by Carrie Schosser
Today was her birthday.
The world seemed gray, even as the sun warmed his coat. He drifted through the day like a ghost, smiling and laughing and digging his fingernails into his palms when he thought he’d shatter, drawing blood twice on accident. Every time a friend gave him a look of pity or a glance of worry or a hand on his shoulder his stomach curdled. If he had eaten breakfast he was sure he would have lost it.
Ariel’s day inched past with infuriating sluggishness, yet he could not remember details. Laughing (about what?), joking (what did he say?), math (numbers were as jumbled as he was), lunch (did he eat?), his best friend talking (notice me, Nicky, I can’t speak), chest aching head pounding suffocating isolated in a crowd of friends. Though thin as paper and fragile as crystal, the smile he wore kept even his friends from noticing.
Just how he liked it.
Right?
Tell him, Ariel thought frantically as he chuckled at whatever story Nicholas was telling him. Please. Open your mouth. ‘I can’t breathe, Nicky, she would’ve been sixteen today.’ Is that so hard?
Though Ariel was determined to speak, his tongue disagreed. As he made a joke, probably at Nicky’s expense, his mind began to chant coward coward coward.
Pressure filled his chest until he thought he’d explode. Someone said his name and he realized he didn’t remember walking to this classroom, let alone what his teacher had been saying.
His chair scraped back, ringing in his ears. It was his last class; there was no reason to stay. Nobody stopped him as he slammed the door open.
Perfectly fine. He wanted to be alone.
Without thinking he took the long way home, even though he thought as each step fell, stop, stop, go home. Fire burned through his veins, building until he wanted to scream. Instead, he punched a fence post.
Eyes wide, Ariel flexed his hand, staring at the wood. And then he threw back his head and laughed, nose prickling with tears.
Three years.
Three years since the last time he visited her, and that was her funeral.
She didn’t deserve his cowardice. He couldn’t run forever.
A spike of guilt stabbed his stomach as he stared blankly at her tombstone, his sister’s name already suffocated by tendrils of ivy. He slumped, holding his elbows with trembling icy fingers.
Ariel could only hear his uneven, shallow breathing; his heartbeat bruised his ribs.
Each aching breath shook, filling his lungs with air that she deserved, not him. Loneliness crept over him, the lid on his coffin, yet he could not leave. It scraped out his insides, leaving him once more with the shell that he didn’t understand and didn’t want.
Slowly, as though someone was pushing on his shoulders, he knelt in the grass.
Alessandra Fiammetta Bianchi.
He couldn’t make out the dates, but he knew them by heart. Though he hadn’t visited her since her death, he saw gray stone every night, the font winding and seeping and swelling and he took a heaving, shuddering breath, trying, trying, trying to still his hands, pressing them into the ground, clutching at the mud, ripping out the grass, yearning for rain so he could explain his wet face away, if any classmates passed, and then he hated that he was worried about his image when she was six feet under, only thirteen, only thirteen, so young, unable to chase her dreams, leaving him alone, all alone, and he was thinking of himself again, how selfish –-
Something dripped on Ariel’s hand and he wilted, sobs racking his body.
The soft thud of footsteps broke through Ariel’s quiet reminiscence. He didn’t move, staring at her name.
“Ariel,” Nicholas whispered, standing an arm’s length away. “It’s getting dark. Have you been here all day?”
Once he made himself known Nicholas took a step forward, watching Ariel carefully as though he were a cornered animal. Slowly, carefully, he sank to his knees next to his friend, a clumsy smile on his lips. “It’s cold, Ariel. Where’s your coat?”
Ariel didn’t blink, but he slowly sat back, dropping his chin into his muddy, bloody hand.
“It wasn’t cold earlier.”
“You wore a coat to school.”
Nicholas watched Ariel’s glassy eyes focus as he furrowed his eyebrows, slowly rubbing the sleeves of his shirt.
“I did, didn’t I. Must’ve left it at school. Whoops. Il mio male.”
Awkwardly, Nicholas patted Ariel’s back. He wasn’t sure what to do with this version of his friend. Never had he seen Ariel sad, let alone crying. Death hadn’t touched Nicholas, and all the words he wanted to say felt empty. The emptiness in Ariel’s red eyes, the lack of motion, and the gravelly voice that suggested what he’d been doing for the past five hours; it was so unlike him that Nicholas had to take a moment to clear his own eyes.
“She would’ve been sixteen today.”
Ariel’s gaze floated to the tombstone, his face lined with sorrow, hiding under the shaking curls of his hair.
“It’s her birthday?” Nicholas paused, shifting closer. “Why don’t we make her a cake? What did she like?”
The ghost of a smile brushed Ariel’s lips, even as a tear rolled down his cheek. He chewed his lip for a second. “She liked chocolate cake with that spregevole cheap strawberry icing. I thought it was stupid, but I always made it for her.”
Nicholas wrapped an arm around Ariel’s shoulders. He wasn’t big on touching, but he knew Ariel liked hugs, and it seemed to be a good step when Ariel slumped forward, dropping his head into his hands.
“We’ll make the cake, get some candles. The whole birthday shebang.”
Ariel nodded, too choked to reply.
“We’ll do this together.”
