“Well, the founder of the group, Wilson Ferrison, ran a red light while he was on the phone,” he says sadly. “It killed an older couple. He got into drugs for a lot of years… he’s actually a friend of mine, so I saw firsthand how bad it got for him. But he does a lot of community service now and spends time talking to people about what happened, trying to not only prevent things like it from happening, but to help people who’ve experienced similar things and are left trying to cope with the guilt.”
I put the piece of paper into my pocket, taking what he said in, but it’s hard to process. “Should I call first or just go?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“Call first and tell them who you are. I’ll give Wilson a call and let him know,” he says, putting the notes he took throughout today’s session into my folder. “Just please make sure you do call. I really think it’s important for you to know that you’re not alone.”
Not alone. Such a foreign concept to me, and I’m not even sure how to respond. When I died and came back, I felt sort of like a ghost that no one wanted to talk to, because I was the reminder to everyone of the horrible thing that happened. So I did the world a favor and did everything I could not to exist. Over the last few years the world has felt really big and empty, but now he’s saying that’s not the case and that there are people out there who will understand what I’m going through, understand what it’s like to live life with a void in your heart, put there by pain.
“Fine, I’ll call,” I finally say, and a tiny bit of the weight on my shoulders chips off and falls to the ground.
“Good,” he says, and then he shakes my hand, something he does after every meeting. “And work on taking down those pictures. Like I said, it doesn’t have to be all of them. But only leave enough up that you’re not overwhelmed by the past.”
I don’t respond to that comment and leave his office with my thoughts jumbled inside my head. For the briefest second, I wonder if talking to someone who gets what I’m going through could possibly help. What if I am helpable? I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m not sure how I feel about anything, but maybe I’m on the right track to finding out.
Chapter 4
November 29, day thirty-one in the real world
Nova
“Life is strange. Life is complicated. Life is messy. Watch the news. Read headlines. Go help out at suicide hotlines. You’ll hear stories. Heartbreaking stories. I’ve heard my fair share and lived a few of them myself.” I’m sitting in the living room on the sofa with my legs crisscrossed, passing time filming while I try to figure out what to do for the rest of the night. “Today my film professor, Professor McGell, was talking about the heartbreak in the world after he showed us an interview clip with a woman who lost her husband to suicide… a clip that made me think of Landon and Quinton…” I trail off, remembering how much the woman cried in the video and how I wished I could tell her that everything would eventually be okay again.
After staring into empty space for a while, I concentrate on the camera again. “My professor said he wants to do something that could show what people are going through, not just when they lose someone to suicide but to other kinds of death, drugs, abuse. He said he was starting up a program that would be committed to making a documentary about the aftermath of surviving. He said he would have more information on it at the start of the next year. That it would require travel. Part of me wants to join. Take off and do what I’ve always wanted to do. Film stuff that matters. But it’s a four-month program where I’d be on the road, in different countries. I’d have to leave everything behind… I’m not sure I can walk away and just leave everyone behind when they need me.” I shift my legs out from under me and lower my feet onto the floor. “How can I just walk away when Tristan and Quinton are still healing? Leave Lea behind? My mom? Walk away from school for a semester? It just seems too… I don’t know… impulsive, selfish, risky.” I seal my lips shut, not wanting to say the words tickling at the tip of my tongue, but I ultimately let them slip out. “But I really want to do it. So much.”
I leave my recording at that and put the camera down on the coffee table, figuring out what to do next. Classes are coming to an end and I don’t have a lot of homework left to do. Most of my free time is spent texting and talking to Quinton and Tristan. I’m glad, though, because I’m getting to know Quinton better. And with Tristan, I figure as long as he’s here talking to me all the time, then I know for sure that he’s not going to parties and getting into trouble.
After thinking about what I really want to do for the night, I end up getting my cell phone out and texting Quinton.
Me: I saw something really interesting today.
Quinton: Let me guess. A purple dog.
Me: What kind of response is that???
Quinton: With you, it seems like a reasonable response.
Me: Hardy-fucking-har, u r soooo hilarious.
Quinton: I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you use the word f**king. It seems… unnatural.
Me: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is that more natural now?
Quinton: No. Now it’s just making me think of f**k and you.
I pause, staring down at the screen, wondering if he meant that as dirty as it reads. He’s usually so careful with his comments, making sure to never get too flirty. It’s completely sidetracked me from telling him about the filming project. But maybe it’s better I don’t say anything about it to him, so I don’t either set something off or worry him that I’m going to leave. Although I’m not that confident in our relation… friendship… whatever it is, that I know for sure he’d even care if I took off for a while.
Quinton: Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. It sounded really dirty, didn’t it?
Me: No, it’s okay. And I figured u didn’t mean it.
I’m glad you said it. That’s what I really wish I could type. But I don’t because I’m not brave enough, nor do I think Quinton is ready for anything like that.
Me: Off the subject, but how have things been going with that Wilson guy and those meetings?
Quinton: Okay, I guess. It’s nice to hear someone talk about stuff that I’ve been through. I haven’t really talked to him much personally, but I think I might want to one day.
Me: You should. Talking to Lea helped me deal with Landon’s death a lot, since she’d been through something similar with her father.