History Is All You Left Me(51)

“I’m the worst,” Jackson says. “I had no idea, but I could’ve called.”

“You don’t suck,” I tell him. “That whole thing sucked. We will never know what she’s going through. But she also has no idea what we’re going through. This isn’t some competition about who gets to be more upset.” Damn, grief is complicated enough without wondering how someone else is handling their own shade of it.

“Which way is the High Line?” he asks, sniffling. His nose is already red.

I respect Jackson’s silence as we walk toward Tenth Avenue. I try to convince Jackson to let us take a cab, but whenever I stop to hail one, he keeps going. If he’s reacting like this for offending his friend, I can only imagine what happened when he lost hold of you in the ocean.

I still can’t bring myself to ask him about that day. Your death is proof that I shouldn’t blindly trust these false promises of more years and months and weeks and tomorrows and hours and minutes just because I’m young. And I know Jackson is the only person who can fill in the blanks for me on the afternoon you drowned; he’s the only one who can delete all the horrific things I’ve imagined once and for all. If Jackson goes, those answers will be gone forever. But I still can’t get myself to go there, to press him on what it was like to be by your side when you died, what it was like to watch the lifeguard try and pump oxygen into your corpse.

Honestly, Theo, I’m scared the truth might actually be more painful than my imagination.

Jackson is shivering and hugging his chest by the time we make it to the High Line, but if his legs are as stiff as mine, he’s soldiering through, following me up the stairs to the top. I’ve never seen the High Line during winter. I wish Jackson could see the train tracks, but there’s a pretty cool quality to the white-dusted potted plants and snow-covered wooden seats.

I hope in your lifetime you once managed to stroll through here during winter, even though I think you would’ve told me if you had.

Jackson doesn’t seem to appreciate the wonder, or to care about being up here at all. He walks straight to the railing and stares down at the traffic. The wind hurts; it’s a lot colder up here than down on the streets.

“I should’ve stopped Veronika, right? I should’ve apologized and cried with her and asked her how she’s doing,” Jackson says. I can barely make him out over the wind. “I would’ve done that a year ago, a month ago. I don’t buy into everything she said about me being too obsessed with Theo. But I do feel really damaged without him. I keep pushing people away . . . I let her go. Do you feel that way, too?”

“One hundred percent.” I stare at the traffic with him. If drivers could see their ridiculousness from our vantage point, there would be so much less honking, so many fewer snarls. “Did Theo talk about how he stopped speaking to Wade?” I ask him.

Jackson shakes his head. “Not much. It happened over the summer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Theo stopped bringing you both up around that time,” Jackson says. “He could tell it made me uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

I nod. It’s so damn cold. I really wish we were having this conversation indoors. “I get it. There were times it felt like he was trying to avoid saying your name, too.”

What a mess you’ve left behind, Theo. The mess isn’t your fault, it’s mine and Jackson’s, but man. This is dirty business here.

“All I know is they got into an argument,” Jackson says. “Why did you stop talking to him?”

“Loyalty to Theo,” I say. “And now that I can turn to Wade, I don’t. I think we’re pushing people away because if we can’t have Theo, we don’t want anyone else.”

“But I’m letting you in. I wasn’t counting on that.”

“We’re both fading from ourselves, I think.”

We’re exactly what I hated in Veronika not even an hour ago.

He doesn’t agree or disagree.

I grab Jackson’s arm and drag him away from the railing, the moon to our backs. We hurry down the stairs and dive into the first available cab, our bodies shaking and teeth chattering. The driver has the heater up as high as it will go, and it’s either very weak or my body was minutes away from turning into an ice block.

“How can I make this right, Griffin?”

There are no easy answers here. This won’t be as simple as an apology. Jackson and I are broken, in desperate need of repair, but the only mechanic we’re interested in seeing is our favorite person—and you’re clocked out forever.

“I don’t think we’re in a good place to try and fix friendships right now in our current state,” I answer. I’m honestly not sure if this is some lie to make it easier or an unfortunate truth, but it’s where I stand. “Maybe if we keep letting things crash and burn, everything else is bound to fall back in place.”

Or maybe the fire will grow.





HISTORY


Wednesday, August 26th, 2015

Once we’re sure his parents aren’t coming back upstairs, just in case they forgot their car keys or wallets or something, Theo and I throw off our clothes as if they’re on fire. We jump into bed. This is the last time we’re going to be naked together for months, and I’m not going to let these boxes of his folded clothes and belongings ruin that. We’ve been dating long enough that whenever we do have time to sneak some sex in, we don’t usually spend that much time kissing, but this afternoon is different. Theo is kissing with force and hunger, and everything about this feels very final to me. I lock my arms around him, like a wrestler grappling an opponent, and I never want to let him go because I know what has to happen next.