closer than we know

7/29/2019 Closer Than We Know

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THAN WE KNOWinspired by true events

sponsor of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention


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Closer Than We Know

2013 Haylee Graham

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without thewritten permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

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Cover artwork Haylee Graham

Though diminutively based upon real people (with given permission of said

real people) this book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to someone (other

than said real people), living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters andevents in this work are figments of the authors imagination and are not to be

related to any similar situation or event.

Alexa "Lexi" Van Buren, a seventeen year old suffering under a

neglectful drug-using mother, gains a new lease on life and discovers a

deeper level of gratitude after her childhood friend takes his own life

and somehow messages her only a few days after his suicide.


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A Message from the AuthorIn honor ofJameson J.T.McCown

March 4, 1994October 25, 2012

This story is not Jamesons, but it could have been. He was

someone we all knew as a strong individual, both physically and

mentally. He was indestructible, untouchable, and a warrior who

impacted many lives before and after his death. He was like a little

brother to me, a loyal friend to others, and a cherished member of the

McCown and Chapin family. But lifes demons had tainted his being

for too long and one night, Jameson took his own life.

After the fact, I was angry as we all were angry. I was frustrated

and shocked and in denial for weeks. And there is little justification inhis actions, but I refuse to let anyone call him weak, pathetic, or

spineless. He was simply one who had been strong, as we all knew

him, for too long.

Let us not look down on him or any other who decides to take their

own life, but instead understand it as a lesson to hug a little tighter, say

I love you to more faces, and pickup those who have fallen a little

more than we already do.

This is dedicated to the McCown and Chapin families for no onewill ever know your grief or how youve struggled. And I hope I didnt

disappoint in this work of fiction. I apologize if any fictional event or

character that I mention is too closely related to any situation you as a

family have encountered. Diminutively, some characters possess same

traits and characteristics as the real people they are based on. But I

wanted to write this story, as I think its the story Ive needed to write.

As with many others, denial of J.T.s death made me do peculiar

things. For months, I sent Jameson messages praying that he would

one day respond. Thats where the what ifs? came to build thisnovels storyline.

And just a few days after, I was sitting in my front yard one day

and I looked to the sky and said aloud, You owe me. You owe all of

us. So youre going to help me write this story, whether you like it or

not. Thats when I first began to outline the plot of this book. I am

hopeful we can all learn from the morals and lessons in this and

become more united with our friends, family, and even the strangers we

encounter. Our dead are not gonebut in fact, closer than we know.

Thank you for reading. And thank you, Jameson, for always

telling us to keep smiling. For you, we will do just that.


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THAN WE KNOWinspired by true events

sponsor of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention


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Part One.

life battles

can leave usscarred, butscar tissue

is strongerthan skin.-CC Weske


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LEXILUTHOR4:34 p.m.

I hope you're doing well, and I hopethere's an online messenger where

you're at. Keep in touch okay? I'll bechecking my computer everyday for a

response.It has been raining ever since weheard. The sky cries for you,

and we do too.-Lexi


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Prologue.I yanked the steering wheel to the only parking spot I could

find in downtown San Luis Obispo. My deep navy 1990 Volvo

rolled over the curb and tapped a skinny tree, causing itsbranches to rattle loose leaves like snowflakes. One passerby

flinched at the cars protrusion to the sidewalk and smacked thehood in a huff. Others shouted for me to watch out. On anyother day I would have taken the time to apologize for

interrupting the townspeople in midst of their evening strolls or

shopping spreesbetter yet, I wouldve just re-parked so the

front half of my car wasnt barricading the sidewalk. But therewas no time because I was not too far from Third Street and

Mission Avenue.

I cut the engine and jerked the keys from the ignition, my

eyelids pinned to my head in a terrifying state of panic. To some

peoples protests, I abandoned the car and walked quickly down

the sidewalk. I pushed into a half-run as I contorted my body to

steer through the crowds and not fumble over smaller children.

But in mid-stride, I violently crumpled to the sidewalk andcoveted my head with my arms. That familiar agonizing strike

of pain shot through my skull again.Alright! I screamed into my knees. Damnit, Jaden,Im

going!It subsided and I instantly bolted into a sprint. There would

be no walking now. Urgency pressed my strides faster and faster


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until the endless gift shops and ice cream parlors blurred into amess of colors to my left. And to my right, the steady-moving

traffic in the street seemed to match my bolt. People protested

when I broke through their hand-holding or between theirshoulder brushes. Some grew so furious that they trotted afterme, wanting to give that reckless teenager with the dark hair and

silly skinny jeans a piece of their mind. One man chased me

through a shout of curses but he stopped short and dismissed me

with a wave of his hand. I was running too fast. When his anger

settled, he shook his head with a perplexed frown, wondering

why the hellI was running so fast.

But I couldnt stop to rationalize myself to him or anyonewho watched me with curious eyes. I couldnt dare slow down.

I kept running, yelling for people to move out of the way.

My breath was burning in my throat, my lungs were desperate

for more oxygen, my heart was loudly pounding in the cave of

my ears. And when I made it to the intersection of Third andMission, I stopped so quickly that the impulsion of my run

nearly sent me flying into passing traffic. I looked down

Thirdnothing. I looked up Missionnothing.Where are you? I whispered, my eyes desperately

skipping over surrounding buildings.

And then I saw it.A small alley way just down Third street, obliquely across

the intersection. Its passage was hidden, blending it with a pizza

parlor to its left and a jewelry store on its right, but I could see it.

I knew he was there. He had to be.

The light was green yet I dove into the intersection anyways.A man tried to catch me as I jumped from the curb into the

traffic but I shoved him off. Other people, good Samaritans,

yelled for me to stop but I kept going.

They didnt know. They would never know. They just sawa young girl with dark, wind-thrashed hair, running in silly red

shoes with untied laces whipping her shins. They just saw a

reckless teenager diving headfirst into deadly oncoming traffic.One car honked and swerved, barely skimming by from

crashing into me. Another one stopped just before my legs and I

skidded to a halt, the impulsion throwing me forward. I caughtmyself with a spread of my palms slapping against the hood.


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Are you crazy? the driver yelled from the window.I didnt have time to affirm his question. I didnt have time

to tell him yes, maybe I was a little bit. Maybe this was all

crazyme following the words of someone who was supposedto be dead.

But I didnt think twice. I didnt apologize to the driver but

just took off running again. All he saw was a black haired girl

with a pale-stricken face, her dark eyes wide and her rapid

breaths bumping her chest to her chin. The driver searched the

corners of the intersection. Perhaps she was running from the

cops, or perhaps she just had a death wish.

I ran diagonally across the intersection, my eyes onlybouncing off the alley way when a flash of a car came my way.I made it to the other side, taking a giant leap to the curbside of

safety and instantly sprinted down the sidewalk. I didnt break

speed when I veered into the alley, the momentum tripping me

over my own ankles. I stumbled violently into the bright graffitiof a wall. It knocked the breath out of me and I gasped for air as

I tried to keep running down the alley. My legs beneath me were

burning, my heart was racing too fast, my tongue was just anumb muscle flopping around in my mouth as I gasped for a

breath, just one simple breath.

But when I saw the two figures at the end of the alleyway,one figure atop the other, striking violently in down-ward

punches, a last surge of adrenaline coursed through my

exhausted muscles. I started running again, a scream of protest

trying to escape my throat. But my mouth was too dry and my

lungs were trying too hard to feed my body air. A few smallcroaks escaped my throat through my sprint.

Trey was straddled over Robbies stomach, his knees

pinning the other boys arms to the ground. Trey raised his fist

past his ear and punched down on his face in a powerful swing.Robbies head, that had lifted to plea with Trey, snapped back

into the pavement. His face was coated in blood, bruises already

turning his face purple and his eyes were lost behind swollencheeks. The other boy croaked in protest and tried to wiggle

from Treys hold but he was fixed beneath the strong grip over

his throat and the rough gravel of the pavement that burned intohis back. And then Trey flicked one of his brothers red


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switchblades from beneath the hug of his jeans. He tightened hisfingertips over it and withdrew his arm back. The fear in

Robbies green eyes drove me to run faster.

Trey, stop! I forced my voice to scream.He looked up at me, his arm still in position. I stopped in

my running just a few feet from him. I put my arms up on either

side of my head as though I were looking up the barrel of a gun.

Stop, I said through my pants. Please.

He looked at me questionably, his eyes a dark and

unforgiving blue. His threatening face softened at the sight of

me but his arm and the switchblade still hovered over Robbie.

Get out of here, Lexi! This has nothing to do with you! hesnapped, a sob making his voice uneasy. Anger fluttered hiswords as though he were upset that I had stopped him in his

rage; or that I was there to witness him commit murder; or that I

had to see him like this.

