Page 56 of Goodbye Days

“Carver? Please be careful. Don’t hand Judge Edwards anything. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“Come give me a hug.”

I put both hands over my ears and walk into her outstretched arms. Once safely in her embrace, I return her hug. “I don’t have that many people left.” I try to say it in a jokey way but come up short.

“Hang in there.” Georgia gets into her car, waves, and leaves.

I wave as she drives away, my life shrinking again.

I almost lose my nerve. My hands shake as I dial Nana Betsy’s number.

“Blade,” she says, her voice brightening. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m surviving. Some days better than others.”

“I hear you. So—I’m calling because I think we should have a goodbye day for Blake, as you suggested. I don’t know how this works, but I want to try.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Well, that’s wonderful. I guess we’ll play it by ear, won’t we?”

“That sounds like the way to pay tribute to Blake.”

She laughs. “How does the Saturday a week from tomorrow work for you?”

“Should be fine.”

“Then we’ll start bright and early and go until night. This’ll be a true last day with Blake.”

“Okay.”

“This means a lot to me. It would mean a lot to Blake.”

“I hope so.”

We hang up and I sit there on my bed for a while, listening to myself breathe. Wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Wondering if I’m equal to the task of laying my friend to rest once and for all. Wondering if I deserve any closure that may come of it.

I dream about them again. In my dream we’re together and we’re doing something happy—I’m not sure exactly what; my dreams aren’t always so specific—and I’m relieved that they’re not gone. When I wake up, I beg them to linger with me awhile longer, but they don’t.

As they have done so many times, they evaporate into the small hours’ dark, leaving me alone with my wild grief. With my searing guilt.

Every so often in our lives, we face a challenge that seems more than we can bear. I had one of these challenges right before I began my senior year. I had to learn—

I had to overcome—

It taught me—

No. I can’t. Sorry, college admissions people, but I really have to quit lying through my teeth on this dumb essay, because I haven’t learned. I haven’t overcome. I’m having panic attacks and I can’t sleep at night. Losing my three best friends hasn’t taught me shit other than my capacity for grief and self-loathing.

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I’m gonna delete all this shitty crap and I’m going to Nashville State Community College, where I’ll study janitorial science. That is if I’m not in the penitentiary.

I lean back in my chair and growl at the ceiling. This day wasn’t proceeding so terribly until now. I got home about an hour ago from watching Jesmyn practice. I get hunger pangs now on the days when I don’t watch her. And the music seems to be wrenching open some rusty door in me. The words are beginning to flow again. Well, trickle. I’ve got the first two pages of a new story. That’s something, I guess.

A knock. “Come in,” I call.