Perfect - 02

  The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter.

  But always with the promise of sweet

  perfection. All it takes is sugar—

  that certain someone’s kiss, flavored

  with possibility. If Dani has taught

  me anything, it’s that life is brimming

  with possibilities. Every single day

  brings choices. Make a bad one,

  you deal with the consequences.

  Make a good one, you get a reward

  of one kind or another. Bad choices

  or good, if you never take chances,

  someone else will build your life

  for you. What if you decide you don’t

  like their vision? What if they put you

  up on a pedestal and you hate the view?

  I’ve never been much of a thrill seeker,

  mostly because I’m afraid of falling.

  I’m eyeing the mountain. But I’ll never

  climb it with my parents calling the shots.

  Possibilities. Choices. Decisions.

  Influencing my own fate scares me.

  But it’s better than the alternative.

  I think. Right now, the future stares

  back at me, posturing. Challenging.

  Graduation is two weeks away. June

  was supposed to be my escape, but I

  wish I could hold on to May just a little

  longer. Can’t say that I want to hang

  on to my childhood, because I can’t

  remember having one, at least not

  the kind a kid should have. But am I

  really ready to be out on my own?

  Ready or not, here I come, I guess.

  Just not sure where I’m going.

  Or if I’ll ever want to come home.

  The Phone Rings

  And caller ID says it’s Aspen Springs.

  They don’t call here often. Three rings,

  no one else answers, so I do. “Hello?”

  It’s Dr. Starr, and she sounds shaky

  when she asks to talk to one of my

  parents. What’s Conner done now?

  “Mom? Dad? Pick up the phone.”

  Dad’s just coming in from a run.

  He goes into the kitchen, and I’m

  about to hang up when I hear Dr.

  Starr through the receiver. I … uh …

  I don’t know how to tell you this

  but … uh … there was an accident.

  Uh … it’s Conner. I’m afraid … he …

  didn’t make it. Didn’t make what?

  What is she saying? Dad asks the same

  question, and she answers bluntly,

  He’s dead. Dead. Dead? He can’t be

  dead. My stomach swells with bile.

  Dread. No. Not Conner. Not my brother!

  I drop the phone. Don’t want to

  listen to the details. I run downstairs,

  find Dad collapsed on the cool

  kitchen tile. One of the chairs is

  overturned, like he missed it. “Dad!”

  Daddy?” Tears streak his face,

  and his hands shake so hard he can

  barely hold the phone, let alone speak

  into it. But he won’t let me take

  it from him. No, he says. Go find

  your mother. I turn around, run

  blindly into the living room. Not

  here. Upstairs, to her bedroom,

  don’t bother to knock. She’s asleep,

  and I don’t want to wake her. “Mo …”

  Now it’s me that can’t talk. “Mom!”

  She comes up out of her dreams,

  and it’s all I can do to say, “Dad

  needs you. Now,” before I crack

  into a million pieces. Not Conner.

  But Conner Is Dead

  It wasn’t an accident. He stepped

  over the edge of a very tall cliff.

  Brought our world crashing down.

  Smashing us into the rocks, right

  along with him. We are zombies.

  The living remains of the dead.

  They flew him out of the wilderness.

  Already cold. Almost as cold as Mom.

  She is frozen. All emotion ice dammed

  inside. She never even cried. Someone

  has to stay calm, she said. Someone has

  to handle the details. Will she ever cry?

  Kendra

  The Details

  Of death are the fabric

  nightmares are sewn from.

  They weave

  daylight grieving with

  deep-of-night memory.

  They chase

  hope into the shadows,

  leave it trembling there.

  They menace

  summer’s green dawning

  with winter’s gray shroud.

  They strike

  like lightning. Electric,

  unstoppable.

  They stab

  like wooden spears, drive

  splinters into the heart.

  Irredeemable

  That’s what Mom called Conner when

  I told her the news. No way to save him.

  I don’t believe that. Everyone can be

  saved, if they just have the right person

  trying to save them. Right? How could

  he want to die so badly? He looked okay

  when I saw him that day at the movies.

  Almost like his regular self. I didn’t see death

  in his eyes. Didn’t see the desire

  to leave this world behind. Leave us behind.

  Goddamn you, Conner. You always

  were a selfish prick. You got us this time.

  Nailed us right to the wall. And

  some of us will never heal completely.

