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“It’s okay. A little bitter.”
I lit a smoke. “How’s school?”
“Fine. Same old, same old.”
“Good.”
“What’s with you? You’re being weird.”
“I’m just a little tired. I’ll go to bed soon.” I took a long drag and finished my tea. “What about you? You seem…different.”
“Maybe so,” she responded.
“How?”
“Remember months ago when I told you I was afraid I wouldn’t want to live again?”
Of course I remembered, because I was on the verge of emotional suicide telling her Live me, Leah, as if it wouldn’t bring trouble. I nodded.
“Well, I’m not afraid of that anymore. And that’s liberating. As if everything is falling into place.”
I furrowed my brow. She noticed.
“What? You don’t like that?”
“Yes and no.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a step, but you can’t stay there. Answer me a question, Leah. What do you think is easier? Ignoring something that hurts and pretending it’s not there so you can get up every day with a smile on your face, or confronting that pain, internalizing it, understanding it, and still managing to smile eventually?”
I lit another cigarette just to keep my hands still and not run over and console her like I used to when I’d hug her.
“You’re harsh,” she whispered.
“It would be worse if I was the other way, if I said, ‘Sure, everything’s fine now…’”
“What do you want, Axel?” She raised her voice.
“You know…”
“That’s not true.”
“For you to accept it.”
“What?”
“That they’re dead, Leah. But that even if they’re not here, we don’t have to act like they never were here with us. We can go on talking about them, remembering them. Don’t you think so?”
Leah held back her tears and got up. I was quick and I grabbed her wrist before she could make it into the house.
“Remember that notebook where your father painted a field full of flowers and life? In the corner there were these beetles cut open with daisies inside. I wondered why for years. One time I asked him to explain it to me and he started laughing. We were right here, you know? On this porch, drinking a beer on one of those nights when he came to visit me and chat.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Because I remember them a lot; I think about them every day, but I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. And I would like you to be that person, Leah, to be able to tell you anything that passes through my head without having to watch every word.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Why does it still hurt so much?”
