“Thanks,” Jackson says quietly.
I’m tempted to ask him if he’s okay, but you know me when I’m passing out; I sleep-talk, half listening, half inside a dream, and I make zero sense. This is not the best time to have a serious conversation, as I suspect he may want to have. I don’t even have the energy to put on my headphones and play your voice mail, but the sound of the TV brings me some comfort, some familiarity. I haven’t touched it since you died because people shouldn’t be watching TV when the person they love is dead. But now as I drift off, it reminds me of marathons we enjoyed, movies we hated, TV shows we watched weekly, documentaries that kept us awake, action films that bored us, and the meaningless background noise it provided so we could make out and do other stuff uninterrupted.
It really sucks you’re not sleeping beside me. Mostly because it would’ve been nice to know if I am actually falling asleep with a smile on my face, or if I’m loopy and imagining it.
It feels odd that Jackson is now part of us, right? Odd in the number, yeah, but I mean odd-odd; strange, unexpected. It’s everything you would’ve liked when you were still here to kick it with us. You can see, Jackson and me are growing up because of you. I hope this doesn’t sound like your death has fixed our lives; I hated when Jackson said that, I hate myself for even hinting at it. Anyway, the three of us are skipping dinner with my parents tonight because I still want some space to cool down after my dad’s takedown. I hate feeling like a naughty kid.
Besides, now that I’m a little more myself, I want Jackson and me to have some one-on-one time (you excluded, well, included, of course). Specifically, I want to know what was with him when I fell asleep—best nap all week—that made him a little more distant. We sit on the air mattress with our bowls of pasta and he’s scrolling through the movie queue.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jackson puts on the second Terminator movie, but after twenty minutes of fidgeting and looking around the room, it’s pretty clear we’re not paying attention.
“You still watching this?” I ask.
“Not really,” Jackson says.
“Because it’s garbage?”
“I have Theo on the mind,” Jackson says.
“I was going to ask. Did I say something earlier?”
“You mentioned my birthday. Theo and I had plans back home. We were going to take surfing lessons and check out this exhibit and end up at the beach. It’s weird how I won’t be home for my birthday, and I won’t be with him, and . . . I must sound like a broken record.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure together we sound like a concert of broken records. If you’re still around, maybe you can meet up with your friends. They should be back in the city by then, right? Maybe your birthday can be the hang-out you need. If that doesn’t work out, I’m here for randomness.”
He sighs. “Thanks, Griffin. I haven’t even thought about Anika and Veronika, honestly. I’ll reach out over the next day or so. I’ll definitely need a distraction that day.”
I get it. Even when you were alive, events you missed felt wrong when they finally rolled around. I had to turn to people who didn’t matter as much to me, which sucked. Having a plan isn’t always a guarantee.
It’s been two weeks since you died, and one week since Jackson and I delivered our eulogies. Like I said, odd.
HISTORY
Wednesday, March 25th, 2015
I don’t think my quirks are actually quirks.
It’s not quirky to be ready for my birthday in May because I’ll finally stop being fifteen for the next three hundred and sixty-six days (leap year!). It’s not quirky to blame anything bad that happens in March because it’s the third month of the year. It’s not quirky to risk how much I’m eating if it means an odd amount of meals that day. It’s not quirky to list examples in my head and get frustrated when I can’t come up with enough options to make it even.
It’s not just the numbers thing, obviously. I’m a magnet to everyone’s left side and I don’t know why. It can all be disruptive, but as long as everyone is in the right place and every number is balanced, I’m really good. Seven doesn’t bother me as much, but maybe that’s because I was born on the seventeenth. Maybe it’s just because seven is a kick-ass number. Maybe I’m making a bigger deal out of this than it really is.
Maybe my quirks actually are quirks.
Maybe I’m taking it out on myself because these little quirks Theo finds cute aren’t enough to get him to stay.
Back in January, Theo was accepted for early admission to Santa Monica College.
We’re sitting on his living-room floor, me to Theo’s left, obviously, while he opens up the latest delivery from his future home. Russell records this unboxing on his phone to later add to the “Big Theo Moments” folder he has on his computer. Theo pulls out an SMC fitted cap, an SMC T-shirt, and an SMC hoodie.
I can’t possibly feel panicky because Theo’s pulled out three items, right? That doesn’t make sense. I know why I’m losing my breath: it’s because every time I think Theo might reconsider and stay here in New York for another year, something like this pops up—an email or a letter or a padded envelope or, now, a swag box. I know he’s already got one foot out the door.
Theo puts on the cap and winks at me. “The SMC heads sure know how to seduce a guy, right?”
Alternate universe idea: Theo and I are living together in a huge house overflowing with hats because I bought him a new one every day to get him to stay.
