You Are Not Here Read online

  shake it.

  I am not

  ready.

  Marissa and I

  met at the local pool

  when we were five.

  It was the same summer

  that my mom and I moved here.

  The story goes:

  One of us had a box of Nerds.

  The other one asked for some.

  Nerds were shared.

  Best friends status was established.

  We can never agree

  which one of us had the candy.

  She insists it was me,

  but that’s not how I remember it.

  And since then,

  we’ve had sleepovers,

  told secrets,

  and talked on the phone

  late into the night.

  We were together when we

  smoked our first cigarette,

  stole lipsticks from the drugstore,

  watched horror movies that made us scream,

  once laughed so hard

  that we actually pissed ourselves,

  and blew out birthday candles

  for the last eleven years in a row.

  But walking to the cemetery

  for Brian’s funeral

  is not

  something I thought

  we would ever do.

  Marissa slips her arm in mine

  and we begin.

  Each time I take a step,

  it feels like I am not

  making any progress—

  like someone is pulling the church

  farther and farther away from me.

  But it doesn’t matter

  how I feel.

  Marissa moves me forward.

  She is in charge of my body.

  And even though this is the first time

  I have seen or talked to her in weeks,

  I could not imagine doing this

  with anyone but her.

  As we enter the church,

  I walk past a bunch of guys

  that I’ve seen Brian hang around with,

  but never officially met.

  I look at them and wonder,

  Did Brian ever talk about me?

  Do you even know who I am?

  One of the guys looks up as I walk by.

  He holds my gaze for a moment,

  but then looks down again.

  His eyes tell me nothing.

  Marissa only met Brian twice,

  both times briefly,

  and I wonder if his funeral

  counts as the third time.

  Since Brian and I started

  hanging out a few months ago,

  Marissa’s listened to me complain

  about how Brian would disappear

  for days and not call.

  How he’d forget we made plans.

  How sometimes I felt

  like I was just a girl

  he wanted to make out with,

  not make a future with.

  But there were good things

  about Brian too.

  Marissa never seemed

  to want to hear about them.

  She insisted

  that I was wasting my time with him.

  So when Marissa refused

  to listen to any more of my stories,

  I talked to Joy or Parker.

  Like when I told them about

  the time Brian’s parents went on vacation,

  and I lied and told my mom

  that I was sleeping at Joy’s.

  That night Brian and I

  got into his bed and watched

  A Clockwork Orange, his favorite movie.

  The house was silent except for the TV

  and our occasional voices.

  I pretended it was our house.

  That we were married.

  That he loved me.

  And I wondered,

  Is this how it might feel

  one day for real?

  Perfect and normal.

  I wished it would always be like this—

  ordinary.

  In the morning,

  we sat at his dining room table

  and ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

  He brought out the bowls and spoons,

  and I brought out the milk.

  Up until then,

  I’d only seen Brian eat pizza and chips—

  things that didn’t require utensils.

  So I was surprised

  to see how he held his spoon.

  Instead of just curling his pointer finger

  around the spoon’s stem,

  he used his middle finger too.

  It was really cute.

  I don’t know why, but it was.

  Maybe because it made him seem

  like a little kid

  or maybe because now I knew

  one of his subtle quirks.

  And that made him closer to me.

  All eyes are on Brian.

  His casket is up by the altar.

  It’s the first thing I see

  when we walk in

  and it’s impossible

  not to stare right at it—

  especially because it’s open.

  Marissa asks,

  “Do you want to say good-bye?”

  Her question is ridiculous.

  I said good-bye to Brian

  after we hung out

  a few days ago.

  He was fine.

  There was no reason to think

  I would never see him again.

  I want to see Brian

  and I don’t.

  I haven’t seen him in days

  and I miss him—

  miss his face.

  But I’m scared.

  Scared of what he’ll look like.

  Scared because this means it’s over.

  That he is gone.

  That he is not

  coming back.

  This is a different kind

  of good-bye.

  Marissa’s arm is linked with mine.

  It has not shifted

  since we met at my house.

