Authors: Patricia Orvis
I’m roasting, for sure, but there’s more crucial stuff on my mind right now. Reading
through the wonderfully written article, I learn that this Mr. Jones dude talked
to Spud’s mom and dad, his sister, and friends, like me. His sister said he was a
“terrific and fun big brother. It’s not fair what happened to him. But he’ll always
be a part of my life. Always. I learned so much from him.”
Steve was quoted as saying that Spud was a true friend, always there for you, and
could make any day fun. Tyson, also with us on that horrid day, said he’d miss Spud
forever. Was hoping Spud would teach him the guitar, and maybe he’d try to learn
anyway in memory of him. Mike had said he knew Spud a few years and wished he’d had
time to get to know him longer. That Spud always made him laugh with that fake southern
accent Spud seemed to use around him.
My own claim to fame read:
“It was well-known that Spud had a very best friend, who also happened to be his
close cousin, Jackson Cooper. Jack has been having a hard time, obviously, trying
to cope with the tragic loss, but jumped at the chance to say a few words about his
best buddy.
“ ‘Spud and I spent all sorts of time together. Man, he was the greatest, always
cracking jokes, always helping out. He was like a member of my at-home family, and
my parents looked at him like their own.
“ ‘Spud and I were supposed to join the school baseball team together next month,
and we were looking forward to driving for the first time together next year as sophomores,
too. We had lots we wanted to do in life, and it’s so hard that it was taken from
him.
“ ‘But, let’s remember all the greatness he had. He was a fantastic guitar player
and singer, his best piece being John Michael Montgomery’s
Life’s a Dance
, and he
was always wearing these old
cowboy boots, pretty much regardless of the weather.
He was fun, took risks. I guess his adventurous part kind of let him down in the
end, but it’s not his fault. He always said that you had to “sink or swim” not give
up, not be chicken.
“ ‘And the girls! My gosh, they all adored him. He was, is, a great person, a best
friend. The best you could have. I love and miss him. Always will.’ ”
I can’t believe they gave me so much news space. Wow. I talked longer to Mr. Jones,
for about half an hour, and I did say more than that. Some of my memories were more
specific, but I’m sure, being the writer of the article, he only had so much space
to work with, and he also had several people to quote, along with more information,
so all in all he did a decent job here. The nice guy probably talked longer to me,
too, to be nice, and let me get my thoughts and memories out. Just to listen to me,
you know, lend an ear. It sure helped.
The article also mentioned the dangers of the bridge and how the city was looking
into ways to prevent more jumping. Personally, I think it should have mentioned that
too many teens drink and are bullied by peers into doing things they shouldn’t. But
I didn’t write it. In any case, it was meant to be a tribute to Spud, not as a topic
to be covered in some health or self-esteem class. So, as a tribute to Spud, I would
say, “goal accomplished.” I’ll keep this forever.
Then I do what I haven’t let myself do properly yet. As I sit at that wooden table,
staring at the dried out creek across the brown grass, several hundred feet from
the road and hearing the traffic, mostly semi-trucks heading to various stores to
deliver goods, on the nearby street, nobody outside in this heat but me, I cry. I’ve
cried some tears before, but have not just let it all out, think about
everything,
and cry until I’m cried out. I haven’t done that yet. I’ve pushed too much of this
off, spent much time pissed, tried to be in denial, all that. So now…
I cry and cry. Letting the tears just fall, heavily, I’m bawling, heaving and looking
from the sky to the ground to the sky. Just let it all keep coming, like a faucet
that won’t shut off. My mind is racing from the different things we had done together.
Monopoly games. Super Mario on the Nintendo. Taco eating contests at my house. Cold
milk and Oreos. Family Christmas parties. Sneaking Miller Lites. Studying for a history
test. That trip to Great America. All of it. I mean, we had a few squabbles here
and there, about who to hang with or where to go or who was right or wrong about
a sports game or something, but never a big serious fight.
I loved him and can’t believe I’ll never see him again. Well, I guess I can believe
it. It’s the truth, right? We’ll never tease each other again. Never play the rotten
egg game. Never look at sexy magazine pictures. Well, I might, though. But, I keep
crying, and I know it’s going to give me a massive headache, as crying always does,
but I don’t care. How finally freeing it feels to sit here and think about my best
friend and let out what tears I can. My dead best friend. So, I sit here and cry.
