27A
Zoey.
It's one of those nights again, when I can't fall asleep. I know it's not anything big. I just miss Grandpa, and in my head I am recalling all the good times I had with him and Grandma. They are remembered, and will never be forgotten.
Life is not the opposite of death. Death is the state after living a life. I have another epiphany: As long as there are those who remember the something a person had become, we wouldn't entirely become nothing. Our body succumbs back to the dirt where it's from, but we will roam free, around the world, becoming every single, existent thing in this wretched, colorful universe to fully understand that we have not only become something, but that we are everything. The definition of death had never been so beautiful.
I have been telling myself to sleep since ten o'clock last night, and five hours later, I am still awake.
I get up to the sound of knocking, on my window. Drawing the curtains to the side, Rut's head peeks above the windowsill while featuring a pair of lively yet baggy eyes and his wide, signature smile.
"Let me in," he mouths through the glass, pointing to the lock. Once I pull the pane up, he crawls inside, bringing in the snow on his boots, and wipes the sprinkles of snow that has gathered on his hat. "It's snowing again."
"You can't just climb through my window at dawn, Rut." Balling his hat inside his jacket pocket, he doesn't listen to me, leaves a kiss on my cheek, then throws the jacket on my chair, strides across the room, and hops on my bed as if he's in his room. Standing by the edge of the bed, I watch him, then glances to the snow on my floor, and back to him. "Where have you been?"
"Nowhere. I'm sorry to disturb your sleep. It's just that I can't sleep and I thought, 'Hey, there's Zoey. She'll probably get all cranky but I'm sure she won't kick me down her window.' So I'm here."
"That's two of us."
"Don't tell me you're thinking of following Sylvester?" He's serious when he turns to me, only easing down when I shake my head and give him a reassuring smile. "Please don't."
Standing up to close the window, I kick my slippers off and climb into bed beside him. We neither carry on with the conversation, instead, we watch the ceiling, the sound of our breathing filling us up, drowning us in a monochromatic silence. Even Rut is listening to it. I turn to him. "What's wrong?"
The traces left on the ceiling makes me remember the stars that were once there, and seeing Rut silent, makes me miss his carefree energy. I roll over to his side, lay my arm around his torso, and listen to the beat of his heart.
A couple of minutes later, he stirs and lays a hand back under his head as he looks at the ceiling. Then, he sighs. "I've been having these dreams lately. They're memories from when I was a kid. I don't know what to do with them.
"Is that why you're here? You just had one of those dreams?"
"Kind of," he hisses. "I have a thing for people killing themselves. You can imagine what I felt when I found out about Sylvester, and when I read your notebook. That was dark."
"I'm sorry." It's all I can say. I can't help it if I'm like this.
"Don't be like my dad, Zoey. I'm not going to be like him."
"You're not going to be like him," I say, "You're going to be who you are. You're not your dad. He's not you."
He smiles and holds me closer to him. "I found where he was buried. I also found our old house."
I lace my fingers around Rut's curls, and revel in the fact that his hair is very smooth to touch. I think I finally get why Rut plays with his hair. He's making these tiny moans as I stroke his head, until he grabs my hand and holds it down. He looks up to me and in a sleepy voice, he says, "You keep telling me I'm going to get bald and you're the one who's playing with my hair."
He nuzzles against me, then places my hand over his head again. "On second thought, I love it when you play with my hair. It's oddly satisfying."
In the morning, I catch Rut in our breakfast table, and the first thing Mom greets me is, "I didn't know he came over." Jesse looks at me knowingly, and Dad is quick on his feet as he kisses Mom and my hair and goes out the door to work.
When Mom asks me to take the trash outside, Rut is with Rigel in their driveway, chatting. He sees me, then Rigel turns and smiles. "Going somewhere?" I ask, walking to them.
"Yeah. Santa Mariana," Rut grins. I don't know where that is. "There's something I want to show you later. I'll pick you up when we get back, yeah?" I nod, although I don't know what just happened, and he and Rigel carry on their merry day.
As they drive away, an all-too-familiar automobile stops in front of our house, and I am stuck in between running inside to ask Mom what's going on, and greeting Dr. Kelly who, obviously, has better people to attend to than me.