  I feel her grip tighten a little

  as we walk down the aisle.

  We are like a father and bride

  on her wedding day.

  We move slowly.

  Both anticipating,

  and maybe also fearing,

  what is at the end

  of this slow, careful march.

  But my father and I

  will never

  take this walk.

  And all the fantasies

  I’ve had of Brian

  meeting me at the altar

  never looked like this.

  As we get closer to him,

  I feel my face and body start to burn.

  It’s a cold burn.

  My body is prickling.

  It feels like there are spines

  poking through my skin.

  I used to get a similar feeling

  whenever I’d get near Brian.

  But this is different.

  It used to be pleasant, tingly.

  This is painful, sharp.

  I look down into the casket.

  My stomach contracts.

  Is that really Brian?

  He doesn’t look right.

  It’s like a wax version of him.

  His coloring is off.

  He’s in a suit.

  There is a cross around his neck.

  I am inches from him,

  but there is no smell.

  No clean laundry.

  No deodorant.

  No hair gel.

  Nothing.

  There is

  nothing.

  I do not feel

  Marissa’s arm.

  I do not feel

  the floor.

  I do not feel

  my body.

  I want to burrow into his neck

  and feel the warmth,

&nbs
p; but this Brian looks cold.

  This Brian

  isn’t the one I know.

  Throughout the service

  I can’t decide if I feel

  like my body is hollow,

  light like a balloon,

  or if I feel like my bones

  are filled with cement.

  I can’t decide if I am going

  to drift up off the pew, into the air,

  and bump into the ceiling,

  or if my weight will send me crashing

  through the pew, then floor, then earth

  and I won’t stop falling

  until I am deep underground

  like Brian is about to be.

  I put my head on Marissa’s shoulder

  and look over at the casket again.

  The box is smaller

  than I thought it would be.

  I want to lie down next to it

  to measure.

  I look at the podium

  and see people speaking.

  I see kids my age,

  some adults, and a woman

  I assume is Brian’s mother.

  I see their mouths move,

  but there is no sound.

  It is a silent movie.

  The one time

  that I sort of met Brian’s dad

  didn’t go how I’d hoped it would.

  “Shit,” Brian said

  as he looked out his bedroom window.

  This was several weeks ago.

  “He wasn’t supposed to be home

  for another hour.

  You need to go.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  He handed me my bag.

  I had never met either of Brian’s parents.

  He usually ushered me out

  before they got home.

  I didn’t understand why.

  Brian was always talking about

  staying out all night.

  Surely if his parents could handle that,

  they wouldn’t mind

  him having a girl in his room.

  But maybe they weren’t the problem.

  Maybe he was ashamed of me.

  I took my bag from Brian,

  put on my sneakers,

  and followed him down the stairs.

  I thought

  maybe this made us even.

  Brian had never met my mom either.

  As we walked past the living room

  and to the front door,

  I caught a glimpse

  of Brian’s dad on the couch.

  His necktie was loosened,

  he had a beer in one hand,

  and the TV remote in the other.

  He didn’t even look up

  as we walked by.

  There was a moment

  of awkward silence

  as I stood on the stoop with Brian.

  I filled it with

  “So, that’s the man

  who made you?”

  “He

  didn’t

  make

  me.”

  I bit my lip.

  I had never heard Brian

  speak in that tone before.

  He said good-bye,

  then shut the door.

  Maybe it wasn’t me

  he was ashamed of.

  People are standing.

  Marissa is lightly pulling me

  up and toward the door.

  People are filing out,

  hugging, touching.

  I hardly recognize anyone.

  I wish there were more people

  who knew me here.

  That way they could hold me too,

  stroke my hair

  and tell me they know

  how much it hurts.

  But there isn’t anyone

  besides Marissa.

  When Marissa and I walk out of the church,

  the summer sun is blinding.

  The insides of the church

  were white and cool.

  Now everything is painfully bright.

  The blue sky, green grass,

  and yellow sun are like jewels.

  But then I see

  all those flat gray stones.

