The World Without Us Read online

“Tell me anyway,” I say.

  “Oh, Mel.” She looks me right in the eyes. “It will be okay, Mel. I don’t know what okay will look like, but I know you’ll get there.”

  “What about Jeremy?” I say, and I start crying for real. I close my eyes and see his body falling away from me into the darkness, that ghostly, half-imagined face looking back up at me. “Will he be okay?”

  She stands up, wraps both arms around me and holds me close. “I hope so.”

  “I don’t know what to do. How to help him.”

  “Just keep doing what you’ve always done,” she says. “Just be his friend.”

  Being his friend had helped pave the road that led him to the Skyway Bridge. “I was his friend,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “And look what happened.”

  “Oh, Mel. That was not your fault.”

  I don’t say anything. After a long moment, Vicky says softly, “Be his friend, Mel.”

  “I will. I am.”

  “Sometimes we can’t save people,” she says. “No matter how much we want to.”

  Zombie Girl

  On Monday, Adriana waves to me as I cycle across the parking lot after school. I slow down, wave, come to a stop in front of her. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She looks nervous. “How’s your friend? Jeremy?”

  “Getting better,” I say.

  “When’s he coming back to school?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know if he is. He says he’s not going to.”

  “Oh. Is he, like, worried about what people will think?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” Though maybe he is. I would be. If I was called Death Wish for taking a few Tylenol, what would they call him? Though I haven’t heard any of that. Maybe the very awfulness of what he did has stunned everyone into some kind of appalled silence.

  “I was wondering,” she says. “Do you want to get together sometime? Like, hang out and chat?”

  Her cheeks are pink. She’s scared I’ll say no, maybe. “With Devika?”

  “No. I mean, I can ask her if you want. But I meant just us.”

  I swallow. “Sure,” I say. “I’m kind of busy with babysitting after school right now. But yeah, maybe sometime.”

  Adriana smiles, and I remember how much fun we used to have together. But you can’t go back. You can’t erase all the bad stuff that has happened.

  I ride my bike over to Suzy’s place. I expect to see Nina’s neighbor and her son, but it turns out Nina had to leave work for a meeting with Suzy’s teacher today, so she drove her home herself. She’s in her work clothes and heading back to the office, zipping up her boots and gathering her wallet and keys and briefcase as soon as I arrive, her words spilling out, as she goes, in a nonstop flurry of instructions (dinner’s in the fridge, it’s chili, just heat it up in the microwave, Suzy might want spaghetti with it) and gratitude (thank you so much, I don’t know what we’d do without you, you’ve been such a godsend). She talks as fast as Suzy but without Suzy’s gravity. Nina is always smiling and laughing, even when, like now, she is flustered and rushed.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

  She stops on the front steps, turns back to me. “Oh, and Suzy mentioned that your friend Jeremy’s going to drop by for a visit. Feel free to invite him to stay for chili; there’s plenty.”

  “Great.”

  “And tell him thanks, from me.”

  “I will.”

  And she’s in her car, pulling out of the driveway with a wave.

  I find Suzy sitting at the kitchen table, frowning over her homework. “Hey, Suze.”

  She puts her pen down with obvious relief. “Mel! Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to after-school care anymore.”

  “I know.” I laugh. “That’s why I’m here, silly.”

  “When’s Jeremy coming?”

  “Soon,” I tell her. “He said he’d be here by four. Shall we ask him to stay for dinner?”

  She bounces in her seat, jumps up and hugs me for no apparent reason. It’s actually more of a tackle, and I struggle not to lose my balance. “Yes! Did Mom tell you she bought ice cream for us? Rainbow sherbet.”

  “Nice.”

  “You think he’ll like that?”

  “I’m sure he will.” I peel her off me. “Listen, when Jeremy gets here, don’t give him a hug like that one, okay? He’s got sore ribs.”

  “He does? How come?”

  “He fell.”

  “Oh. Poor Jeremy.” She doesn’t sound too concerned. Or too curious, luckily. I guess kids fall down all the time. “How much longer until he comes?”