My eyes skipped nervously from the blade to its line of pathinto Robbies chest and to Robbie himselfwho was whimpering

in soft sobs.

It has everything to do with me, I said through a stepforward to Trey. He tensed at my approach and I stopped.

Your brotherdoesnt want this for you.

Tears welled up in his eyes. Damnit Lexi,leave! Go!Im not going anywhere, I said calmly, risking a smaller

step towards him. Jaden wants me to stop you. This isnt

Robbies fault.

Treys arm drooped at the elbow. He looked down at

Robbie, his blue eyes blinking tears from his vision. His bodyrelaxed over Robbie and his shoulders slouched as his eyes

skipped over the other kids drastically battered face. I gulped

loudly and kept talking.

He told me, Trey, I said, taking a few slow steps closer.How do you think I knew exactly where you were? Trey

picked up his head, frowning at my words. The blade in his

hand quivered as he strained to make a decision. Jadenswatching you. He told me to come stop you.

A few beats went by. Trey contemplating, Robbie choking

on his own blood and me taking more and more small stepsforward until I was just a few feet from them.


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Put the knife down, let Robbie go, we will forget this everhappened, I whispered softly, my eyes glued to the knife. If

only I could just make a grab for it. But to my relief, Treys arm

was descending more and more from its fixed position. Hisknuckles were nearly scathing the pavement.

And then, Robbie spoke frombeneath Treys clutch.

Please, Trey. He washe was mymyfriend, he struggled

through missing teeth and a blood pooled mouth.

Though Robbies struggling words should have been heard

as a plea, Trey heard them as something different. They

offended him, enraged him, made him remember why he had

done this to the kid in the first place. His ocean blue eyes flamedred again. Robbies tormenting of his brother after the accident

burned in his ears. And then, Trey craved the taste of revenge.

A breath sucked back into my lungs at the sudden anger that

crossed his face. Robbies eyes widened and he whimpered in

panic.And he was my brother! Trey shouted, raising the blade to

his ear again.

No! I screamed, taking two big steps to collapse over hisarm in its downswing. I wrapped myself over his shoulder and

tackled him to the pavement, my body falling in path of the

blade. The knife rolled beneath my stomach and my weightcame crashing down. Trey plummeted in a somersault and

smacked violently against the pavement. Robbie, relieved but

suffering, fought to keep conscious. I tumbled a few times until

finally rolling onto my back. Time elapsed, the sky was

beckoning, and nausea thickened my skull. Suddenly, there wasno more airthere was no more breathing. Shock gripped my

limbs into shivering convulsions. Everything was tingling numb.

Trey had rolled onto his stomach and oppressed his ribs with

painful bruises. After a few coughs, he lifted himself. Theswitchblade, alone in its sharp victory, was just under his

collarbone, the tip dipped in glistening crimson. He patted his

shirt for a wound but saw nothing. He then looked to Robbiewhose emerald eyes were fixed on me. I turned my head to them

as my heart beats slowed in my ears. My head weakly nodded

goodbye before my eyes yielded closed.And from the heavens, Jaden smiled.


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One.

42 days before.

Everyday, it seemed, I saw him walking idly through the

hallways. He would give me a small closed-tooth smile ingreeting and thatd be it. Orsometimes, we would walk to our

classes in slow motion to chat for a few taut seconds. And it was

the same usual and shy conversation that always lacked somemajor component. Maybe it depthor weightor importance.

Something to fill up the bare splintering cracks of ourdiminishing acquaintance.

"Hey Lexi," Jaden Michellen would greet, stopping me in

the middle of the school hallway.I would reply with a forced smile. "Hi Jaden, what's up?"

It wasn't that I didn't like talking to the kid, it was more of

like, I needed to get to class and one more tardy I'd earn myself a

detention.

"Not much," he'd say with a retiring shrug. "How's it

going?"

"Great," I would lie, eyeing the classroom I was bound. I'd

smile again, this time not as sincerely, and start walking away."Well, good seeing you."

That was our daily round-a-bout. And I noticed, when Iwalked away and ducked my chin into my shoulder, Jaden would


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still be standing there and staring after me. At first I thought thekid was borderline creepy. But it dawned on me that, given our

shared history, he was just making up for the friendliness I didnt

necessarily havenor care to have. And sometimes, secretly,the small talks between Jaden and I would make my day a little

brighter. Yet other timessorry, mostof the timeit would just

make me late to class because I didn't want to dismiss him and

be rude. Thats when I first started getting real irritated. I

couldnt be too frustrated with him though. I was just as eager

for older friends at that age.

See, Jaden was a grade younger than me but we had

practically grown up together. His older brother, Trey, was inmy lovely class of juniors and had intertwined in my life sinceelementary school. Back then, the bright blue eyed boy and I

were best friends. We frisked around the school's blacktop,

skinned our knees raw in playful shoves of tag, and battled it out

in competitive games of handball. Jaden would join in from timeto time, and even though he was smaller and one year younger,

he'd always beat me at any handball tournament. In defense of

my pride, I just stuck with Trey, who was more leveledcompetition for me.

When middle school and high school came around, Trey

and I had grown our separate ways. There was no more playinghandballno more pretending to be Velociraptors fromJurassic

Parkand preying on kids younger than us like his brother. But

even though our friendship dwindled, he, like me, transferred to

the local youth school.

San Luis Obispo Youth School 6-12 was a large school withtwo different football fields, three baseball diamonds, the

occasional small square lining of grass that offset the dull

primary asphalt, and a bunch of grumpy, clique-enforced,

influential, and outrageous kids.One side of the school was flooded with middle schoolers,

and right across from that, the OYShigh schoolers dominated

with their loud laughs, array of inappropriate jokes, and playfulslaps of each others asses. And so, as the years went by, Trey

did his thing, I did mine, and not surprisingly, when we

graduated 8th grade, we both joined the 9-12 side ofOYS.


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Freshman year, Trey and I only conversed over groupprojects in class. Beyond that, not much else. It seemed as

though too much time had gone by for us to try and rekindle our

once resilient friendship. But even from afar, I cared for him andI (secretly) hope that he cared for me.

The following year when Jaden walked to the other side to

join his brother in high school, the both of them began catching

the eyes of a lot of girls. The Michellen brothers had a quiet yet

amusing sense of humor, were compatible with every face they

encountered, and were tasty eye candy for young teenagers

blessed with out of control hormones. On my end, I stayed quiet

and didn't try and brag that I had known the both of them sincefirst grade (though for many girls that would sure be somethingto boast about). Perhaps it was because since I had known them

for so long, I just saw them both as my two brothers instead of

two attractive boys to coon over. They were just Jaden and Trey.

But when it didleak to a few people that I personally knew themand had once been so close to them, hopeful hormone-driven

girls lead by unripe, naive hearts started badgering me with

questions."Do they like anyoneI mean as in like-like?"

"Do you have their phone numbers?"

"Do you hang out with them?""Does Jaden ever talk?"

The questions were always repetitive and quickly came to

bore me. But even so, the excited interest in the two brothers

conducted by these girlsmost of which were from all grades

and some of which I had never metjust left me speechlessevery time. After daily interrogations, my personal boundaries

were tested as I was often stopped in the hallways or tapped on

the shoulders in class by eager girls with whispering questions or

sharpened demands.And by the middle of 10th grade, I secretly started to loathe

the Michellen brothers. Jaden's insistence on conversation which

kept the detention slips rolling in to my classrooms, and theconstant interrogations about the both of them were making me

bitter with annoyance. So, consequently, I started avoiding both

Trey and Jaden so I could make it to class in time anddisassociate myself from them completely.


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My strategy worked through the rest of my sophomore yearand when junior year rolled around, I hadn't talked to the

Michellen brothers in over seven months.

It was the first day of school back from Christmas vacation.The start of January proved chilly and not even the stigma ofsunny California weather could drive away the soft patter of rain

and gloomy ominous thunderclouds from rumbling over Obispo.

It was early before class and I was walking down the main

hallway in my muddy rain-boots. So far, high school proved to

be academically easy and emotionally unsettling.

Life at home had gotten worse through the years. In the

confines of my childhood house, it felt like my eyes were shut ona terrifying rollercoaster. I never could predict when the dipsand spins and sharp turns were. And it seemed within the first

years at that school, I had found an escape amongst class-work

and co-mingling with friends. But by the time junior year hit, I

started to break. The chaos at home chipped away at my schoolfaade. My dark hair began to break off from stress, bruised

colored bags clutched beneath my eyelashes from restless sleep,

and acne dotted my forehead from overwhelming anxiety. Butone thing I think most people noticed was that my smiles weren't

as elongated as they used to be.

"Alexa VanfreakingBuren!" a familiar voice called frombehind me.

