Falling Up (8 page)

“Me too, Dad.”

But he doesn't say anything else. He just keeps crying, and I feel like my heart is being broken into lots of pieces—it just hurts so much to see him hurting. And I want to tell him about how I suddenly missed Mom at dinner tonight, but then it doesn't seem important. Especially compared to what he's feeling. Finally, he reaches in his pocket for a handkerchief, wipes his eyes, and blows his nose. “I think I'm okay now,” he mutters. “Thanks, Km.”

“I guess it just takes time,” I say, knowing how lame that sounds.

He nods. “I'm sure you're right, honey.”

Then we say good night. And while I'm sure that we must Ve comforted each other, at least a little, I feel more upset now than I did when I walked into his den. It's like my dad needs something, something deep and urgent and desperate, and I have no idea how to help him to get it. Maybe no one can. No one human, that is. And so I pray for my dad tonight. I pray that God will reach into those lonely places inside of him and make him well. And I believe that it can happen.

Sunday, May 26

Between Nat's never-ending moodiness, Matthews growing conflict with his mother (after he informed her of his education decision), my dads silent and unshakable grief, Maya's increasingly disturbing e-mails about her moms addiction problems, and my own personal sadness—this has been a very long week indeed.

But I got dressed up and tried to shove all that behind me as I went to graduation last night. Matthew s mother had invited me to sit with her, and I was well aware that she did not intend to sit with the grandparents. Fortunately, she got there in time to save us some fairly good seats, and it was easy to spot her from the floor since she was wearing this wild purple and gold outfit—I believe she said it came from Nepal.

Normally, I think graduations are pretty boring, but as I considered that this would be me (next year), I found I was paying closer attention to the details. Okay, call me narcissistic, but its hard not to imagine what it'll be like, especially since I have a fairly good chance at valedictorian.

But realizing that I was being fairly self-absorbed, I turned my focus to Matthew, appreciating once again how tall and handsome he is (some people think he looks like Äshton Kutcher), and I guess I felt a little proud knowing that he was my boyfriend. Okay, now I really sound shallow. But he did look awfully good as he walked across the platform to get his diploma. And his mom and I clapped and cheered for him like groupies.

I was caught off guard seeing Chloe Miller getting her diploma too. I'd sort of forgotten that she was graduating early, since I still think of her as part of my class.

“I'll still relate to our class,” she told me a week ago. “But this is just better for my music and my career. The opportunity was there, so I figured why not get it over with.”

“And Fm sure it doesn't hurt that you're so smart,” I teased her.

“You should talk,” she tossed back. “You could ve easily done the same.”

And I know that I could've graduated a year early, if I'd wanted, but then I wouldn't have a chance at valedictorian. And for whatever reason, maybe because my mom was valedictorian of her senior class, this is still
important to me. And I can almost imagine my mom watching me as I one day receive this honor, high up there from her front row seat in heaven. More than ever, I need to believe this.

“What do you think of Matthews college choice?” his mom asked me in what I'm sure she hoped sounded like a somewhat nonchalant tone of voice, as if she wasn't as freaked over this recent turn of events as Matthew had been telling me. The grads were just starting to file out, with lively band music filling the gym as they happily paraded past. Thankfully, since it was getting hot in the gym, they were leaving much more quickly than they came.

“I was a little surprised,” I admitted.

“You and me both.” She used a tissue to blot perspiration from her forehead.

“I think he's really talented,” I continued. “In art, I mean, well, and other things too. But I guess I thought he'd want to go to a school with a stronger art and design focus.”

She nodded as we stood. “That's what I thought too.”

We kicked the subject around a bit more as we slowly made our way down the steps, out of the crowded gym, and finally outside to where all the grads were in various stages of unzipping their gowns, tossing their hats, and generally making lots of we've-just-been-released-from-captivity kind of noises. We stood off to the sidelines, and I listened to her continuing to obsess over Matthew's life, his wasted talent, his disappointing
college choice, his ill-planned future. But thankfully, as soon as he joined us, she discontinued her monologue, and we both offered our hearty congratulations.

