| I said I'd post this when I was finished, and then, naturally, I
completely forgot. But it's done now! And I
remembered. So here it is.
How to Lose it All
A bored audience
sat before them, the graduating class.
Their high school careers seconds from ending, the students squirmed
with anticipation on the creaky folding chairs that lined the campus’s dying
lawn. A monotonous voice called out
names alphabetically, and students rose to receive their hard-earned
diplomas. Blinding sun shone on
everything, and the sweltering heat had the graduates-to-be sweating under
their gowns. “Jordan Brigden,” the
announcer said now, and Jordan walked across the stage. He flashed his beautiful smile at the
audience, which responded with polite applause. The smile soon disappeared, joining the audience’s attention off
in some distant land.
When
the ceremony finally ended, Jordan helped himself to some lukewarm lemonade and
stale cookies while he watched cliques congratulating each other and saying
goodbyes. He, on the other hand, stood
alone. His mom was off somewhere, no
doubt conversing with other parents and pretending her son was some huge
star. Yeah, so he would have been
valedictorian if he’d had just one more “A” on his second semester report
card. Everyone got senioritis—big deal.
There
was Felicia, love of his life, talking to the principal. Okay, so maybe everyone but Felicia got
senioritis—she’d managed the position of valedictorian. Felicia, the girl with the huge hazel eyes
and the copper ringlets that bounced around her shoulders, the girl with the
adorable freckles and perfect outfits, the girl who always had at least one guy
floating around her.
He used to talk to
her. Used to be best friends with her,
in fact. Of course, like everything
else, he’d managed to screw that up like the loser he was. She “couldn’t handle the drama one second
longer,” she’d said. She was right, no
doubt. If only he’d managed to hold
on. She was so perfect: beautiful,
friendly, and brilliant. Felicia was
the kind of girl who everyone knew from the start would go places. That’s what she was off to do now. Jordan would probably never see her again,
the girl whose curvy body he would die to touch for just a moment. She’d gotten into Stanford and was traveling
across the country to study medicine.
“You should say
goodbye to your friends, honey,” a voice said softly into his ear. Jordan jumped despite the soft volume and
rolled his eyes at Sheri, his mom.
“Can we just go?”
he asked. “I want to be done with this
place.”
His mother sighed
and shrugged. “Whatever you like,” she
said with audible exasperation.
One last glance at
Felicia—at her butt, actually; she was facing the other way. Too bad.
He really enjoyed looking at her face more, but whatever image he could
hold of her locked into his brain for every second of his life would work.
“You could say
‘bye to her at least. In fact, I
insist. You two have known each other
for too long to just leave here without saying anything,” Sheri said. She gave him a gentle shove in Felicia’s
direction.
Fine, he
thought. At least I’ll get to see those
eyes again before she tears my heart out and walks out of my life for all
eternity. He trudged over to the
beautiful valedictorian and said, “Hey.”
She turned around,
all smiles and sunshine. He felt a bead
of sweat roll down his back. As she
registered his face, some of the bliss faded from her face. “Hey Jordan. Congrats and good luck,” she said awkwardly.
“The same to you,”
he murmured as she walked away.
This isn’t the way
things were supposed to go. He’d had a
different path in front of him when he was a kid. Where had it gone?
Jordan thought
back to one of the happiest days of his life: his fourth birthday party. His parents had worked all morning
(together, for once) decorating the house and cooking. The house had smelled of cake (When was the
last time they’d baked a cake?) and had bright ribbons and balloons
everywhere.
When the guests
had shown up, there were hoards of them.
It seemed like every neighbor within five blocks wanted to say “Happy
birthday” to Jordan. Sheri had made him
a little crown (there were pictures of him with his bronze curls falling all
over it) to let all the other kids know that he was the special one
today. Rick, Jordan’s dad, had been the
big entertainer of the day. He’d led
the scavenger hunt, put on the puppet show, and made the kids laugh. When Jordan blew out all of his candles in
one breath, Rick had lifted him up above his head so everyone could cheer for
him.