I grimaced even before I turned to see who it was.

"You're in trouble, missy!" Kimberly called through her jog

over to me. Her head of long dark hair swayed in the wind past

her shoulders. "You don't reply to my texts! You don't pick upmy calls!" She stopped next to me and shrugged her backpack

more up her shoulders. "Two weeks of Christmas vacation and I

don't hearanythingfrom you."

Death is a part of life. So are needy best friends."Sorry," I said half-heartedly, dropping my eyes. "I had

family issues."

Kimberly scrunched the side of her mouth. It was the mostempathy she could give. "Well, you missed my birthday."

"I know, I'm sorry, happy birthday," I said under my breath

before walking away.


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"Lexi!" Kimberly called after me as she followed. "Lexi,please, talk to me."

I kept walking, my head low and focused on my rain boots

kicking off the mud with each step. Tears blurred my vision likeI was looking through a fog-misted windshield.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me and I recoiled back.

My eyes widened. Out of the six hundred kids at the high

schooler's section ofOYS, I just had to run into Trey Michellen.

Kimberly stopped behind me, her protests stuck in her throat as

her eyes skipped between us.

"Alexa," Trey muttered through a smile. "Hey."

"Hey," I said awkwardly, pushing a loose strand of hairbehind my ear.

"How've you been?" he asked, his smile whiter than I had

ever noticed. My eyes stuck on them until his question triggered

a sudden response.

"Fantastic," I lied. "How about you?The white smile wouldnt release. Ive been great.

I nodded my head and bit the inside of my cheek. Silence

fell between us, making me nervously fumble my fingerstogether.

Thats.cool,I said lamely. We should I scratched

above my brow, feeling awkward. We should catch up? Itwasnt meant to sound like a question, but the octaves in my

voice were too high with nerves.

"Yeah," Trey agreed. "Well, I mean, my family's having a

barbeque this Friday afterschool if you want to come. Theyd

love to see you again." I could hear Kimberly suck a breath inthrough her nose. I think Trey also heard because he skipped his

eyes to her. "You can come too, Kimberly. We can all hang

out."

"Like old times," she responded excitedly."Right," he smiled before looking down at me. "So I'll

message you the address?"

I dropped my eyes and sighed. "Yeah, um, I'll see if I cancome. Might havehomework." I internally winced and

Kimberly scoffed behind me.


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She took a step forward. "Well, even if Alexa can't,Istillcan," she blurted through a shy smile. Her fingers anxiously

tugged on her backpack.

I rolled my eyes and Trey didn't offer much of a responseother than a small nod. His eyes shifted to me and he smiledthrough, "Well I hope you can," before excusing himself to his

class. As soon as he was out of earshot, Kimberly hit the side of

my shoulder.

"What's wrong with you?Homeworkon a Friday?"

I shrugged. "I'm just being studious."

She rolled her eyes to the sky. "You've been my best friend

for ten years and Istilldon't understand you sometimes. TreyMichellen, the most sought after guy in schoolperhaps of allObispoinvited you to his house for," she put her fingers up in

mock quotations, "afamily barbeque. And you would rather stay

home and bestudious?"

At her noise of disgust, frustration suddenly clamped mythroat. "Trey inviting me to his house isn't that big of a deal,

Kim. We used to always hang out as kids."

"But you're not kids anymore, Lexi!" she snapped, huffing ademeaning sigh and hooking one arm around mine. We made

way down the hallway and she muttered, "I swear you don't feel

anythingforanyone anymoreeven him."I didn't respond as we veered left into our first class together.

I bit my bottom lip, feeling tears sting at my eyes as we sat at our

neighboring desks and waited for first period Government to

start. I wanted to tell Kimberly that the repetition of hurt can

cause anyone to numb themselves against impulses of attractionor desire. It's a defense mechanism conducted by those who

chose not to get hurt or dive into vulnerability. Feeling

nothinghaving no expectations, no idealistic sentiments, and

no optimism towards the casual unlikelihoods of lifemeantthere was little that could emotionally scrape you.

I was already scarred with my mothers negligence, my

fathers departure, my sisters broken heartedness, and my owndemons scurrying beneath the cave of my skull. And so, for the

time being, I felt nothing and that was something I was sadly

okay with.


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Two.I threw my backpack onto the couch as carelessly I could.

No, I wasn't studious at all. In fact, I had come to despise school

and all the schoolwork that followed. So, in retaliation of theessays I had to write and pointless homework that I half-assed, I

would always toss my backpack as hard as I could into the couchand procrastinate the homework and studying I had to do. If mymom were there in the kitchen she would protest to the

hardcover books slamming together from within the backpack's

zipper. But she wasn't there today as she wasn't here yesterday

or the day before.I paraded upstairs, stomping up the wooden steps to

intentionally make my presence known. At the top of the stairs

and without a knock on the door, I busted through my mom's

room. It was dark inside as it always was with the blinds closed

and shielding off any slips of sunlight. It was stuffy and hot as if

the air-conditioning couldn't even ease the warmth expelled from

the still body that had barely moved for three days straight now.

A soft sob cried out by the bed. "Mama? Mama, wake up.""Caydee?" I called in the darkness. "Caydee, what

happened?"My six year old little sister looked up at me through the

shadows. She sniffled, mumbling that Mama had thrown upagain and wasn't waking up.

I bit the inside of my cheek and walked across the room to


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the blinds. With a sharp tug, the blinds lifted, unveiled thesunlight, and washed away the hovering murkiness. The room

was messy with Caydee's scattered puzzle pieces and random

piles of dirty clothes. Covering the wooden floor werecompilations of my mom's favorite CDs, a half empty vodka

bottle, and a cigarette that wasnt completely burnt out yet. As I

picked up some of the clothes and folded them under my arm, I

stomped on the cigarette butt with a little too much force and

squished it under the sole of my shoe. My mom groaned from

beneath the covers.

"Did you go to school today?" I demanded from Caydee.

The little girl, whose ponytail was loose and tousled, lookedat me with tear filled brown eyes and shook her head no. Isighed and pushed past her, throwing the clothes on the bed with

a forceful heave.

I put a hand on the unmoving mound that was my drugged

out mother. "Caydee hasn't been to school for three days. Yousaid you were going to take her."

When she didn't respond, I glanced to a cluster of small

prescription bottles on her night stand. The caps were knockedoff and there were only a few pills left in each one.

I picked them up individually, reading their labels through

my clenched teeth. "Coedine, Ambien, Vicodin, Xanax." Mybreaths grew stronger through my nostrils and the sting of hot

tears prickled my eyes. The prescriptions weren't prescribed to

my mother at all. In fact, each bottle had a different name and

different dosage. "Emanuel Lopez, Mike James, Rachelle

Williams, andDarcy Pennigram? My God, did you get thesefrom the boys off the street?"

My mom mumbled from under the covers. It was either her

affirmation to my question or her protest to the eye-pinching

sunlight burning through the fabric."Yeah?" I asked mockingly. "Well do the boys know you

have a family to take care of?"

She wiggled and buried her head even further under theblankets.

"They do, don't they?" I pressed. "But they don't care

becauseyou don't care. All you care about is getting your fix,isn't that trueRachelle or should I call youDarcy?"I leaned over


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my mother and ripped the blankets from her head, exposing thepale, fragile woman who was too high to even begin to

understand my reprimands. She was on her side, her nose just

inches from where the bed sheets were stained with fresh orange-brown vomit. She cradled her hands beneath her chin as thoughto find comfort without the blankets. I shook the pill bottles like

Macarenas above her ear and raised my voice even louder. "You

hear that? This is all you, Rebecca Anne Van Buren, cares about!

Not about yourself or your two daughters or putting food on the

tableyou dont care about anything but this!

She tried to bury her face into the sheets to escape the noise.

Through an uncontrolled growl, I uncapped the bottles andlet the rest of their contents spill to the floor. Well you knowwhatIthink? I called as the eleven small pills with their brands

engraved onto their skin dropped to the ground. With an over

exaggerated jump, I furiously bunny-hopped on them. My shoes

crushed the pills and by the time I stopped jumping, they werenothing but small piles of white powder.

The sharp stench of my mom's vomit didn't keep me from

leaning over her and spewing venomous words into her ear."Thats what I think about all thisshit." She didn't respond and

that just made me itch with even more anger. I retreated,

grabbed Caydee's hand, and asked if she had eaten today. Ofcourse she hadn't yet, so I promised her macaroni and cheese and

guided her out of the odor filled room. On my way out though, I

grabbed a hand-towel off the sink in the bathroom and tossed it

at my mom's stick-thin body.

"Clean yourself up," I barked. She blinked once, her mouthhalf-parted as her eyes followed me through the room with

Caydee in tow.

