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He had given up two of his weekends to help us move into the place. The least I could do was keep my mouth shut about a poorly positioned box of guitar equipment.
“Thanks,” I finally said, giving him a quick thumbs-up before returning to the guitar case in front of me.
A year ago today, October 10, Lennon and I had made our thing official, and that night, in my old room at my parents' house, I’d asked if she'd be interested in getting a place with me.
I figured, if she had been willing to shack up with fucking Peter after only hooking up with him for a few months, then maybe she'd be just as willing to shack up with the guy she actually loved.
Just as I'd hoped, she was eager to jump at the chance—under the condition that we didn't venture too far from her parents. Her need to keep a support system close around her, out of want and necessity, was important, and that was fine by me. As much as I liked the idea of heading up to Connecticut, Long Island was, at the end of the day, home, and I didn't care much for leaving. Especially when I had my own parents to consider.
But that didn't mean I cared to live in Islip for the rest of my life. So, instead, we fell head over feet for an old, mildly creepy but incredibly gorgeous house on the lake in Brightwaters and hired a contractor to make it more accessible for us both.
It had taken three months of bouncing between both of our childhood homes before the work was finally done. But, man, sitting in my own converted garage studio now, I knew it had been worth the wait.
Everything—all of it—had been worth the wait.
“So, what exactly did you have done to the place?” Simon asked as he meandered around the space. “I was just in the house, and I can't really tell what's different. I mean, other than the ramp.”
I shifted my gaze toward him as I took Anna out of her case. “Uh, there's an elevator where there wasn't one,” I pointed out, my tone dry while my lips twitched into a smirk.
“Oh-ho!” Si crowed before barking with a laugh. “Watch out, everyone! Mr. Fancy Pants over here has a fuckin' house with an elevator!”
“You're an ass,” I replied, chuckling.
“Yeah, I am,” he agreed, dropping down to sit on a box beside me.
A flock of geese honked across the sky just outside the garage. Simon turned to look out the open door toward the lake, sparkling beneath an autumn sun, and he laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“It’s crazy,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“What is?” I asked as I ran my hand over Anna’s smooth, rounded curves.
His lips twisted with uncertainty, like he was unsure of the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway. “I thought you were gonna die six years ago,” he said simply, voice tight and cracking. “Like, I got that phone call from Mitch, and my knees hit the fuckin’ floor, man. All I could think was,How could I be going to my best friend’s funeral when I just saw him and he wasfine?”
The geese were silent, as if they’d gotten the memo that my longest, closest friend was about to drop something heavy against my heart. The room fell quiet, eerie, and sad with the truth I’d never known about Simon.
“What did Mitch say?” I asked, not sure why I even cared. I guessed I just wanted to piece it all together—the emotions, the individual experiences. The ones that mattered.
Simon cleared his throat and fiddled with one of Anna’s tuning knobs as he said, “Uh, well … I had just walked through the door when my phone rang. I saw it was Mitch, and I almost didn’t answer. Like, I’d just seen the guy. I didn’t wanna hear his fuckin’ voice when all I really wanted was to sleep. But I answered ‘cause I felt like I should, and, um …” He shrugged, biting at his lip and tipping his brows, like he was hearing the news now, fresh and stinging against his wounded heart. “He was sad. Like, the guy was actually crying, and … God, a thousand things were going through my head, like I couldn’t even imagine what he was so fuckin’ sad about. So, I kept asking. I was like, ‘Mitch, man, what’s going on? Mitch …’” His mournful gaze met mine, as he smiled weakly. “Dude was scaring the hell out of me.”
“Yeah,” was all I could think to say while I tried to put myself in his shoes.
I was grateful I couldn’t.
“Then, he said, ‘Simon, man, Dylan crashed his car,’ and I dunno what the hell was wrong with me, but I was just like, ‘What? A fender bender?’ Like …” He released a laugh that lacked in humor. “Obviously,it wasn’t a fucking fender bender, but it was what I said, and he was like, ‘No, man … it doesn’t look good. I think he might die.’ And I just …” He gestured a hand toward the floor and shrugged. “I couldn’t hold myself up. And then we, um, we just kinda cried. I dunno.”
I tried to imagine it. Sarcastic, fun-loving, quick-witted Simon and all-business Mitch, crying together over a phone line, trying to process impossible news and possibilities together. It felt like fiction, as if it’d never happened, but it had, and I hated that for them. I hated that my stupid accident had caused such unbelievable pain and sadness and fear.
“I’m sorry you guys went through all that,” I said, my voice rough.
Simon’s forehead crumpled with his incredulous expression. “Dude, shut up. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just some shit we went through, and, yeah, it sucked, just like everything else. But, man, look at this shit.” His eyes rounded the garage, looking like equal parts recording studio and warehouse. “Six years ago today, I thought I was gonna bury your ass. But you’re alive, and you’re settling down, and you have this kick-ass house. It’s just crazy, and it’s really, really amazing.”
Six years ago, I’d almost died, and I had hardly thought about it before Simon mentioned it. I’d been too busy unpacking, too distracted, too focused on other things … more important things.
He was right; it was crazy.
And really,reallyamazing.
***