And the
presents! Every kid had brought at
least one present, and every single one was for Jordan. There were dozens of toy cars and trains,
art sets, and brightly illustrated books.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
Eventually the
guests had to leave, but Rick and Sheri had let Felicia stay. They each had another piece of chocolate
cake (with Sheri’s special strawberry icing) and played with Jordan’s new
toys. After a dinner of macaroni and
cheese, the two happy kids fell asleep together on the couch.
Almost a year
passed, and he started school. He was
attracted even more strongly to books than to the giant building blocks they
used to construct fortresses and castles.
He and Felicia were tied for being the top of the class and they
constantly competed to try to read longer words and write more neatly. There were always classmates buzzing around
the two of them and trying to get in on the fun, but no matter how much Jordan
and Felicia included people, everyone knew that their bond was the
strongest.
Years flew
by. Jordan and Felicia did homework
together every evening and ended their nights with long conversations about
politics, school, and their personal lives.
They knew each other better than everyone else and were always there for
each other. This state of comfort and
bliss continued until the two friends reached fifth grade.
Jordan and Felicia
discussed almost everything about their lives, but they left out a few
important details that neither was willing to discuss. For example, Felicia never talked about how
her parents would get mad and send her out of the house. It was never more than a few hours, but
Jordan always knew about it because she would either show up at his house
looking stricken or run for miles and show up back home dripping sweat and
panting. Similarly, Jordan never told
Felicia about his dad’s drinking. At
first it was no big deal, at least not to Jordan. But later he could see the tension build between his parents, and
slowly he noticed them growing apart.
He didn’t tell Felicia about the hushed conversations in horribly tense
whispers that he could hear through the air vents. He didn’t tell her how he’d hide in his room when Rick came home
drunk, afraid that his dad would get angry.
As of yet he hadn’t done anything stupid to Jordan, but he wasn’t sure
about Sheri. Felicia figured all this
out on her own. She respected Jordan’s
wanting to keep it quiet, and thus never brought it up.
Like most secrets,
this one only lasted so long. It ended
on a day that had been pretty good for Jordan.
He’d had fun at lunch with Felicia and was crossing the street on his
bike heading home when it happened. A
car sped towards him, slammed on its brakes, and went skidding out of
control. It hit a tree and flipped
over, rolled over twice, and finally came to a rest on its side. Worse than the fear, worse than the
adrenaline that made him fall from his bike after having sped across the road,
was the fact that he recognized that car.
It was his father’s.
Two hours later,
Sheri and Jordan were holding hands in the waiting room at the hospital. Rick had been drunk again. He’d been sent home from work after getting
intoxicated on his lunch break. Drunk
and upset, he’d forgotten his seatbelt.
Rick Brigden was now in a coma, and his chances for survival were not
high. Jordan went to the hospital every
day after school, alone, careful not to cry.
He was the only person who knew that his father’s injury was his fault
alone. It was his fault that he hadn’t
checked well enough before crossing the street, his fault that his dad had
needed to swerve to avoid hitting him, his fault that his father was going to
die.
The torturous
hospital visits didn’t last too long.
After two weeks of life support, of being completely unresponsive to his
son’s begging and holding hands and talking to him, Mr. Rick Brigden, age 43,
passed away.
It was a painful
kind of relief for Sheri, not having to deal with her husband’s unpleasant
changes. She would miss some parts of
him and the transition would be hard, but having a stable household with just
her and Jordan would be easier on both of them in the long run.
Jordan, however,
was heartbroken. He couldn’t believe
his loss; all he could remember of his dad were the good times they’d had. From helping him with math homework to
encouraging him in sports, Rick had always seemed to be there for Jordan.
Felicia didn’t
know what to do. She was afraid to go
the Brigden house now, afraid that she wouldn’t be welcome or that the change
would make it awkward for Jordan and Sheri.
