get me out of class. Everyone went ‘Ooooooo!’ like I was in trouble, but then she told me to get my coat, and as I was walking down the hall with her, I had an idea it was about Bradley, because at this point he really wasn’t doing well. She didn’t say anything to me. She just said my auntie was here to pick me up. My auntie was my mom’s friend Maureen, who’s since moved to Arizona, but I used to call her auntie because she was always around. I could tell by the look on her face that it was bad. She was wearing sunglasses and in the car she kept dabbing under the glasses with a tissue. You know how people do that when they’re crying?” I ask Eric.
He nods his head.
“I was so scared, I didn’t want to ask. I just started to cry the closer we got to the hospital, and by the time we got to the underground parking, I was really bawling. She never did tell me he died—I just knew. When we went up to the room, Bradley wasn’t in it. I remember being upset because I didn’t get to say goodbye to him. They wouldn’t let me. I remember my mom squatted on the floor in the corner, under the window, her head buried in her knees. She didn’t move for a long time. Even when I came to hug her, she didn’t lift her head. Her body just jerked and jerked and trembled, and her breathing was so heavy, and her reaction made me so, so …” I stare at the table for a while before I can find the right word. “… terrified. More terrified than knowing Bradley was gone. I remember holding on to her, hunched awkwardly over her shoulder and back, and then at some point I must have let go, because I remember being down in the cafeteria with my auntie eating macaroni and cheese.
“It was night when we went back to the room. Bradley’s bags were packed. His father, Stewart, who used to come around to see him every other weekend, was there. I think he was the one loading the car with Bradley’s stuff. And my mom was sitting now, on the bench she used to sleep on. And she looked at me with the most hollow, dead face. And I’ll never forget that look, because I can still see it in her eyes. It’s like since that day she’s been a different person. Half dead. Half alive. Like nothing was ever important anymore, including me.” I pause and then lay the index card flat on the table. “I guess our family sort of died that day too,” I add, staring down at the card.
“Mmmmm,” Eric says, as if he’s eaten something yummy. “That’s powerful, Melissa. Thanks for sharing that.”
I look at him. “No problem.” I pick the card up again and put it at the end of the box.
He continues, “I’m sorry you had to go through such pain when you were so young.And losing your brother—that’s just not fair.”
I nod my head. “Yeah. It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” I say, ’cause I want him to shut up now because I feel like I’m going to cry.
Eric goes on to say a few more things, about mourning, losing a family member, holding on to memories—stuff I easily tune out. Blah blah blah. It’s only the last bit that I really listen to: “Seeing a parent, someone who protects you, as vulnerable or distressed can be earth-shattering to a child. Sometimes it can crack open that protective shell you’ve had surrounding you and hatch you into real life too quickly.”
I like the way he said it. I’ve seen broken eggs with mangy, unformed birds inside them on TV. Hatched into real life. That’s good. That’s exactly how I felt. Like my shell was suddenly whacked against an edge and out I spilled, little bits of wet feather and bones, not yet ready for the life I was about to be flung into. I nod my head again. “Yeah. After that happened, things pretty much sucked.”
Eric puts his hands together as we wrap up. “Well, on that positive note, shall we end it?” he says sarcastically.
I laugh a little.
“I’m just looking at the time now. It’s been over seventy-five minutes,” he explains.
I turn my head to the clock on the wall. “Whoa. That went fast.”