-1-
It’s 6AM.
Dad’s writing again.
I send a text to Ethan and Mom earlier.
And Uncle Sam in Amherst.
And Matty to cover bases.
I should send it to Morris, since he’s Dad’s TA , but I’m guessing he knows.
Dad had given up writing seriously 10 years ago, so this is rare.
I don’t really remember Dad as a writer. His books were always just there and I never saw the time he put in to sit down and write it all down. I’d heard the stories about how he would write for a month straight and do nothing else. I’m not sure how Mom dealt with that.
Now, Dad’s locked himself in his bedroom and when I get back on Saturday he calls my phone from inside the house to tell me that’s he’s in the middle of something really good.. He says he is feeling infinitely inspired and has to get it all out.
He’s not the only one.
I’m writing too.
Well, I’ve been lying on the couch trying to write all night.
It’s kind of nice that we’ve each carved out our own spaces to do our own thing. This is a thing we couldn’t do with my mom, she’s too much of a rally-er and hates when we aren’t all talking to each other every minute of every day.
But she’s gone.
I’m not writing a book or anything, just lines and words that don’t connect. Maybe a song. I don’t have the talent with words my Dad does. At around midnight I find our copy of Emily Dickinson and started reading a few poems, hoping something would happen.
It didn’t.
I sat at the piano for a few hours too trying to write the music, but just ended up playing through Pachabel's cannon, the only piece I have completely memorized. I can play it in my sleep, but then again it's the easiest movement-- I swear I saw a 12-year-old playing it at a wedding.
The last time I’d written music was in high school when Ethan and I had the band, but it had been one song. It’d been a really dumb song about how sad I was I didn’t have freedom in school or something. We were supposed to be a kind of punk band, but I didn’t have much real hate to pull from. The song was pretty meaningless and silly.
Now, I’m trying to make something that isn’t so meaningless.
I think it’s about how even though we haven’t said much this weekend, I’m glad Dad’s in the room next to me, that Mom texts me a picture every day from Paris, that everything in my room has memories tied to hundreds of people I’ve known in my life. I’m glad I have people and I feel guilty that Corrine and Abigail don’t.
And I’m pissed off there’s nothing I can do about it.
The sun is starting to come up and I decide to call it a day on the writing and play Xbox when I hear heavy steps outside followed by the bangs of someone struggling to open our front door. They start banging and pulling on the door and I can hear the storm doors shutter violently. It's 6 in the morning--no one would be coming over this early. Only Uncle Sam has a key but he always calls first.
My grandfather had a key, but he’s dead.
Although nowadays, if he does shows up I wouldn’t be too surprised.
I grab my cell phone and one of the fireplace pokers just in case and walk quietly to the door.
“Who is it ?,” I call, trying to sound braver than I am.
I don’t get an answer just more of the door handle moving.
I stand in front of the door ready to open it and attack whoever is there when Ethan stumbles in, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. I can hear the bass of a rap song pumping out of his earbuds.
“Shit!,” he screams when he sees me.
“What the hell ?,” I say throwing the poker aside. “I thought you were breaking in”
“The damn door is jammed, calm down.”
“What are you even doing up this early ?”
“I get up at this time almost every day. Why the hell are you up ?,” Ethan asks. “And why are you wearing your clothes ? Dude, have you been out all night ?”
“I was working on something…wait, what are you doing here ?”
“Got your text,” he smiles in a way that makes me nervous.
Ethan moved out his second year to live in the Sigma house and only comes home for holidays or to beg Mom to do his laundry.
We have a stare off before he pushes me out of the way and goes towards Dad’s locked door. He puts his ear against it and smiles.
“He’s asleep,” Ethan says. “Help me out, I need to find Mom’s car keys.”
“I think she hid them so you wouldn’t take them.” I tell him. “Wanna play Xbox ?”
“I don’t have time for dumb games, Jonah.” He sighs like they didn't play video games all day in the frat house.
“Help me look,” Ethan orders me.
He starts with the kitchen, opening drawers and pulling out everything thing inside. It’s a smart first place to look since none of us would ever go in there. I look under some of the vases and baskets in the living room, but I don’t expect we’ll find anything.
“Fuck this.” He mumbles after only 10 minutes. “Let me just see your keys for today. I need to go to the city.”
“No.”
I don’t even have to think about the answer, Corinne and I have plans and I’m not letting either of us break them this time.
