If (37 page)

BIRD

I WOKE UP
from a terrible nap. The kind of nap where your head hurts, you don’t know what century you’re in, or who you are. It was dark outside, but the sun was still out when I had plopped on the bed to cool off after Jordan had told me that he had been lying to me for five years.

I walked downstairs, audibly snickering at the painting still on my living room floor. My two favorite guys. My two biggest disappointments. I found the time on my microwave: 8:31. Awesome. I would probably be up all night. I fumbled through the dark for my electric tea kettle and flipped its switch. As I waited for the water to boil, I grabbed the remote control to my television and turned on the TV.

The evening news was on, and I moaned to myself, in no mood to watch the news, but really I was in no mood to watch anything.

Blahblahblah . . . traffic . . . blahblahblah . . . surprise, it’s going to be warm again . . . There’s a pileup on I-5, a tractor-trailer flipped, multiple fatalities.

I faced the television with my piping hot mug of tea as the helicopter camera zoomed in on the scene.

I shook my head at the mess. Cars were turned over, a few were smashed so that there was debris everywhere, traffic seemed to go out for miles behind it.

Things could be so much worse. I hated those kinds of comparisons, like it was a way to say
sucks to be you!
But at this moment, it gave me perspective. Nothing is as bad as it seems. Well, most things aren’t.

I flipped through the channels and mindlessly watched Love and Hip Hop for a while. No matter how messed up my love life was, at least I wasn’t those people. Then I wondered about my phone. I assumed Jordan would have tried to text or call. I hadn’t heard from Jessa or mom in a few days and they might be checking in on how I was settling back home.

I ran back upstairs and found it tangled in my bed sheets.

15 Missed Calls.

It felt a lot like getting a phone call in the middle of the night. I just knew something was bad.

I looked through the call record.

Trevor

Trevor

Trevor

Jessa

Jessa

Trevor

Trevor

Trevor

Trevor

Trevor

Trevor

Mom

Jessa

Trevor

Alana

I fumbled through my menu to get to the voicemails.

“Hey Birdie-Bird. Jordan texted me he was on his way back home. I heard you two had a little spat. Yikes. He should have been home about an hour ago and he’s not answering his phone. I thought maybe you had heard from him.”

I clicked on another one.

“Bird . . . oh my god. Jordan was in an accident. I can’t believe it,” Trevor was barely understandable. “Call me when you get this. I need you to call me. Where are you?”

I played Jessa’s.

“Bird. I just got a call from Trevor. Something really bad has happened. He’s trying to reach you.” She sounded somber.

I passed up on the other voicemails and called Trevor, bouncing out of my skin with anxious energy. Now Trevor wasn’t answering. After four consecutive calls he answered.

“Bird!” he cried out. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“Jordan’s gone. Jordan’s gone,” his voice erupted.

“What? Trevor, what are you saying?”

“Have you been watching the news? He was in the pile up. He didn’t even make it to the hospital.”

“Oh my god. No. No,” I whispered to myself. This wasn’t happening. I was still upstairs, sleeping in my bed and I would open my eyes and this would all have been some dream so that I could forgive him for what he had done. But I wasn’t waking up.

“Wait. I don’t understand. He’s in the hospital?” I thought if I kept asking, I would get a different response.

“No. No . . .” he cried.

“Where are you?”

“At the hospital.”

“I need to go.”

He composed himself quickly. “I don’t want you driving in your state. The freeway up here is backed up for miles anyway. Come tomorrow.”

“I can’t sit here,” I cried. “I can’t just be here alone.”

“Please, Jordan wouldn’t want you driving up here like that. Just be safe.”

“I can’t be alone,” I cried. “Oh god.” I slid down to the floor. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.

“How’s Anna? Is she okay?”

Trevor sobbed. “She’s with my mom. I haven’t told her yet. I don’t know how I’m going to tell our little girl.”

“This isn’t happening,” I murmured.

“Please call one of your friends to stay with you. Bird, I have to go. Jordan’s family is on the other line. I love you, girl. Please, stay home tonight. We’ll be here tomorrow waiting for you. See if you can find someone to come with. I don’t like the idea of you driving up alone like this.” That was Trevor, his husband had just died, and he was worried about my safety driving up.

“I love you guys,” I cried into the receiver. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you. We have to be strong for each other. I’m gonna need you. Anna is going to need you.”

I hung up the phone and sat in the dark, the sound of my sobs overcoming the TV in the background.

I had just inherited a daughter and lost a best friend. A gem of a human being. Someone who made the world a better place. He wasn’t perfect, but his biggest fault was caring too much. And the last thing I did to him was kick him out of my house and towards the last drive of his life.

That realization stormed my heart like an incursion. I led Jordan to his death.

The grief came in quick waves, each greater than the last so that I was barely ever able to catch a breath from drowning.

Jordan was my security blanket when I moved to LA. He protected me, he mentored me, he guided me. I felt safe because Jordan existed. I took him for granted: his lectures, his protectiveness. I always gave him a hard time for caring. But now, I would kill for one of his lectures.