  “It’s almost four,” I tell her. “He’ll be here any minute.” I nod toward the homework spread across the table. “What are you working on? Shall we get this done before he arrives?”

  Suzy makes a face.

  “Come on,” I say. “Get it out of the way.”

  “It’s boring.”

  “All the more reason to get it done fast.”

  Suzy rolls her eyes at me, but she picks up her pencil. “Fine.”

  Sometimes I think she is more of a teenager than I am.

  By four thirty, despite much procrastination and distraction, Suzy has finished her work. And Jeremy hasn’t arrived.

  “Phone him,” she insists. “Remind him.”

  “He wouldn’t forget,” I say. “He’s probably just running late.”

  “Then tell him to hurry up.”

  I make a face at her, pick up my phone and send him a quick text. At Suzy’s. Where r u?

  We wait for a minute, both of us staring at my phone, but there’s no answer. U ok?

  Still no answer.

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “I don’t know.” My chest is suddenly tight, and again I see him falling, dropping away from me into the darkness.

  “Mel!” Suzy’s staring at me.

  “What?”

  “You looked funny.”

  “Sorry. I’m just…I was just a bit worried. It’s not like him to just not show up.”

  “Call him again,” she says.

  And I do. Again and again and again.

  Then I call his mother. “It’s probably nothing,” I say. “I mean, he probably just forgot.”

  Her voice is tight, controlled. “I don’t know where he is,” she says.

  “He’s not answering my texts,” I say. “I know he was going out last night.”

  “He didn’t come home.”

  Suzy is mouthing something at me: What did she say? Is he coming? I turn away from her slightly and lower my voice. “Are you worried? I mean, has he called or anything?”

  “Of course I’m worried, Melody,” she snaps. “He’s my son.”

  “I know. Sorry. I mean, that I bothered you at work.” I hesitate. I want to ask her if she has called the police or anything, but I don’t want to say that in front of Suzy. “I was wondering…it’s not really like him to not show up. Do you think we should call someone?”

  “He sent a text,” she says wearily. “Last night. He said he’d be gone for a few days.”

  “What?”

  “You know as much as I do, Melody.” She clears her throat. “I have to go.”

  “If he gets in touch again, can you ask him to call me?”

  Nothing. And then a dial tone. I stare at the phone in my hand. She just hung up on me.

  “He isn’t coming, is he,” Suzy says flatly.

  “No,” I say. “No, he isn’t coming.”

  “Figures.” Her shoulders are hunched so high they’re practically touching her ears. “Probably he has better things to do.”

  Like chanting Hare Krishna with Kamala. “No,” I tell her. “He doesn’t. He’s just being stupid.”

  “Did you have a fight with him? Did you break up?”

  I reach out to brush aside a lock of hair that has fallen across her face. “It’s complicated.” I see her frown and open
her mouth to object, and I cut her off. “And I don’t mean you wouldn’t understand because you’re a kid or anything like that. Stuff with Jeremy and me…well, it’s just really, really complicated.”

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “He’s been very sad lately. And confused.”

  “Because of his brother dying?”

  I’d forgotten she knows about that. “Probably that’s a really big part of it. He’s got lots of mixed-up feelings, you know?” I’m about to say more—to turn it into a little pep talk on coping with difficult emotions—but she’s shifting in her seat, turning away from me, and I can see that she’s lost interest.

  Suzy eyes the freezer. “Do you think we could have ice cream first and then have chili for dessert?”

  Not sure her mom will approve, but whatever. “Sure, Suzy. I think we could do that.”

  I dish up two bowls of ice cream and we chat about the big bang and the latest theories about the composition of the first stars. Or, more accurately, Suzy chats, and I nod and say uh-huh a lot and think about Jeremy. Maybe I should have more compassion, but I am so angry that I just want to scream at him. Selfish. It’s taken his letting down an eight-year-old to make me see it, but everything he has done has been so incredibly selfish.

  Right now, I don’t even want to be his friend.