When you love someone so much, sometimes it's not in their

best interest to keep cleaning up after them month after month,year after year. Sometimes, after excelling in the definition of

caretaking, you have to wipe your hands clean, hand them the

resources and only pray that one day, they will smile to the sunand not hide from it and clean after their mess and not sleep in it.

That day hadn't yet come for my motherand I didnt think it

ever would.


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"Lexi, why did Mama throw up?" Caydee asked innocently

without looking up from her coloring book. She had abandonedher mac and cheese to focus on staying between the lines.

I sighed, blinking anxiously as I tried to find an appropriate

answer to her question. I was on my computer, my fingers rapid

in their typing but my mind blank and distracted.

"Uh, she's ill, baby," I said softly.

Caydee glanced up at me, a green crayon positioned in her

hand. "Then why don't we get her a doctor?"

I stopped typing and dropped my arms to my legs. I huffedthrough my lips as I tried to figure out how the best to explainthis to my little sister. "We can't get her help if she won't help

herself. Does that make sense?

Caydee's face had fallen in sadness. She barely bobbled her

head in comprehension."But it's okay," I reassured her through a forced smile.

"She'll be okay."

"No she won't," my sister said sadly. "She'll keep gettingsick and I'll never go to school."

"Hey," I said softly, reaching my hand to pat her arm. "I'll

make sure you get to school, okay? I promise."She nodded her head with a cute gap-toothed smile before

crouching back over her coloring book. When I faced back to

my computer with a lack of enthusiasm for the essay I had to

write, an instant message popped up on my screen. I curiously

leaned closer to it.

TreyMcCHILLin

4:49 p.m.

Hey Lexi here's my address.

Hope to see u Friday.

1198 Jasper Street


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LEXILUTHOR

Typing . . .

I tried to type a response like something casual and friendly,

but instead I just pulled down the screen and fastened it closed. Ihuffed a deep breath, turned to Caydee, and asked if she needed

any help. She nodded excitedly and pushed one end of the

coloring book to me. I don't know exactly why I shut my laptopon Trey.

Maybe it was unnerving that after so many years of ignoring

him and his brother, he was still extending his hand out to me. Ihadn't met anyone other than Kimberly who would want to be

my friend even when I stomped on the friendship like I did the

mixture of pills.


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Three.The week went by slowlyeven slower than a snail, perhaps

at the gradual and unbearable rate of a sea slug. I had to take

Caydee to first grade every day and pick her up in the afternoon.And to make it in time, I needed to leave immediately after my

final class of the day because Tall Oak Elementary, the samegrade school Trey, Jaden, and I went to, was a half an hourinland. That usually upset Kimberlywho was so desperate for

a study partnerand stressed me out because it often set me

behind in starting my homework. But I didn't complain (at least

not verbally) because Caydee proving to me that she couldfinally sing the whole ABC's song made me giggle on the drive

home. I even joined in, feeling like a little kid again.

Luckily, the rain stopped and it was back to being sunny

California weather. It was supposed to stay that way which I

was grateful for. I had read in a teen magazine that Vitamin D

could help cure depression. Maybe I'd suntan for the next week

or so just to see if it really did.

As for the barbeque on Friday, I couldn't hear enough aboutit from Kimberly. She bugged me each day in class if I was still

going to it. By Thursday I was so irritated with the badgeringthat I surrendered with a, Fine,well go to the barbeque and

yes, Ill try to manifest some miraculous way to leave you andJaden alone together.


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So, Friday morning I informed my mother through thehuddle of her bedcovers that she needed to pick Caydee up from

school that day. I even left her a post-it note on the fridge,

relaying my message in big bolded sharpie letters. And once Ireached school after dropping my sister off, Kimberly pouncedon me at the hallways, her face beaming in excitement.

Throughout the day and to my eye-rolls, she was constantly

checking on her makeup and whispering to her other friends

about her plans with the Michellen brothersoh, and Lexi. Let's

not forget about Lexi. Despite my objections, she was so

convinced that the barbeque was a private party hosted by the

two brothers.Afterschool, I had to break some sorrowful news to her."Kim," I said as she bounced into my passenger's seat with

an excited grin. "We can't stay long okay? I have to get back

home."

"Really?" she whined, obvious disappointment dropping herface. "Please tell me you're not going back to actually be

studious." I think it was intended to be a joke because her lips

were taut in a smile but I didn't return her grin.I shook my head no.

"Are you babysitting Caydee again?" Kimberly guessed

as she wrapped her seatbelt over her shoulders."Not just Caydee," I muttered as I forcefully put the car into

gear. I didn't know if I wanted to tell Kimberly that I probably

had to watch over my mother too, treating her like a child,

forcing her to spoon at her soup and sip at her water. Kim knew

that my mom had drug problems but she didn't know the extentof it. No one but Caydee did.

As we were en route to the Michellen house, Kimberly

decided to blast some tunes in my old navy colored Volvo. I

knew she wanted to make our presence known to this barbequeor party or whatever it may be, even though I tried to convince

her that whatever presence she was trying to make was already

offset because we were rolling up in a freaking 1994 Volvo.Still, she insisted we play the local radio as loudly as we

could and by the time we pulled in front of the lonely Michellen

house, the entire neighborhood got an earfulEminem's new hitsong.


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The house was small, quiet, and weather-worn. When Iheard Kimberly exhale a bummed out sigh, I smirked and

inquired if she was disappointed that they didn't live in a

mansion like she had hoped. She denied it but I knew it was truebecause Kim's motto was if you're going to marryyou need tomarry well. I think by the looks of her puffed out cheeks, any

hopes of marrying one of the Michellen brothers were totally

shot.

"Are we the first ones here?" she prodded, her eyes

suspiciously searching around the house. There was only one

truck parked in the driveway.

I cut the engine and opened the car door. "What did I tellyou?"

"I don't know," she mumbled as she unsnapped her seatbelt.

"I just thought family barbeque meant raging party at the

Michellen mansion."

I laughed aloud as I shut the door and encouraged Kimberlyfrom the passenger's seat. She suddenly didn't seem so set on

this family barbeque that was, just as I had speculated, an actual

family barbeque.I walked up to the front door, my hands shyly tucked in my

jean pockets. Kimberly sauntered behind me, her footfalls heavy

as she blew a breath through her lips."Oh stop pouting!" I laughed at her as she stomped up next

to me.

She crossed her arms over her chest and scrutinized the front

door. Her eyes skimmed over the cobwebs hanging at the frame

and the aged fissures that spiked through the doors surface. Agarden of wilted roses with vicious spikes, guarded by bundles

of weeds, lined in front of the houses large extending window.

Crickets suddenly lapped at Kimberlys feet and she gave a few

hops in revulsion."Ugh!" she whined as she hopped from one foot to the

other. "Are you sure we're at the right house?"

"Calm down," I giggled as I thumbed the small doorbell.Sure, the plants lining the front of the house were shriveled

in neglect and sure, there were pincher-bugs and crickets

crawling at our feet over the cracked sidewalk. But were we


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there to rage or to reunite? I think Kimberly misconstrued theidea of "hanging out like old times."

"If they don't remember you can we just head back? I

know Lyndsey's throwing a party."I gave her a scolding glare. "There's more to life than

parties. Plus, they'll remember me."

She gave a hop, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid any

bugs crawling her way. "Uh-huh, sure."

"They will," I persisted with forced confidence. But even so,

I couldn't keep the uncertainty from making my voice wane. "I

mean it's only been ten yearsgive or take." I realized the

unlikelihood of my statement. I mean, I didn't even rememberthe father's namethe father who I had spent so much time with,more than I had ever spent with my own.

Kimberly scoffed and was going to retort some smart-ass

comment when the door suddenly opened, the frame creaking

loudly in its sway. An enthusiastic man greeted us with a laugh.His cheeks were rosy as his face was ignited in a beaming smile.

Dirty blonde hair that was uncombed and wavy atop of his head

danced as the small breeze from outside intruded the house. Hiseyes, familiar to me in their deep blue, instantly lit up in

recognition.

"Alexa Van Buren!" he smiled as he dove to give me a firmembrace. Kimberly sniffled behind me and I knew she was

halfway disappointed that I had been recognized after all. I

hugged the man, his clutch familiar to me as though right then

and there, I was a small little girl again, greeting Trey's father as

I anxiously arrived for our weekly play-dates.I genuinely smiled into the man's shoulder, tears softly

glimmering in my eyes. Knowing you were important enough to

be remembered, even after so many years, is a heart-warming

thing.

"Alexa, you look just like your mom!" Mitch, as I had cometo find out was their father's name, said to me over the campfire.

The weightlessness of the atmosphere suddenly thickened. My

eyes fell into the fire and all I could manage was a sorrowfulnod. Even Kimberly stopped in mid-chew from her smores to


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nervously skip her eyes between us. None of the Michellensknew about my mom or that any comparison to my mom was

like curb-stomping my face into the ground.