Sunday, May 17th, 2015
Maybe I put too much pressure on my birthday. There are only a few hours left, and it’s not the memorable day I was counting down to, even though all the right pieces were in place: I woke up to a video from a shirtless Theo for my eyes only; my parents gave me three hundred and fifty dollars (I returned ten dollars under the guise of a thank-you tip for bringing me into this world, but really I just wanted a number that felt more even); I hung out with Theo and Wade at Bonus where Theo and I kissed for the first time, and we played several rounds of pinball and air hockey; I got some great gifts and I haven’t even gotten Theo’s yet, but my favorite so far is the Cedric Diggory key chain Wade got me.
And now I’m walking around Union Square with the guy I really love, while he holds my hand and whistles the Star Wars theme song.
But all I can think about is how Theo will be gone this fall.
I won’t have him with me for the first day of school, walks in September, for a couples costume for Halloween, for side-by-side studying for midterms in November, for preholiday craziness in December, for his birthday, for my next birthday. We won’t have those days or every little and big moment in between once he’s gone. I have him now, and I still can’t throw on a smile that doesn’t feel like a lie. But at least I can lie if it makes him happy.
“Today’s been incredible,” I say. “Thanks for throwing all this together.”
Theo took charge of my birthday. I don’t know if it’s because he loves me or because he feels guilty for leaving, but he signed up for the job and saw it through. I had my doubts. He’s been spending a lot of his weeknights and weekends downloading new computer programs to prepare for SMC life. I have to keep reminding myself that he’s not always putting his brain before his heart. More importantly, it’s not a bad thing when he does.
He leads me to a bench. We sit, watching two women play chess on crates nearby.
“Griffin, I got to let you in on something,” he says.
“What’s up?” This already doesn’t feel good.
“I know you,” Theo says. “Like, a little bit. We’ve been dating for almost a year, and we go way back. Fifth grade. I know something’s up. You’re supposed to be able to talk to me when something’s up. If you don’t, the Bad Boyfriend Council will show up at my house and give me a demerit.”
??
?What happens when you get too many demerits?”
“I’ll be sentenced to an entire month without masturbation or sex. You got to save me here,” Theo pleads. “You’re not okay, are you?”
I keep my eyes on the chess game, on the perfectly even number of squares. “I’m going to miss you,” I tell him, which is true. “I know we still have the entire summer to look forward to, but what’s going to happen once you move to California? We’ll see each other on holidays?”
“That isn’t enough for you?”
“I’m scared it’s not going to be enough for you,” I admit. “You’re going to meet some guy, or girl, and, yeah, maybe you’ll be friends at first, but it’s just going to get you missing something physical. I don’t think Skype-Griffin is going to be enough for you.”
“Will Skype-Griffin love Skype-Theo? He better, because Skype-Theo is planning on loving the hell out of Skype-Griffin, even if he can’t kiss him.”
He’s gotten me to smile. Screw everyone who hates public displays of affection, because I have to get my kisses in before I become Skype-Griffin.
“You feel better?” he asks.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t forget about the assholes over at the Bad Boyfriend Council who would force celibacy on a seventeen-year-old with a cute boyfriend.” Theo pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Speaking of, I should probably give you your birthday present. It’s not done, but I promise you, I have every intention of finishing it.”
He pulls up a video and presses play. It’s an animation. There is a compulsion of gryphons flying across the side. The one with feathers my favorite shade of blue is on the right until he torpedoes to the left. The narrative of one gryphon moving to the left of three gryphons would make zero sense to anyone else, but it means everything to me. It means he pays attention to the way I move, to my favorite color. It’s only fourteen seconds long and probably counts more as a clip than it does a video, but I know how much time goes into a single frame, and that’s time he took away from himself for me. This clip means my favorite human loves me.
“I swear I’m going to add more to it,” Theo says, probably feeling shitty because I keep staring at him without telling him how much I love it. “I have some ideas, but I don’t want to spoil it for you. Do you like it?”
I throw myself at him, and damn it, I’m not letting go.
Saturday, June 27th, 2015
After a morning of feeding and naming ducks in Central Park (Daffy was an asshole who wouldn’t share) and an afternoon eating ice cream at the High Line, I follow Theo back into his apartment—right as his family, my parents, and Wade shout, “Surprise!”
He turns to me. I play-punch him in the chest.
“Surprise, Theo,” I say.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” he says to the room. “Good job, everyone.”
“It’s a surprise party,” Denise shouts, smiling widely enough that I notice she lost that wobbly tooth in the bottom row.
“You, little lady, are a genius,” Theo says. “But why am I having a surprise party?”
His mother steps over and sweeps him into a hug, rocking with him. “It’s your graduation party. Griffin’s idea.”
Theo steps back and turns to me.
“It sucks that you have to wait four more years to graduate,” I say.
Theo claps his hands urgently. “I’m going to need to ask everyone to go home so I can have the entire place alone with my boyfriend.” There are a couple of laughs but mainly just blushing and wide-eyed looks from our parents. “Please leave all the gifts.” He looks around. “Wait. There aren’t any gifts? New mission! Please leave and go buy me something nice and return in a couple of hours. Thank you.”
No one leaves to buy Theo gifts.