  For the rest of the week, I get through school somehow, babysit Suzy, eat dinner with my parents, do my homework. I feel kind of numb, like I’m navigating my days on autopilot. I chat with people in the hallway when I have to, but it feels forced and unreal—like there’s a glass wall between me and everyone else. I try to act normal. A couple of times I have to hide in the bathroom because I think I might start to cry, but as soon as I’m alone the tears disappear and I’m just blank, staring at the graffiti on the cubicle wall.

  I think about going to see Mrs. Paulsen, but I don’t know what I’d say.

  On Friday at dinner, Vicky asks about Jeremy. “You haven’t seen him for a few days, have you? Is everything okay?”

  I shrug, pushing an unappetizing piece of eggplant out of the stir-fry on my plate. “He’s been away.”

  Her eyebrows lift. “Really? Where?”

  I don’t really want to get into it. I’m not sure why, but I feel sort of embarrassed. “Visiting a friend,” I say. “In Gainesville.”

  “He must be feeling better?”

  “I guess.”

  “What about you? We’ve hardly seen you this week.”

  I put my fork down. “Busy week, I guess.”

  “Is it going to work for you, spending so much time at Suzy’s? I know you want to help out, but you can say no.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You don’t want to take on too much.” Bill takes a sip of wine, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Make sure you leave yourself enough time for your schoolwork.”

  I stare at him. My parents have never been the type to fuss about grades and homework. “It’s fine,” I say again.

  Vicky clears her throat. “We had a phone call from your school.”

  “You did? Why?” I’m scanning my memory for incidents that might result in a phone call, but I’m coming up blank. I haven’t done anything.

  “From Mrs. Paulsen.”

  “Oh. I saw her once, right after Jeremy’s…right after he fell. But that’s all.” And I thought that kind of thing was supposed to be confidential. “She just gave me some information about suicide and stuff.”

  Vicky looks uncomfortable. “I guess a couple of your teachers have spoken to her. Apparently they’re concerned about you. Do you know what they might be noticing?”

  Oh, nothing. Just me crying in class and spending half the day in the bathroom. Just me turning into zombie girl. I shrug. “It’s been hard, you know? I’m okay though. I mean, I’m not…you know.”

  “Not what?”

  “Not going to do what Jeremy did.” I don’t want to be having this conversation.

  “You know you can always talk to us.” Bill’s eyebrows are almost touching, his frown lines deep furrows. “Always, Mel. About anything.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just don’t have anything to say.”

  There’s a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally Vicky sighs. “Mrs. Paulsen said to remind you that you can talk to her anytime too. If you don’t feel you can talk to us. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone outside your family.”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, that’s nice of her, but there’s nothing to talk about. Jeremy’s just messed up. That’s all.”

  “You’re not blaming yourself for what happened, are you?” Vicky’s voice is hesitant, like she’s expecting me to flip out, like I’m such a mess that they have to walk on eggshells around me now.

  “No. Is that what Mrs. Paulsen told you?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Because it’s really none of her business.”

  “Fine. Don’t talk to her, then. But don’t bottle things up.”

  I push my chair back from the table and stand up. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  Vicky sighs. “Don’t shut us out, Mel. Please.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” I tell her. It comes out louder than I mean it to. “Anyway, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Vicky raises her voice, which she almost never does. Bill reaches over and puts a hand on her arm, but she shakes it off. “Believe me, Mel, I know what it is like to not be able to save someone. I know all about survivor guilt.”

  And that stuns me into silence.

  Up in my room that night, I find myself reading the book Mrs. Paulsen lent me. Specifically, the section on survivor guilt. I hate that there is a name for it. I hate that it is so commonplace, so predictable. Apparently my anger at Jeremy is also normal. None of this really makes me feel less guilty. None of this changes the facts: I suggested songs for his suicide playlist, suggested the bridge as a good way to go, even joined him for a last meal while stupidly thinking it was a date.