  We all parade to the spot

  that’s been dug for Brian.

  The ground is uneven

  and it’s hard to stand.

  But maybe that’s just me.

  We are each given a single white rose

  and then the priest starts up again.

  But I’m not listening.

  I’m staring at the rose, thinking,

  How long before

  this flower starts to wilt?

  How long before Brian starts to…

  I look away.

  I shouldn’t think

  these things.

  Brian’s mom is wailing.

  She can barely support

  her own weight.

  It’s like she has no bones.

  Brian’s dad is at her side,

  trying to support her.

  That’s when I notice

  that he and Brian

  have the same cloudy blue eyes.

  There are loads of kids here.

  Most are huddled together,

  holding hands,

  sniffling, crying.

  I always wanted

  to hang out with Brian’s friends,

  to have him introduce me

  as his girlfriend.

  But neither of those things ever happened.

  And now there’s no one

  to introduce me.

  No one

  to confirm the way that I knew Brian.

  It’s like I,

  we,

  didn’t exist.

  When the priest is done

  reciting prayers, he says,

  “And now, Brian’s best friend, Peter,

  would like to say a few additional words.”

  Peter steps forward.

  He is holding a piece of paper.

  I look to see if his hand shakes.

  It doesn’t.

  “This is a poem by Henry Scott Holland.

  ‘Death is nothing at all.

  I have only slipped away into the next room.

  I am I and you are you.

  Whatever we were to each other,

  That we are still.

  Call me by my old familiar name.

  Speak to me in the easy way you always used.

  Put no difference into your tone.

  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

  Laugh as we always laughed

  at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

  Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

  Let my name be ever the household word

  that it always was.

  Let it be spoken without effort.

  Without the ghost of a shadow on it.

  Life means all that it ever meant.

  It is the same as it ever was.

  There is absolute unbroken continuity.

  What is death but a negligible accident?

  Why should I be out of mind

  because I am out of sight?

  I am but waiting for you for an interval

  Somewhere very near

  Just around the corner.

  All is well.’”

  That is it.

  That is where he stops.

  After everyone tosses their rose

  into Brian’s grave

  we begin to walk away.

  Marissa gives my arm a little squeeze

  and asks, “Do you want to go

  to the after-thing?

  It’s at Brian’s house.”

  There are ghosts in this house.

  Brian is one.

  I am another.

  But Brian is all over this house.

  There are photos.

  There are memories of him


  that are collectively shared

  by friends and family.

  I am a different kind of ghost.

  There are no traces of me here

  except for my fingerprints.

  Brian was the only other person

  who shared my memories here.

  And now that he’s gone,

  I am their sole keeper.

  Marissa gets up to go to the bathroom

  and an older woman sits down next to me.

  She’s got the same cloudy blue eyes

  as Brian and his dad.

  She turns to me and extends her hand.

  “I’m Freda, Brian’s grandmother.”

  “Annaleah,” I say as I take her hand.

  Her skin is transparent

  like tracing paper, but soft and warm.

  Mountainous veins ridge her hand.

  “You all are too young for this,”

  she says, then sips her water.

  “When I lost Joey, my husband,

  there was warning.

  He was sick. Old.

  But Brian.

  So sudden. So sudden.”

  She sips again.

  “Did you and Brian go to school together?”

  “No. I—We—”

  I can’t even begin to explain,

  but her eyes seem to understand.

  Could Brian have told her about me?

  She slides her hand over mine.

  Strokes it.

  It feels so different

  from Marissa’s.

  Marissa’s hand is firm.

  This hand is light.

  It slides over mine like silk.

  Brian’s dad is sitting on the deck.

  All I can see is his back.

  He’s got a cigarette in one hand,

  a beer in the other,

  and a lot of empties at his feet.

  Brian’s dad didn’t speak at the funeral,

  and I haven’t seen or heard him talking

  to anyone this afternoon.

  And since I always called Brian on his cell,

  I’ve never even heard his dad’s voice.

  Maybe he doesn’t have one.

  I want to get away from all these strangers.