I dropped my head and picked at the marshmallow that hadmelted on the end of my stick. Leftover trip-tip steak and cornon the cobs grew cold on a small table between Jaden and Trey

who occasionally grabbed a small piece of meat and munched on

it quietly while they waited for their marshmallows to roast. The

rest of us dipped and swung our sticks, our mouths watering at

the anticipation of smores, as Mitch and his wife, Lori, the

stepmom of the two brothers, told us funny stories of Trey and

Jaden as kids. It was a small get together and I can speak forKimberly that it wasn't anything she expected. Yet, even so, wefound ourselves laughing and giggling at Mitch's stories,

dodging glances at the brothers whose cheeks had grown red in

embarrassment.

Often, I would eye Jaden, who stayed quiet, his dark eyeslost in the glow of the fire. I could tell he was thinking about

other thingsthings that were serious and weightyand that

were beyond the dull conversation filling the air. The softness ofhis skin when he was just an eighth grader seemed to harden

over the years, already carving wrinkles above his brow and on

either side of his mouth. He had grown taller and his arms wereswollen with new thick muscle. Even his neck seemed to be

broader in width. But his eyes, most of all, were obscure,

mysterious, and haunted.

Kimberly's voice snapped me from my scrutiny. She was

reminiscing our adventures since elementary school and howcrazy we both used to be. Between the two of us contributing in

some of our funniest stories, we had the Michellens all busting

into laughter and even Jaden cracked a small smile.

But once my mom was mentioned, my smile faded and Iretreated into my own inwardly shell. I shut down and my

shoulders hunched in submission to my own insecurity. Blankly,

I withdrew my stick from the fire and placed it across my lap. Inervously picked at the burnt marshmallow.

"How is she?" Mitch asked, the innocence of his question

less innocent than he knew.


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29

I glanced to him, trying to formulate a crooked smile. "Uhwonderful," I lied.

The Michellen brothers looked at me curiously and even

Trey narrowed his eyes a little bit. They could tell in theunsteadiness of my voice that it wasn't the truth.

"And how about your dad?" Again, the innocence of the

question. "David, right? He always took you to the same car

shows me and the boys went to. What's he up to?" Mitch looked

to Lori. Her dads an incredible artist. He does the most

amazing geographical paintings. He glanced to me again,

enthusiasm lightening the octaves in his voice. He did that

painting for yours and Treys old Geography class backin.what was it Trey? Fourth grade? Lexi, you should tell yourdad I think itsstill there!

The avalanche of questions stung more than the melted

marshmallow that sizzled on my fingertips. A sob clenched my

throat, obstructing my words, and I didn't lift my eyes. "IIwouldbut Icant. He, um, he leftwhen I was twelve."

David Van Buren, the prized father that everybody in

elementary schooleven Trey and Kimberlywanted to have.He was always active in my school life, participating at our

rallies and ice cream socials and everyone knew he was the most

fun chaperone to have on field trips. And then, to put icing onthe cake, he painted a large five foot tall canvas of a

collaboration of the United States biggest national landmarks.

The tall orange colored cliffs of the Grand Canyon blended into

the White House, the Empire State Building faded into the

magnificent faces of Mount Rushmore, and the Grand Tetonstopped Niagara Falls.

It was a gift for our Geography class because when my

father had ventured into the room for open house, he scrutinized

the teacher about the blank walls that lacked of posters andvisually enlightening photographs. A week later, he presented

our teacher with the painting, and all of us kids oooh-ed and

aww-ed at the free masterpiece.Mr. V.B, as all my fellow students called him, constantly

went out of his way for the students and so I loved him,

cherished him, and was so proud to have him as my dad.


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But then one day, at the peak of sixth grade, he and my momgot into a yelling argument. He had found empty prescription

bottles again, all of which weren't written out for her, and he

claimed he had given up on her completely. But according tohim, giving up on his wife meant giving up on his children aswell. So, he packed his things and stomped out of the house,

slamming the door behind him so hard that it woke little one year

old Caydee from her sleep. He had departed times before when

they fought but this time his car never rolled back up the

driveway. I waited by the window for him every day. And after

weeks had passed, I came to terms that he was never coming

back. I never much sympathized for Caydee, for she was tooyoung to have ever established a relationship with my father orfelt the loss of him. But she didn't understand why her

classmates had daddys and why her mommy was always

sleeping. I would just assure her that one thing she had over her

classmates was her Lexi. That always made her smile andtemporarily forget the voids of not really having parents at all.

At the campfire, the air between all of us was suddenly

very thick and I don't think it was just from the clouding smokeas the flames began to slowly die out. Mitch apologized

sincerely and I pleaded for him not to worry, that a lot of people

don't know, and thatsame lot of people make the guiltlessmistake. But despite my reassurances, everyone had dropped

their eyes to the fire, twisting their mouths in deep thought and

slight empathy for the girl who had just been questioned about a

father who abandoned her five years ago.

The silence prolonged and I awkwardly cleared my throatand asked to use the restroom. Guilt for ruining the vibrant

mood with my tragic life story made me want to run away.

Mitch asked Trey to show me and I was so excited to leave that

campfire and the dull conversation that attempted to pick up andrevive the good time.

Trey beckoned me with a sad smile and I followed him back

to the house and through the sliding screen door. We were silentas I trailed him through the kitchen and down a long hallway

decorated with frames hanging unevenly from their nails. He

gestured to the restroom with its door half opened but gently


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caught my arm before I could walk to it. My eyes fell to hisgrasp and I stiffened.

Lexi, I'm so sorry," he exhaled in a breath as though he had

been holding it. "I swear if my dad or anyone had known""It's okay, really," I assured him through a small smile. It

prickled my stomach that he knew such an intimate detail about

me so I tried to change the subject as quickly as I could. You

have a great family. Everyone seems happy.

He tilted his head back and gave me a distant gaze.

Everyone?

I frowned. Well, I mean your dad, Lori, you

Ignorance is bliss, I guess, he sighed as though he weredisappointed.

I shook my head, his words making my chest cave. I put my

other hand over his grip on my arm. I said youseemedhappy,

not that you are, Trey.I smiled bashfully. I guess all the

school plays we were in as kids have really molded you, huh?You and your brother were both pretty good actors.

He exhaled in a small laugh and thoughtfully gnawed on the

inside of his cheekWere still acting, Lexi. He put his handson either side of my arms and ducked his head to my eyelevel.

His corneas had suddenly dimmed in their blue. This life is

just another play. And its a tragedy.With that, he dropped his grip, turned, and walked back

down the hallway. His spine was rigid in his steps as though an

invisible mast was sewn to his back. I pushed lightly on the

restroom door and for a moment, my hand rested on its surface.

I then craned my head over my shoulder."Hey Trey?" I called through a sad voice.

He slowed his strides in the middle of the kitchen and turned

to me, his face heavy with some internal struggle. What I was

going to say got caught in my throat and I felt so miniscule underhis powerful glare. He raised his eyebrows in speculation and I

finally choked out, It doesnt have to be a tragedy. Life.

Trey Michellen thought a minute, cocking his head asthough that would rattle the perfect reply. He narrowed his blue

eyes and a sad smile projected across his lips.

"Well," he sighed, "it sure as hell isnt a comedy.


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And then he turned and made way back outside to join thesmall conversations. I walked into the restroom and shut the

door with my back. I sighed heavily, looked to the ceiling and

rhythmically knocked my head against the doorframe. Hiswords might have been logically truethat this life is a tragedy,for a tragedy is defined that the main character dies by the end of

the play. We all meet Death in the end, so therefore we dont

deem life a tragedy but instead a blessing for every day we open

our eyes in the mornings, knowing we survived the night,

knowing we were granted one more day to live. And I

wondered what made Trey think so little of life itself. I

wondered had I not abandoned a childhood friendship that wasonce so strong I could have helped him look upon life with a

brighter perspective. We werent living a tragedy. Every day

we were living a blessing no matter how difficult it was for us to

see it that way and I was distraught that Trey was blinded to just

that.I didnt have to use the restroomit was just my escape goat

for avoiding the awkward talk of my parents. So after a few

minutes of contemplating Treys words, I flushed the emptytoilet, ran the sink water just for the noise, and walked out.

I blankly wondered back down the hallway, my eyes curious

to what the rest of their house looked like. I don't recommendever sneaking around another person's house without their

guidance, but the endless clusters of pictures that decorated

desks and tables and the tops of the thick-framed television drew

my attention. I walked slowly around the living room, picking

up small frames and using my index finger to dust off the cloudyfaces of smiling people. Most of the pictures were of the

Michellens on family vacations or house-held barbeques while

others were professionally shot photographs of Jaden and Trey

as they progressed through middle school and high school. Fourbookshelves set together were prominent in the living room.

