Absolutely nothing.
One day, when Nanette is driving around in her Jeep, Booker calls her cell phone. Nanette sees a lake, and so she pulls up to the water’s edge and throws her iPhone in as it is still ringing.
27
How Do You Turn Tragedy into Something Positive?
A month or so after receiving the news of Alex’s death, Nanette finds herself at the police station asking to speak with Officer Damon. The woman behind the glass, Cheryl, asks what the matter is, and so Nanette says, “Remember the boy you had locked up here several months ago? Alex Redmer?”
She frowns and says, “We lock people up here all the time, and you expect me to remember someone from—”
“He’s dead.”
Cheryl’s demeanor changes instantly. She leans toward the glass, her lips part, and her face loosens a little. “I’m so sorry to hear that, sweetheart.”
Nanette doesn’t like being called sweetheart.
“Nanette would like to speak with Officer Damon.”
“Who is Nanette?”
She points to herself.
Cheryl makes a strange face and then says, “Officer Damon is on patrol right now.”
“Can you call him?”
“Well, I suppose I could, but…”
“Nanette needs to speak with him about the black ribbon on his thumb. Tell him that’s what this is about. It’s extremely important.”
She looks at Nanette for a few seconds before she disappears into the next room.
When she returns, Cheryl says, “He’s on his way. You can wait for him in the parking lot if you want.”
Nanette waits in the parking lot because she can tell that Cheryl does not want her to wait in the police station.
When Officer Damon arrives in his cruiser, he exits, removes his mirrored sunglasses, and says, “I’m so sorry to hear about Alex. What happened?”
Nanette tells him what she knows.
Officer Damon maintains eye contact while she speaks, and then when she finishes the story, he shakes his head and says, “A shame. A real shame. I’m so sorry.”
“So what does Nanette do next?”
He looks at her for a beat and says, “What do you mean?”
“Alex went away and then there was not much communication and now he’s dead and Nanette doesn’t know what to do with that.”
“I’m not sure I can help you with—”
“What did you do?”
“You mean”—he looks down at the black ribbon—“oh. Well, I cried a lot. I punched holes in the walls of my home. My wife and I went into counseling. Tied a black ribbon around my left thumb. Decided to become a police officer, like I told you before. But none of it was that simple. You can’t always put these things into words.”
“Doing all that made it okay?”
“Made what okay?”
“Your son’s death.”
“I wouldn’t say it made it okay.”
“Then what would you say?”
“It helped. I decided to turn the negatives into positives. As many as I could, anyway. Negatives produce more negatives, and I’d had enough of negative. I was drowning in negativity.”
“So that’s what Nanette should do now that Alex is dead? Turn the negatives into positives?”
“Maybe you should be talking to a counselor, too?”
“Yes, Nanette is already in therapy.”
“I hope this won’t come off sounding harsh, but I’m not sure what you want from me,” he says. “What can I do for you? Really?”
“Do you think Nanette should tie something around her thumb?”
He swallows once and then says, “If you have something you want to remember, maybe you should. It’s a good way to start a conversation. It draws attention.”
“A form of rebellion.”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
“You won’t let the world forget.”
Officer Damon nods and says, “The pain lessens with time. You don’t believe it at first, but—”
“Nanette is not in all that much pain regarding Alex’s death. She is just sort of confused and lost.”
Officer Damon rubs the black ribbon. “Well, for us it was helpful to promote understanding. We went to the jail and met with the man who killed our son. Realized how sick he was, and still is. We asked him questions. Faced our demons. We volunteered places. Now I tell our story to parents of elementary school kids and run programs that make sure kids are instructed on what they should do if someone they don’t know tries to pick them up. We’ve attempted to take the tragedy and flip it around.”
“Flip it around?”
“Yeah, for lack of a better saying. Flip it around. It’s not easy, but it can be done.”
“Didn’t you just want to quit? Give up?”
“I drank a lot for a while. But over time, we managed to battle. It was an epic battle. That’s life, I guess.”
“Why don’t they tell kids that in school? That life is so hard.”
“Everyone hopes it will be easier for kids. Maybe the goal in America is to have an easy life, and so we find it too disgraceful to tell the truth. I meet a lot of people in my line of work, and I can say with utmost certainty—life is pretty hard for almost all of them.”
Nanette looks at the cop for a long time and then she says, “Thanks for being nice to Alex.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“Bullshit. That ice queen, Cheryl, behind the glass in there is just doing her job. You went above and beyond. It means something.”
He looks at his shoes and then says, “Can I do anything else for you?”
“Nanette might need some legal advice.”
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“Alex, he gave Nanette a bunch of poems on Christmas. One was about how he liked to climb out his window up to the roof, and he implied that maybe he didn’t want to be around anymore. He called himself ‘expendable.’ I didn’t report the poem and that’s how he died. Climbing up to the roof. He fell. So is it Nanette’s fault? Maybe she could have reported his dangerous behavior? To the school? His father?”
