Nadir

Somewhere along the line, baby love, it’s become a common occurrence to be woken up at all kinds of strange hours. It used to be that you and Jason would have decided to go on some kind of odd adventure and you either ended up at my place at the conclusion of it, or before you set off. You’d shake me awake and tell me to get dressed and come along, or you’d shake me awake and tell me to scoot over so you could pass out next to me.

           

I am dreaming about cutting fish into sashimi (and somehow, in my dream, I have decided this action is a parable and also there is a he-nymph named Mykonos) when Jason forces me awake.

“Riot, wake up,” he begs with desperation thick behind his teeth.

I know it’s him before I even know I’m awake. It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust in the darkness before I can see his face. I blink twice, open my eyes wide, and prop myself up a little.

           

“Jesus Jason!” I huff, voice heavy with grog. I’m a little bit annoyed. I mean, for sure I’m glad that he’d think of me for partnership on his adventure, but yesterday was the day after I’d just returned to school after winter break, and I’d gone to bed early to get back on a regular sleep schedule. “What the hell! What’s going on?”

            The alarm clock near my bed reads 1:14.

He throws his arms around me and his breathing is heavy, stilted. This is the moment I know something is very very wrong. I cautiously ask if he’s okay. My head is rushing with all kinds of morbid scenarios of why he would be here, strange and upset. His heavy breathing makes me feel bothered, like he’s coming onto me. He’s gripping the fabric of my shirt in his hand, clinging to my hair.

Is this the night he breaks down? Or is that awkward panting something different? Is this the night he says that he needs me to be more than a friend to him? I can see his lip quiver; the light from the hall comes through a gap in the doorway, into my bedroom.

He has tears in his eyes.

            I am unprepared.

            “Avery… His dad called me…” he chokes. His clenched fist flies over his mouth, squishing his lips, but from behind it he gets the words out. “Avery died last night.” He bites his knuckle.

            For a moment I think he’s joking. But no, this would be low, even for him. He is sobbing too hard, he’s too distraught to be lying. But I can’t just believe that you’re dead.

            “What?” I ask heavily, choking up. Before he can answer me, I break down. “No he isn’t. Fuck you, Jason!” I grab onto him, bury my face into his chest. He and I both are gasping for breath between disbelieving sobs. He wraps his arms over me, clutching me close. The tears that pour from my eyes cake solid onto my skin, and I feel so dry and inelastic. The metal from Jason’s sweatshirt zipper presses deep and painful into my forehead.

It’s so disconcerting to know that this feeling, knowing that you’re gone, this hollow feeling is

despair.

           

Jason clutches my hair against my neck, clenches his fist.

           

“How?” I ask through a pitiable mush mouth, drawing Jason under the covers with me. I won’t realize it until tomorrow morning, but I’m wearing your shirt to bed. I run through all my millions of memories of you. Furtive looks and that way you laughed. Your tongue and horny teeth gnashing against the skin of my collar bone. The last time I saw you. The time we first met, the first time we fucked, your Chap Stick, your stupid hat, the way I could hear in your voice whether you were smiling or not.

Uhhuh..

            “Overdose,” Jason answers, absently, unsteadily, like he doesn’t believe it either. “… It was a heroin overdose.”

            He takes his arm away from holding me to take off his glasses. He wipes at his eyes. Now that he’s not supporting me up, I crumble and draw my body inward. I lay back down, staring terrified into the darkness. He lies down with me. We don’t say anything for several minutes, as we’re both a crying mess.

            Finally I whisper, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” because that’s all I can think of to say to comfort him. I’m not just saying it to him, you know, I’m saying it out to you, too.

            You were found on your couch, sprawled over old drawings, some tattered novels, love letters and CD covers, face in vomit.

            I think of the plans you and I had, the course of our whole lives together. Though never probable, ending up happy with you is now impossible. I think of your boy lips, how they’re probably cold now. How you wouldn’t be soft, or warm. You would probably smell like formaldehyde, not like cologne, peaches, and almond oil.

           

            Jason is spooning into me, clinging desperately onto me. I can’t imagine, and I know you know what I mean, what he’s thinking right now. How life continues to prove him right. I will never admit that he’s taking it harder than I am, but you meant so much to him. And he’s so broken already, Avery, how am I supposed to save him now?

He grabs my hand. It’s unfamiliar, but I lace my fingers through his. Comforting. A need to connect. A need to feel. I already miss you so much, you can’t know the extent.

            I shiver, not because I’m cold, but because there’s an anxiety, a tumultuous low ache in my body that can’t be contained.

            “Do you remember that time he bought those lollipops? Like, shit, six hundred lollipops?” Jason says, finally.

            “Fuck,” I breathe, a new stinging feeling at my eyes. Of course I remember.

            He pauses for a few seconds, pets my hair purposefully. He’s being so comforting, but I think it’s because doing this is comforting to him.

            “I need six eggs,” he recites one of our thousands of inside jokes, sing-song voiced. His voice chokes up as he says it, and his mention of it ends with a soft, mousey squeak. That’s when I lose it again, start sobbing so loudly. I want to fold myself up into a tiny box and withdraw inside.

            I’m leaking. I’m falling apart. You’re gone, baby, you’re gone. Heroin, Avery? Fucking heroin? Of all things. Heroin?

            Hero, heroine. Heroin.. Baby why?

            Jason squeezes my hand. God, baby, why was it you? Why wasn’t it him?

            It dawns on me, suddenly, that you’ll never read the seventh Harry Potter. You will never know how the series ends. That thought keeps echoing in my mind. I imagine it will continue to haunt me for a very, very long time.

            My lips shake so hard that my teeth shatter and the rest of me shatters too.