“Jesus, Jonah stop being a prick for once in your life. It’s only for a few hours, I have a training session. Please.”
“You do realize Dad’s going to eventually notice a car is missing, right ? I mean, he’s probably going to go outside at some point”
“No he’s not,” Ethan says to me like I’m the idiot. “You probably don’t remember this, but when Dad’s writing he doesn’t pay attention to anything. He’s careless. How do you think we all ended up with you.”
“That’s disgusting.” I tell him. “Look, you can have my car for today, but you have to come back around 5:00 and drop me off at school.”
“You’re such a brown noser. This is the second weekend you’ve spent a school,” he says pushing past me and into my bedroom.
I watch him go through the clothes hanging up in my closet until he finds a t-shirt and jogging pants he likes. I don’t usually keep them that neat, but Dad hired a service to do the laundry since neither of us had the time.
Ethan starts pulling his running clothes off. Because of Ethan’s dependence on steroids and inability to inject himself I’ve unfortunately seen my brother naked
more times than I’m comfortable admitting. I glance the intricate Sigma tattoo that covers
the top of his back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. He got it a few months ago for his 21st
birthday and I’m still not used to seeing it there.
“So, how is Jane ?,” I ask
“Why would I know ?,” he mumbles.
It takes me a minute to get there.
“Huh. I really liked her. “
“You like everyone, you’re kinda like a dog that way. Sometimes you’re so naïve.” he scoffs.
Ethan leaves his running clothes, including his jock, in a pile on my floor and starts walking towards the bathroom.
“I am not picking that up,” I yell after him.
“Shut up, Jonah. I’m sure it’ll be the first time you’ve even touched one.”
“I had gym in high school,” I mumble.
He starts laughing and actually stops to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, before turning back to me with a wicked grin.
“Remember that time in high school that you walked right into a softball or something and I had to drive you home and you would not stop crying like a baby.”
I did remember. I was cutting across the baseball field and hadn’t noticed the girls were practicing. It caught me in my mouth; two of my teeth were hanging from my mouth and I had to get two fake ones. The girl who threw it ended up getting a full sports scholarship to UConn.
All Ethan could focus on was that I made him miss football practice and yeah, fine I cried a little.
“ I’m lending you my car, you could be nicer to me,” I remind him.
He responds by slamming the bathroom door in my face.
I heat up a Pop Tart in the toaster and walk over to Dad’s door to see if he is still asleep. Even though the door is locked I can push it open enough to peek inside. Dad changed into his nighclothes and is actually sleeping under the covers for the first time since Thursday night.
It actually seems like a pretty decent idea.
***
-2-
Damn Ethan.
I wake up on the couch at 6:00PM to ten text messages .The first two texts are from Ethan:
Won’t be back @ 5. Have dinner plans. sorry. Take the bus or something.
then
Ill try and bring the car back at midnite, bro
One is from Dad
When you wake up go to the store and buy coffee. You shelved Emily Dickenson in the wrong place. Love, Dad.
And the rest are from Corrinne:
Sorry I’m late. Heading over to the english department now
Where are you ? We said 5:30 right ? You strike me as the punctual type
Wait….Was I supposed to come to your house ? Let me know. *panic face*
If ur dead lets meet a whitman’s for pizza. You can tell me if they have pizza in heaven. *annoyed face*
Ignore that last text. R U coming or what ? *worried face*
Jonah ?
???
I haul myself off the couch and text Corrine I overslept and I’m on my way. It takes me 20 minutes to get to campus on my bike. Like most Sunday evenings it’s pretty empty, so I can zip through without using shortcuts.
I chain my bike up to steps of Fayerweather Hall where the English department is and run down the stairs to find Abigail and Corinne sitting outside of door labeled basement level. I think I must still be half asleep because it looks like Corinne has pencils wrapped around pieces of her hair. When she turns her head to look at me the pencils click together.
“Jonah!,” Abigail says when she sees me.
“I thought you’d bailed,” Corinne greets me.
“My stupid brother has my stupid car and I overslept.”
Abigail gets on her knees and carefully pulls one of the pencils out of Corinne’s hair. She rakes her fingers through Corrine’s hair and her eyebrows knit together.
“I told you, my hair doesn’t hold curl,” Corrine said.
“Maybe the hand dryer doesn’t get hot enough.” Abigail says.