“You are definitely not responsible for Alex’s death. You’re just a kid.”
Nanette exhales. “So Nanette isn’t legally culpable?”
“No. Not at all. Have you talked to your therapist about all this?”
Nanette nods.
“What does he say?”
“She says the same thing you just did. I wanted a second opinion. From someone my parents aren’t paying.”
“I understand.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nanette doesn’t have the emotional energy to say anything else or even look at this kind cop again.
If someone had abducted her son and killed him, she’s not sure she could be as friendly and nice as Officer Damon is, which makes her feel shitty about herself, even though she realizes she should just be appreciating his kindness. And that makes her feel even worse.
How do you turn tragedy into something positive?
She doesn’t know what to do next.
What should she do?
Nanette turns and walks away.
28
To Side with the Antigones of the World and Never the Creons
Nanette Googles Alex’s reform school and finds an e-mail address for the teacher he mentioned in the letter: Mr. Harlow. She e-mails, and they schedule a phone conversation.
NANETTE: Thanks for speaking with Nanette.
MR. HARLOW: I’m sorry for your loss. Alex was… I liked him. A lot. He was an enthusiastic learner.
NANETTE: Alex’s father gave Nanette a letter. They found it on Alex’s body. It said he had made an arrangement with you. That you would send her a letter if he did well on a philosophy test. He said he wrote an essay about Nanette.
MR. HARLOW: He did write an essay about you, Nanette. But the rest is a fabrication. I never agreed to send you a letter. Alex, well, he seeme
d to have a problem holding on to reality.
NANETTE: So Alex lied to Nanette?
MR. HARLOW: I’m not sure it’s that simple. I’m not sure Alex ever thought that you would receive that letter. I don’t think he planned on dying.
NANETTE: He gave Nanette a bag of poetry for Christmas. There was a poem about climbing.
MR. HARLOW: The Spider-Man one.
NANETTE: You read it?
MR. HARLOW: I read all of Alex’s poetry. I was his adviser, so he had to submit all his work to me. We have a self-selected curriculum here. Alex was passionate about poetry.
NANETTE: Why didn’t you do anything about his climbing?
MR. HARLOW: I actually did. Had the windows in his room bolted shut.
NANETTE: You did? Seriously?
MR. HARLOW: Yes. Alex didn’t like that at all.
NANETTE: Then how did he get out?
MR. HARLOW: He barricaded his door and smashed the window with his chair. The monitors on duty heard it and busted into his room. They were yelling up at him when he fell. He probably fell because we bolted the window shut. Ironically. If he had simply kept climbing without anyone knowing, maybe he’d still be here. I don’t know.
NANETTE: So do you feel guilty?
MR. HARLOW: I’m sad about it, but no. Alex knew he was forcing my hand when he showed me that poem. He knew I’d have his windows bolted shut. I only did my job.
NANETTE: Nanette felt like maybe Alex’s death was her fault because she read the poem and did nothing.
MR. HARLOW: It wasn’t your fault. Definitely not. Have you read any of Sophocles’s plays in school? His tragedies?
NANETTE: No.
MR. HARLOW: Alex and I had just read Antigone. He wrote an essay comparing you to Antigone. He really admired your quitting the soccer team. Antigone—as you will see when you read the play—was a woman who wouldn’t yield to men. She did what she thought was right. And I admire Antigone a great deal. But the play is largely about pride and what happens when people are stubborn—refuse to bend. It ends in tragedy, as tragedies often do. Alex didn’t get that you have to bend every once in a while.
NANETTE: So are you saying that Alex’s life was a tragedy?
MR. HARLOW: It ended tragically. He was very stubborn. Which is why he ended up here.
NANETTE: Do you think Alex’s death could be Nanette’s fault in any way, shape, or form?
MR. HARLOW: Of course not. Alex made choices. A man, though wise, should never be ashamed of learning more, and must unbend his mind. That’s a quote from Antigone. Alex and I discussed it at length. He didn’t understand what unbending a mind means.
NANETTE: You tried to teach him. But he didn’t listen to you.
MR. HARLOW: He was listening in his own way, I think, but he didn’t give himself enough time to figure it all out.
NANETTE: What do you mean?
MR. HARLOW: He was impulsive. He didn’t think things through. He just did what he felt he had to right away. I’ve worked with thousands of boys over the years. Being stubborn is a pretty common characteristic around here.
NANETTE: Thanks for your time.
MR. HARLOW: You were a good friend to Alex.
NANETTE: Will you send Nanette the essay Alex wrote about Antigone and her?
MR. HARLOW: No. Sorry, I can’t do that. He didn’t give me his permission. And now he can’t.
NANETTE: Did he write something awful in his essay that you don’t want Nanette to see?
MR. HARLOW: No.
NANETTE: Really?
