Chapter Seven
According to Elizabeth Kubler Ross, there are five stages of grief a person passes through after the death of a loved one: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I took a psychology class during the last semester of my junior year when we lived in Texas. We were discussing stage four when the principal walked into the room, pale as a ghost.
"Layken, can I see you in the hallway please?"
Principal Bass was a pleasant man. Plump in the belly, plump in the hands, plump in places you didn't know could be plump. It was an unusually cold spring day in Texas, but you wouldn't know it from the rings of sweat underneath his arms. He was the type of principal that hung out in his office rather than the halls. He never went looking for trouble, just waited for it to come to him. So why was he here?
I had a sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach as I stood up and walked as slow as I could to the classroom door. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. I remember I looked right at him and his eyes darted to the floor. He felt sorry for me. But why?
When I walked out into the hallway my mother was standing there, mascara streaked down her cheeks. The look in her eyes told me why she was there. Why she was there, and my father wasn't.
"How?" I remember crying. She threw her arms around me and started to collapse to the floor. Rather than hold her up, I simply melted with her. That day we experienced our first stage of grief in the hallway floor of my High School: Denial.
***
Gavin is preparing to perform his poetry. He's standing in front of the class, his paper shaking between his fingers as he clears his throat to read from it.
I wonder, as I ignore Gavin's presence and focus on Will, do the five stages of grief only apply to the death of a loved one? Could it not also apply to the death of an aspect of your life? If it does, then I'm definitely smack dab in the center of stage two: Anger.
"What's it called, Gavin?" Will asks. He's sitting at his desk, writing notes into his pad as students perform. It pisses me off-the way he's being so attentive, focused on everything except me. His ability to make me feel like this huge invisible void pisses me off. The way he pauses to chew on the tip of his pen pisses me off. Just last night, those same lips that are wrapped around the tip of his ugly red pen were making their way up my neck.
I push the thought of his kiss out of my mind as quickly as it crept in. I don't know how long it will take, but I'm determined to break from this hold he has on me.
"Um, I didn't really give it a title," Gavin responds. He's standing at the front of the classroom, second to last person to perform. "I guess you can call it Pre-Proposal?"
"Pre-Proposal, go ahead then," Will states in a teacher-ish voice that also pisses me off.
"Eh-hem," Gavin clears his throat. His hands start trembling more as he begins to read.
One million, fifty one thousand and two hundred minutes.
That's approximately how many minutes I've loved you,
It's how many minutes I've thought about you,
How many minutes I've worried about you,
How many minutes I've thanked God for you,
How many minutes I've thanked every deity in the Universe for you.
One million
Fifty one thousand
And
Two
Hundred
Minutes…
One million, fifty one thousand and two hundred times.
It's how many times you've made me smile,
How many times you’ve made me dream,
How many times you’ve made me believe,
How many times you’ve made me discover,
How many times you’ve made me adore,
How many times you’ve made me cherish,
My life.
(Gavin walks toward the back of the room where Eddie is sitting. He bends down on one knee in front of her as he reads the last line of his poem.)
And exactly one million, fifty one thousand and two hundred minutes from now, I'm going to propose to you, and ask that you share all the rest of the minutes of your life with me.
Eddie is beaming as she leans down and hugs him. The classroom is divided as the boys groan and the girls swoon. I simply squirm in my seat, anticipating the last poet of the day: Me.
“Thanks Gavin, you can take your seat. Good job.” Will doesn't look up from his notes as he calls me to read my poem. His voice is soft, full of trepidation as he says my name. "Layken, it’s your turn."
I'm ready. I feel good about my piece. It's short but to the point. I already have it memorized so I leave the poem on my desk as I walk to the front of the classroom.
"I have a question." My heart is racing as I realize this is the first time I've spoken out loud to Will in his classroom since I entered it a month ago. He hesitates as though he can't decide if he should acknowledge that I even have a question. He gives me a slight nod.
"Yeah, Mr. Cooper. We called teachers by their first names at my last school."
