The Truth About That Summer

eighty-three

I let Luke take me to the beach, to Casey's pier. "To cool off," he said, like that's even a possibility now. Like cooling off can even describe what I need right now, what'll fix my brokenness.

I listened to him murmur sweet words to me, trying again and again to calm me, to stop my tears from flowing.

After hours, he stopped trying, realizing nothing he could say would change how I was feeling.

How I'm still feeling.

I adjust the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder, the past few hours on replay in my mind.

The Summer Bash that started so well. The Ferris Wheel with Luke and Finn. Dancing in Luke's arms.

The argument with Maya, the confrontation with Mom and Dad. The heartbreaking conversation I had with Luke. Him holding me in the sand, listening to the waves, a soft rhythm that finally dried my tears, salt left staining my cheeks.

Letting Luke drive me back to Grams, once it was so late I knew everyone - Mom included - would be asleep. Insisting that I was fine, so he'd go home. So I could do what I knew I needed to, without any interference from him. Waiting till he drove away, his taillights fading down the street, until I threw open my closet and started shoving clothes into my duffel bag.

To now, staring at the overhead board announcing the arrivals of various bus lines. Finding mine, on time, I clench my ticket in my fist and approach the bus. Mechanically, I hand the driver my ticket, shove my bag in an overhead storage compartment, and sink into the uncomfortable, velvet seat.

The bus is relatively empty so late  at night- or so early in the morning, actually. So I close my eyes, trying to tune out everything else around me, waiting for the large vehicle to drive me somewhere far, far away from here.

"Dylan, we need to talk."

It was after the funeral, after everyone had left from our home, their casseroles and condolences left as poor attempts at helping our family to heal. To move on.

How would we ever heal from this? How would we ever move on, when the best one of us was gone forever?

"You haven't said a word all day."

To be honest, I hadn't said a word since Mom and Dad refused to let me go with them to identify... to identify the body. To see what was left of my beautiful big brother.

I didn't get to say goodbye ... I didn't ....

"It's worrying me, Dyl. It's worrying all of us. We love you," Luke's chest vibrated as he spoke to me, "I love you. So much."

I heard the words, but it was like nothing was getting through. I felt... cold. Empty. Lost. And somehow, despite watching his casket being lowered into the ground, despite hearing my mother's ungodly wailing every night, despite knowing the horrifying truth, I kept hoping that Casey would come back. Like it was all just some stupid, misguided joke.

I prayed that it was, used every prayer I'd ever learned in Sunday school to beg for it to be some sort of mistake.

"You know I love you, don't you? More than anything?"

Had I been paying attention, I would've noticed the tremor in Luke's voice, the slow way his words left his mouth, like he didn't want to say what came next.

But I wasn't paying attention, I couldn't. Not to anything other than how bad it hurt to breathe knowing Casey would never taste air again.

So I said nothing. Waited.