Left Behind

Even through the dull fog I recognize Allie’s voice. Or am I imagining it? Is she really on the other side of my bedroom door? I say nothing and the voice goes silent. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is no voice.

The door opens with a creak. I don’t know whether to yell and tell her to leave, or just go back to staring at the ceiling from my bed. I decide ignoring her is the less painful option. Maybe she’ll just go away.

From the corner of my eye I see her pull my desk chair close to my bed and sit down. I close my eyes.

“Zack, I know you don’t want to see anyone. I tried emails and texts and phone calls. I just thought maybe if I came here…” She trails off. There’s a tremble in her voice when she continues. “Maybe there’s something I can do. I want to help you.”

Allie’s voice is warm and tender and it pulls my eyes away from the ceiling. I roll into a sitting position so I feel less vulnerable. Just as my eyes make contact with hers, a tear rolls from her left eye. Even in the darkness of my unlit room I can see she’s crying. People shouldn’t cry over me. I don’t deserve it.

Instinctively, I reach out to wipe the tear. Before I reach Allie’s face the rest of my mind snaps awake and I pull my hand back quickly. Allie reaches out for my hand. It’s the first thing I feel in months. Her skin, soft and gentle, only a whisper of a touch, yet it’s so strong and overwhelming. The contact starts to pull me into the present world. But I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be anywhere without Emily. I pull my hand away as though I’ve been scorched.

Unfazed, Allie tries again. “Zack, you don’t have to say anything. I know I can’t fix anything. I just wanted to see you. Even if we don’t talk.”

Something inside compels me. “Thank you. I read your emails and your texts,” I lie. I haven’t opened anything anyone’s sent. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Even in the unlit room I can see the glimmer of hope in her eyes when I respond. Is that how my parents feel? Are they just waiting for me to speak?

Allie smiles, but this smile doesn’t reach her eyes…not even close. It’s sad and forced. Something makes me smile back. I don’t want her to look so sad. Her smile responds to mine, growing real, not forced. I remember how I always liked that smile. It was almost too big— almost, but not quite.

“Aren’t you dying to know how The Scarlet Letter turned out in English? I figured the anticipation would be gut wrenching. It’s the real reason why I had to come,” Allie teases, her words coming quickly, hoping to keep me in the here and now. I never went back to school after the accident. Our English project wasn’t even a thought all these months.

“Yes, Allie. I was worried. Very worried that some second grader hasn’t been able to read about hookers wearing the letter “A” on their boobs.” The sarcasm feels good. Normal.

She giggles. “Mr. Hartley saved our story to read to the class last. I think he was scared, Zack.”

Her laugh is contagious. I don’t have to think about it, it just comes naturally. But then I catch myself. I don’t deserve to laugh. It’s not fair to Emily. I slam the shutter back down over the window of happiness she’s opened.

“Listen, Allie…thanks for stopping by. It was nice of you, but I’m really tired and need to catch some sleep.” I stand, leaving no room for interpretation that it’s time for her to go.

Allie’s smile falters. She stands. “I’m not going to let you get off that easy, Zack. I’m coming back to read you our story soon.” She tries to sound enthusiastic.

She tucks the chair neatly back under my desk, then turns to me, a nervous smile on her face. Reaching up on her toes, she kisses me innocently on the cheek. “If there is anything I can do, I’d like to be here for you, Zack.”

Emily doesn’t deserve the disrespect we’re showing her. “She died because she was jealous of me being with you that night, Allie. Please go.”

Like a coward, I fixate my eyes on the floor so I don’t have to see her face, not looking up until I hear the door close.

***

It’s August and the weather is intensely warm. Waiting until after my parents leave to run some Saturday morning errands, I throw on my running gear and head outside. While I stretch, my eyes can’t help but wander across the street. My chest tightens just seeing Emily’s house, knowing she’ll never walk in the door again. Knowing her parents want nothing more than for the past five months all to have been a nightmare. How the hell am I supposed to stay here? Walk in and out of my house every day, a constant reminder of what we’ve lost? What I’ve done.

Without finishing my stretches, I take off. No warm up. No slow start. Just full out running. Running away as fast as I can, praying the distance eases the pain. The thick humid air makes breathing difficult, each desperate inhale burns my lungs, but it’s not enough. I need more. More pain, more distance, more suffering.

Four miles fly by in record time, my body giving out on me, unable to endure the strain my mind demands of it. Doubled over, panting heavily, my hands on my knees, I struggle to catch my breath. I’m not even sure where I am. Although I really don’t give a shit. I have nowhere I need to be and no one who needs me. Anymore.

Hours pass and I alternate between running and walking. Before I know it, the sun is setting and I find myself in front of the cemetery. Emily’s cemetery. I make my way through the large iron gates, looking around at the endless rows of headstones, wondering if I can even find my way back to her gravesite. The place is huge, there must be twenty thousand stones and miles upon miles of roads and walkways that all look the same to me.