They were taller than me and crowded with a collection of

pictures and decorative knick-knacks and aged drawings madeout to Mitch from when the boys were young kids.

A certain picture on the third caught my eye and I already

knew what it was before I even dusted the glass surface. Ismiled, rubbing it clean with my fingers. My eyes skimmed over


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the two rows of kids, who didnt look older than eleven ortwelve, sitting closely together on the last few rows of bleachers.

The tweens were wide-eyed, their pudgy faces bursting with

giggles and gap-toothed smiles. It was our fourth grade classpicture. On the end of the last row was Trey. He looked just as Ihad remembered him with his spiked dirty blonde hair and bright

blue eyes. And he had an arm hook over the shoulders of a

nerdy girlme. Inwardly, I cringed at how I looked like at that

age. Flat dark hair parted down the middle and that exposed a

wide forehead I now always concealed with bangs. My choice in

wardrobe was even more devastating. I wore a bright yellow top

with sunflower designs, neon green pants, and sparkly pinkshoes that would light up if I stomped hard enough on them.

I set the picture down with a soft and somewhat sad smile.

Back in fourth grade, things were much easier. The biggest

worries we had as students were whether or not we were going to

play freeze tag in P.E., or who was on whose kickball team, or ifwe spelt "neighborhood" right on last Friday's spelling test.

I moved on, taking slow steps as my eyes skimmed over the

fourth bookshelf. At my eyelevel and set at the back of the shelfwas what looked like a gun hanging from a small circular

platform. I frowned and reached my fingers to touch its surface.

It looked antique with its extra long barrel and aged woodenhandle.

"That's my dad's pistol," a voice called from behind me,

making me flinch. I nearly knocked the gun from the shelf.

I spun around to Jaden. He must have come back into the

house while I was pretending to use their restroom. He had athick book in one hand and he stared at me from the kitchens

doorway.

"I'm so sorry," I said quickly, lacing my hands in front of

me. "I was justuh, looking."Jaden nodded his head. His expression was blank as though

my wandering in his living room wasn't abnormal or offensive.

He moved from the doorway to lean against the wall of thehallway. His chin jutted towards the pistol. "You like guns?"

My eyes darted to the firearm. I wearily skimmed my eyes

over it. "Um, not really.Why not?


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I dont know, I stuttered. Justwouldn't be good if theyfell in the wrong hands, you know?"

He dropped his eyes and fluttered the pages of the book in

front of him. He didn't look at me. "The wrong hands are thebest hands, sometimes."

Red flag number one.

When I didn't respond and just awkwardly scratched behind

my head, he glanced up to me. "Well do you like switchblades? I

have a collection if you want to see."

"No, I mean, no thanks," I said bashfully through a small

shake my head. "I don't really like, um, dangerous things."

"Really?" he asked flatly. "I do."Red flag number two.I didn't respond. I didn't know how to.

After a segment of silence that made my feet restless beneath

me, I awkwardly asked, Uh, sowhat? Youre leaving the

party early? I grimaced at my lame attempt to lighten the mood.Jaden didnt smile. I dont feel well, he said tightly

before shaking the book. And I have to read this. I skimmed

my eyes over it and saw it was The Hobbit.Which class? I asked, genuinely curious.

Calzian. Shes kind of tough.

My rigid face loosened to a chuckle. Just ask her about hergolden retrievers. She has pictures of them at her desk. Better

yet, tell her you have one and shell love you.

Jaden sniffled in a soundless laugh. Thanks, he said

through the faintest smile. It was good seeing you. He then

strolled down the hallway in silented steps. Everything aboutJaden was quiethis words, his laughs, and even his footfalls.

Aggravated, I wildly grabbed the air in front of me with

spread fingers and angrily kicked out at how stupid I sounded

that entire conversation. I stomped forward and saw Jaden out ofthe corner of my eye. He was just pushing onto the door that I

assumed lead to his room. Thankfully, he didnt see me throw

my silenced tantrum."Feel better," I said softly, unsure if he had heard it or not.

Even in the dimmed lighting, I could see a gloomy smile tug

at his lips. "I won't," he said before pushing on the door anddisappearing within the room.


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Red flag number three.I could have taken the initiative to march down that hallway

and offer him words of comfort, advice, support, anything, but

instead, I walked straight back through the kitchen. Even whenmy hand touched the sliding glass door to allow me back outside,I glanced over my shoulder, a haunting intuition crawling over

my skin. Empathy and the need to comfortlike a mother does

to a wounded childanchored my heart beneath my chest. Both

the Michellen brothers were suffering from some guarded battle

or series of battlesthat was for sure. I wonder if others like

their acquaintances, their classmates, their other childhood

friends, or even Mitch and Lori, saw what I saw in them. And ifI was one of the few that did see past their facades and into theirdarknesses, was there an obligation of mine to try and help? I

assumed that the answer was up to me. But in the wake of my

debate, a familiar cloud of shyness sparkling with lack of

confidence made me hunch my shoulders over. So, I regretfullyjust pulled the glass door open and quickly shut it behind me.

As I reassumed my place back on a lawn chair and around

the campfire, I couldn't help but fiddle my hands in my lap anddodge worried glances back to the house. I tried to adapt to the

small murmurs of conversation but my head was racing with

concern for Jaden. And now that I think back to it, mysubconscious was actually being plagued with the red flags that

had deliberately been waved in front of me.

They were like the red flags warning swimmers that the

waters were turning violent and ultimately dangerous. Their

fabric had sheathed across my face and the bright red color stungmy eyes, yet all I focused on was my own prodding insecurities

and selfish desires. I, along with everyone else, chose to take the

flags by their stems and hide them deep into the crystals of the

sand. To our eyes, the waters looked calm, so we did not mindthe warnings because of the stability we so perceived.

But very soon, the waters would sway with anger driven

waves cracking over the surface, tumbling a man into a fatalityfor consequence of our shared ignorance.


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frown creased my forehead like ripples traumatizing a steadypond and my eyes suspiciously scanned over the house.

Caydee? I called. And it worried me, it did, but I

supposed that since her favorite game in the world was hide-and-go-seek, perhaps she was hiding from me. I sauntered into thekitchen and set down two paper plates with saran-wrapped steak

leftovers and corn on the cobs.

I got dinner! I sung as though maybe my sister would hear

me from her hiding spot. When I heard no stifled giggle nor the

slightest rustle of contained movement, I revealed a small bag

cradled beneath my arm and flipped it upside down. Small,

individually wrapped Herseys chocolate squares, leftover fromthe smores, spilled onto the counter and I noisily teased theirwrappers. And I got chocolate!

I rustled the bag more to coax Caydee from hiding. When

she didnt emerge, I shrugged, unraveled one of the squares, and

announced, Fine! Ill just eat it all by myself! before poppingthe chocolate in my mouth. I navigated around the kitchen,

contently savoring the sweet on my tongue as I scooped up the

leftovers to take to the refrigerator. The red light on the phonereceiver was blinking which was curious to me, and so I pressed

the biggest button on it in my passing.

You have one new message, the automated voiceannounced.

I mumbled something sarcastic under my breath as I knelt in

front of the fridge. The robotic words seemed foreign in our

barren house since nobody called us much anymorenot

relatives, not any of my old friends, and even telemarketersstrayed away from calling the broken Van Buren family.

And though it was unfortunately exciting for this house to be

called upon, I found myself boredly waiting for the message as I

sorted through days old milk containers and crusted week oldpasta from when I attempted to cook from scratch. Note to self,

I need to stop trying to be a Gordon Ramsey hopeful.

Hi Ms. Van Buren, this is Stacy Mcrawley, the first gradeteacher here at Tall Oak Elementary.

My hands stopped in their busying. I had my fingers

wrapped around an old milk carton. The open container was just


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beneath my chin and not even its foul odor could make memove.

I just wanted to call and confirm someone picked Caydee

up from school today. She was here for a few hours in the afterschool program but around five all the kids had been picked upexcept her. And, well, she was with me and I had a parent call

the classroom phone regarding a students behaviorbut when I

hung up, Caydee wasnt there andneither was herbackpack.

My eyes widened and I dodged a frantic look to the machine

as the womans voice delicately trembled in their words.

Its my fault, really, I shouldnt have had my back turned.

But I assumed you picked her up when I was on the phone and Ijust want to make sure thats the case.

The milk carton slipped from my grasp and fell at my knees,

but I had already pushed from the ground before the spoiled milk

could even splash to catch onto my jeans. The message kept

playing but I was running up the stairs and taking two steps at atime.