I stared at my door, waiting for Jordan to barge in with news or a hysterical YouTube video, just like our days as neighbors. But the door was still and Jordan would never walk through it again.

I didn’t want to be alone. I had friends I had made over the years. Marley and I had grown close since she apologized to me in the bathroom, but few people understood what Jordan meant to me. I thought about the painting lying on my floor. Very few people lived in those moments we shared in the studio apartment by Skid Row when we were struggling dancers. So few people knew me, I mean really knew me—my greatest fears, my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities.

I was drowning and I needed someone to wrap their arms around me and pull me to shore. Like an invisible force took my hand, my fingers flipped to my Facebook messages, and then to the last message I received from Ash. I hadn’t opened any since the first one, my willpower wasn’t strong enough not to answer if I did.

My dad is sick. He’s stable, but I’m heading to LA to be with my family. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be in town for a while. And I know you have a great life, but I’m keeping my promise.

Ash’s number was included in the message and I pressed my finger against it. He was a ship, crashing against the waves, coming to my rescue.

Ash was too close for me to resist.

ASH

The apartment was in complete darkness when I let myself in. The brittle undulations of her sobs were the only thing I could see. She had the most whimsical, illuminating laughter I have ever seen, but she also had the saddest, most broken sobs. I closed my eyes for second, but the colors also lived in my mind’s eye, and even with my eyes closed, I couldn’t escape her misery.

“Bird?”

“Over here.” I followed her voice and when I finally saw her, a soft purple light framed her dark figure. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” she murmured, seated on a windowsill, staring out at downtown LA.

I brushed my hand through her soft curls. “I’m so sorry, Bird.”

She turned and collapsed towards my torso and I took her in my arms as her body convulsed in agony. I held her in silence as her tears soaked my shirt.

“He told me about what he told you. I had no idea.”

“I figured he might.”

“I was so angry at him. I never wanted you to feel like you were a burden. You were never a burden to me, Ash. Ever.”

“I know you never saw me as one, Bird. I know you loved me.”

“But you left.”

“Because I knew you had turned down the show. I gave you a chance to tell me. When you didn’t I knew what that meant. It meant I was in the way. And you loved me too much to see it.”

She moaned like the pain was physical. “It hurts so much. I don’t know how I am going to do this.”

“You’re strong, Bird. Stronger than me.”

She began to weep erratically. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault. I told him to go. And he went home and that’s when he had the accident. He was supposed to spend the next few days with me. How am I going to explain that to his little girl one day?”

“Bird, whatever happened is not your fault. It was an accident.”

She locked her hazel eyes on mine. “Why is it so easy for you to say those words to me, but not to yourself?” Her words lifted a huge boulder from the pile of stones that had weighed down on me for so long. It was like all the pain I had ever experienced had a purpose, so I could be here for her in this moment and understand what she felt in a way no one else could. It was not just a sense of loss, but a sense of responsibility. I would feel a thousand years of my pain, just so I could make hers easier.

I didn’t believe Bird was responsible. And for that fleeting moment when she challenged me, I was able to step outside of myself and see that maybe Sarah’s death wasn’t my fault either.

Bird’s eyes caught a glimpse of my hand, haphazardly wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. She grabbed it. “What happened to your hand?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

I didn’t want to make this about me. “My dad died today.”

“Oh my god. This can’t be for real,” she bowed her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry. And you’re here. I didn’t mean to pull you away. I had no idea.”

“There’s no one else I would rather be with. I need you.”

“You did this?” she asked, looking at my palm.

“Not on purpose. I punched a mirror.”

“Ash . . .”

We save each other. It’s what we do. Years ago, I was a depressed kid wanting to disappear when she bravely stepped in. Today, I was a man who was on the brink of snapping. Both times she saved me.

I finally realized that I was here to save her too.

Bird called me, sinking into the lonely waters of grief. She needed me to pull her out of the black depths, where only a tiny glimmer of light reached, and bring her back to shore. But in order for me to do that, I would have to swim towards that lonely flicker of light too. I wouldn’t be able to get her out of the depths if I wasn’t willing to pull myself out with her.

“Let me take care of it,” Bird said.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Please, let me thank you,” our way of convincing the other to accept help when we were too weak to admit we needed it. “Allow me to take care of you. It’ll distract me anyway.”

I relented and she came back with a first aid kit.

“Bird, I’m keeping my promise. I’ve been getting help. You were right. There’s more going on. And I’m going to try as hard as I can to get better.”

She smiled softly at me. She knew what I wanted, but this was not the time to ask for second chances. I would rather earn her back anyway. I wanted her to really trust that I wouldn’t leave her again.

“That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

Once the new bandage was on, she kissed my hand. “All better?” she asked.

I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her towards me and kissed her. It was gentle, sweet. Things weren’t going further tonight.

She pressed her forehead to mine and the tears returned. I understood that type of grief, how it would seem still and then it would burst out of you before you even had a chance to stop it.

“I just want to disappear,” she cried.

“I’m not going to let you, Bird. I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”