What We All Lack

Delaware

[Age: 19]

Janice Schneider died young, naked, and tripping on enough acid to keep a party going for hours. Which it would have, if Janice hadn't snuck into Jack Donald's bedroom and confiscated all of it. There wasn't much to say about Janice Schneider, other than she went out with more dignity than the rest of us have in our whole bodies; and we were all mostly sober, fully dressed, and still very much alive.

I was upstairs with Claire when we heard the screaming coming from downstairs.

"She's dead! She's dead! Holy fuck, she's dead!" A voice broke through the screams and the thumping music. We all looked at each other, lost and confused and a little bit tipsy.

Who? Who's dead? What happened?

I grabbed the arm of a boy running up the stairs, the force caused the weak mixture of orange Crush and vodka to spill out of my cup and onto my other hand. I vaguely recognized him from a psychology class I'd been in sophomore year.

"Who's dead?" I asked, holding him as steadily as I could. He had sobered up quickly from the experience, and I couldn't imagine why he was still running.

"Janice Schneider. Anderson called the cops. Get out." He forced himself out of my grip and began taking off out the front door of Jack's house. With those words, Claire and I followed suit.

Neither Claire nor I had driven to the party, so we had to trek back through the path in the woods behind Jack's house. Other partygoers had the same idea.

Claire and I were lucky, however, because Jack lived on the other side of the river through the woods behind my house. When Jack and I were friends, way back in middle school, I could get to his house in fourteen minutes if I alternated between an excited jog and a measly trudge while holding my side. Now, the walk seemed forever longer, but that was mostly due to Claire and I making an attempt to keep other partygoers from eating shit most of the time. Hannah Wilson threw up behind a tree moments after some guy I didn't recognize took a piss. That was a situation I refused to deal with.

When Claire and I finally arrived back at my house, we had to fend off any stragglers who wanted to stay the night and eventually we were able to retire a few hours later. Neither of my parents asked how the party was, which I expected, but I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of questioning I would receive the next morning when news of Janice's death went live.

"What the hell did you do?" My mother asked me from the kitchen, ferociously stirring the scrambled eggs she proposed to Claire.

"Why do you think I did something?" I argued, biting into my apple with the same vigor she was exemplifying. "How would we even contribute to that? She broke into Jack's room and did it all to herself!"

Claire eyed me from across the table as eggs splattered over the stove. By the time my mother was finished cooking, there wouldn't be any left in the pan.

"Why are you hanging out with people who do drugs? Your father and I told you that you could go to a small ge'tagether! Small! Just wait until your dad gets home, I swear!"

"It wasn't like we planned on someone dying, Mom." I chucked my apply core into the waste bin and straightened my lopsided ponytail. It was half past ten and I was impressed that Claire and I managed to get up as early as we did. Not to say that my mother didn't play a role in dragging us out of bed.

Beth Thompson was a passionate woman from Kentucky who enjoyed baking and cleaning and basically all the things it seemed like mothers should enjoy doing. She told me once that when she was my age, she was most excited to grow up because it meant she could finally have children of her own. I told her that I did not follow in her footsteps.

She was more protective when Cody and I were younger, but after he moved out, she basically allowed me to have free reign until graduation. She was a good mother, at least that's what Claire told me. Nowhere else she could go on a Saturday morning and eat eggs made with equal parts love and frustration.

"I just don't understand why you always put yourself in these—Claire, honey, would you like cheese on your eggs?—situations. It would have been perfectly adequate if you two stayed home and watched movies with Dad and I last night." Mom adorned Claire's eggs with cheese and served them on a doily-lined paper plate with a fork. Claire quickly filled her mouth to avoid any further conversations.

"It sounds like you expected me to know that she was going to die—I didn't even know her Mom." I stood up from the table to make toast and my mom slapped my hand with Claire's egg spatula. I sighed, "Claire, would you like some toast?" She shook her head and buried her face in the plate.

"Dell," she dropped her voice, "We both know that isn't true. You should go over there and see how Finn is doing." Mom turned her back on me and started the dishes, and I could see Claire peering at me over her empty plate.

"That's not his name; and we both know I can't do that," I whispered through my teeth, turning my back so I was facing the dishes with her.

"No, Dell, I don't know that at all," then, directing her attention away from me, "Claire, honey, you can bring your fork in here whenever you're finished!"

When Claire deposited her fork in the sink, we retreated to my room, where we stayed until I needed to drop Claire off for work.

Claire came from a large family, and although she didn't need the job, she liked to use it as time away from her five siblings. Unfortunately, as a lifeguard, she was often subject to their random, unannounced visits at the public pool. I supported her, there was no way I was willing to clean up any bodily fluids from a lukewarm communal bathtub. Fortunately for her, it paid well.

The pool was only a fifteen minute drive from my house, but we left early so we could sit in the parking lot before Claire's shift.

"Hey Delly, I know it's none of my business, but I do think you should go see Finley. He might want to see a familiar face, or just someone to talk to," Claire suggested. She had one of the softest hearts of anybody I'd ever met and it often made me question what I had done to deserve her friendship. Now, however, I didn't even want to acknowledge her comments.

"He doesn't want to see me, Claire." I gripped the steering wheel and I could see her looking at me through her eyelashes. Claire did that a lot, she liked to look at people, and watch them, and all the time the gears were turning in her head, trying to think of the next right thing to say. Sometimes she didn't say anything at all. We were different in that way: sometimes I felt like I never shut up.

She climbed out and threw her night bag over her shoulder before throwing up a peace sign. I returned the gesture and backed out of the parking lot. The radio, usually dull, continued its streak, however, the anchor began describing the death of Janice Schneider.

On April 23rd, the death of a beloved track star occurred at a high school party in Jackson County. Janice Schneider was a sophomore at Pleasant Grove High School and was found dead at a senior's house early Friday morning. The student seemed to have overdo—

I spun the dial, silencing the anchor's intrusive voice. I should visit Finley, I knew, but it would take a lot to get me back on the front steps of his house.

A lot more than his sister dying?

I gritted my teeth and continued driving home.