Also, Ms. Van Buren, Caydees consistent absences have

me a little concerned. Maybe we can schedule a parent teacherconference. She is a lovely, bright young girl. Have a great

day.

Caydee! I called out in panic as I busted through her room.It was eerily barren minus the Barbies and plastic ponies

scattered just at the foot of her unmade bed. I slammed the door

shut and turned into my room just adjacent to hersbut she

wasnt there either. Panic fluttered in my chest until I was sure

my heart was going to burst from its impulsive beats. I ran intomy moms room, calling my sisters name through quick gasps

as I desperately thumbed the light switch. My breaths were

growing faster and thicker, constricting my throat until it didnt

seem I could inhale enough air.The light flickered in the usually dark room as if even the

bulbs were startled by their sudden usage. But even with the

guidance of the light, I found no one in the room other than mymothers figure hidden beneath the covers of her bed. She

squirmed in protest of the sudden commotion.


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Caydees your daughter, and so am I, I choked through awhisper. But wewe would be better off if you would just die

already.

My mom shrugged, the heaviness of such words having noeffect on her at all. More tears waterfalled down my cheeks andI gave her one more lasting look before I turned and bolted out

the room. Through my strides, I gathered my keys from my

jacket pocket and tried to wipe my eyes clean of tears. Being

forgotten and neglected was nothing new to Caydee and me. It

had been something we had viewed as our reality and normalcy

for most of our lives. But the repetitive lashes of abandonment

could drive one to do peculiar thingssuch as my telling of mymother that she should die, and my six year old sistersimpetuous decision to walk the streets of San Luis Obispo alone

on a cold Friday night.

Cmon, where are you? I snapped in a whisper as I paced

my Volvo up and down Tall Oaks main road. It was darker than

usual outside, but perhaps that was due to the overhanging treesthat took the place of where streetlights should have been.

After what seemed like forever but in real time was a half an

hour, my brights finally illuminated a crouched figure slumpedagainst a bare tree whose branches were thin and fragile against

the chilly January breeze. The tree was right off the road down a

small decline, just before the beginning of a barren corn field

that looked empty of harvest.

Caydee, I whispered as I recognized the pink backpack atthe figures feet. She had her knees pressed to her chest and her

head buried in the nook of her arms. When the headlights shined

upon her, she didnt shift position or curiously lift her head, and

thats what sent a tremor of fear down my spine. I quickly putthe car in park and let the engine cough swirls of clouds into the

frigid darkness. It was coldone of the coldest winter nights in

years.Caydee! I yelled as I jumped from the car and slammed

the door shut behind me. My sister had made it maybe twenty

minutes from the school before I assumed she grew tired and fellasleep in the nook of the lone tree. I ran to her, gathered her


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backpack with a hook of my arm and gently picked her up fromher stiffened position. She felt so frigid in my hands and she was

violently shivering against my warmth. She looped her arms

around my neck and drowsily tilted her head up at me.Lexi? she squeaked through chattering teeth.I embraced her tighteragainst my chest. Its okay, baby, I

got you. Were going home.

I dont want to, she mumbled before her little eyes

fluttered closed and she tucked her head under my chin.

I gave her an empathic kiss atop her head and walked back

to the huffing car, cradling my sister and rubbing the sides of her

arms to stir up some warmth. I set Caydee in the backseat,zipped the seatbelt over her slumping body and delicately

positioned her head so she was leaning against the back window.

Lexi? she asked when I took my place in the drivers seat.

I turned over my shoulder and scanned my eyes over her in

the car light. A red rosy color blushed her cheeks and irritatedher nose from the cold. Her hair was wind-blown atop her head

and she was trying desperately to keep her eyes open.

Caydee looked as exhausted as a six year old could look.Why did Mama forget me?

I sighed deeply and gave her a small closed-tooth smile.

With heavy shoulders, I turned back around and rested myforehead against the steering wheel. For Caydees sake, I wish I

could have made up some reasonable excuse for my mothers

negligence. But no words of comfort spilt from my mouth and I

couldnt even bring myself to offer hersome encouragement.

My mind was blank, my strength was running on empty, andsplinters of fractures were shivering even further through my

synthetic faade.

So, more to myself I asked, Why did Mama forget us?


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five.Saturday came to be a quiet one. Caydee and I woke up

early and I made her some breakfast and put on her favorite

cartoons. I decided to get a head-start on homework sincenothing else seemed to be plaguing my schedule for that day.

When we had gotten home last night, I had allowed my sister tosleep in my bed. It wasnt like she had asked, but having Caydeeclose to me comforted me as much as it did for her. As she slept

under my chin, I securely wrapped an arm over her and tried to

muffle my sobs into her hair. I cried for a good while before my

eyes grew tired of the salty tears and I eventually drifted intosleep. Caydee never knew about my usual night time routine.

Before bed was when I was finally alone and I could surrender

the sobs that harbor during the day. But I never ever wanted her

to know that her big sister cries.

I typed carelessly on my laptop, looking up research for

Government History class that I, along with all my fellow

students, really didnt care about. Because really, memorizing

all the Amendments sure sounded like an exciting way to fill mySaturday. And when it seemed that was all the excitement that

was going to happen, suddenly my screen popped with an instantmessage.


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JADEMICH

10:01 a.m.

Hi lexi, its Jaden.

Uh, hello? The message took me by surprise and I foundmyself typing and deleting what I would say back. In all

honesty, what I initially was going to type was something like,

Well, who else would have that screen name? or a sarcastic,

Creativity points for you. Good old smart ass Lexi. And even

though I was enticed to do one of the two or both, I decided to go

with something dry and classic.

LEXILUTHOR

10:04 a.m.

Hi Jaden, its Lex Luthor. lol. Whats up?

I clicked send and hoped that if anything, it would make him

laugh. I went back to studying the third Amendment offGoogle,all the while hoping that whoever explained these Amendments

on this site were factual and not B.S-ing me. Oh, Wikipedia,

how you have done me wrong in the past.

JADEMICH

10:06 a.m.

Haha. Sweet. Well, I feel like you just needed to hearsomething.

I raised my eyebrows. Oh, do enlighten me.

LEXILUTHOR10:07 a.m.

And whats that?


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JADEMICH

10:09 a.m.

Just keep smiling. No matter what.

JADEMICH has signed off.

And with that, he left, leaving me to stare at my laptop's

screen with a furrowed brow. Caydee called something from the

couch and after a few moments, it registered in my mind she was

asking if I could make her something to eat. I robotically got up

from the computer and began to fix her a sandwich, my fingersbusying with bread and bologna, but my mind mystified at how

in the world Jaden Michellen knew to encourage me, especiallywhen my spirit was at such a fractured state.

If only I could have brought myself to do the same for him.

Sunday passed without any more confrontations or drama to

excite my dull life. My mom walked down the stairs for the first

time in a week to retrieve a cup of water, but she was quick toretreat back up the steps to the confines of her dark room. She

didn't even acknowledge my sister as she ran up to my mother

and hugged her legs, near begging if she would sing the ABCswith her. My mom dismissed her without a word, peeling her

little arms from her kneecaps before quickly returning up thestairs. Caydee was left at the bottom, looking up the steps as

though my mothers figure would come back to her. After a few

moments, she turned and went to watch more T.V, singing

lightly to the tunes that played on the childs show. Caydee, I

knew, was so forgiving of the people who least deserved herforgiveness.

And later that night, I brought some top-ramen soup and a

fork to my mothers bedroom. I set it down on her night-standand she rolled over in bed to look at me past the crumpled

covers.Lexi, honey? Her voice was faded and rough. Will you

get me some more water?


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I gave her a smug look, turned on my heel, and stomped outof the room. Get it yourself, I snappedbefore the door

slammed shut behind me, the hinges always a victim to my fury.

See, unlike my sister, I still had to work on the farfetched idea offorgiveness.

Monday came around with promises of a calming school

day. When I told Kimberly at lunch about Jaden's instant

message, she promptly interrogated me if he had asked about

her. I rolled my eyes as she clung to my shoulder and begged for

an answer. I couldnt give her the glum answer that no, Jadendidnt ask about her (in truth I wasnt sure if he evenremembered who she was), so I just said, Tell you what, Ill slip

you in the conversation next time. I probably wouldnt, but I

didnt tell her that.

On Tuesday evening, I found myself exhausted mid-waythrough homework. I slammed my text book shut and threw the

work aside. I eagerly opened my laptop in search of something

to fixate my boredom. Social media was dull to me andYouTube videos weren't so popular in search of mild

entertainment unless they were about funny cats, so instead, I

logged onto my instant messenger. Jaden was online so Idecided to send him a message.

LEXILUTHOR

6:25 p.m.

Heeey Jaden.

How awkward.

JADEMICH6:28 p.m.Hey Lexi whatsup


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LEXILUTHOR

6:30 p.m.