  I Got The News

  From Cara, the day after they brought

  Conner’s body back. Laid him on a chilled

  slab to poke and prod and probably

  dig around in his brain for some tumor

  or other abnormality that might make

  a perfect kid like Conner choose to die.

  I was sitting by Jenna’s bedside,

  watching her pick at her hospital food,

  when Cara’s call came. Um, Kendra?

  I knew something was wrong from

  the way her voice quivered. I wanted you

  to hear this from me. She drew two

  long raspy breaths. Conner died

  yesterday. He, um … committed.

  My first thought was bullshit. Why

  would you make up something like this?

  Then I realized immediately that no

  way would she. “Oh my God. Are you …”

  I almost said “sure,” but of course

  she was, so I finished it with, “all right?”

  Not really. I have to go. The wake

  is Saturday. Will you let people know?

  “Definitely. Cara, if I can do anything …

  help … anything … please call me, okay?”

  I felt like someone had just smashed

  into me with a semi truck. And I must

  have looked like it too. What? asked

  Jenna, eyes wide. What’s wrong?

  I couldn’t tell her. Repeating it would

  make it real. The dam failed, and I cried.

  The Wake Is This Evening

  Mom’s taking me because I don’t

  want to go by myself. We drive into

  Reno, on the same highway as always,

  passing the same trees. Same billboards.

  Same buildings. But nothing

  will ever be exactly the same again.

  “Did you ever lose someone you loved?

  I mean, did someone you loved ever die?”

  Mom is quiet, remembering. My first

  boyfriend died in a car accident.

  A drunk driver ra
n a red light, hit

  him going sixty. It was horrible.

  “Does it still hurt, thinking about

  him? Does the pain ever go away?”

  The pain diminishes over time.

  But it still hurts thinking about him.

  The pain is sawing me in two.

  I can barely breathe, and part of me

  doesn’t want to. “Did you ever want

  to die enough to think about suicide?”

  I think everyone considers it at some

  point. But I never would have done it.

  Too many people rely on me. Too

  many people love me, and I would

  never want to make them feel the way

  you’re feeling right now. You know?

  Life is precious, Kendra. Never throw

  away a single second. And never

  forget about the people who love you.

  There is tremendous value in that.

  Sean

  Never

  Again. Never again.

  Few things create never again

  like death. Biting the big

  one,

  and not talking burgers.

  Kicking the bucket.

  Taking a one-way trip

  to

  who-knows-where.

  Is there a heaven? Hell?

  I mean, who can really

  say

  what happens after

  the lights go out? Is there

  a “hello” after the final

  good-bye?

  Word Travels Fast

  Along the “someone died”

  grapevine. It might not

  always be accurate, so

  you have to do some

  double checking to make

  sure what you heard is

  something close to true.

  I heard about Conner

  from Duvall, not exactly

  the most reliable source.

  But this time, it seems, he

  was right. Conner fell off

  a cliff, somewhere out

  in the Black Rock Desert.

  He was on a wilderness

  challenge. Still not clear why.

  Not like Conner couldn’t hack

  a challenge course. But why

  was he there? And did he fall

  by accident? On purpose?

  Hell, maybe someone pushed

  him over. Some pretty rough

  kids go on those challenges.

  Rougher than Conner, who was

  a total prep, if a jock prep.

  Was. Hard to use the past tense

  when talking about someone

  you know. Someone your age.

  Someone who could be you,

  if things were a little different.

  Aubree and I are going to

  the wake. I didn’t want

  to. Not like Conner and

  I were tight or anything.

  Plus, dead people give me

  the creeps. Too many bad

  memories. Ghosts, walking.

  But Aubree says we have to.

  It’s expected. Everyone will be

  there. They’ll talk if we aren’t.

  Not Going To Argue

  Dad would expect me to go.

  Conner and I were teammates,

  if not friends. The team will

  all be there, for sure. The least

  you can do when a teammate

  dies is go to his wake.

  They’re having it at

  the biggest funeral home

  in Reno. Aubree was right.

  Everyone is here, to judge

  by the parking lot. “We have to

  park on the street and walk.”

  It’s a long few blocks, made

  easier by sneaking peeks

  at Aubree’s legs, mostly

  exposed by the very short

  skirt of her black dress.

