Letters to Matt (3 page)

“What did Dad mean when he said I was in a bad state when I got to the hospital?”

Mom’s eyes flicker toward me for only a second before looking back at the road.

There was a piercing scream. It took me a moment to realize the sound was coming from me. The car finally stopped moving. My head hurt so much from smacking it on the window, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I could feel blood running down my forehead. Matt’s entire side of the car was caved in. He was in the middle of the center console instead of his seat. I always fucking told him to wear his seat belt, but he never wanted to listen.

I felt for a pulse on his neck, but I couldn’t feel any. I knew. Matt was dead. I started screaming. I screamed his name. I screamed for help. I got out of the car when I saw the lights and heard the sirens.

A young paramedic jumped out of the ambulance after it was parked.

“Ma’am, you have to sit down. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

“Help him! Why are you standing here talking to me? You have to help him!”

“Ma’am, someone is going to check on him,” he assured me as he pointed to his partner running toward the car. “But I need to check you out. I need to get you on a gurney.”

I refused to cooperate. I fought the whole time they strapped me down and checked out my wound. The entire time we were in the ambulance, I screamed Matt’s name and tried to get free. I had to get to him.

I was still screaming when we got to the hospital. They wheeled me in and I fought against the straps. A female doctor came up right away.

“This girl’s got some stamina,” the paramedic said, almost as if it were a compliment. “She’s a fighter.” 

“This’ll help you calm down, sweetie.”

It took three of them to hold me down so she could give me the shot. I fought and screamed until the medicine took effect and I welcomed the darkness.

“They couldn’t get you to calm down,” Mom says. “They needed you calm so they could assess the damage and make sure you and the baby were okay.”

I merely nod my head.

Neither of us speak until we reach the house.

“You need to go to bed when we get inside,” Mom instructs. “Tomorrow’s going to be a really hard day, and the doctor said you need to take it easy.”

I don’t argue. I don’t have the energy. I let her lead me inside and up to my old room.  Everything looks exactly the same. The walls are still painted a light purple. The mirror on the dresser still has pictures of me and my friends that I had left here after I moved out. My bed is still neatly made with the flower comforter. The wheelie chair is still pushed up against the desk that now only holds a lamp.

Matt and I had combined our things when we moved into the apartment. We’d taken his bed, because it was bigger, and his desk, because it had more drawers. We had taken his big dresser, and my bedside table, because it was newer than his. Our apartment was the perfect mixture of us.

Thinking of the apartment, I wonder if it still looks the same. If it’s still waiting for Matt to return. I picture the boxers he left on the floor after his shower the day of the accident. I picture our bowls we’d left in the sink since both of us hated doing dishes and always put it off until the last minute of the day. Nobody had been home to do them, so they still sat in the sink.

I know it isn’t exactly the same, though. Connie had been by to take some of his belongings: his suit, and probably a couple of pictures for his funeral. I imagine she’d taken his favorite beanie hat, too. But for those few items, I’m sure it’s still just how we’d left it. The thought alone makes me glad that I’m at Mom’s instead of being in the home we were making for ourselves and our baby.

Mom leads me to bed. She pulls back the comforter and covers me up when I lie down.

“Try to get some sleep,” she tells me. “Where’s your cell phone?” I wiggle around to pull it out from my pocket and set it on the pillow next to me. She pulls out her own cell phone and turns the volume up high. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She hesitates for a second and I know she’s dreading asking this next question. “Is there anything in particular you want me to bring back for you to wear to the funeral?”

I shake my head. “I have a couple of black dresses. Just pick one out.”

She gives a nod. “I love you, Jaden.”

I respond with a nod of my own. I can’t say the words. I don’t know why, but I just can’t. I know it isn’t fair to my mom, but I can’t bring myself to actually care.

I sleep straight through the rest of the day and the night.

I wake up the next morning to Mom shaking me.

“Jaden, sweetie.” I slowly open my eyes to see Mom standing beside the bed. “The funeral is in a couple of hours. You need to get up and get ready.”

I slowly climb out of bed. The next couple of hours are a blur. I take a shower. I get dressed. I let Mom pull my hair up into a bun. I sit at the kitchen table, picking at the toast Mom made me while I watch Dad look at his reflection in the microwave while putting on his tie. I watch Mom put her earrings in while she talks about my sister.

“Mel said she’ll meet us at the funeral home. Her flight ran a little late.”

“Yeah, I talked to her this morning,” Dad chimes in. “Chase wanted to come with her, but he couldn’t get away from work.”