But even as we were patting him on the back and commenting on how stuffy it was in the gym, his grandparents were pressing through the crowd to join us. Matthew, showing his usual good manners, included them in our little group, but his mother looked like she was about to explode. Wanting to avoid a bad scene, I asked her if she wanted me to get her some punch from the refreshment table.

“I'll come with you,” she said in a tightly controlled voice.

And that's how it went. Matthew's mom acting as if his college choice and his grandparents' involvement were both a personal affront to her. And I just tried to remain supportively neutral, or stay out of it altogether. Finally, the stress was getting to me, so I told Matthew I was heading home so I could change my clothes for the all-night party.

“Pick you up around nine?” he said.

“Yeah.” I waved and told the others good-bye.

Fortunately, the all-night party was much less stressful, and we ended up spending a lot of time hanging with Chloe and Cesar (who had come as her “date but not a date”—they made this very clear). Anyway, the four of us were really having a lot of fun, although I was ready to call it a night by 2 AM. However, with the lockdown in place, we were forced to stick
around until seven when they started serving breakfast.

“Let's go to church,” Chloe said after we finished breakfast. “We've got just enough time to make it to early service.”

To my surprise, Matthew didn't protest. And the four of us went to church together in Chloe's VW van. It was actually pretty cool.

“Thanks for coming to the party with me,” Matthew told me as he dropped me at home later that morning. “I probably wouldn't have gone if you hadn't.”

“It was fun,” I told him. “Exhausting, but fun.”

“Yeah, I'll probably sleep all day now.”

Then we kissed and said good-bye. But it was strange being dropped off at home after a date in the morning. I almost expected Dad to say something, although he knew what was going on, but he didn't appear to be home. I was hoping that meant he went to church. Although this would be a first for him since Mom died. Still, I've been praying for him to get back into it. Maybe that's where he is right now. Anyway, I know where I'm headed. My bed never looked so good!

Wednesday, May 29

I'm seriously worried about Nat. It's like she's trying to disappear off the face of the planet. I spoke to her last week, but I haven't actually seen her once this week. She hasn't wanted a ride to school. And I think she might've actually skipped some classes. Not that
teachers are paying much attention since this is the last week of school, the seniors are gone, and everyone else is acting like summer vacation has already started.

But back to Nat. It's like she's going off the deep end. And while I know she's not my personal responsibility, she is my best friend. Yes, best friend. I've decided that even though she's not acting anything like a best friend, I still need to remain loyal to her, and I will continue to consider myself her best friend.

And I'm pretty sure she hasn't talked to anyone else about what's bugging her, specifically the Ben thing. According to her mom, who I even called at her workplace Monday since I was so concerned, Nat has not been to see a counselor and has no intention of doing so. Poor Mrs. McCabe has just about given up.

“I don't know what's wrong with her,” she told me, clearly exasperated. “She's even been fighting with Krissy and Micah lately. And then she holes up in her room and refuses to talk to any of us. When I call her on it, she either blows up or threatens to run away. And I was so fed up last night that I told her to just go ahead. I know that was bad on my part, but I don't know what to do with her.” She sighed loudly. “Oh, by the way, Km, how are you and your dad doing these days?”

Of course, I acted as if things were okay, like Dad and I were just fine, moving on, getting over it. Yeah, right. But I just didn't have it in me to toss more crud on her ever-growing pile.

“I've been meaning to bring you guys a lasagna,” she said. “I know it's kind of late, but life's been so crazy with Nat and all. Besides, I figured you'd be overwhelmed with food…at first…”

“That's so thoughtful of you, but don't worry about it. We're fine, really.”

