Authors: Julie Halpern
“May I help you?” he asked. He wasn’t overly friendly, but I appreciated that in a person. Leo liked him, so I guess I did, too.
“Hi. I’m a friend of Leo Dietz…” I started.
“You must be Alex! He writes about you. I probably shouldn’t have told you that, though.” His sly smile indicated he was trying to make me feel good with this comment, but it had the opposite effect. I didn’t respond to it.
“Do you know if Leo’s okay? They told me in the office that one of his relatives died, but they couldn’t say who. I thought you might know.”
“Sweet of you to be so concerned.” If he only knew how sweet I really was. “I’m afraid it was his brother, Jason. He was killed trying to dismantle a roadside bomb. Horrible.” It
was
horrible. I wondered if Leo tried to picture the death, the explosion ripping his brother’s body apart. I knew from experience that it didn’t look anything like in our movies. “The funeral is next Wednesday. They have to wait until the body is shipped back.” Mr. Esrum cringed, as though he knew he said too much. “I’m sure you could be excused if you wanted to go.”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead that there would be a funeral. That after I talked to Leo, there would be more.
“I’ll think about it,” I said somberly, and began backing out of the office. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Alex?” He stopped me. “I’m sorry.”
I closed his office door.
Inside I was seething. What was he sorry about? To me? I didn’t know Leo’s brother. I didn’t know what to do at all, and he was sorry?
I ran down the hall to the only place I could think of and fumbled for my key ring to let me into the book closet. Once inside, I sat down at a desk and rested my head. The book closet felt so sad and empty without Leo. Old books that no one wanted to read, clocks telling time for no one but us, and there wouldn’t even be an us again if I went through with it. My body wanted to cry, to release the pain and sadness that consumed it, but it wasn’t
my
sadness. I wouldn’t allow it.
I flipped through pages of Bradbury until I felt calmer, more focused. What would I have wanted from Leo if my brother died? I knew my answer was selfish. It was the same thing I had always wanted from Leo: to make me feel so good that I couldn’t remember why I felt bad. But Leo was better than I was, and I knew it. I could tell by the way I caught him looking at me during movies. The way he laughed at things I said. I had used him because I needed him. Now he probably needed me. I didn’t think I could be there for him, for what he needed from me. But I couldn’t not talk to him. I remembered how horrible it felt when Davis, a guy I didn’t even like that much, didn’t call me. Just to say something. To acknowledge my pain.
The guilt had overflowed.
I left the book room, the hallways empty, and returned to my locker. Leo still hadn’t texted me, but I couldn’t use that as an excuse. The guilt punched me in my stomach until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to say something to him, lest be devoured by my guilt. I found Leo’s name in my phone and called. Every ring brought me further into panic mode. What would I say? Could I really help?
Leo’s voicemail picked up. I nearly hung up, the dread of leaving a message overwhelming. But it was that or call again, and the weight of my conscience would have crushed me by then.
Beep.
“Hey, Leo, it’s Alex. I heard what happened. To your brother. And I’m, um, really sorry. Shit. That was stupid. Never mind. I mean, let me know if you need anything. Bye.” I hung up and threw my phone into my locker with a bang. The battery exploded out of its compartment. Instead of helping, I said the least helpful thing anyone could ever say to a person whose loved one died. I wished I could erase the message, suck the word “sorry” from the English language, and hack it to pieces with a rusty ax.
I ripped a cookie out of my locker and chomped on it, then spit it on the floor. It still tasted good. It should have tasted horrible, been filled with tiny, writhing maggots, and containing high levels of toxic sludge.
My guilty brain couldn’t handle the rest of the school day, so I skipped out. Since the one thing that really made me forget everything—Leo—was also the reason for my pain, I opted for a gory movie brain fry. In bed with my laptop, I watched as topless girls received blades in their chests, as doppelgangers killed their good selves, as old ladies ate their grandchildren. It was sick and wrong, but it was all I could do. Once again, life had become too much to handle. The pile was too great. I pulled the covers over my head and listened to the screams.
SATURDAY I WORKED
all day, and the craziness of a nearby college football game kept Cellar busy. It would have sucked dealing with the morning tailgater drunks, but I was lucky to be making subs in the back. The day moved quickly, the Patron Saint of Subs doing what she did best.
