long after. I was left with a therapist in training, so to speak, and he decided that I was just depressed and had anxiety, hence the antianxiety medication for the last year and three months.
The unfamiliarity of the backyard disrupts my counting, and it takes me forever to get to the pool. By the time I arrive at the lawn chair, I know how many steps it took me to get here, how many seconds it took me to sit down, and how many more seconds it took for Delilah to arrive and then take a seat beside me. I know how many rocks are on the path leading to the porch—twenty-two—how many branches are on the tree shielding the sunlight from us—seventy-eight. The only thing I don’t know is how many seconds, hours, years, decades, it will take before I can let go of the goddamn self-induced numbness. Until then I’ll count, focus on numbers instead of the feelings always floating inside me, the ones linked to images immersed just beneath the surface.
Delilah and I lie in lawn chairs in the middle of my backyard with the pool behind us and the sun bearing down on us as we tan in our swimsuits. She’s been my best friend for the past year or so. Our sudden friendship was strange, because we’d gone to high school together but never really talked. She and I were in different social circles and I had Landon. But after it happened… after he died… I had no one, and the last few weeks of high school were torture. Then I met her, and she was nice and she didn’t look at me like I was about to shatter. We hit it off, and honestly, I have no idea what I’d do without her now. She’s been there for me, she shows me how to have fun, and she reminds me that life still exists in the world, even if it’s brief.
“Good God, has it always been this hot here?” Delilah fans her face with her hand as she yawns. “I remember it being colder.”
“I think so.” I pick up a cup of iced tea on the table between us and prop up on my elbow to take a sip. “We could go in,” I suggest, setting my glass down. I turn it in a circle until it’s perfectly in place on the condensation ring it left behind, and then I wipe the moisture from my lips with the back of my hand and rest my head back against the chair. “We do have air-conditioning.”
Delilah laughs sardonically as she reaches for the sparkly pink flask in her bag. “Yeah, right. Are you kidding me?” She pauses, examining her fiery red nails, then unscrews the lid off the flask. “No offense. I didn’t mean for that to sound rude, but your mom and dad are a little overwhelming.” She takes a swig from the flask and holds it out in my direction.
“Stepdad,” I correct absentmindedly. I wrap my lips around the top of the flask and take a tiny swallow, then hand it back to her and close my eyes. “And they’re just lonely. I’m the only child and I’ve been gone for almost a year.”
She laughs again, but it’s breezier than before. “They’re seriously the most overbearing parents I know. They call you every day at school and text you a thousand times.” She puts the flask back into her bag.
“They just worry about me.” They didn’t use to. My mom was really carefree before my dad died, and then she got concerned about how his death and seeing it affected me. Then Landon died, and now all she does is constantly worry.
“
I
worry about you, too,” Delilah mumbles. She waits for me to say something, but I don’t—I can’t. Delilah knows about what happened with Landon, but we never
really
talk about what I saw. And that’s one of the things I like about her—that she doesn’t ask questions.
One… two… three… four… five… breathe… six… seven… eight… breathe…
Balling my hands into fists, I fight to calm myself down, but the darkness is ascending inside me, and it will take me over if I let it and drag me down into the memory I won’t remember; my last memory of Landon.
“I have a brilliant idea,” she interrupts my counting.
The unfamiliarity of the backyard disrupts my counting, and it takes me forever to get to the pool. By the time I arrive at the lawn chair, I know how many steps it took me to get here, how many seconds it took me to sit down, and how many more seconds it took for Delilah to arrive and then take a seat beside me. I know how many rocks are on the path leading to the porch—twenty-two—how many branches are on the tree shielding the sunlight from us—seventy-eight. The only thing I don’t know is how many seconds, hours, years, decades, it will take before I can let go of the goddamn self-induced numbness. Until then I’ll count, focus on numbers instead of the feelings always floating inside me, the ones linked to images immersed just beneath the surface.
Delilah and I lie in lawn chairs in the middle of my backyard with the pool behind us and the sun bearing down on us as we tan in our swimsuits. She’s been my best friend for the past year or so. Our sudden friendship was strange, because we’d gone to high school together but never really talked. She and I were in different social circles and I had Landon. But after it happened… after he died… I had no one, and the last few weeks of high school were torture. Then I met her, and she was nice and she didn’t look at me like I was about to shatter. We hit it off, and honestly, I have no idea what I’d do without her now. She’s been there for me, she shows me how to have fun, and she reminds me that life still exists in the world, even if it’s brief.
“Good God, has it always been this hot here?” Delilah fans her face with her hand as she yawns. “I remember it being colder.”
“I think so.” I pick up a cup of iced tea on the table between us and prop up on my elbow to take a sip. “We could go in,” I suggest, setting my glass down. I turn it in a circle until it’s perfectly in place on the condensation ring it left behind, and then I wipe the moisture from my lips with the back of my hand and rest my head back against the chair. “We do have air-conditioning.”
Delilah laughs sardonically as she reaches for the sparkly pink flask in her bag. “Yeah, right. Are you kidding me?” She pauses, examining her fiery red nails, then unscrews the lid off the flask. “No offense. I didn’t mean for that to sound rude, but your mom and dad are a little overwhelming.” She takes a swig from the flask and holds it out in my direction.
“Stepdad,” I correct absentmindedly. I wrap my lips around the top of the flask and take a tiny swallow, then hand it back to her and close my eyes. “And they’re just lonely. I’m the only child and I’ve been gone for almost a year.”
She laughs again, but it’s breezier than before. “They’re seriously the most overbearing parents I know. They call you every day at school and text you a thousand times.” She puts the flask back into her bag.
“They just worry about me.” They didn’t use to. My mom was really carefree before my dad died, and then she got concerned about how his death and seeing it affected me. Then Landon died, and now all she does is constantly worry.
“
I
worry about you, too,” Delilah mumbles. She waits for me to say something, but I don’t—I can’t. Delilah knows about what happened with Landon, but we never
really
talk about what I saw. And that’s one of the things I like about her—that she doesn’t ask questions.
One… two… three… four… five… breathe… six… seven… eight… breathe…
Balling my hands into fists, I fight to calm myself down, but the darkness is ascending inside me, and it will take me over if I let it and drag me down into the memory I won’t remember; my last memory of Landon.
“I have a brilliant idea,” she interrupts my counting.
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