For two hours, but only spurts after a while. Just when I start to think I’m okay
and can stop, I think some more and more water falls from my eyes. I must look a
mess, but I don’t care.
I had to get it out. It was time.
Head fully pounding, tears exhausted, eyes a bit blurry, and very likely red, I finally
think I can go home. I fold up the paper, wipe my eyes, again, on the tee shirt I’ve
taken off, stretch my legs, and get up. My stomach is growling like mad, and my legs
are stiff, my throat thirsty, and my body exhausted. Oh, and very hot. I want to
eat, shower, and sleep, and maybe then I can move on a little bit more.
Glancing at the paper again. “
Remembering Spud Cooper.
” Yes, that’s what we all need
to do.
It’s been two weeks since Spud died. Yeah, I guess I finally get it. Died. But this
summer is just gonna pass in a blurry blah. I mean, what can I do now? There’s no
fun to be had now. Nothing still feels right. Not really. Since Spud died, nothing
has much appeal, and before I know it, school will be here, and my summer will have
been just a blob of heat and death. Maybe, I just need school to start to get my
mind off of things. A new start. Maybe, I’ll still join that ball team. That could
be what I need. Something to distract me. Put my energy into.
The heat wave is still on, but not quite as bad, but there are still deaths, drought,
and uncomfortable humidity. It’s been record-breaking this year. The amount of old
folks keeling over has been remarkable and is always the top story. I can’t imagine
that it could last much longer. Everything’s been so surreal. I wish there was something
new. Different news. It’s like we’re in this little world where all that happens
is hot weather and death. While it’s not still in the 120 degree range, as we’ve
had days that dipped back into the eighties, actually, we haven’t quite had the relief
we really need around here, which would be a nice cool down and some rain.
“Jack?”
The sweet voice brings me from my reverie, as I’m sitting on a couch at the cool
library, somewhat looking through a magazine, when gorgeous Deena plops down beside
me. Oh, she’s so pretty. Short jean skirt, a white tank top, and her blond locks
in a high ponytail. Tanned beautifully, she should be a model.
“Deena,” I sit up straight, clearing my throat and running a
hand through my hair,
hoping I look decent. “Hi, what are you doing here?” She so gives me those butterflies
in the tummy.
“To be honest, I tried your place, but your mom said you might be here. Can we talk?”
Her short skirt shows off her gorgeous legs, strong and lady-like, and her beautiful
hair is so shiny. Plus, she smells like some tropical fruit. What a welcoming distraction!
She was actually looking for me? “Sure, sure. What’s up?” Was Mike hiding in the
background, ready to jump me? Was this a set-up?
“Jack, you just haven’t been around, like anywhere, and when you are, you’re in a
funk. I’m so sorry about Spud, but you need to face things, to get out, hang out,
try to be yourself again. I think you should come to my barbecue tomorrow night,
a summer tradition in my family, with my relatives and friends and stuff. It’ll be
fun. We have a volleyball net, a pool for swimming, horseshoes, and more. My dad’s
a real guru on the grill. So there’s going to be music and a bonfire and burgers
and hotdogs and chips and pop. Am I convincing you yet? What do ya say?” Her cute,
hopeful smile and gorgeous eyes glancing at me. She even has her hand on my leg.
She’s good.
“I don’t know…” Like I want to celebrate when Spud is dead. I’m supposed to party
with Deena and her boyfriend, Spud’s worst enemy? Right.
“In case you wondered,” she continues, practically reading my mind, “Mike won’t be
there. We broke up.” She says this so matter-of-fact like. Then cringes.
What? They did what? “I’m sorry. What happened? I thought you two would get married.
Be together forever.”
She laughs lightly, “Hardly. Mike’s been, well, not acting like one would expect,
especially since what happened. At first, I thought he was changing, turning a new
leaf or whatever, but then he just got
odd. Worse than before, even.” She looks sad
now. “He has upped the notch on his drinking, acts like an ass more than before,
and keeps using his Dad’s position on the force to get his way. I wanted to split
with him for quite some time, actually, but then when Spud…when Spud had the accident,
I thought for sure Mike would change, and like I said, for a day or two, yeah, but
then he’s just right back to himself. Still conceited, still immature. Worse.”