I brought subs home for dinner, and my family ate together in the kitchen. AJ and CJ were still too young and clueless to have any plans for Saturday nights, and I needed to spend the evening with Becca before she headed for more chemo torture on Monday.
“I’ll do the dishes,” CJ declared when dinner was over, and proceeded to crumble our sub wrappers.
“You’re such a help,” Mom said sarcastically.
“So you’ll raise my allowance?” CJ hinted.
“Only if you stop raising my blood pressure.”
I heard my phone ring from my bag in the hallway, and I ran to get it. I assumed it was Becca asking me when I’d get to her house. But it was Leo. I forced myself to answer it.
“Hey,” I said.
He cleared his throat. “Hey.” Silence.
“How’s it going?” Lame. Stupid. Dumbass.
“Pretty shitty. You?”
“Much less shitty, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Was I supposed to be talking? When my dad died, people loved to regale me with their memories of him. It bugged the hell out of me. My dad was dead, and their personal stories seemed to belittle that fact, like, “He was your dad but I knew him first.” I wish people were forced to write their stories of the dead down, so when the living were ready to hear those stories they’d be there waiting. The only story I had about Jason was from freshman year. He was a senior, and I had no idea where I was going for first period. But I really had to go to the bathroom, so I ducked into the nearest one assuming it was a girls’. It was not. One lone pee-er straddled a urinal. I gasped when I saw him, which caused Jason to turn around, still peeing. “The fuck?” he asked. I said nothing and ran out, lucky no one else saw.
That didn’t feel like an appropriate story to share after someone’s death.
“Could you come over?” Leo asked hesitantly.
I didn’t know what to say. Becca was expecting me, and she’d be out of commission again soon. On the other hand, how could I say no when Leo’s brother just died and he wanted me to come over? But on the other hand—or, I don’t know, foot—my original plan was to break things off with him before his brother died. Now that death was involved, I only saw it as going one of two ways: I end it, or I become his intense, committed,
we can never leave each other because we’ve survived death together
girlfriend. I wasn’t sure I could handle that. Still, I wasn’t yet the world’s biggest asshole, so I told Leo, “Sure. I can come now if you want.”
“My parents are at my aunt’s house.” I didn’t know if he told me because parents being home was always awkward, especially grieving ones, or if he was telling me “my parents
aren’t home
.” “So can you park on the street?” he finished.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” It was a parking thing. “See you soon.” We hung up, and I went upstairs to change clothes. Not that I needed to look nice, but I smelled like ham. Or maybe I wanted to look a little nice. Show respect. Instead of a printed t-shirt, I put on a plain, black t-shirt with my jeans and Chucks. Pretty much what I always wore, which didn’t make it any less appropriately somber. I grabbed a few DVDs from my collection, just in case Leo, too, liked a little gore to keep his brain at bay. I also packed the cookies originally plated for a breakup. Now they’d look like a gesture for the grieving, which made me seem a lot nicer than I was. I called Becca to tell her of my change in plans.
“That’s disturbingly sweet of you, Alex. Don’t break his heart tonight, okay?”
“I’ll try not to,” I confessed.
“That’s all I can ask.”
“So what are you going to do now that your exciting plans fell through?”
“I had this idea of inviting Caleb over.”
“Really? Is he allowed to leave his house after dark?”
“Good question. But even if he’s not allowed, he could just sneak across our windows somehow.”
“Sorry I’ll be missing that.”
“I’m not. I mean, I am, but not if I get Caleb in my room, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean something sexy. That’s what you always mean. Even if you end up playing Parcheesi, it’ll be, like, strip Parcheesi.”
“Brilliant! Now I have a plan.”
“Details tomorrow, please. I promise not to ditch you again.”
“You’re not ditching me. You are performing a good deed.”
“What? I can’t hear you. The phone is breaking up.” I crackled and fizzed into the phone.
“Be nice!” she yelled, and I hung up.
As instructed, I parked on the street in front of Leo’s home. The house itself looked sad, the way the drapes hung, the newspapers piled on the driveway. I gathered the papers up and carried them to the door with me. Leo answered soon after I rang the bell.
