by Danyelle Hershkopf
Click here to read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.
Two months passed. Then three.
In all that time, the focus shifted. Weeks went by, and Ruby-Scarlet wouldn’t be mentioned at all. For a while, it just became about everyday stuff—school, college applications, if I was still avoiding some of my friends (yes, yes I was).
Our meetings usually went through the motions: how are you, what did you do this week, any questions, how are your friends, how is John, how are your parents. But then came today’s meeting.
“Did you wish that you died that day?” Brandon asked, right after the usual “How are you, Atticus?”
I blinked. What else was I supposed to do? “Um…”
“As in, do you ever look at your life and wish you weren’t there? That you were with her?”
I sat down. Finally, I answered, “I wish she was with me.”
“But you don’t want to be where she is?”
Brandon sat in front of me and picked up his notebook. “Atticus, you once asked me if you had survivor’s guilt. But the way you talk about your friends, your family, your life—I don’t think so. Look here—two weeks ago you mentioned voting for student council, and who you thought had the best chances based on student demographics. Exactly a month before, you mentioned ideas for possible college majors? The week after that you said how you had a family dinner, and I noted that you seemed excited.”
“Um. Ok.” Well, what else was there to say?
“But look at this: after the dinner, you stammered as you talked about your cousin announcing his wedding. Throughout these months, you occasionally mention Nate and Mei, but you never say who they are, only that you ignore any advances they make. Something is holding you back, but you seem to want to move forward, somewhat. Finally, the biggest point of all: when we first met, you said it was your idea to start seeing me. You know that something’s wrong, and you want to get past it, right?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked.
“No. Why did you want to see me?”
I shuffled in my seat. “Um, well, I…I, uh, guess I did wanna move on. I was sick of being upset over every little thing.”
“What little things?”
“It’s as you said, Doc. Being a downer when my cousin decided to bring along his girlfriend and marry her. To be honest, I can barely stand my college applications. I can’t even look at a bucket of water or an embroidered pillow or some crap without getting all upset and angry and—”
“Who are Nate and Mei?”
“People who were there.”
“Her friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you enjoy life right now?”
“It’s not the best but…it’s life.”
“You don’t mention your free time too often. What do you do during your free time?”
“I play video games. Call up John or Kelsea or Juana or all three. At once. Have I mentioned them Kelsea and Juana?”
“Yep.”
“Brandon. I’m not suicidal or anything.”
“So you don’t regret not dying?”
“Of course not.”
Didn’t he get it? I wasn’t ready to give it all up. Yeah, I slinked out of the room when my cousin’s girlfriend was showing off her ring and saying how nervous and excited and damn overjoyed they were and all that. Sure, I hate the whispers my uncle gave my dad about how I’m doing and how surprising it was that I’m still trudging through the days. And yes, I ignored a call from Nate and made up a lame excuse when he asked about how he hasn’t seen me. And a few days ago, I did dodge Ruby-Scarlet’s parents in a deli.
But I couldn’t put my parents through what the Jones went through. I couldn’t let my friends down. But mostly, I couldn’t stop myself from it.
“You know, when I was a kid, I planned to be a mathematician. Now, I’m thinking of majoring in Business and, yeah, part of me is hyped for taking statistics. When we—me and her— used to talk about graduating, we were so excited, and to be honest…I kinda still am. I want to work for a major company, I want to travel to places and give presentations and show off how smart I am. Even that party I went to was actually fun, and yeah, I’m gonna go to Yulian’s next one. But ok, where does that leave her? I get to achieve my dreams and all that, but she doesn’t. All those times we used to talk about what college to go to, what programs were the best. All those times she spent working on getting better at painting and brainstorming ideas and working on her portfolio are now for nothing. You know I have some of her art? Mr. Jones gave it to me. And guess what’s there? The hands. My hands.”
Brandon was writing so fast that the paper was about to catch fire. Or something like that. I was breathing hard, my fists clenched. I uncurled my fingers, and tried to count backwards, like they say you should.
“I don’t wish I was dead, Brandon,” I muttered.
“Then you don’t have survivor’s guilt, do you?”
“Well how am I supposed to know? You’re the expert, aren’t you?”
“I can’t speak for you. I can only help you understand yourself.”
I took a breath. “I don’t…I don’t regret that I lived. I’m happy-ish to be here. I regret that she died.”
Brandon wrote that down, too. “It’s normal to wish that someone didn’t die. That things could have been different.”
“But they could have!” I blurted out.
“Could they?” Brandon replied, with one eyebrow raised like Spock or a B-list wannabe-Bond villain.
Of course they could have. Hasn’t he ever heard of the Butterfly Effect? I screwed up, and she died. That’s how it was.
And I wanted to tell him that. I mean, there’s no getting around that this was my fault. But when I tried, I couldn’t. A minute passed. Then another. Brandon set his pencil down.
“How did Ruby-Scarlet Jones die, Atticus?” he asked.
“She drowned.”
“How? In a pool, or…”
“At the beach. She was caught in a rip tide.”
“Is that how she died?”
“Yes.”
I saw what he was doing. But it was the wrong question. You can’t change how she died. It’s—
“Why was she at the beach? Were you there, too? Was Nate? Was Mei?”
Bingo.