Nm. Just wondering how you knew to send me that

msg the other day?

JADEMICH

6:30 p.m.

I didnt.

Well, that made me feel stupid so I decided to make some convo.

LEXILUTHOR6:32 p.m.

Okayy, well it helped. Thanks.

Life was easier back in elementary school.

Ugh, Lexi. Making convo didnt mean stating an obvious yet

completely factual statement.

JADEMICH

6:34 p.m.

Agreed. Havent been happy since then.

Those memories are my best.


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LEXILUTHOR

6:35 p.m.

Same. So many that I forgot about . . .

What if I sent you a message everyday of a memory when

we were kids? Idk. That would help me too

Now were talking. I wiggled my shoulders and straightened

in my seat, feeling proud of the idea.

JADEMICH

6:37 p.m.

Ya. That would help a lot.

So it was settled and without another word, I signed off.

Caydee had run up to me, asking if I could sing the ABCs with

hersince Mama couldnt. I nodded, shut the computer andblinked from my trance of conversing back and forth with Jaden

Michellen. I turned to my sister and sang the childhood tune

with her, giggling as she struggled to make it down the letters.She reached the letterSbefore looking to me for help.

I thought you knew all of it, I said.

I did, she replied, fiddling her fingers on her bottom lip.But I forgot. I used to sing with Mama every day so I wouldnt

forget.With a gentle grab of her arms, I slipped off the chair and

knelt so I was eyelevel with her. Wellyou have me, I saidsoftly. She nodded, her eyes kept to the ground and I sighed

deeply. It crushed me to see my baby sister so glum.

So, with a smirk that I tried to bite down, I scrunched my

nose and let my fingers trail to her ribs. Andyou have me totickle you! I scurried my fingers under her arms and in herneck. She laughed and ran away and I chased after her, the

sounds of our laughter filling the empty pockets of that sad

house.


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JADEMICH

3:30 p.m.

Great one. Thanks Lexi.Keep smiling.

I wondered if, Keep smiling would become his newsignature.

Thursday, in my first period Government class, I was in the

middle of writing an essay for my long awaited Amendment test

when a new memory popped vibrantly in my mind.I suddenly straightened in my desk, accidently blurting aloud

an, Oh yeah!

I tried to catch the words with a clasp of my hand but it was

too late. My voice echoed through the classroom, making fellow

students curiously turn in their seats or flinch from my suddenoutburst. From next to me, Kimberly passed me a concerning

look as she stifled a giggle under her palm.Is there a problem, Ms. Van Buren? my ancient looking

professor spoke beneath his salt and pepper mustache. He hadbeen busily correcting previous tests at his desk and was glaring

at me from over half-moon glasses.

I cleared my throat nervously as all eyes critically bore down

on me. No, I said shakily, feeling self conscious. I justIjust remembered something.

My professor rose his puffy eyebrows. Well, I hope that

somethinghelps you ace that test.

I nodded, and when he glanced back down at the papers

cluttering his desk, I flattened my left palm and wrote on it the

words: Push Tag.

When I got home, I again went straight to my laptop, feelingeager with my reason of outburst during my class that day. I

ducked a glance at my palm just to stir the memories again.


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LEXILUTHOR

6:33 p.m.

Remember when you and I got benched together

because we made up that new game of Push Tag??

. . . . where to tag the person you had to push them

down on the ground??

JADEMICH

6:35 p.m.

And someone ratted us out to the teacher that you, meand my brother were the minds behind all those kids

getting hurt!

We made history at that school with how many third graderswere sent to the nurses office that week with skinned knees and

bruised elbows. But no kid went there sad. No matter how

battered they were, they were escorted to the nurses office with

beaming smiles from the exhilaration of the game.

LEXILUTHOR

6:37 p.m.

.I think that was Kimberly! hahah

JADEMICH

6:37 p.m.

BITCH! lol.


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I clasped three fingers over my mouth as I tried not to laugh.Next time Kimberly asked if she was brought in one of our

conversations, Im not sure ifId be able to control myself.

LEXILUTHOR

6:39 p.m.

We were like the Charles Mansons of that school!

I thought it was a clever statement and I inwardly patted

myself on the back, but it didnt trigger a response from Jaden.After five minutes of no reply, I typed in something else. I know

its against girl code to send a guy two texts, messages, orbrainwaves in a row, but Jaden wasnt someone I crushed on.

He was like my little brother and I always found myself

worrying over him as though I truly were his blood sister.

LEXILUTHOR

6:44 p.m.

Its your fault though btw. You were too strong

JADEMICH

6:45 p.m.

It seems Im always too strong.

I cocked my head and dabbled my fingertips along the keys

as I searched for something to reply.

LEXILUTHOR

6:46 p.m.

But at least you are.


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Lame, Lexi. I bit my lip and waited for his response.

JADEMICH6:47 p.m.

You are too.

LEXILUTHOR6:47 p.m.

Yaaaa...I kno. I have to be for my sister.

I looked over at Caydee thoughtfully. She was at the end ofthe table, quietly coloring a picture. She did as most young kids

didburned the crayons onto the paper until they snapped inhalf. I smiled softly as she made a noise of frustration as yet

another crayon shattered beneath her stubby fingers.

JADEMICH

6:49 p.m.

Why?

And Im not sure exactly why I answered his why, perhaps itwas the security of being hidden behind a computer screen, but I

finally unveiled my fractured home life. It was in mild,indistinct sentences, but it was the most I had told anybody, ever.

I was hesitant though, knowing that Jaden, like anybody, would

prod me with questions as soon as I clicked send and then more

truth would be chiseled away. It made me feel uncomfortableand a little fearful of revealing such secrets but for some reason,I sent the message. Just as I had predicted, the simple, fragile

sentences of my moms drug usage and how I was the primary

caretaker of a six year old lead to details I thought would forever


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be confined in the dark shadows of my tainted mind. Jadenasked questionsones that werent invasive that Id shut down,

but questions that made me self-evaluate:

Do you ever wonder about your father?Have you tried talking to your mom about this?Why not admit her to a rehab?Do you have family you can live with?Whatll happen when you got to college in a few years?

My answers were as simple and vague as they could be not

because I didnt want to elaboratebricks felt like they weretoppling off my shoulders with the online therapy sessionbut

because in truth, I wasnt completely trusting in my answers. I

didnt know if they were the right ones or if I were completely

sure of them. Maybe it was because I was so intent on surviving

day by day that I hadnt had time to sit and contemplate the lifegiven to me and how to change it.

Yes, all the time.

Yes, all the time.

Do that, then what are me and Caydee gonna do?

No fam. They all gave up on my mom. idk where they are.

At the last question, the one about what I would do once I

went to college, I had glanced up to Caydee. She had her littletongue poked out in deepened concentration. The same red

crayon was near chiseled off so it was just a small stub. I turned

back to the computer and again, in thought, I lightly skimmedmy fingertips over the keys. Then the answer seemed to whisper

in my ears.

Ill take Caydee with me.

And from that something I had least expected: Jaden tried to

relate with me. He told me that he didnt have much of a mothereither and that through their growing up, Trey had always looked


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out for him like I was doing for my sister. Their mom was ahard drug userhe didnt want to specify what the drug of

choice was, but I could use my imagination. She had walked out

on Mitch and their two sons when they were just in third grade.Now she lived in a trailer park somewhere in the deserts ofNevada.

Third grade. I had known the Michellen brothers for three

years by the time we hit third grade. Our friendships at that time

were growing thickerTrey and I hanging out every day during

recess and lunchtime and usually with Jaden in tow. And yet, as

I retreated further back into my chair, trying to reply memories

of the two brothers in my head, not once had I sensed the sadnessor grief they surely felt. They masked their emotions so well for

being so young, making any faade I had built with hidden tears

and conserved anger now look absolutely weak and foldable.

How could I not have seen the day that they internally mourned

the loss of their mother? Wasnt there a dayany day I couldrememberthat maybe Treys smiles werent as bright and

uplifting in each cheek, or his usually luminous blue eyes were

darker and dimmer in sadness, or when Jaden was quieter thanusual and less participative in our handball games?

It puzzled me, and weighted my spine a little knowing they

both had fooled me as they did everyone else. Perhaps, Iwondered, I wasnt fooled at all. No, perhaps, even as a child, I

was sunk deep beneath a sea of ignorance, the waves cracking

over my head and spilling obliviousness into my ears.

How sad was it that I, being one of their greatest childhood

friends, was so unaware of one of their first tremendouslydamaging struggles? The guilt made me suddenly feel ashamed

and uneasy so I said a quick goodbye to Jaden and signed off

almost instantly. I slowly shut my laptop and folded my head

into my hands. I shook my

closer than we know

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