His parents offer him a sip of celebratory wine, maybe half believing it might actually be his first sip, but he passes once he sees me holding a green graduation cap I bought off some graduating senior earlier this month. Theo lowers his head and lets me crown him. Everyone stops what they’re doing to get photos of Theo in his cap. Russell encourages our squad to get together for what he calls a “family photo.” I wonder how much of a family we’ll be once it’s just Wade and me and Theo is in California, but right now we’re at our tightest since Theo and I came out.
“You’re a mind reader,” Theo tells me.
“Not really,” I admit. “A lot of your confusion about whether you should stay or go had to do with not seeing high school through until graduation. You never got your glory.”
“And now I’m saying peace out before I can be declared valedictorian of my year,” Theo says, as if graduating school a year early isn’t a bigger win. “I’m sure Suzanne Banks will get it now, but she’ll always be salutatorian in my heart.”
“Check your pillow.”
“Is something there?”
“If Wade is good at favors, there should be.”
“It’s there,” Wade says.
Wade and I follow Theo into his room where he rushes to pick up the fake diploma I created for him:
theodore daniel mcintyre
valedictorian and
the most badass human in the universe
TODAY
Thursday, December 1st, 2016
Once Jackson gets off the phone with his mother, I’ll wish him a happy birthday. It’s five in the morning in Santa Monica, but I’m not surprised that Ms. Lane is the kind of mother who wakes up this early to call her son on his birthday. I’m impressed she beat me to the punch, considering Jackson was sleeping six feet away from me.
I sit up in bed, thinking about how December is kicking off with a few firsts. It’s the first month you’re not alive, which also means we’re approaching one whole month without you. It’s Jackson’s first time celebrating his birthday in New York, away from his parents. It’s the first snow day from school—a cancellation we were happy to receive last night from the school board even though I hate blizzards.
I, uh, need a fourth first . . .
Okay, okay.
I’m having trouble. Help me out here, Theo. You used to be so good at helping me even things out. I’m trying to guess what you would say right now. I look around the room, which you always advised was a good place to start. Most times you’d save me from the landslides of panic; I feel one bouldering through me now.
I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not, but my heart is speeding up faster than usual. I’m desperate for anything, sort of like when two people are having an awkward silence and everything would be slightly better if someone said something . . .
I got it! Today is the first time I will go out into the snow and play as a present to Jackson.
Damn it. You should’ve reminded me I’m meeting Jackson’s friends later for the first time; you know we have dinner plans. I can’t get it out of my head now; it’s clicked as a fifth, registered itself in my head. I need a sixth first now. I’m in a good place if I think up something else after the sixth since I’ll hit a seventh and maybe even an eighth, and, wow, if I hit all those, I will be pretty close to ten firsts today. Hitting that record is tempting.
I can’t.
My heart is rioting, my chest is tightening, my throat is swallowing nothing, and my fingernails are going to war against my palm.
Jackson notices. But he’s in the middle of pulling on his second sock, and he stops. He moves the phone away from his mouth and asks me if I’m okay.
“Put your other sock on, please,” I say.
“I have to call you back, Mom.” Jackson hangs up on his mother and immediately pulls on his other sock. I need the balance of two socks on two feet almost as much as I need a sixth first.
My face gets hot, or maybe it’s been hot for a while. I don’t know, I don’t know. I’m burning everywhere. The heat
spreads down to my shoulders and down to my elbows and down to my wrists and down to my thighs and down to my knees and down to my toes. I want to undress and cry a little because I can’t focus on what I should be focusing on—the next and last first—because all I can think about is how you’re not here to help me and how Jackson will never understand what it’s like to live in a head like mine, to be powerless against these impulses.
Jackson, with both socks on, approaches and crouches before me, almost like I’m strapped to explosives and may self-destruct any second now. “Griffin, what is it?” He adjusts himself to be on the other side of my right knee. “Is it an angle thing?”
I found my sixth first: today is the first morning I’m allowing Jackson to help me find sanity. He’s been helping me out with grief. I push him away when it comes to my compulsions. You’ve been there for me since pretty much the beginning, and I’ve turned to you. It’s hard to control something that has control over me. No one understands, but it’s freeing to let someone else in to try.
“I’m okay.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my head. “I got stuck in my head.”
“Was it an angle thing? How can I help you next time?”
His thoughtfulness reminds me of you.
“It was a counting thing. Let’s drop it for now because I’ve spent enough time in my head already.” That’s the nature of having a brain that spins, I guess. I know brains aren’t supposed to spin—minds can, not the actual brains themselves. But there’s a lot going on in my head I don’t understand and may never understand, and it seems silly to cling to the idea that my brain is this fleshy thing that stays in its place, this thing that behaves like other brains.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson says.
“Not your fault,” I lie. I can’t let it slip that this particular train of thought derailed because of him; he’s the source of counting these firsts.
I’ve imagined many easier lives in alternate universes—somewhere Jackson no longer exists and some where he never existed in the first place—but I never counted on living in a universe where Jackson is a welcome and helpful addition to my life. I would’ve never predicted a universe where I’m actually careful about how Jackson feels.