out of control and needed help. The feeling of hopelessness was gone now. I was numb.
Jake came and picked me up at around eleven-thirty that night. H e said to get my stuff together, that I’d be staying with him for a while. He didn’t want to tell my mom what was going on because he didn’t want her to have to deal with that. Part of me wanted to yell at him — at all of them — for expecting me to be okay when the other half of me was dead. How did they know? How could they even imagine what it was like for me? How could they think they were doing something good in stopping me from taking my own life? What did I have to live for?
But I did as Jake said. I didn’t have much stuff that really mattered to me. I crammed all my clothes and the stuff Tyson had given to me and all the pictures of us into a duffel bag. I also took the keys to the El C amino.
Jake tried to get me to register for my last semester of classes in the fall. I refused. He tried to get me to go to work. I refused. He tried to get me to do anything , but every time, I just refused. I spent most of my time in the El C amino, which was parked in Pete’s garage. I just sat in it, thinking, crying, remembering all that I’d had. There was a cross and rosary beads ha nging from the rearview mirror. S ome old Irish woman had given them to Tyson at one of his shows for good luck. I looked at that cross for so long and I tried to pray to God. But there was only silence ringing in my ears. Forever unanswered prayers. I ended up tearing the rosary beads and cross down from the rearview mirror and breaking them into pieces against the dash. Faith was useless without love. I had nothing, least of all love. I knew nothing of faith anymore.
I’d carved the words infinity +1 into the metal p iece on the passenger side door when riding with Tyson once. I let my fingers run over it many times while sitting in the El Camino . Ah, but now I knew that infinity was a myth. Nothing lasted forever.
I went out to the El Camino one night, after staying at Pete’s under Jake’s supervision for about three weeks. Everyone was asleep. I stuck a sock in the exhaust pipe of the car and cranked it. As the now toxic air slowly crept around my face and engulfed my senses, I held a picture of Tyson and me in my hand. I lay my head back against the headrest of the car seat and closed my eyes. I felt myself drifting away and for the first time in over a month since I’d lost Tyson. I could really see him. I saw every detail of his face; his full lips, his bright blue eyes, the dimples in his cheeks. I could hear his laugh, I could hear him sing, I could hear the scribbling of his pencil as he wrote a song. I could smell his cologne, the shampoo he used for his hair. I felt his skin against my skin, the perfect way his hand fit in mine, his arm around my waist. I tasted his lips, the chicken and macaroni he’d used to make me when I’d had a bad day. Oh, there he was, right in front of me, smiling, holding out his hand, waiting. I reached out to him. I’m coming, Tyson , I said in my mind, mouthing the words, even. I’m coming…
But something happened before I could get to him. Something hard hit me, knocking me away from Tyson and into a black oblivion.
I emerged from a deep sleep momentarily, just to say his name and then my darkness was replaced with a nightmare. I was in the car with Tyson and the guys. They were laughing. Tyson unbuckled his seatbelt to take his coat off.
“NO!!” I screamed. “TYSON!” But he couldn’t hear me. None of them heard me. There was a squealing of tires and they all screamed. Tyson’s face twisted into fear and surprise and there was a sudden jolt.
The tree.
I watched, and it was as if it were in slow motion. Tyson was lifted from his seat and went through the glass of the front windshield easily.
“TYSON!” I screamed, reaching out. Suddenly, I was out of the car and in the grassy field below the
Jake came and picked me up at around eleven-thirty that night. H e said to get my stuff together, that I’d be staying with him for a while. He didn’t want to tell my mom what was going on because he didn’t want her to have to deal with that. Part of me wanted to yell at him — at all of them — for expecting me to be okay when the other half of me was dead. How did they know? How could they even imagine what it was like for me? How could they think they were doing something good in stopping me from taking my own life? What did I have to live for?
But I did as Jake said. I didn’t have much stuff that really mattered to me. I crammed all my clothes and the stuff Tyson had given to me and all the pictures of us into a duffel bag. I also took the keys to the El C amino.
Jake tried to get me to register for my last semester of classes in the fall. I refused. He tried to get me to go to work. I refused. He tried to get me to do anything , but every time, I just refused. I spent most of my time in the El C amino, which was parked in Pete’s garage. I just sat in it, thinking, crying, remembering all that I’d had. There was a cross and rosary beads ha nging from the rearview mirror. S ome old Irish woman had given them to Tyson at one of his shows for good luck. I looked at that cross for so long and I tried to pray to God. But there was only silence ringing in my ears. Forever unanswered prayers. I ended up tearing the rosary beads and cross down from the rearview mirror and breaking them into pieces against the dash. Faith was useless without love. I had nothing, least of all love. I knew nothing of faith anymore.
I’d carved the words infinity +1 into the metal p iece on the passenger side door when riding with Tyson once. I let my fingers run over it many times while sitting in the El Camino . Ah, but now I knew that infinity was a myth. Nothing lasted forever.
I went out to the El Camino one night, after staying at Pete’s under Jake’s supervision for about three weeks. Everyone was asleep. I stuck a sock in the exhaust pipe of the car and cranked it. As the now toxic air slowly crept around my face and engulfed my senses, I held a picture of Tyson and me in my hand. I lay my head back against the headrest of the car seat and closed my eyes. I felt myself drifting away and for the first time in over a month since I’d lost Tyson. I could really see him. I saw every detail of his face; his full lips, his bright blue eyes, the dimples in his cheeks. I could hear his laugh, I could hear him sing, I could hear the scribbling of his pencil as he wrote a song. I could smell his cologne, the shampoo he used for his hair. I felt his skin against my skin, the perfect way his hand fit in mine, his arm around my waist. I tasted his lips, the chicken and macaroni he’d used to make me when I’d had a bad day. Oh, there he was, right in front of me, smiling, holding out his hand, waiting. I reached out to him. I’m coming, Tyson , I said in my mind, mouthing the words, even. I’m coming…
But something happened before I could get to him. Something hard hit me, knocking me away from Tyson and into a black oblivion.
I emerged from a deep sleep momentarily, just to say his name and then my darkness was replaced with a nightmare. I was in the car with Tyson and the guys. They were laughing. Tyson unbuckled his seatbelt to take his coat off.
“NO!!” I screamed. “TYSON!” But he couldn’t hear me. None of them heard me. There was a squealing of tires and they all screamed. Tyson’s face twisted into fear and surprise and there was a sudden jolt.
The tree.
I watched, and it was as if it were in slow motion. Tyson was lifted from his seat and went through the glass of the front windshield easily.
“TYSON!” I screamed, reaching out. Suddenly, I was out of the car and in the grassy field below the
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