MR. HARLOW: Alex told me about the third-person thing. Very interesting. Not many teenagers could pull it off for so long—commit to it with such sincerity. I admire that and I may use the technique here with some of my students. A different perspective is a very useful tool. Maybe it will help them.
NANETTE: Okay.
MR. HARLOW: I’m sorry, Nanette. I hope you will be able to move on in time.
NANETTE: Nanette needs to flip it around.
MR. HARLOW: Flip it around?
NANETTE: Thank you again. Good-bye.
MR. HARLOW: What do you—
Nanette hangs up the phone—then she immediately downloads and reads Antigone.
She admires Antigone, who buried her dead brother even when it was made illegal to do so.
The play helps Nanette understand why most people conform—do what they are told. You must sometimes pay a high price for individuality, especially if you are a woman.
Alex paid a high price for individuality.
But you also pay a high price when you order people to do things that they can’t do—especially people with a strong sense of self, people with rebel personalities.
Nanette thinks it is ironic that Alex was reading such a play in reform school, where he was supposed to do everything he was told. It makes her wonder about Mr. Harlow. Alex was definitely going to side with the Antigones of the world and never the Creons.
29
The Shaved Hollows of Their Teenage Armpits
“Hey,” Nanette hears. She’s in her bedroom listening to her “Alex Mix,” mostly Lightspeed Champion and Los Campesinos! It’s not so much that she misses Alex—it’s that she doesn’t want to forget him. And she’s reading Oedipus the King by Sophocles, too, thinking about fate, when she looks up and sees Shannon standing in her bedroom doorframe. “Your parents invited me over. They said you’re not doing so well lately?”
Nanette studies Shannon. She’s in heavy makeup on a Saturday afternoon. Did she put on makeup for Nanette, or does she always wear so much?
“It’s been some time. I’ve missed you,” Shannon says. “What’s this music?”
“This song’s called ‘The Big Guns of Highsmith.’ It’s by Lightspeed Champion.”
“Never heard of them. What are you reading?” Shannon asks.
“Sophocles. Oedipus.”
“What’s that?”
“Greek tragedy.”
“Why are you reading it?”
“Why not?”
“Um, today is Saturday. Hello, weekend? It’s gorgeous outside. Don’t you have spring fever?”
“No.”
“What the fuck happened to you, Nanette? You went psycho on me at the beginning of soccer season and then you dropped all your friends, and now it seems like you don’t hang out with anyone at all. You can’t spend your entire life alone, you know. It’s not healthy.”
Nanette nods.
Shannon’s probably right.
Nanette doesn’t feel healthy at all.
“Your parents told me about your boyfriend.”
“He wasn’t Nanette’s boyfriend. Nanette and Alex didn’t use labels.”
“And the third-person thing—that’s doing you no favors at school, let me tell you.”
“Part of Nanette’s therapy.”
“I’m sorry that Alex died.”
“You didn’t even know him.”
Shannon nods, and then she gives Nanette this really sincere look—like a glance from elementary school that she’s managed to preserve somehow deep inside. “Yeah, but I know you. I’m sorry that I blew you off, Nanette. I was pissed—and I had every right to be—but I had no idea that you were going through all this stuff. Your parents just told me that—well, you’re not even going to college next year? Really?”
Nanette stares at Shannon.
Nanette doesn’t know what to say.
Shannon says, “We still have the rest of our senior year. You could be a part of that again. There’s still time. Listen, your parents and I have talked to administration, and given all that’s happened, they’re willing to let you go on the senior class trip next month even though you didn’t sign up in time. You can room with me. I want you to. Seriously.”
“Even though Nanette and you are not soccer champions?” Nanette says.
“We really could have been,” Shannon says. “It’s a shame we weren’t.”
Nanette smiles at how silly that seems n
ow, but right then and there, she decides to do an experiment. All the heroes of the Sophocles plays she’s read so far seem to bring about tragedy because they will not bend, but insist on taking action and control, so Nanette decides to acquiesce—to be a joiner for a time, to repress her rebel personality and swallow her pride.
“Okay,” she says to Shannon. “Nanette will go on the trip.”
“You will?” Shannon says in a way that suggests she didn’t come here thinking she would succeed in bringing Nanette back into the fold. “Well, then. Do you also want to come to a party tonight, too?”
“Yes,” Nanette says quickly, before she changes her mind.
“You’re not bullshitting me?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay, cool. You drinking these days?”
“No.”
“You want to drive, then? Give me a ride in that Jeep of yours?”
“Sure.”
“Pick me up at eight? The party’s at Nick Radcliff’s.”
“Okay.”
“You’re really cool with this?”
Nanette nods.
“Can we hug it out?”
“Sure.”
Nanette stands.
Shannon walks over to her.
They hug.
Nanette feels nothing but Shannon’s shoulder bones jutting into her palms, but manages to smile when Shannon looks her in the eye.