She doesn't respond. She's picking at the paint on the bench with her blue fingernail. Nine of her fingernails are green, just the one is blue. "I'm just going to say something here," she says. Her voice is calmer. "Maybe I'm way off base, maybe I'm not. But whatever I say, I don't want you to interject."
I nod.
"I think what was happening at lunch yesterday was more than just a slap on the wrist for inappropriate verb usage. I don't know how much more, and honestly it's none of my business. I just want you to know you can talk to me. If you need to. I'd never repeat anything, I don't have anyone besides Gavin to repeat stuff to."
"No one? Best friends? Siblings?" I hope this changes the subject.
"Nope. He's all I have," she says. "Well, technically. If you want to know the truth, I've had seventeen sisters, twelve brothers, six moms and seven dads."
I can't tell if she's making a joke, so I don't laugh in case she isn't.
"Foster care," she says. "I'm on my seventh home in nine years."
"Oh. I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say.
"Don't be. I've been with Joel for four of those nine years. He's my foster dad. It works. I'm content. He gets his check."
"Were any of your twenty-nine sibling’s blood related?"
She laughs. "Man, you pay attention. And no, I'm an only child. Born to a mother with a yearn for cheap crack and pricey babies."
She can see I'm not following.
"She tried to sell me. Don't worry, nobody wanted me. Or she was just asking too much. When I was nine she offered me to a lady in a Wal-Mart parking lot. She gave her a sob story about how she couldn't take care of me, yada yada, offered the lady a deal. A hundred bucks was my going rate. It wasn’t the first time she tried this right in front of me. I was getting bored with it, so I looked right at the lady and said, 'You got a husband? I bet he’s hot!' My mother backhanded me for ruining the sale. Left me in the parking lot. The lady took me to the police station and dropped me off. That's the last time I ever saw my mom."
"God, Eddie. That's unreal."
"Yeah, it is. But it's my real."
I lie down on the bench and look up at the sky. She does the same.
"You said Eddie was a family name,” I say. “Which family?"
"Don't laugh."
"But what if I think it's funny?"
She rolls her eyes. "There was a comedy DVD my first foster family owned. Eddie Izzard. I thought I had his nose. I watched that DVD a million times, pretending he was my dad. I had people refer to me as Eddie after that. I tried Izzard for a while, but it never stuck."
We both laugh. I pull my jacket off and pull it on top of me, sliding my arms through it backwards so that it warms the parts of me that have been exposed to the cold for too long. I close my eyes.
"I had amazing parents," I sigh.
"Had?"
"My dad died seven months ago. My mother moved us up here, claimed it was for financial reasons, but I'm not so sure she was being honest now. She's seeing someone else already. So yes, amazing is past tense at the moment."
"Suck."
We both lie there pondering the hands we were dealt. Mine pales in comparison to hers. The things she must have seen. Kel is the same age now that Eddie was when she was put into foster care. I don’t know how she walks around so happy, so full of life. We're quiet. Everything is comfortably quiet. I silently wonder if this is what it feels like to have a best friend.
She sits up on her bench after a while, hands stretched out in front of her as she yawns. “Earlier, the thing I said about Joel-and me being a check to him? It’s not like that. He’s really been a great guy. Sometimes when things get too real, my sarcasm takes over.”
I smile at her in understanding. "Thanks for skipping with me, I really needed it."
"Thanks for needing it. Apparently, I did too. And about Nick? He’s a good guy, just not for you. I’ll drop it. But you still have to go with us tomorrow."
“I know I do. If I don’t, Chuck Norris will hunt me down and kick my ass.” I flip my jacket around and ease my arms in as we walk through the door and back into the hallway.
"So if Eddie is something you made up, what's your real name?" I ask her before we part ways. She smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
"Right now, it’s Eddie.”
8.
“I wanna have friends
that will let me be
All alone when being alone
is all that I need.”
-The Avett Brothers, The Perfect Space