Chase was Melanie’s boyfriend. I don’t know why he would want to come to the funeral. He never even met Matt. In fact, we’ve only met Chase once. They’d been together for a year and he came home with her last Christmas. We all spent the morning together before I’d gone over to Matt’s to have dinner with his family. Chase seemed nice and he was good for my sister. She seemed truly happy. I suddenly feel envious that she still gets a chance at her happily ever after while I’ll be stuck raising a baby by myself.

“Are we ready to go?” Mom asks. She looks at my plate of decimated toast and frowns. “You didn’t even eat, Jaden. You have to eat to keep up your strength.”

“I’ll eat when this is all over.”

Mom nods in understanding. We all stand to leave the house and pile into Dad’s car. The ride to the funeral home is quiet. The parking lot is nearly empty. I see Connie’s truck and Mitch’s car. I don’t recognize the other vehicles, but I assume they belong to Matt’s grandparents and various aunts and uncles.

Mitch spots me as we climb out of the car. He waits until we reach him, slipping his hand into mine when we do.

“We’ll get through this together,” he tells me. I have always liked Mitch. He was a really good friend to Matt and we all hung out together in high school.

I can’t speak, so I just nod. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. We walk inside together. I have been in this funeral home a couple of times, but it seems smaller, like the walls are closing in. It’s hard to catch my breath. Mitch reassuringly strokes my hand. His presence calms me a little bit.

I recognize some of Matt’s family standing around in the lounge. A bunch of them come up and tell me how sorry they are. I say the expected “Thank you”, but my voice is void of emotion.

“Matt’s parents and his sisters are in there.” Mitch indicates the double doors that lead to the visitation room. “I think you should go in.”

I look up at him. “You don’t think they’ll mind?”

He shakes his head. “You were his family, too.”

Mitch lets go of me and I head toward the door. It takes all my energy to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I’m tempted to run away screaming. I know seeing him will just make it real. Strangely, I don’t have the urge to cry. I don’t feel much of anything except panic.

I push open the doors and four faces turn toward me. I search their expressions for some indication that I’m interrupting, that I should wait outside. Instead, I only see sadness. When I stand still for a few seconds, Connie waves me in.

I’m in a trance as I walk across the room. Connie wraps her arm around me when I reach them.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’ve been better,” I tell her honestly.

The girls both hug me and Doug nods his head at me in acknowledgment. Now that the greetings have been made, I know I can’t put it off any longer. I force my attention to the beautiful mahogany casket. I start at Matt’s waist, looking at the pictures his family has set in the casket. I take in the beanie propped against him. He’s wearing the same suit he wore just months ago at one of his parents’ friends’ wedding. Finally, I stop on his face.

He looks so peaceful, like he’s sleeping. I take relief in the fact that he looks at ease. The mortician did a wonderful job. He looks like he died in his sleep, not in a horrible car accident. I reach up and touch his face. It’s cold to the touch and I yearn for his warmth. I would give anything to feel his body heat just one more time.

I reach into the small purse hanging on my arm and pull out two pictures: One is of us, taken on the last day of school. Adam had gotten a new camera as an early graduation present and went around taking pictures of everyone and everything. When Adam walked up to us, camera at the ready, Matt pulled me close to him. I glanced up at him and smiled as Adam took the picture. I looked like the happiest girl in the world. Hell, I
was
the happiest girl in the world. The other is an ultrasound of the baby. I place both in the casket. His mom gives me an encouraging nod.

After that, everything is a blur. I stand by his casket, accepting the hugs and condolences everyone offers as the room begins to fill up. It seems like our entire class showed up, along with countless family members that I’ve heard of, but never met. Everyone looks at me with pity. And everyone touches my stomach. Part of me wants to scream at the next person who moves to hug me, but a bigger part of me can’t muster the energy to give a damn.

Mandy arrives in after the place is already packed. I almost laugh when I see her hurry in. Mandy is notorious for being late. I always tell her she’ll be late to her own damn funeral. The irony is not lost on me as she makes a beeline for me. She stands by my side, holding my hand as more people approach. She stays with me until it’s time for us to take our seats so the service can begin.

Have I mentioned that I fucking hate funerals? They are so impersonal. Some priest or preacher or whatever who barely knew the deceased stands up there and babbles on about God and the Bible while making a few comments that are actually related to the person in the casket. They’re all interchangeable to the speaker. Seriously, change the name used and it fits just about anyone.