of the Porsche didn’t see Sam until it was too late, but I saw the whole thing unfold from the top of the steps, and watching it was like watching a premonition come to life. What I mean is my point of view was wide enough that I knew the car was going to hit Sam before it did. I even shouted for Sam to look out, but by then the outcome was unchangeable. Sometimes the future gets locked into place and there’s nothing we can do about it except feel a powerless sense of regret, you know?”
I glanced down at the ground and swore I could see my tears hitting the dirt like raindrops. When I looked back up at October, I saw tears streaming down her face too, and they seemed to be falling in sync with mine, as if she were a mirror of me.
“Joe—”
“No. Listen. I remember the sound of the Porsche’s tires screeching and then a loud, dull thud, like a fist hitting a pillow. A second later I watched my brother land on the grassy median that runs through the middle of Miller Avenue.” I inhaled, but I couldn’t get a deep enough breath. “Almost immediately I remember thinking, This is all my fault.”
October shook her head. Her face was all twisted up.
“I ran to Sam and pulled on his arm, tried to get him to stand, until someone dragged me away. And I must have passed out then, because the next thing I knew I was lying on the sidewalk with a puffy down jacket under my head, listening to a paramedic tell Ingrid that Sam most likely died instantly. He didn’t suffer. That’s what the guy said. I sat up and saw my mom with her hands over her mouth, making a sound like someone was tearing her limbs off her body. It’s a sound I still have nightmares about.” I wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my fleece. “A bunch of fucking parents and kids from the swim meet had congregated around by then, and they were all gawking and crying and not minding their business like I thought they should. And you know what? If I had to pinpoint it, I would say that was the exact moment I started to disappear. Everyone was busy trying to help my mom, and as soon as I stood up I walked to Sam’s body—he was on a stretcher by then, covered in a plastic sheet next to the ambulance—and I pulled the sheet down to see his face, and despite what the paramedic had said, I was sure Sam had only been knocked unconscious because I didn’t see any blood on him, and that made me believe he was going to wake up and make it to Safeway for his Jell-O. It was explained to me later that Sam had been all broken on the inside, but on the outside he looked like a normal, still-living person who might just be taking a nap. After his death I imagined Sam and I had that in common: being all broken on the inside, while appearing to be normal, still-living people.”
At this point, my stream of tears had become a violent sobbing. I’d never cried that hard for Sam, and I welcomed the release, imagining years of grief being set free. I could feel the salty sadness melting down my face, and when I was done talking I was lighter, calmer, at peace.
Sam’s death lived deep in my body, and I’d never felt peace with regard to losing him. But I felt it then. And it felt real.
October’s big, wild pupils were trained on my face, her expression solemn, sympathetic, hyperalert. I was still leaning against the horizontal tree, still keeping her at a distance, but when I got quiet she moved toward me, and I let her fold herself into my arms, let her rest her head in the curve of my neck, buried my face in her hair.
“It’s OK,” she said. “You’re OK.”
She placed her palm on my chest and began petting me as if I were made of fur. She leaned on me, and even though she was so small, she felt heavy. We stood like that a long time. Or maybe only a few seconds. Time was a blur. And at first being that close to her was fine. She was my friend and she was comforting me, and that felt safe, appropriate. But then it shifted. Only a