that my grandmother and Natalie had the same birthday. When we discovered that at some point, Natalie had acted like it was an earth-shattering coincidence, a sign that things were meant to be. “Meant to be what ?” I’d asked. My mom’s mother is a bitch. No big prize to share a birthday with her.
“You didn’t call her on Mother’s Day,” my mom added. “She’s still upset about that.”
Typical Pauline. She’s never shown interest in me, actively despises my father, and has forbidden my brother and me to call her Grandma. And then she’d be in a huff because I didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day with her.
“She’s not even my mom,” I said. “Isn’t it your job to call her on Mother’s Day?”
“Dakota,” my mom said. “Please just wish her happy birthday. Please.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Do you have her number in Knolls Landing?”
I tried to remember the last time I called my grandparents at their lake house. It’s two hours from here, but I hadn’t been there since early high school.
My mom began reciting the number. I copied it down on the paper next to my speech.
“Have a nice day at school,” she said when she was done. “Do you have anything fun planned?”
I thought about Natalie’s ceremony. I’d mentioned it to my dad, but I hadn’t told my mom about it. I just assumed she knew, like maybe my dad would have told her. After Natalie died, my dad had called my mom to talk about whether I needed to see a therapist. In the end, my mom decided it made more sense to take my little brother and me to a fancy resort in the Caribbean, to help get my mind off things. The problem is, I can’t spend seven consecutive hours around my mom. Forget seven days. My mom and I argued the whole time and my brother completely checked out, as usual, and I hooked up with some girl and then blew her off for her friend, who turned out to be a bitch. All around, the trip was a mighty success.
“Not really, Mom,” I said after a long pause. “It’s just a regular day.”
After my mom and I hung up, I headed back upstairs. I rubbed some gel in my hair, straightened my tie, and then, at the last minute, poured a few inches of Jack Daniel’s in my Blue Devils sports bottle.
On my way back through the kitchen, I scooped up the folder with the ceremony information and the hall pass to get us out of class. There, in the folder, was a photocopy of the news article from the day after the car accident. I don’t know why the principal included it in the packet. Maybe to remind us. Like we’re going to forget.
I didn’t read any articles about the crash when it happened. I knew Natalie was dead. What more did I have to learn? I was one of the first kids to find out because, that night, my dad’s patrol car pulled into the driveway. It was around eleven thirty and I was in bed. I heard my dad’s shoes clomp up the stairs and pause outside my room. He’d sat on the edge of my mattress and told me how his lieutenant heard it over the air and called him because he knew I went to the same high school. When my dad found out it was Natalie, he drove home to tell me.
Now, standing in the kitchen, I pulled the article out of the packet. It was the cover story in the Democrat and Chronicle .
Student Athletes Killed
in Head-on Crash
(February 3) A collision killed two Brockport High School students as they traveled home from a varsity basketball game yesterday evening. The Ford Focus driven by one of the victims, Jake Kulowski, 17, had just passed a vehicle on Penfield Road when it swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a cement truck, Lieutenant Mark Johnson said.
Kulowski was pronounced dead at the scene. The only passenger in the silver Focus, Natalie Birch, 17, was taken by ambulance to Strong Memorial Hospital but died in transport. The truck driver was treated for minor injuries and released late last night.
Kulowski was a junior at Brockport High School and a star soccer player. Birch was a
“You didn’t call her on Mother’s Day,” my mom added. “She’s still upset about that.”
Typical Pauline. She’s never shown interest in me, actively despises my father, and has forbidden my brother and me to call her Grandma. And then she’d be in a huff because I didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day with her.
“She’s not even my mom,” I said. “Isn’t it your job to call her on Mother’s Day?”
“Dakota,” my mom said. “Please just wish her happy birthday. Please.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Do you have her number in Knolls Landing?”
I tried to remember the last time I called my grandparents at their lake house. It’s two hours from here, but I hadn’t been there since early high school.
My mom began reciting the number. I copied it down on the paper next to my speech.
“Have a nice day at school,” she said when she was done. “Do you have anything fun planned?”
I thought about Natalie’s ceremony. I’d mentioned it to my dad, but I hadn’t told my mom about it. I just assumed she knew, like maybe my dad would have told her. After Natalie died, my dad had called my mom to talk about whether I needed to see a therapist. In the end, my mom decided it made more sense to take my little brother and me to a fancy resort in the Caribbean, to help get my mind off things. The problem is, I can’t spend seven consecutive hours around my mom. Forget seven days. My mom and I argued the whole time and my brother completely checked out, as usual, and I hooked up with some girl and then blew her off for her friend, who turned out to be a bitch. All around, the trip was a mighty success.
“Not really, Mom,” I said after a long pause. “It’s just a regular day.”
After my mom and I hung up, I headed back upstairs. I rubbed some gel in my hair, straightened my tie, and then, at the last minute, poured a few inches of Jack Daniel’s in my Blue Devils sports bottle.
On my way back through the kitchen, I scooped up the folder with the ceremony information and the hall pass to get us out of class. There, in the folder, was a photocopy of the news article from the day after the car accident. I don’t know why the principal included it in the packet. Maybe to remind us. Like we’re going to forget.
I didn’t read any articles about the crash when it happened. I knew Natalie was dead. What more did I have to learn? I was one of the first kids to find out because, that night, my dad’s patrol car pulled into the driveway. It was around eleven thirty and I was in bed. I heard my dad’s shoes clomp up the stairs and pause outside my room. He’d sat on the edge of my mattress and told me how his lieutenant heard it over the air and called him because he knew I went to the same high school. When my dad found out it was Natalie, he drove home to tell me.
Now, standing in the kitchen, I pulled the article out of the packet. It was the cover story in the Democrat and Chronicle .
Student Athletes Killed
in Head-on Crash
(February 3) A collision killed two Brockport High School students as they traveled home from a varsity basketball game yesterday evening. The Ford Focus driven by one of the victims, Jake Kulowski, 17, had just passed a vehicle on Penfield Road when it swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a cement truck, Lieutenant Mark Johnson said.
Kulowski was pronounced dead at the scene. The only passenger in the silver Focus, Natalie Birch, 17, was taken by ambulance to Strong Memorial Hospital but died in transport. The truck driver was treated for minor injuries and released late last night.
Kulowski was a junior at Brockport High School and a star soccer player. Birch was a
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