Moving On

One

It's been a year.

It's been a year since the day I left Columbus for Oxford. It's been a year since I last saw Luke, or any of my friends back home. It's been a year since the crash. It's been a year since Justin's death.

"Sandra?" It's mom. "Are you ready?"

I take a long, deep breath before answering. "Yes." Am I really ready?

It's been a year, and it's Justin's first death anniversary.

We're headed to Indianapolis because that's where Justin's buried. It was what his parents wanted, for Justin to rest where he was born. When mom delivered the news, they were devastated. They were hysterical. But I know that that's only normal for parents who just lost their son, and in their case, their only son.

I've managed to finish senior year while wallowing in pain and depression. I don't know how I did it. It must be some kind of magic. Maybe God, or the gods, or whatever, wanted me to go on with my life despite having lost a big part of it.

During the first months after Justin's death, I was completely out of reach; out of reach from my friends, out of reach from my relatives, out of reach from mom, and even out of reach from myself. But by some kind of miracle, I managed to wake up, take a shower, get dressed, head to school, study, go home, and sleep and repeat that routine every day until the next thing I know I've graduated high school with flying colours.

I've managed to smile-laugh even-but when they day's up and I'm all alone in my room at the apartment that was supposedly for me and Justin before he took an unplanned trip to heaven, I just fall apart and cry myself to sleep. Sometimes when I pass by his supposed room, I would just stand there looking petrified and my mom would find me sobbing in his bed.

Mom's staying with me at the apartment because I didn't want to be reminded that Justin was gone and I'm all alone in Oxford. We never really talked about it, but I think there's an unspoken understanding between me and her: Justin's room remains empty. She sleeps in the spare bedroom.

Summer's coming to an end and sometime next month I'm a college student. I'm going to Miami University, one of the three schools Justin was choosing from because he's a year ahead of me, and he chose this one because of me; because I wanted to move to Oxford.

And remembering that just made me feel a whole, different kind of guilt.

If I didn't mention Oxford to him he wouldn't have had the idea of going to college there so that he could be near me. If I didn't do inappropriate things with Luke while he and I were practically testing the water he wouldn't have decided to go to Oxford and make me come along. There wouldn't have been an accident and he wouldn't have died.

I've talked to myself about this a million times, but every time it crosses my mind, I find a hundred and one ways that Justin's death was my fault even though the trial said it was the truck driver's. But still, I'd find a way to blame myself and it's eating me alive.

"Hey, are you okay?" Mom asks as she takes my hand. We're already in the car, already on our way to Indiana. My first home, I remind myself.

"Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?"

She sighs. "You can't lie to me, you know. I know that face you're making. You're flinching."

"So?"

She sighs once more. "You're blaming yourself, again." I look out the window. "Stop blaming yourself, sweetie."

I wanted to get angry at her and say, 'How can I not blame myself, huh?' but I can't. I badly want to, but I can't. I've had this conversation with her before, and I'm not having it again. I'm over it. Whatever unsettled issue I have with Justin, I promised I'd keep to myself. I don't want to talk about it to anyone because I know that they won't understand. They think they understand but they don't. It's not happening to them, it's happening to me. Guilt: that's what Justin left me.