She sighs and it breaks my heart to see her even the least bit upset. I’m looking
right into her eyes, giving her my complete attention, wishing I could hold her and
ease this pain.
“When I mention Spud,” she goes on, “he says
whatever
and rolls his eyes or tells
me to move on and get over it and makes fun of him. It’s odd, but I can’t deal with
it anymore. I mean there he was, all concerned, crazy after the drowning, then he
goes right back to jerk mode. That’s just low. I don’t know what his problem is,
but I can’t believe it took me this long to really get it. I’m over him and wish
I’d have done this long ago.” She sighs again, “I guess we all learn lessons, sometimes.”
My look is a little less intense now, but I’m still trying to give my attention.
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I hope that you’re all right with that. Honestly, I’ve never
cared for the guy, so I can’t be too sorry.”
She grins. “Well, Mike’s just making things harder, and I had to tell you about our
being done, broken up, and you know, you’re one of many, Jack. Not too many people
can stand Mike. Most hang out with him for the perks of getting off the hook if they
get in trouble. I don’t think it’s worth it. Even my parents were doubting the relationship.
I’m glad. I feel better now that I can be myself more. For a while, I put up with
his crap, and it made me feel like I was just as mean. But no more. I deserve better,
my own mom says, and I believe her. I deserve, I think, someone who is kind and funny
and honest and
caring. Like… well, anyway. Let’s not talk about him anymore. Not
now. We need some good stuff to talk about so… the party? What do you say?” She shakes
her head and picks up a girly magazine from the table, pretending to glance through
it, but grinning.
“Good, that’s good, about you and well, you know what I mean. Yeah, I don’t get Mike
either. So out of the picture. Good, you know, for you. He should have treated you
better. Um, the party, well…” I really don’t know what else to say, and the librarian
is giving a cold stare all of a sudden, like talking is illegal in this place. Maybe
it is. It is the library.
“Will you come out tomorrow? Please? My parents really want to meet you. Um, I guess
I’ve mentioned quite a bit about you, especially with this whole ‘thing’ with well
you know, and I said I’d invite you out. Please?” She’s now looking into my eyes
again, so hard to resist, and she just smells so sweet, looks so lovely. Oh man!
“Um, I’ll try,” I say, because I might try. Maybe it’s what I need.
“Great. Great. Please do. I so hope to see you. You know where I live, right, in
case you can come?”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Lincoln Avenue, right, the big white house with the pillars,
the pool? And um, anything I should bring?” Everyone knows where Deena lives. Her
family has one of the most gorgeous houses in town. You’d have to be deaf and dumb
not to know about Deena’s family and their place.
“First, well, it’s just a house. But glad you’ll know where to show. Great. Okay.
Lovely, Jack. I’m excited. Don’t let me down, okay? The folks are expecting you,
and dress casual, you know, nothing special. And to bring? Just an appetite for Dad’s
burgers and your swim trunks if you want. The pool will be open. And your cute self!”
That hand on my leg again! “Later, then.” She smiles, puts
her magazine back, and
gets up to head out, back into the heat of the afternoon. She turns back. “No excuses,
done deal. Be there. Oh, fiveish? Good. Okay, bye,” and very quickly, so I can’t
do anything about it, not that I would resist, she kisses me on the cheek and has
a new spring to her step as she takes her lovely, friendly self out of the cool library.
Hey, I should come here more often!
Who would believe what just happened? Deena invited me to her house! She touched
my leg! She kissed me, albeit on the cheek, but still! I feel like Marsha Brady did
when she got kissed by a football star and held her cheek and said she’d never wash
it again! Except Deena is the chick, and I don’t want any football stars kissing
me. Unless, Deena takes up football. Okay, whatever. Bad analogy. But you get the
drift! Can I really attend some big barbecue, have fun with Deena and her family,
listen to rocking music and just relax? When Spud is lying under dirt and stuck in
a wooden box? Why is life so unfair? Is this what I should do, though, in order to
keep moving? Not going is certainly not going to bring back Spud. It’s only going
to make me more miserable if I don’t go.