I nod. Tears suddenly prick my eyes because I feel both completely safe with this person but also so uncertain of what challenges will be ahead of us. It won’t be easy going to different schools and adding a new dynamic in our relationship. Then there’s his panic attack, which I know in my bones wasn't his first. I don’t know what to make of any of it and I suddenly feel claustrophobic.
I step away from him and get dressed, trying to put aside all of these new thoughts and feelings.
nine
. . .
Fallingin love for the first time is a lot like being overly caffeinated. The fidgety, bubbly feeling in my chest sometimes feels like anxiety, but I kind of don’t want it to go away, and much like the jitters from too much coffee, the feeling hits when I’m least expecting it.
This feeling like my heart might explode right out of my chest has been around pretty much the whole summer; as Andy and I picnic on the grass, drive to a neighboring town late at night to get gelato from the little Italian place that stays open until midnight on Saturdays, and make out in his truck. A lot.
I knew right away that Andy was different, and I attributed that fact to his age and no longer being in high school, but it turns out he’s a bit of a unicorn. Our little love bubble has been warm, safe, and comforting. I never want to leave it, but I know that we have to eventually.
I’ve been consumed with loving Andy. So consumed I haven’t questioned why he never talks about school or going back in the fall. I figured the distance is what’s kept his friends from visitingor him from going to see any of them all summer. He never talks about his parents and why he’s really here with his aunt Mel.
I know so much about this person, and he probably knows everything about me, but it still feels like there are missing pieces.
There’s only a month before I’m due to start at NYU, so yesterday I asked Andy what we’d do once we weren’t living in the same town anymore. Part of me hoped that he’d have an answer, or that he’d be more open to talking about it now that summer is almost over, but nope. He shut down again.
Now he’s been distant for a couple of days, and I figure that awkward conversation must be why. It's all I've been able to think about, and I don't know how to feel about the fact that he doesn't want to talk to me about it. I thought I could let it go like all the other times, but tonight it’s nagging at me.
I drove myself to work early, thankful for how busy the diner was because it meant I didn’t have much time to stop by the bar and chat with Andy. I didn’t want to make small talk or avoid the elephant in the room anymore.
Now it’s time to go and as I squeeze Andy's arm to say goodbye, I don't kiss him. I tell him I need time to think. I tell him I'll see him in the morning for our shift together.
When I get home, I turn off my phone so I won't be distracted. I stay up all night coming up with a schedule for me to visit him at Michigan State and picking weekends he could come to New York, plus any holidays where we could be together here. By the time morning comes, I'm so excited to share the plan with him that I don't remember to turn my phone back on.
I pack up his favorite cookies and drive to his aunt’s house, intent on surprising him before our shift starts. I just want to see him. I can't wait to hear his voice, kiss his face, tell him how much I love him and that I know we can figure anything out as long as we're together.
When I get to Mel’s house, she's just coming out the front door. She looks as pale as a ghost and rushes out to my car.
“Elaina, honey, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.” She grabs my shoulders, trying to push me back towards the end of the driveway. “Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“Oh, I must have forgotten I turned my phone off last night. Is everything okay? Where’s Andy?” We're standing face-to-face, her hands on my shoulders, mine on her elbows. Her eyes are lifeless, glossy and red, like she’s been crying.
“No, my love. Everything is not okay.” Her blue eyes are shining with welled-up tears. “Andy’s gone, honey. He’s… he’s dead. He killed himself last night.”
Her words hit me like a slap to the face. They sting, they bruise, they hurt.
I know there’s no gentle way to deliver information like this to someone. But I can't possibly be the someone being given this news. There’s no way. No. This isn't my story. This isn't Andy's story either. It can't be.
She continues talking, telling me she's sorry. I want to yell at her, to ask her why she's lying to me. I want to wake up from this nightmare.
Mel is the one who found him. I barely register the words. “In the garage,” she says with a whimper. After that the words start to smudge together, an oil painting of black on black on black. Everything she says is cruel and awful and the picture she’s painting is nothing but dark, monstrous, ugly in every way.
I shake my head. I ask her to repeat herself because surely I’m hearing this all wrong.
The ground starts spinning. Everything blurs. All I can hear are someone’s blood-curdling screams. It's horrible. So loud that my head throbs from the sound.
I realize they're my screams just as my knees hit the ground and my entire world falls apart.
I remember little after that. My dad is there, picking me up and driving me home. My mom makes tea, and I cry so much I think I’ll run out of tears soon.
I am hollow.
The sadness is overwhelming and the guilt… God, the guilt feels like it’s clawing its way up my chest, tearing me up and leaving behind an oppressive weight I don’t think I’ll ever be able to lift.
After a few days, I manage to stop crying.