“You did remember the key, right ?,” Corrine asks when she notices me just watching them.
“Of course,” I say, grateful I’d kept it in my wallet.
I pull the key out and stick it into the door. I expect some kind of eerie empty storeroom, but the basement looks like the rest of the building just without the motivational posters and flyers for poetry slams. There are some cubicles shared by the TAs, which is probably why Matty has a key.
Abigail spots the storeroom first and hurries toward it opening the door. One of those motion sensor lights comes on and when I step through I can see shelves and shelves of milk crates with books, magazines and newspapers in them.
Corrine looks up for a few minutes before reaching up on her toes and pulling down a crate. It’s heavier than she anticipates and her knees start shaking. I quickly move behind her and help her support the crate.
“Well, this looks to be all of 2010 to present,” She says pointing to the handwritten label.
“Let’s think this through,” I think out loud. “It’s a weekly paper, but they do fewer issues in the summer and we just want to concentrate on 2011 to now--”
“That’s like 40 issues.” Corrine fills in. “ Which means we each just have to read 13 and then we can split the last one. I mean if we get to that far, it has to be in there anyway. This shouldn’t take long at all.”
“Perfect accounting.” Abigail comments.
We spread out to start reading. Corinne takes a spot on the floor and Abigail sits cross legged on one of the TA desks. I take a seat in one of those old fashioned wooden classroom desks that always seem to randomly pop up around campus.
For the first hour it’s actually kind of fun, the only sound is page flipping and since I’m reading every article I’m actually learning a lot about Eastham. We all are. Pretty soon we are shouting random facts about Eastham to each other.
“ Holy shit, one of the cafeteria cooks one the lottery and actually came in the next day,” Corinne reads.
“There is a petition for a rugby team. Ethan would totally sign up for that.”
“Hey, did you know the largest Eastham freshman class had 340 students? Maybe I was a part of that class.”
After an hour it’s silent.
Then I hear Corinne, shove her paper back in the crate. I wonder if she is thinking of giving up because I don’t think I can read any more about Eastham and I’m only on my 7th paper.
“You guys are reading every page…right ?” Corrine sighs. “I mean even the ads ?”
“Yeah, are you ?” I retort
“Hey guys,” Abigail says warily. “I’ve been thinking….maybe they don’t put deaths in here. I mean, I haven’t seen one.”
“No.” I tell her. “I saw a piece about an alum who was shot during a robbery in Waverly last year and a missing person, but it was a guy.”
“And I got a girl with cancer,” Corrine adds from the floor.
“Is this stupid ?,” Abigail asks, her voice worried.
“No, let’s just keep going.” I say despite having similar thoughts. I don’t want Abigail to think I’ve given up on her.
I turn my attention back to the page and make a conscious effort to read every word and stare into the background of all the pictures, but it all still blends together.
I have the papers closest to this year so I’ve read four
consecutive articles about the new music building. There are even see a few
stories about Matty.
I’m actually settling into an interview with the architect for the building when I get interrupted by a sound.
A giggle.
And then a few shrieks of laughter followed by shushing.
I look up to see Corinne and Abigail have moved to a corner of the room together, their legs are overlapping and they both have their hands over their mouths. Abigail pinches Corinne’s shoulder and she only laughs more. They can barely make eye contact with me before sharing conspiratorial glances.
“What is so funny ?,” I ask.
They both just stare at me.
“What ?,” I close to whine.
“I’m sorry, but this is adorable.” Corrine snorts. Abigail bites the heel of her hand to stop from laughing and I honestly hope it’s just the boring silence that is making them act so weird.
When I come towards them I stop dead when I see the cover of an older Eastham
Record, it’s from nine years ago and now I get the joke. On the cover is a picture of Dad, Ethan and I sitting in his office and the
headline says PULITZER WINNER SETTLES BACK HOME FOR FAMILY. Mom’s not in it, because she wanted to take
the photo. I look like the biggest dork. I was 9-years-old and stupid and had stupid
bangs. And braces. And a dinosaur polo shirt I thought was so cool.
“How much do I have to pay you to pretend you never saw that photo ?,” I ask.
“When they interviewed you, you said you wanted to be a rock star when you grew up,” Corinne reminds me with a small laugh. “That is so cute.”
“So, $400 dollars ?,” I throw out.
She responds with a laugh.