I had never seen Leo with stubble. He seemed like one of those guys who didn’t grow hair quickly, and there wasn’t much on his face. Still, he looked older, worn. I stopped myself from touching his rusty shadow, not knowing if he wanted to be touched. He answered the question for me by wrapping his long arms around me and my backpack and holding on for what felt like minutes. I awkwardly clung to the random parts of his shirt I could reach in his tight grip. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered in my ear.
“Me, too,” I said because I felt like I should. At a loss for anything to say, I told him, “I brought cookies.”
He finally relinquished his grip and with a weary smile said, “Thanks. That’s pretty thoughtful actually.”
“You sound surprised.” I had no right to be offended, but I played the part.
“No, it’s sweet.” He held my head in his hands and kissed my forehead, a painfully tender gesture.
“It’s not. Really. I made them last weekend for the janitor for Becca’s Fuck-It List,” I blurted.
“Well, that part’s sweet, I guess. So you brought me week-old janitor cookies?” He hadn’t let go of my head yet, but leaned away to talk. We had never been this close except when we were
that
close.
“I brought DVDs, too. I didn’t know what you’d feel like doing.”
“Let’s go to my room,” he suggested, and took my hand. He led me upstairs, past even more family photos lining the walls. His parents obviously adored his brother, and the photos of Jason seemed to outnumber Leo three to one. Maybe it was just that Leo wasn’t a part of anything, like Jason was. Fewer photographic opportunities.
Leo’s bedroom was a mess. Not just a guy, throw-dirty-socks-on-the-floor mess, but scraps of paper, books, clothes, and even some car parts were everywhere. The single window was covered with taped-on cardboard.
“What happened?” I pointed at the window as I dropped my backpack on his bed.
“I guess I’m not so good at expressing my feelings,” he said mockingly.
“Looks to me like you’re quite good.”
“My mom would have preferred a nice journal entry. Or if it were my brother, shooting a gun at an appropriate target.”
“Do you want to talk? About your brother?” I said straight from the dead-relative handbook.
“No.” He sat on his bed and pulled me down next to him. It was forceful but not painful. I could feel his need for closeness in the way he grasped my arm. I was glad he didn’t want to talk because neither did I. If we talked, I might have said too much, told him about my dad just to make him feel better about his brother. Told him about Becca so we could both feel alive. But I thought that would change things between us. The more I said, the more we became something together, and I couldn’t do that. So instead of talking, I kissed him. At first, his reciprocation was hesitant. I wondered if a cuddle was all he craved, that maybe sex wasn’t the appropriate way for him to grieve. But soon he was on top of me, aggressively removing my clothes, sucking on my shoulder, squeezing my hips. I let him because I knew it could help, because I wanted the same thing. When we were together, inside and out, there was no death, no cancer, no past, no future. If his parents had been home, I cringed at the thought of what they’d have heard. We came together, so close we hardly moved. When we finished, we stayed wrapped around each other for five minutes. Ten minutes. I slept. I awakened. I slept some more. Only when my leg started tingling did I move. Leo snorted awake and repositioned himself to remain optimally close. I backed myself against him, and he encircled his arms around my stomach. I felt his breathing even again and assumed he was asleep. Then, in a faint voice, his mouth right up to my ear, he told me, “I love you, Alex.”
I jerked upright immediately, as though hit with a jolt of electricity.
“I have to go,” I said, already hunting for my clothes.
“What? No. Stay,” he pleaded, but I moved fast and was soon tying my shoelaces. “What the hell, Alex?” Leo sat up, the blanket covering his lower half. “Because I said I loved you? I thought girls love that shit.”
“You’ve known me, like, a month. And if you really loved me you’d know that I’m not a normal girl.”
“Which is exactly why I feel that way about you.”
“You’re confused. You’re grieving. You just had a massive orgasm. You didn’t mean it.”
“I’ve been thinking it awhile, Alex. Why is it such a big deal? I didn’t expect you to say it back. I knew you wouldn’t. But you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”
“Fuck you. I’m a bitch because I don’t want you to be in love with me? Well, then you’re an asshole for being in love with a bitch.” I stood up and slung on my backpack.