Mom's answer had always been the same, although she doesn't say it out loud. Everything in her says, Your shrink is here because we need to know if you're really fine. I am, I want to tell her. I am fine, but now that doctor is here, I'm not. I just kind of want to lock myself in my room again.
The consultation, as the past consultations had been, is very idle. She asks the usual questions, and I answer. It's only Gary who keeps me seated for long. He's running around the living room, chewing what looks delicious to him with his little canine teeth. Dr. Kelly gives him some crumbs of the sandwich Mom prepared for her, and he sits obediently, waiting for another bite. She gives him what he wants, but when she notices my only focus is him, she stops.
"I'm going to ask you again, Zoey, have you had any thoughts of suicide these past days?" I look at her and think about what she said, and I realize Rut was right. The word does sting. When I don't answer, she asks, "May I see your wrist?"
I show her the faded, parallel scars on my skin and she nods, as if she understands everything just by looking at them. I finally lose it when she asks how I feel about Grandpa's death, and I tell her, "How do you think I feel?"
I know that only comes as bad news to my parents, but what's done is done.
Later in the afternoon, Rut knocks on my door, because I locked myself in again. "We're going to visit Katherine and Danny. Turns out they're still in the park," he says, and seeing me not in a good place, he holds my face and asks what's wrong. I hug him, and I don't need to explain anything further, because he already knows all there is to know.
Katherine and Danny looks a lot better than before. They're warm and dry. Their cheeks brighten up with color, and when they see us, Dan runs to Rut and pulls him to play. Katherine gives a shy smile and we watch them as they run around the park. She's tongue-tied beside me, and though I'm okay with it, she manages to speak. "Rut told us about your grandpa, Zoey. I hope you're okay."
"I'm okay," I say, "How about you? It's getting colder these days."
"We'll be fine. This is not our first winter in the street." She pauses for a minute, then continues, "Thank you, Zoey." She smiles. I smile.
Being a watcher from afar, I can tell Rut is very fond of Danny, even Katherine thinks so too. In the middle of their game, Rigel's Lexus parks near us and Rut and Danny stops on what they're doing. Rut calls Katherine, and curious to know what's going on, I stroll to them. From the car, Rigel slides out and from the passengers, a man follows. I never saw Katherine teary-eyed and excited until she runs and embraces the man tightly. Danny, on the other hand, who wears the heritage on his face, looks up to Rut, as if he's asking for permission before he walks to his father.
"Where did you find him?" I ask Rut, walking beside him.
He smiles, watching the family reunion, and for a minute, I think he misses his own dad. "Santa Mariana. He was looking for them, but he didn't know where to find them so he stayed where he last saw them. He's a good dad, Zoey."
"I can see that," I say. There's nothing in the world that competes the happiness of a father reuniting with his children after years apart, and there's nothing more delightful to see the twinkle in all of their eyes. Looking at Rut, I watch him, a contented smile on his face, that's subtly, slowly being replaced by a sad smile. I hold his hand. He forces a smile.
Rigel slips in beside him, and joins us to watch.
"I only did what I could. I don't like seeing little boys fatherless," Rut says, turns to Rigel, and they stare back at each other, as if they're in a conversation I'm not invited to hear.
It's Rigel who averts his gaze first. "What about the money from the bet?" he asks Rut.
"What bet?" I can't help but intrude.
Rut glances at me, a genuine grin on his face and not a speck of grief or longing on his face. How mercurial, this boy. "I didn't get suspended for nothing. We got almost two hundred dollars from streaking."
"Plus an additional three hundred bucks from the girls for getting the other guys to streak as well."
Rut laughs. "You don't know how much they want to see them nude."
"What are you going to do with five hundred dollars?" I ask and Rigel glances to him, waiting for the answer as well.
"The same thing Art did. What you would also do, given the chance," he says, turning to me, and winks, hands crossed over his chest. "Give it to Daniel Senior and hope he won't use it for himself. But like I said, he's a good dad."
Back in his room, he lets me see the photographs he got from his house and I tell him, "He looks like he's a good dad." I don't know if he believes me but he smiles and posts the photographs above his desk.