EDEN
I swallow huge gulps of air. My heart is racing, and my lungs feel like they’re going to explode. I started running at Chestnut Street, two whole blocks back, and I haven’t stopped once. I’m not looking behind me anymore, either, because I know that Jonah isn’t there. But it’s like I have to make myself not look back, because it’s the knowing he’s not there that’s the awful part. And the shame of remembering that when he was there I wanted him not to be. But when I’m running, I can’t look back, so I keep going even though my side is on fire and my backpack weighs a ton and I’m probably going to have a heart attack and die right here on the sidewalk.
I see my dad’s car coming toward me down the street and I stop and bend over, clutching my stomach and forcing myself not to throw up, which I really think I need to do. Dad slows down, then does a U-turn and pulls up to the curb next to me. A part of me is happy to see him, but another part of me, a bigger part, wants to be mad at him and yell at him and ask him why he didn’t pick me up from school, why he made me walk down the street by myself, checking for Jonah until I had to start running.
Maybe if I do actually have a heart attack and die right here in front of him, he’ll feel really bad. But I know he already feels really bad. When he leans over and opens the door for me, I see that the crease is still there between his eyes, and his eyes are kind of swollen, and his face is kind of red like he’s been scratching it.
“Hi, piece of pumpkin pie,” he says. But he doesn’t say it the way he used to, when his face would be all happy and goofy smiling and he looked and sounded like a cartoon character. His words are flat and the car engine muffles them. And when I get in the car, I don’t think he even notices that I’m about to keel over, that I’m sweating and wheezing and all red in the face, which I know I am. He just turns his creased-forehead, itchy face toward the windshield and pulls from the curb without saying anything about me or to me, or anything at all. I hug my backpack to my chest and stare out the windshield, too.
I want him to ask me how my day was so I can tell him it was the worst day of my life and maybe he’ll feel sorry for me and not make me go back to school tomorrow. But then again, maybe he’ll get all mad and the crease in his forehead’ll get even bigger and he’ll tell me that the worst day of my life should be the day Jonah died and how could I pick any other day than that one because it was the worst day of his and my mom’s life so it should be mine, too. And then I’ll have to start thinking about that day and the things I did that I don’t want to think about, so I try to keep my mouth clamped shut, but I can’t get enough breath through my nose, so I open my mouth, but I try to not make open-mouth-breathing noises, like Darth Vader.
We’re home in two minutes. Dad pulls into the driveway. He just sits there, not moving at all, just staring at the garage door, like something’s written on it and he’s trying to read it. But obviously there’s nothing written on the garage door. I reach for the car door handle.
“Eden.” My dad’s voice sounds funny, thick like ketchup, like he’s got something in his throat but can’t get it out. I let my hand sit in midair for a few seconds, waiting to see if Dad’s gonna say anything else.
He looks at me but looks away really fast, like maybe it hurts his heart to look at me. And I almost want to tell him to look at me because I’m his kid and I’m here even if Jonah isn’t and that I wish Jonah would come back, too, but he’s not coming back and so he and my mom are going to have to start looking at the kid they have left, because if they don’t I’m afraid I’m gonna just disappear.
“I . . . Eden . . . I don’t . . . ,” he starts to say in that ketchup voice, and I can tell he wants to say something, but it’s making him hurt and that makes me feel like I’m going to start crying and if I start crying, I know that will make him feel worse. And then I get mad because my own dad can’t say anything to me, my dad who’s supposed to be strong and brave and like Iron Man, not just because he kind of looks like Robert Downey Jr. but also because he’s a dad and is supposed to be a little bit of a superhero.
“I have to go pee,” I say, even though I know he doesn’t like it when I say pee. He likes me to say, “I have to go to the bathroom,” but I kind of don’t care what Dad likes right now, because even though he came and picked me up, which means he must care about me, he doesn’t care enough to talk to me anymore. I grab the door handle and shove the door open, then drag my backpack out of the car and run up to the house. I hurry, but not just because I want my dad to think I really do have to go to the bathroom but because I want to get away from him and his crease and his ketchup voice as fast as I can.
I drop my backpack just inside the door. I know Aunt Ruth will holler at me, but I don’t care. I run up the stairs two at a time, trip halfway up and bite the tip of my tongue, which really hurts. I feel my lip start to tremble and that choking feeling in my throat, and I pick myself up and keep going. I hear Aunt Ruth calling me from downstairs, but I ignore her and run straight into my bedroom and slam the door. I walk across my room and go into the bathroom, ’cause even though I don’t really have to pee, I need to pretend. So I stand in front of the toilet and count to twenty, then flush.
The tears start to come. I grab some toilet paper and press them against my eyes, pushing really hard, like maybe that’ll make the tears stop. There’s a knock at my bedroom door. It’s Aunt Ruth or my dad. It won’t be my mom. Her bedroom door is closed, which means she’s sleeping.
“Eden? Honey?” Aunt Ruth. “It’s me.” Like, duh. Who else would it be? “Can I come in?”
There’s no way to stop her, even if I wanted to, because we don’t have locks on our doors. I wish we did, not just so I could keep her out, but because if we did, maybe Jonah would still be alive.
I will not think about that, I will not think about that, I will not think about that!