Since Jordan had tried to hide Rick’s alcoholism from her, she wasn’t
sure whether or not he wanted comfort from her. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was stable enough to give him
much aid, since she was so shaken up herself.
School was especially hard, since her best friend wasn’t there to talk
to. She could only imagine how he was
managing to keep up with his studies if he was at all.
The next Monday,
Jordan decided to go back to school. He
had caught up most of his schoolwork, so he got through class relatively
painlessly. Recess, on the other hand,
was awkward. He didn’t feel like he
could talk to any of his old friends the way he used to; it was as though they
didn’t know him anymore. He found
himself spending more and more time studying in the library instead of playing
with friends.
The week after Jordan went back to school, a group
of police officers came to tell the students about their jobs.
“We go out every night on patrol. Friday nights are the worst, because it’s
the biggest night for parties, many of which have alcohol. Drunk drivers are the biggest threat on the
road these days, and they’re even dangerous to other drivers and pedestrians
than they are to themselves. More often
than not, a drunk driver survives a collision that he or she caused, but kills
someone else involved,” said one of the officers, the overweight man whose
nametag read Teddy.
Jordan stopped listening, thinking about his father,
who had only killed himself. Jordan
sometimes wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t
imagine anything so terrible as what he was going through now; trying to adjust
to his dad’s absence.
Jordan looked over at Felicia, hoping for support,
but she seemed to be fully absorbed in the lecture. He slumped down in his chair and tried to ignore the police
officers.
It wasn’t until after the lecture that Jordan
realized how hard school was going to be.
Most everyone knew the story of Rick Brigden’s death. It had been all over the papers and the
news. His car, one that had so many
times taken Jordan to school or to play, was now displayed in all its glory in
a Mothers Against Drunk Driving trailer.
They toted it from school to school, telling the story of Mr. Brigden,
not as a loving father but as a drunken creep.
Naturally, everyone wanted to talk to Jordan after
the policemen’s talk about drunk driving.
He was the only fifth grader who knew anything about drunken people.
When the bell rang for recess, a cloud of
eleven-year-olds crowded around the younger Mr. Brigden, asking him what it was
like to have a bad man as a dad, what it was like to know your dad was breaking
the law, what it was like to know that your dad’s death was a good thing since
he was so terrible.
Jordan went to the office and told the nurse that he
had a headache so that he’d be allowed to go home early. He had to wait fifteen minutes for his mom
to arrive to drive him home. He’d
stopped riding his bike.
The next day, Jordan forced himself to go back to
school. He focused as hard as he could
on his teacher and the lesson so that he’d be less painfully aware of the
stares and murmurs around him. That day
at lunch, he was paranoid, watching his peers talking and laughing. He was sure that every giggle was from a jab
at him. He hurried to the library to
bury himself between aisles of books and try to disappear. On his way, several more kids stopped him to
ask questions, from why he hadn’t tried to stop his dad to whether he was an
alcoholic, too. Jordan hurried past
without a word. He managed to seclude
himself in the library, and the loneliness was almost comforting. He wished Felicia had come with him or
defended him, but he knew that she wanted to have fun instead of listening to
his drama.
Occasionally, he went over to her house to
talk. She was usually patient with
him. He’d lie on her bed and stare at
the glow-in-the-dark flowers she’d stuck all over her ceiling. She’d listen to him talk about his
heartaches and troubles, but she rarely said anything.
Little by little, Felicia’s silence changed. It ceased to feel respectful, and she
started occupying herself with homework while he spoke. Jordan stopped leaving with the sense of comfort
he’d come for, and so, little by little, stopped visiting. He fell into a rut: at school, any free time
was spent at the library; at home, free time was spent studying.
It was amazing, he noticed, how little had actually
gone wrong. Really, all that had
happened was that his dad had died. His
family life was affected, obviously, and he was grief-stricken. But death is one of the most common things
on earth. The fact that it sits so
heavily in the hearts of loved ones and causes so much damage to their lives
seemed inconceivable until Jordan had had to deal with it himself.
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