So then I tried to call Nat, but she was not picking up. I considered going over and barging in on her, but I didn't want to get her all mad at me. I figure it's better to stay on her good side, or else she might not have anyone to talk to. So I sent her an e-mail, just saying that I missed her and cared about what she was going through and wanted to talk.

Then this afternoon as I was going through letters for the column, I picked up this envelope that looked freaky familiar—it's exactly like this juvenile set of Hello Kitty stationery that I got Natalie when we were like twelve. Of course, I'm sure Nat has either used it up or thrown it away by now. But as I looked at the writing on the envelope (careful all-capped block letters that almost looked as if they'd been written to cover up the real handwriting of the sender), I was curious. I opened the envelope to find that the letter was computer printed.

Oh, man! I have a really creepy feeling that Nat wrote this letter. It would explain everything. Its so tempting to call her right now, to ask her if she's pregnant, but that would blow my cover. And then what? The next column comes out in Friday's edition. If I make sure this letter makes it, I can act like I read the letter in the paper, and it made me wonder if she might possibly be worried about something like that. I know it sounds hokey, but I think it's my best plan. In the meantime, I am really going to be praying for Nat. And I'm praying that God will help me to answer this.

Dear 2 Scared
,
   
You definitely sound freaked. But I wonder why you feel so scared about being pregnant My guess is that ifs inconvenient and embarrassing. But stuff like that happens to lots of people, and you just have to face up to it and get over the initial shock. First of all, I suggest you talk to someone-anyone-about what's going on. You need a friend to lean on right now. As far as abortion goes
…
1 personally think that extinguishing an innocent human life just to make yourself “feel better” is wrong. Is it safe? According to my research, like any other invasive
medical procedure, it has risks involved-but the greatest risks are to the unborn baby. And oh yeah, I've heard that lots of women suffer from guilt and can require counseling for years afterward. My advice to you is to talk to someone-a parent, pastor, counselor, friend. Now!

   
Just Jamie

My hands are actually shaking as I type my response. I feel almost certain this letter is from Natalie. I mean, she's been so different lately. She's moody and depressed, and it's hard to believe it's all because of Ben's breakup. I know it's crazy, but it seems highly possible that she could've written this letter. Or even if this is a coincidence, she could be in a position like this.

Although I can't believe that Nat would actually consider abortion. She's always been totally opposed to it. She's even gone to protest demonstrations, the kind where they carry posters of photographs of unborn babies.

But when I reread the line where the writer says she might even kill herself, I feel more freaked than ever. What if this is Natalie? And suddenly Friday seems so far away, and I wonder if there's something I can do sooner. So I walk down the street to her house, knock on the door, and after what seems like ten minutes, Krissy answers.

“Hi Kim,” she says. She has smears of chocolate all over her face.

“Is Nat here?”

Krissy nods. “But she doesn't want to be bugged. I think she's taking a nap.”

“I won't bug her,” I promise. Then I go upstairs, tiptoe to her room, and open the door. And Krissy is right; Nat is peacefully sleeping. Well, I suppose that's not such a bad thing—maybe I'm overreacting. Although I think I've heard that women get sleepy when they're pregnant. But maybe I'm just blowing this all out of proportion.

“Tell her I stopped by,” I say to Krissy as I'm about to leave. Then I look around the messy house—TV blaring, clothes and papers and stuff everywhere. “Are you guys okay?”

Krissy just shrugs.

“Where's Micah?”

She shrugs again. “I think he's at baseball.”

“Oh.” Then without saying anything, I start picking up the clutter, the old newspapers and junk mail, food dishes, dirty socks. And Krissy, without saying anything, actually follows my lead.

We end up in the kitchen, which is really a mess, and Krissy tries to help, but mostly she just sits on a stool and watches me as I load and turn on the dishwasher, then start scrubbing the sticky countertops.

“Why are you cleaning our house?” she finally asks.

I look up at her. “I don't know…I just wanted to help.”

“Are you sad about your mom, Km?”