  Everyone is in black except

  me. I wore navy blue, just

  to shake things up. Oops.

  Okay. Cara is not in black.

  She’s in a dark red dress

  that fits her like skin and

  she is beautiful, even in

  her obvious grief. Or maybe

  because of it. She looks like

  a child. Vulnerable. Easy

  to hurt. Aubree notices who

  I’m staring at. She elbows

  me. Kind of inappropriate.

  Maybe. But I still want to

  go to her, hold her, despite

  her girlfriend (hair no longer

  blue) standing so close

  there can be no doubt that

  they are an item. I turn away,

  take Aubree’s hand, and we

  go down a far aisle to find

  two seats way in the back.

  Who sits up front at a wake?

  I Watch Who Goes Up Front

  Conner’s family. His father,

  who walks all bound up,

  like if he lets himself sway

  at all he might stumble and

  fall. Conner’s mother, who

  looks straight ahead, no

  hint of expression on her

  beautiful, sculpted face.

  Cara, her own face a carbon

  copy. Except hers is sorrow

  streaked. Her girlfriend, who

  scaffolds Cara. Kendra and

  her mother. Shantell, with

  some guy I’ve never seen

  before. And just in front of

  them, a young couple. Maybe

  my age. Also strangers, but

  apparently not strangers to

  Conner. They hold tight to each

  other, struggle not to fall apart.

  Andre

  Strangers

  Death gives strangers

  common ground

  to walk on.

  Encounter

  obstacles on.

  To fall

  down and cry on until

  it sponges their tears.

  Muddied,

  they struggle

  to pick

  themselves up,

  clean off the dirt,

  stitch their wounds,

  and together fight,

  no longer strangers,

  to get on

  with living.

  I Never Knew

  Conner Sykes or anyone in his family,

  I’m only here because

  Shantell didn’t want to come alone.

  She brought me up front, close to Cara,

  who I did meet that one

  time. She seems different. Older, touched

  by death. Sitting next to her mother, I can

  see what she will

  look like one day, when she is older still.

  It’s an open casket. From here, the boy

  inside appears to be

  sleeping. Only his mostly colorless face

  gives his lifelessness away. He is—was—

  younger than I when

  he left this earth. He will never marry.

  Never have children. Never find his way

  back from wherever

  it was that he lost himself. He will never

  live his dreams, whatever they were.

  Did he have them? Lose

  them? Can you lose sight of a dream

  that you don’t have time to discover?

  I think of Grandma Grace,

  who will leave this planet soon. Did

  she have dreams she never realized?

  I will ask her when I go

  visit her. I don’t want to see her sick,

  but I have to tell her I love her. That

  I will miss her. That she

  helped make me what I am today.

  A dancer. That’s what I am. Only a few

  people know it

  at this moment. But that’s going to change.

  One Of Thos
e People

  Is sitting next to me right now. A year

  ago, I wouldn’t have

  given her a second glance. Wouldn’t have

  gotten to know her because she isn’t a classic

  beauty. Doesn’t have curves

  like Jenna. Isn’t model thin like Kendra.

  But she is pretty, and perfect in her own

  way, because she knows

  who she is and doesn’t pretend to be

  anyone else. Doesn’t care who she pleases,

  as long as she is good

  with herself, and what else really matters?

  Shantell has her eyes firmly on her dream.

  Is reaching hard for it,

  and encouraging me to reach for mine.

  Tentatively, I slide my hand over hers.

  The Vs between her fingers

  notch into mine, and she squeezes.

  The Service Starts

  With recorded music. Pink singing “Amazing

  Grace.” Beautiful and kind

  of weird at the same time. Like the singer.

  Shantell glances at me, and we share

  a smile. She must be

  reading my mind. The priest gets up and

  spends much too long talking about God’s

  plan and how to recognize

  it in our own lives. And now the eulogies

  begin. Conner’s football coach outlines

  his many and varied

  records, then laments about talent

  the world will never see. Kendra stands,

  tries desperately

  to put her love for Conner into words.

  She only manages a couple before they are

  swallowed by sobs.

  More than a few people join her in tears.

  A half-dozen schoolmates of Conner’s

  say how much they’ll

  miss him. Finally the priest calls a young

  couple to the front. They go forward,

  hand in hand. Hi,

  says the auburn-haired girl. I’m Vanessa.

  You don’t know me, but I got to know