Things Not Said

Chapter 19: Kyle & Andrew

Andrew

Driving home from the funeral, I notice something in the back seat, though I don’t say anything about it: it would make me cry tears I didn’t have anymore, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to the man driving the car next to me.

The silence presses onto us and I feel the numbness of the past few days take over me again. I look out of the window with swollen, red eyes and stay well away from Albert.

As we pull up by our house, I have my door opened before the car has time to stop. With one foot out, I hear my dad call to me.

“Andrew, wait.”

I freeze. It’s the first time in the past week that I’ve heard his voice and it takes me by surprise to hear the shattered pain inside. That is what makes me stop: not the desire to talk to him or to listen to his excuses.

I stay sitting with my foot on the road and wait for him to say something. I hear him take a deep breath.

“Allie wanted me to give her guitar to a certain Kyle. You know him?”

So that’s what it’s doing in the back seat, I think to myself.

“Yeah,” I croak. I haven’t used my voice for more than talking about Allie an hour ago. At her funeral. My sister is dead. I take a deep breath and try to make my heart stop aching at the thought of her. My sister is dead. Allie. I close my eyes and hold back the tears. I’d thought there weren’t any left to cry.

My dad nods, “Will you take it to him?”

For the first time in such a long time, I look my father in the eyes. There is so much sadness in them that the green looks blue and the grey looks black. I feel something grip my throat and I swallow hard, willing the feeling away.

“I will,” I say before stepping out of the car. I open the back door and take Allie’s guitar case before running into the house.

Kyle

Bringing the guitar case into my room, I stop and look at it, scared to unlock it. I close my eyes and picture Allie’s face behind my eyelids. She’s smiling, and laughing, and singing, and I feel that she’s okay. That maybe, this is all a bad dream that I’ll wake out of in a few minutes. I take deep breaths and prepare myself before opening my eyes.

Still lying on my bed is Allie’s guitar. I exhale, sobs racking through my body though no tears come. I breathe in again and click open the locks. Inside, I find the chestnut guitar lying and her green pick in its case with all the others.

I pick it up and play a chord. It sounds untuned. It feels wrong to leave the guitar souding incorrect so I tune it best I can with my weak musical abilities. After a few minutes of playing with the strings, the chords sound acceptable. I pull at them and start playing Warning Sign. I close my eyes and rock to the music, humming along.

Finally, I open my eyes and catch sigh t of a piece of paper lying on the black velvet of the case. I pick it up and open it. Inside, I recognize Allie’s fluent handwriting. I feel my stomach flip and begin reading.