The Trouble Is

Chapter 42: The List of Lies

We spend the weekend together, Mom, Skip, Doug, and me. We watch movies and play ancient board games like Monopoly and Checkers. Mom makes popcorn and Skip orders pizza, a welcome reprieve from organics. Dougie giggles as we watch Skip's favorite old movie about a new kid in town who gets asked to play baseball with some cool kid. They get into trouble like all other kids in movies. There's a first kiss and a terrifying dog, and Doug won't stop saying "You're killin' me, Smalls!"

East comes and goes, playing fierce games of Go Fish with Doug and devouring leftover pizza. I'm sort of here and not here, all at the same time. I think about all the things that Katie and I believed in, the dreams we shared, and the private jokes we hoarded. When East is not there, I alphabetize my bookshelves and the box of old DVDs Skip keeps in the hall closet. I think about our summer list but am too tired to go get my spiral and check off those few things we managed to accomplish.

Sunday afternoon my phone rings, and I can see that it's my therapist, Laura. Mom told me that she was going to talk to Laura and let her know what had happened in case I wanted to talk to her about it later. I was good with that. Still, seeing her name on my phone is startling. It interrupts the Zen of movies and junk food like a slap in the face. The hurt flares.

I go to my room as if I'm going to talk to her, but I don't. I grab my laptop and climb into bed. I spend the rest of the afternoon going through all my magazine subscriptions and canceling any that ever had a picture of Tyra Banks on the cover. It's not as hard to find these as you would think. The Internet is a glorious thing. I'm done with Tyra. I'm done with smizing. I'm done with watchwords and fierceness. I'm done with summer lists.

I spend the rest of the afternoon working on a new list. It's The Unnumbered List of Lies:

1. Things can't get any worse. That's number one with a bullet. I just thought it couldn't get any worse than cancer.

2. Fierceness protects you. Katie was the most naturally fierce person I've ever known. We know how that ended.

3. Dreams can come true. Not true. Not true at all. People make it sound like whatever you dream can come true. But no amount of wishing on a star will change the fact that Katie is dead.

4. The thousands of silly lies grown-ups say, like "Don't sit too close to the TV or you'll ruin your eyesight," or "Carrots are good for your eyes," or "Gum stays in your stomach for seven years." I would add just about anything along those lines that my uncles ever said to me. Lies, all lies.

5. The biggest lies of all are the ones that Katie and I told each other every single year—the pinkie promise and the vow to be together forever. The pinkie promise always included the vow that the school year or summer or spring break or Christmas break would be the best ever. This lie contains within it the thread of belief that we would be friends forever. We would remain as we were in kindergarten—together. We would carry forward the memories of the year or the holiday forever. Now I know that there is no forever.

I finish the list and fall asleep with my spiral on my chest. The last thought I have before falling asleep is from one of Skip's old movies called Groundhog Day.

"What if there is no tomorrow?"