Chapter Twenty-Nine
Make Amends
Song: Three Steps toHeaven—Showaddywaddy
July 18th, 1975
It was my day off work, and the morning energy crept through my window blinds, forcing me to get out of bed.I rubbed my eyelids and stretched my legs, pointing my toes toward the light.On my days off, I liked to play with Fawn, clean the house for my momma, and read when I got the chance.I stayed busy to keep my mind from drifting too far away.
I went to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee, a habit I picked up from having to get up early to unload the trucks at work.I sat at the dining table, sipping the caffeine and appreciating the flowers outside the window.A yellow bird sat on James's hood, tweeting a simple tune.The bird reminded me of James when he used to tap his foot even when music was absent.James had music running through his bloodstream, and he would get it out any way he could.
I needed to go to the school district office to pick my sophomore year classes and schedule.I wasn’t ready to return to school because it meant explaining what had happened to my classmates and teachers.It also meant less time working, less money, and time away from Darren.I hoped that Darren wouldn’t be upset that I’d written to Zipper.I wished I could talk to him and hear his deep voice telling me everything would be okay.
I cared less about my looks than I did before.I had no one to impress except myself.My wardrobe consisted of employee shirts and James’s band Ts.I threw on his white Who shirt and told my momma it was time to go.My mom had to tag along to sign some paperwork for the school.Before we left, I picked some flowers in front of the kitchen window and put them on the truck’s dash.They were going out of season and would wither away.Plus, I was excited to freshen the musky smelling truck up with the scent of petals.
When we arrived at the office, I knotted the shirt up so it wouldn’t look like I wasn’t wearing shorts.I was simply going through the motions.I rang the silver bell on the counter, and a secretary with gray hair pulled up in a tight, neat bun greeted us.
“Good morning!You must be Penelope and Penelope’s mother!It’s great to see you guys.Penelope, you can head into Mr.Carrey’s office to pick up your classes while your mother stays here and fills out paperwork.”
I hesitantly went into Mr.Carrey’s office.Mr.Carrey was the school district’s counselor.He had a kind, gentle face, bright white teeth, and short brown hair.He was on the younger side of being a counselor, yet he was terrific at his job.
“Hello, Penelope.Take a seat.In front of you are classes for you to choose from.Go ahead and give it a look!When I glanced at your records, I noticed how well you performed in your Language Arts class, and I suggest you take a couple of Honors classes this year.”
I moved the pen to mark all the classes I wanted to take.There were many different classes, but some stood out to me more.I circled Honor’s ELA, Algebra 2, U.S.History, Biology, Music Appreciation, and Intro to Journalism.I slid the paper back toward him.
Mr.Carrey nodded, approving my choices.“Perfect, this would be a great fit for you.I believe that we can make this work.”
“Thanks, what is Music Appreciation like?”
“Oh, it’s a fun class!You learn about music’s history, how to play an instrument, and study famous artists like the band on your shirt!”
“Okay, cool.Thanks, Mr.Carrey,” I said, rising from the uncomfortable chair to leave.
“If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out!My door is always open for students in need,” he said, using his eyes to tell me he knew about James.Everyone in Moose Creek knew James was dead.I didn’t know how long would it take for word to spread around Butterfield.
“Um, yeah, thanks.See you,” I said.
“Just so you know, it’s normal to feel numb after a traumatic experience.Your brain is a wonderful tool.When it experiences something that it cannot handle, it sometimes blocks the memory altogether.Your body ends up being in this limbo state where you don’t feel like yourself.Journaling or writing is a great tool to get it all out,” he informed me.
“Interesting.Thanks,” I said, closing his door behind me.
My momma was still filling out paperwork.
The secretary pointed to a line on the paper in front of her, stating, “Sign here.”
Standing behind my mom, I realized why we were there in the first place.Registration was typically in the second week of August, but we registered in July.I thought it was because sophomores had more seniority than first-year students.That wasn’t the case.We were there for my mom to change the paperwork of my emergency contacts and guardianship because James was no longer with us.It was also a chance for my mom to make me see a counselor to make sure I was okay.I wished she would see a counselor instead.
I was happy about my new classes because they reflected my interests, so I decided not to make a fuss about the appointment.I was fine.I wasn’t perfect, but grief wasn’t ideal, and although Mr.Carrey was a safe person to talk to, I didn’t have anything new to get out.Time was the only thing that could help me.I was starting to come out of the limbo he was talking about, and it was more painful than when it first happened.
My mother took the keys from me to drive home.“I want to drive back,” she told me.She started to take an alternate route.I pondered where she was taking me.We went past the corner store in the opposite direction of my work and turned on an unfamiliar road.The cemetery came into view.It had bright green grass, a cement building in the middle, and narrow walkways throughout the court.Some graves were decorated with flowers, American flags, and garlands; others were plain and bare.The plain plots blended into the grass, making the dead seem forgotten.
“Why are we here?”I asked my mother, scared of what was to come.
“Let’s go see James.”
I grabbed the flowers on the dash so I wouldn’t be visiting him empty-handed and followed my mom between the labyrinth of headstones.
After wandering around, zigzagging through the rows, my mom came to a complete stop.The headstone was marble and smaller than the others in size.Under his name, “James Hartley,” an eighth note was engraved.On the left side of the words was an oval-shaped picture of James.His mustache was styled up, and his lips pursed together, forming a no-teeth smile.It was a colored photo of him from the day he took me to my first concert.Colored photos were expensive.Seeing his face was nice, as I used to see him every day.I kneeled on the grass, putting the flowers I picked in the morning over his stone.I had seen some people treat grave sites as visiting places to talk to the dead.Talking to a stone was more awkward to me than comforting.Momma leaned down to kiss his picture and rub the stone goodbye.She then led me back to the pickup, gripping my shoulders as we walked by various freshly dug plots.