  The author of the book, Dr. Miriam Issenman, says I have a right to be angry. Dr. Issenman doesn’t have a clue, because she assumes that suicide or suicide attempts are not, in fact, the fault of the people left behind to read her book. Just like everyone is so sure I’m not to blame, so quick to reassure me that what Jeremy did wasn’t my fault. But there were a million clues, and I just ignored them all. I refused to see that he was actually serious.

  I pull out my phone and flip through the photos until I find a shot I snapped of Jeremy the day we went to the beach. He’s looking right at me, eyebrows raised, the wind blowing his dark hair away from his face, his lips curved in a slight smile. Behind him, out of focus, is the graygreen water that his brother drowned in.

  If Jeremy calls, I tell myself, I will keep it together. I’ll be calm, supportive; I’ll let him know that I will always be there for him. I won’t ask about Kamala and I won’t freak out about him letting Suzy down.

  If there is anyone I should be angry with, it is myself.

  Running Away

  For a whole week, Jeremy doesn’t come home. He doesn’t call, doesn’t text, doesn’t even let me know he’s alive. I call his mom and she tells me curtly that he’s still away. He’s probably with that girl, Kamala—but I can’t stop wondering if he might have just wandered off, taken an overdose of something, be lying dead in the bushes somewhere.

  And then, on Sunday evening, he shows up at my front door. With a shaved head.

  I actually don’t recognize him for a few seconds. Without his black hair flopping over his forehead, he looks completely different. His Adam’s apple juts out sharply in his throat, and there are hollows at his temples and beneath his sharp cheekbones. He looks like someone who’s dying of cancer or AIDS.

  “Jeremy?” I say.

  “Hi, Mel. What’s up?”

  Like we just saw each other yesterday. Like he hasn’t been missing in action for a week. Like he hasn’t scared t
he hell out of me and everyone else who cares about him.

  “Actually, I’ve been kind of worried,” I say.

  “Don’t be. Everything’s good.” He grins. “Better than good, actually.”

  I step back. “Are you coming in?”

  Jeremy follows me into the kitchen and I pour us two glasses of water. “Bill and Vicky went out for dinner,” I tell him. “They should be back soon. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He takes a glass from me and sits down at the kitchen table.

  I sit across from him, feeling awkward. “So, where’ve you been?”

  “Gainesville.”

  “With that girl?” I try to keep my voice neutral, like I’m just curious.

  “Kamala. Yeah, and her friends. They’re all Hare Krishnas.” He leans toward me. “It’s amazing, Mel. It’s so beautiful.”

  “So what do they do? I mean, they chant, right?” I picture the videos I watched on YouTube—the rhythm of the voices, the ecstatic expressions. “And what’s with the shaved head?”

  He runs his hand over his scalp self-consciously. “Feels funny. It’s just supposed to be cleaner, is all. And it shows, you know, that you’re committed.”

  “Are you?” I guess if he’s happy, I should be too—but instead I feel like I might start to cry.

  Jeremy’s eyes are shining. “It was the most incredible thing, Mel. The chanting. I mean, I was a bit skeptical, but I went along with it, you know? And after a few minutes—I mean, not long at all—it was like all that stuff—all that noise in my head—just went away. No anxiety, no fear, nothing. Just peaceful.” He pauses, looking up at the ceiling as if he’s reliving the moment in his mind. “I was so overwhelmed. I actually started crying.”

  “Hmm.” It totally sounds like a cult. “So then what happened?”

  “Oh, there was music and dancing. And someone spoke. He read some stuff from the Bhagavad Gita, and actually a few Bible verses too. He talked about ignorance, and how it keeps us trapped, and how we have to pay attention to our thoughts and make sure we are thinking right thoughts.”

  “Right thoughts? Sounds a bit Orwellian.”

  “No, no. It’s not like that. It’s just that, um, thinking wrong thoughts keeps us stuck in ignorance. Kamala says we need to free ourselves from illusions, and we can’t do that if we are thinking that our bodies are our real selves or that the material world is all there is.” He leans toward me, elbows on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. “She says that we get stuck pursuing material goals based on selfish desires, but when Krishna consciousness and love of God start to awaken in our hearts, we lose interest in these temporary things.”