“Well, I should tell you now I also said my favorite book was The
Hobbit and if you need even more things to laugh at me about;
I may have proudly proclaimed wanting to get a tattoo in Elvish,” I admit and she snorts.
I decide not to mention that I do in fact have that tattoo on my shoulder.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Abigail says. “I like these ones.”
She spreads out two other issues, one has a photo of Ethan and Dad hugging at Ethan’s graduation and the headline is about Ethan following in Dad’s footsteps. It has an entire sidebar about how many high school track records Ethan had obliterated that year.
They followed that story up last spring with a story about a hat trick and me deciding to go to Eastham too. Corinne is holding the issue in her hand and is reading it. The cover photo is awful. The girl writing the story had us pose on the front steps of the library in matching Eastham t-shirts and the photo just looks awkward.
“I can’t believe you got into Tulane and deferred to come here.,” she says taking her eyes off the article.
“I think I thought I would miss the cold or something,” I say.
That’d been my way of lightly brushing off the topic last year, but the truth was Eastham would give me a free ride for as long as I wanted.
"Are we done laughing at me ?," I ask.
“I’m not making fun of you.” Corrine says tossing the paper aside.. “I like your family. You guys seem awesome. I almost want to read your Dad’s book now. ”
“ You’d like it,” Abigail adds. “I read How My Light is Spent before I…died or whatever.”
“Not that one, the other one. The one we have to read for freshman orientation-” Corrine starts, but I cut her off.
“She hasn’t read it,” I said remembering Abigail and I’s second conversation on the bridge. We were watching the parasailers and I had to explain to her how Dad reads from a section about the bridge.
The idea is still forming, but it’s a clue.
Abigail hadn’t read it.
Abigail never even heard about it.
“I don’t blame you,” Corrine is saying. “I mean, like I say I don’t need to hear about how kickass this place was in the—“
“Shit, we’re doing this completely wrong.” I say, realization hitting me.
“Come on, Jonah,” Corrine says defensively. “We’re doing the best we can, okay--”
“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m such an idiot,” I say quickly and walk towards Abigail. “Abigail, when we were on the bridge—when I first bought you coffee-- you had never even heard of my Dad’s first book, My Own Eternity.”
“So, a lot of people haven't--,”
“Exactly, but My Own Eternity has been required reading since he started teaching here 10 years ago. You remember every poet and book you've ever read. So, while you may have died within the year….you probably never went to Eastham.”
We’d all just assumed she was an Eastham student because she kept showing up here, but her not being a student explains why we can’t seem to find anything about her anywhere on campus. Why nothing jogged her memory.
“No.” Abigail says, panic in her voice. “No, I know Waverly, I am from here. Let’s check the Waverly news… there may be something. We have to check.”
“Abigail, I’ve already checked,” I remind her.
“Me too. I did some Googling after we met.” Corinne adds.
“Well, you were checking for Eastham students,” she says quickly. “You should check for a local or maybe a…high school student,” she says the last part hesitantly. And for the first time I realize how young she looks, she could be a high school student or someone who never made it to the first day of college classes.
I doubt we will find anything, but I can sense a new urgency in Abigail so we head back upstairs and to the computer bays. Corrine and I each take a computer and Abigail leans over my shoulder. I search through the WVRL9 news archives while Corinne looks at all the recent missing persons reports and police blotters on the public database. For a small town we have a lot of missing persons, car accidents, and Jane Does but none match Abigail’s description.
I finally close the last window that details a pretty high school cheerleader who went missing, but she was blonde and 3 inches taller than Abigail. When I finally turn to look at Abigail I can’t help but to notice something has dulled in her.
We’d had a lead, but now we have absolutely nothing.
“Abigail, we’ll figure it out.” Corrine says. “It’s no different than a few days ago--”
“Yes it is.” She snaps. “Before I thought I was an Eastham student, which gave me an identity. It meant I belonged somewhere. Now, I don’t even have that. We need to come up with something better.“
“Look, Abigail if there was a better way to look through dead people we’d do it, but I mean it’s not like there’s a catalog of dead people somewhere.” Corrine fires back.
Abigail stands up suddenly, sending a chair toppling over.
“Yes there is,” she says. “Let’s find my grave.”
***
-3-
“This is a horror movie waiting to happen,” I whisper to Corrine who has slowed down considerably.
“I had a friend, well foster sister, in Long Island who used to say dead people aren’t the ones we should be scared of,” she huffs, blowing out a breath of cold air.
