, she tensed. “What have I done? No, no, no. What have I done to him? Matthew, we have to fix him. We can fix him.” She lunged from Matt’s hold and crawled back to her desk drawer, grabbing a box of hinges leftover from Julie’s endeavors so long ago. “We can fix him; we can fix him,” she said over and over. “Help me, Matty. Please. Fix him for me; fix him for me! You can do this. You can do anything. Oh, please, help.” With her hands shaking, she dumped the box onto the mess of cardboard shreds and bits of rug that she’d cut off in her fit.

  “I can’t, Celeste,” Matt said quietly. “I can’t fix him, honey.”

  She whipped her head to face him. “Yes! Yes, we can! You will help me! You will do this for me. I am begging you!” But when she looked down at the floor, she saw there were only five gold hinges. She shook her head, over and over. “No, no… Oh God, no.” This couldn’t be right. “There are not enough hinges. There are not enough hinges.” Then Matt was holding her again, pulling her back into his body, surrounding her. “Why aren’t there enough?” She took fistfuls of cardboard shreds in both hands and angrily threw them into the air.

  Matt squeezed her. “Stop. Please, stop.”

  She panted and fought to get free from his hold. Celeste screamed in one final burst of despair. “I have destroyed him, and now there are not enough hinges!”