I reach for a trash bag from the dresser and begin to clean out the drawer. I don’t plan to use these again, and there’s nothing grosser than using someone else’s private items like that. My face puckers at the thought. Once the drawer is empty and other nonsexual contents are on the top of the nightstand, I walk over to grab an empty box to start gathering up belongings. I place photos, books, and random memorabilia that we have collected over the years and fill that box up. I write my name on it and tape it up and gather a second box. I begin going through the rest of the dresser drawers and throw T-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, flannels, a few hoodies, and his favorite pair of gym shorts in the box. I go through the motions and don’t concentrate too hard on what I’m doing, or else I’m going to break down. While I am in the process of taping up the second box, my brother is working on the desk drawers.
“What is this?” He pulls out a box, wrapped in beautiful paper—the paper is beautiful, not necessarily the wrap job on it, which means that Emmett wrapped that himself. There is also a card along with it with “Cupcake” written on the front in Emmett’s sloppy handwriting. I stare at the present and card as my brother walks over to me. I am still staring when he touches my arm to grab my attention after apparently calling me over and over. Snapping out of my trance, I lift my eyes to meet Zach’s.
“Well, I guess this was meant for you.” He places it in my hands, and I don’t know what to do with it. I can feel a bigger lump forming in my throat than earlier. He had bought me something and wrapped it? Am I supposed to open it now? Do I wait? I keep it in my hands and back up till I’m fully seated on the bed, unsure what to do next.
Haylee takes a seat next to me. “Do you want to open it?”
“I don’t know. I mean yes…no…I don’t know.”
“You can go to my room, sis, if you want to do it now in private.”
I nod, acknowledging him. I look around the room and think this is it. This isn’t like in P.S. I Love You where the husband knew his time was coming to an end, so he wrote her letters to help move on. Emmett didn’t know he was going to die that night. He planned to leave the library and come back to this apartment and see me. He didn’t know that he wouldn’t make it home.
This is my final gift from Emmett. I go to get up from the bed to move to Zach’s room, but I’m scared. I somehow found enough strength to come here today, but this is just too much. I set the item on the top of my boxes and continue cleaning out the room so that we can go through this as quickly as possible and I can go back home to my bedroom to be alone in peace…or whatever form of silence my room provides. I look up from where I am standing to find everyone’s eyes on me as if they were waiting for me to either open the gift or break down. I brush them all off and go back to the pile I’m currently working on.
Over the next three hours, we go through and pack everything up through tears, recalling memories brought up by some items and laughing at the ungodly number of empty orange Gatorade bottles. The man was seriously obsessed. The best part is that they weren’t even out in the open; most were shoved in the back of the closet or behind the dresser. By the time we’re done, we’ve found thirteen. Maybe that was Emmett’s way of sending a message to us to lighten the mood. He was always so great at that. Making light of the hard things.
Walking out of the room for the last time seems harder this time than when I had to head home for the funeral since now the room is completely empty. It’s as if Emmett never lived here, all things Emmett packed up and put away. I don’t want to break down in front of everyone yet again, so I grab my bag and shove the card and box in there and walk out the door without another word. Once I am in the stairwell, I allow the silent tears to free fall.
After loading the boxes in the van and Zach’s Jeep, who is coming home for the weekend, we head back to Annapolis. The ride home is quiet, everyone still wallowing in their memories. After dropping Mr. Brian and Haylee off, my dad tells him that we will come back with dinner and to help unload the boxes. Today has been another emotionally draining day, so when we get back home, Dad helps me bring the boxes into my room.
“Dad, is it cool if I just stay home instead?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I fake a yawn. “It’s just been a long day, and I’m pretty tired. I just wanna lie down.”
With sad eyes, he nods. He takes one last look at the stack of boxes, pulls me into a hug, and kisses the top of my head.
“I know it hurts still, Danielle, but we will get through this.”
“I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Dad holds me a little longer. “Okay, well, you get some rest sweetheart. I’m going to go pick up some pizzas and take them over. We will be back later. I’ll bring you some leftover slices.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
He kisses the top of my head before pulling away. I shut the door behind him as he exits, and I flip back and forth between staring at the pile of boxes and the bag that contains Emmett’s present. I walk over to my dresser and pull out a T-shirt, one of Emmett’s lacrosse tees that says “Stop Staring at my Ball
s.” I grab my bag and sit with my legs crossed on my bed. I pull the gift and card out and stare at them. One day I’ll be able to open them; however, that day is not today. I place them on top of my nightstand and grab my headphones, turn the music on, and lie back, bringing the covers over my head.
T oday is February 17, 2012.
Today is Emmett’s birthday.
Today was his birthday.
Today he would have been nineteen.
My Emmett will never celebrate another birthday.
He will forever be eighteen.
Today everyone is headed to the cemetery to take flowers to the grave site. I haven’t been back to the cemetery since the funeral. What’s the point? I just see it as a reminder of what’s no longer here—him.
I walk into our kitchen and find Mom cleaning up from breakfast. No matter how many times she asked, I still refused to change my mind about going with them. I reach into the fridge for the bottle of orange juice with my back to my mother when she asks again, “Are you sure you won’t come with us? Your brother is coming down to join us.”
Zach had returned to school and started his semester in an attempt at getting back to normal. He keeps himself busy with his schoolwork. I haven’t been to visit him since we packed up Emmett’s things, nor do I plan to. I can’t be in that place. I’m not sure how he can stay in that apartment himself. I went from visiting almost every other weekend to none at all. He has only been home once since he came back to visit the weekend Em’s room was packed up, but he checks in daily via text and phone calls with me. I know him well enough that he is probably sharing any scrap of information I give him— not that there’s much— with my parents since everyone is so worried about me.