A quick search showed us there were 40 cemeteries in Waverly. It wasn’t even a question that we had to go tonight. We’d ruled out the veteran and retirement community plots. I’m not sure what seeing her own grave will do to Abigail, but she insisted and who was I to argue.
We’d developed a process that didn’t take us long, just a quick half glance at the gravestones. We’d finished 10 cemeteries in the last couple of hours. Our current venue, St. Joseph’s Cemetery was the newest one and also the largest.
“I never said I was scared,” I correct Corrine. “It’s just creepy there’s a bunch of bodies underneath us.”
Abigail has gotten way ahead of us, her receding shape looks like a ghost briskly walking through the graves. It gives me chills
“We should be scared of the cops,” Corrine hisses. “I think this one has cameras. We’re trespassing and I'm pretty sure we're totally going to hell for this…which I’m okay with at this point, because it’s fucking freezing out here...The sun is coming up, I have work and you have class. We can’ t do this anymore tonight--”
“We don’t have any other option. I promised Abigail I’d help her, but you can go.”
“Do you really want me to take you up on that ?,” she says
dryly and I remember she is my ride home. My bike is in her trunk, but I'd never make it home from here.
We split up to walk down adjacent rows. I don’t even see anyone born past the year 1970. Corinne and I meet up at the end of the row and she just shakes her head no.
“I feel bad just walking past these grave. Should we say or prayer or something ?,” Corinne asks.
“Can’t.” I tell her.
“Can’t ?,”
The next thing I say I say because I am just that tired.
“Atheist.”
This makes her stop short and grab my arm.
“Are you serious ?,” she asks gesturing towards the direction Abigail went. “Even after all this?,”
I’ll admit meeting Abigail did shake me a little, but much to Mom’s chagrin, Dad insisted on raising my brother and I as atheist. I’d been an atheist like my Dad for most of the time, believing we were on our own but lately I’m starting to think maybe I believe everyone is just a little bit right.
“I may be rethinking my stance.” I tell her.
Up ahead Abigail has stopped, she’s standing at the end of a row and looking around like she is just now seeing the place.
“Find something ?,” I call, jogging over to her.
She looks out in the horizon and I know she is suddenly
aware of how late it its. She shakes her head and wipes a few tears
with the back of her hand. She stamps her foot like a child.
“Are you okay?,” I ask.
“It's just frustrating. I know I’m dead.” she shouts. “I remember the feeling of dying; I felt the warmth leaving my body, it was peaceful and scary at the same time, but I just don’t know how I got there or here.”
This is the first time she’s said anything about her death to me. I don’t know how to respond, even Corrine is speechless.
“I want to be alive so badly like you two,” he continues. ”I understand fate and I know I should be dead. I should be like all these people, but I don’t think I want to be. I don’t know what happens after and none of these people seem keen on telling me anything. They are just lying there.... more like--like stone than the sea would be if....shit. I can't even remember. “
“Refusing to be blessed ?,” I supply, recalling the poem she
is reaching for.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one’s alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much....
“ I’m sorry to put you all through this...but I think we should take a break.” Abigail says quietly.
“It’s fine, we can pick this up on a day when Jonah and I don't have class the next day.”
Corinne says
“No I mean, just a break for you guys. I know you don’t think there’s a point in me looking at all these gravestones, but I have to and I intend to walk past everyone and read every name. I don’t have anything to do, I’m kind of just wandering anyway. I’ll look and if I find something, I’ll tell you. That way we don’t get anymore false leads or hopes, I’m not sure I can take that.” she says.
“No, Abigail.” I say. “I said I’d help you and I will."
“I know,” she says. “But I’ve also got to help myself a little…I don’t really get tired or anything so I think I may be better suited for this kind of brute force.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Yes,I should,” she her voice quivers. “Because if I can’t figure out who I am or what I am, I’m going to spend the rest of my existence alone. I like that you want to help me, Jonah, but I don’t need you to save me. You can't.”
I hate that she is shutting me out. People can't see her, she needs Corrinne and I's help to get answers from other people. Abigial turns and starts walking into the next row of stones, leaving Corinne and I standing in place.
“Her life,” Corinne reminds me.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
---
A/NSo alot of you caught on that Abigail wasn't an Eastham student early on because she'd never heard of the trivia competition.