We Are the Ants(42)

I was tempted to believe she was lying to gain my sympathy, but going on an extended vacation after the death of her best friend had never seemed like an Audrey thing to do. I’d accepted it as the truth because she’d given me no reason to think she was lying. But this—that she’d been in a hospital—made sense. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Jesse and I had a pact. He swore he’d call me if he were thinking about hurting himself. He called me that night, but I didn’t answer. He was upset all the time and . . . I needed a night off.” She paused. “I thought it was my fault he’d killed himself, and I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t bear for you to blame me too.”

“Instead you ran away, and I blamed myself.” The crowd blocking my view finally moved. Diego was talking to a short girl, perky with pink glasses and a blue stripe in her blond hair. I think she attended our school, but I didn’t know her name. She covered her mouth with her hand when she laughed and kept touching Diego’s arm. Diego hugged the girl and pointed toward me and Audrey. He probably wished he’d come with her and was likely plotting some way to ditch us.

“I needed to leave,” Audrey said. “I was hurting so bad that I wanted to die too. It took me a long time to realize Jesse’s suicide wasn’t my fault. Don’t you know how sorry I am? I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

Diego walked toward us; the crowds parted for him. He waved. I returned it robotically.

“I wish I’d killed myself instead of him.” I kicked at the ground, blinking to keep from crying.

“I wish no one had died,” Audrey said. “I wish Jesse were here, singing and telling bad jokes and going on and on about some stupid book he read.”

“But he’s not,” I said. “And it’s our fault. Yours, mine. It’s everyone’s fault. Or no one’s. Fuck. I don’t know.”

When Diego reached us, he stopped a foot away and said, “What’s going on?”

Audrey wiped her eyes. “Sometimes I hate him, Henry. Mostly I miss him.”

“Yeah.”

“And I miss you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Audrey had been Jesse’s friend first, but I missed her too. My feelings for her were buried under scar tissue built up over 103 lonely nights spent wondering what I’d done to drive away everyone I cared about. My father, Jesse, Audrey—they’d all abandoned me. Audrey had her reasons, and I could see that, but it didn’t erase the pain. Not entirely. I stood there, my arms hanging limply at my sides, unsure what to do next.

Audrey glanced at her phone. “Maybe we should call it a day.”

Diego furrowed his brow. “But we haven’t even gone on the Ferris wheel yet.” His voice was filled with a child’s enthusiasm, a desire for life that Jesse’s suicide had stolen from me and Audrey both.

The suggestion of a smile played on Audrey’s lips. “What do you think, Space Boy?”

“Don’t call me Space Boy.”

Diego threw his arm around my shoulders and Audrey’s, too, drawing us to him. His skin was warm and sweaty, but I didn’t pull away. “No deal. You’re our space boy, Space Boy.”

The way Audrey looked at me—as if we could somehow fill the canyon that had grown between us with laughter and meet again in the middle—made me want to hug her and tell her how much I’d missed her, but I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“Fine,” I said after a moment, “let’s ride the goddamn Ferris wheel.”





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14 November 2015


Life isn’t fair. That’s what we tell kids when they’re young and learn that there are no rules, or rather that there are but only suckers play by them. We don’t reassure them or give them tools to help them cope with the reality of life; we simply pat them on the back and send them on their way, burdened with the knowledge that nothing they do will ever really matter. It can’t if life’s not fair.

If life were fair, the smartest among us would be the wealthiest and most popular. If life were fair, teachers would make millions, and scientists would be rock stars. If life were fair, we’d all gather around the TV to hear about the latest discovery coming out of CERN rather than to find out which Kardashian is pregnant. If life were fair, Jesse Franklin wouldn’t have killed himself.

Life is not fair. And if life’s not fair, then what’s the point? Why bother with the rules? Why bother with life at all? Maybe that’s the conclusion Jesse came to. Maybe he woke up one morning and decided he simply didn’t want to play a game against people who refused to obey the rules.

? ? ?

I lay in bed all day Saturday, thinking about Jesse. Sometimes thinking about him made my body too heavy to move. The fragments of Jesse left behind were dense in my pockets and weighted me down, pulling me toward the center. I thought about Jesse and I listened to the sounds of my brother making a mess in the kitchen, and of my mother arguing with Nana, trying to get her ready to go visit my great-uncle Bob, who lives in a VA home in Miami. The sounds eventually quieted, and I knew I was alone. I still didn’t move, not until the shadows grew longer across my bedroom and the bright morning light began to dim.