He is thinking about me.
That will make it easier for me to reach him.
He sits in front of the Christmas tree, drinking his scotch. Everyone else has gone to bed. There are no lights in the living room,but the dying fire brightens things enough that I can see the familiar brown couch, the piano in the corner, the bare tree waiting for tomorrow’s decorations.
I stare around the room, once, twice, three times. I want to memorize every detail. Because as soon as I do this, I will leave here and never come back. They say I can come back under special circumstances if the Council lets me. I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Even if I had one.
On the mantel is the last family photo taken of the four of us. When I study it, a lump forms in my throat. I see the innocence in Amy’s eyes and I know: The picture was taken one month before Herb started abusing her.
I turn and look at Dad. I can’t put this off anymore.
I’m ready, I think. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.
Send your dad love , Wade replies. And wait.
It doesn’t feel so weird anymore, the idea of love being a real, physical thing.
The room grows cold. I start to feel heavy. I look down, expecting to see my body take shape. All I see is the same old blur where my arms and legs used to be.
Dad puts his scotch down. He’s about to get up, but he looks at the tree and he sees me. I know the exact second it happens. His eyes widen. There’s a strangled gasp in the back of his throat. He falls back into his chair.
“My God.” He shuts his eyes, rubs them, opens them again. “Hoooolllly shit.” He shakes his head just a little. He can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I speak, even though I know the words won’t come out in any kind of sound. Wade says Dad will hear them in his head. “I love you, Dad. Tell Mom and Amy I love them too. And tell them I’m okay. I’m really okay.”
Dad is thinking a million things at once. I’ve had too much scotch. I am dreaming. I need to wake up. This can’t be real.
And I know I have to make it real; otherwise he won’t believe me about Herb. So I grin and say, “Dad, you should have gotten the taller one.”
And Dad gets it. I was there with him when he cut the tree down tonight, when he was trying to decide between the tall one or the short one he chose. He knows.
Dad’s eyes fill, spill over. His tears run in two straight lines down his cheeks to the edges of his mouth. He knows what he is seeing is real. And he knows, he finally accepts, that I really am dead.
His grief is so huge it’s like a kick to my gut. I could drown in it, get swept away. But I can’t let that happen because Wade has told me I have to be fast.
“Herb is hurting Amy.” I plant a picture in Dad’s mind to show him what I mean.
Dad pales, wipes his face, stares at me. His mind flips back to logic. He does not believe what he’s seeing. What he’s hearing. I try again. “He’s doing things to her. You have to stop him.”
Dad is unsure. He wavers. Then he rejects the thought. He rejects me .
His disbelief makes the room grow warmer; it takes away my power. My heaviness starts to lift. I feel myself growinglighter. Soon I’ll fade. I’ll never be back. And I haven’t helped Amy.
An icy sweat grips me. It cannot end like this. It can’t . I have to make Dad believe me. I have to give this one last shot. My best shot. For Amy.
Because failure is not an option.
Then it comes to me. I know exactly what to say. How to give Dad the proof he will need.
“Find Pookie! He’s buried by Herb’s hot tub.” I am getting lighter. I rush the words into Dad’s head. “Herb cut him up and buried him. To scare Amy.” I am fading. Fading. “Ask her.”
I am gone.
Chapter Twelve
But I hang around.
Surprising, because I didn’t expect to.
I figured I’d be in front of Dad one minute and on that cosmic conveyor belt the next.
Not so.
Don’t ask me why. There are still way too many things I don’t understand.
Wade is
That will make it easier for me to reach him.
He sits in front of the Christmas tree, drinking his scotch. Everyone else has gone to bed. There are no lights in the living room,but the dying fire brightens things enough that I can see the familiar brown couch, the piano in the corner, the bare tree waiting for tomorrow’s decorations.
I stare around the room, once, twice, three times. I want to memorize every detail. Because as soon as I do this, I will leave here and never come back. They say I can come back under special circumstances if the Council lets me. I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Even if I had one.
On the mantel is the last family photo taken of the four of us. When I study it, a lump forms in my throat. I see the innocence in Amy’s eyes and I know: The picture was taken one month before Herb started abusing her.
I turn and look at Dad. I can’t put this off anymore.
I’m ready, I think. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.
Send your dad love , Wade replies. And wait.
It doesn’t feel so weird anymore, the idea of love being a real, physical thing.
The room grows cold. I start to feel heavy. I look down, expecting to see my body take shape. All I see is the same old blur where my arms and legs used to be.
Dad puts his scotch down. He’s about to get up, but he looks at the tree and he sees me. I know the exact second it happens. His eyes widen. There’s a strangled gasp in the back of his throat. He falls back into his chair.
“My God.” He shuts his eyes, rubs them, opens them again. “Hoooolllly shit.” He shakes his head just a little. He can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I speak, even though I know the words won’t come out in any kind of sound. Wade says Dad will hear them in his head. “I love you, Dad. Tell Mom and Amy I love them too. And tell them I’m okay. I’m really okay.”
Dad is thinking a million things at once. I’ve had too much scotch. I am dreaming. I need to wake up. This can’t be real.
And I know I have to make it real; otherwise he won’t believe me about Herb. So I grin and say, “Dad, you should have gotten the taller one.”
And Dad gets it. I was there with him when he cut the tree down tonight, when he was trying to decide between the tall one or the short one he chose. He knows.
Dad’s eyes fill, spill over. His tears run in two straight lines down his cheeks to the edges of his mouth. He knows what he is seeing is real. And he knows, he finally accepts, that I really am dead.
His grief is so huge it’s like a kick to my gut. I could drown in it, get swept away. But I can’t let that happen because Wade has told me I have to be fast.
“Herb is hurting Amy.” I plant a picture in Dad’s mind to show him what I mean.
Dad pales, wipes his face, stares at me. His mind flips back to logic. He does not believe what he’s seeing. What he’s hearing. I try again. “He’s doing things to her. You have to stop him.”
Dad is unsure. He wavers. Then he rejects the thought. He rejects me .
His disbelief makes the room grow warmer; it takes away my power. My heaviness starts to lift. I feel myself growinglighter. Soon I’ll fade. I’ll never be back. And I haven’t helped Amy.
An icy sweat grips me. It cannot end like this. It can’t . I have to make Dad believe me. I have to give this one last shot. My best shot. For Amy.
Because failure is not an option.
Then it comes to me. I know exactly what to say. How to give Dad the proof he will need.
“Find Pookie! He’s buried by Herb’s hot tub.” I am getting lighter. I rush the words into Dad’s head. “Herb cut him up and buried him. To scare Amy.” I am fading. Fading. “Ask her.”
I am gone.
Chapter Twelve
But I hang around.
Surprising, because I didn’t expect to.
I figured I’d be in front of Dad one minute and on that cosmic conveyor belt the next.
Not so.
Don’t ask me why. There are still way too many things I don’t understand.
Wade is
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