Chapter Thirteen - Tyler
Watching her rips me up inside. I had no idea it would be like this for her. I’m starting to realize that there’s actually a whole, whole lot I don’t know about Maddie anymore. Lots of details to fill in. Shit, lots of details about me to fill in for her. But that’s OK, because that image I had in Mexico of me marrying her and being with her – assuming I didn’t die, which I didn’t – still looms large for me.
If I’m being truthful, there was a moment where I wondered if I’d wake up and not feel that way anymore. If it was just the desperation of the circumstance we were in that was causing those thoughts to manifest. I mean, that shit happens. Circumstances change and feelings change with them. I’m not naïve. Hell, could happen for her too. We could leave here today, she could remember all the ways I totally hung her out to dry, and she could feel completely differently about me than she did the day before.
Except I doubt it. Because what I feel for her right now is a love that’s not born out of desire, or want, or even need. Yeah, sure, there’s passion. Bet your ass there’s fucking passion. I want her all the time, but that’s not what I feel now. What I feel now is greater than that. Elevated. More.
What I want now is just to be near her. To help her when she wants, to let her be when that’s what she needs, and to learn to be just a little less stupid. (But only a little, because my idiocy is part of my charm. Not everybody says so, but I believe it’s true.)
And I’ve made it this far in life on my wits, such as they are, and my intuition, which isn’t terrible. And my gut tells me that she’s here to stay. And I am one hundred percent here to stay with her as long as she’ll have me.
She lets go of her bear hug on Scotty’s headstone and crosses over to where I’m standing. Her cheeks are streaked with her tears and it makes her look like a kid somehow. I see all of her at once. Who she was, who she is, who she will become. And while I’m tempted to wipe her tears away, I don’t. Because they’re hers. And she should be able to hold them as long as she needs. I don’t even crack a joke to try to make her feel better or anything. Because sometimes what a person needs most is understanding. Not healing.
I’m learning, Pete. I’m learning.
She stands in front of me, not saying anything, and finally I ask, “You cool if I—?” I gesture over to Scotty’s grave.
She nods. “Yeah. I kinda just wanna sit here for a minute anyway.”
“Copy,” I say, and then feel out if she wants me all up on her or if she wants to be left alone for a sec. She steps up and puts her arms around me, so I just wrap her up until she lets go. And then we hold hands for as long as possible until our fingertips slip away from each other and I move to the headstone.
It feels massive as I approach. It’s not. Not really. It’s just a normal-sized memorial. But it gets bigger and bigger with each step I take. And each step I take feels like five normal steps. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but it’s certainly how it feels.
When I land at the plot, I walk all around it. I’m not sure why, but I wander behind the marble slab, examining it from all angles. I’m just making sure it’s all OK. Like, suddenly I don’t completely trust the groundskeepers or whoever to keep it all pristine.
But it is. It’s fine. It’s beautiful, in fact. Which I’m glad about. I didn’t expect it to be otherwise, but still. It’s nice.
And now I don’t know what to do. I mean, I don’t know if I should pray or... Praying seems disingenuous. Because it’s just not me. And because even though I’ve dreamed of Heaven and possibly even died and been to Heaven, I’m still not so sure I believe in all that shit. So praying feels like it’s out.
I could just, like, be here. Just stand here and commune with the air and the grass and the trees and just absorb the world as it continues to turn. And, in doing that, maybe that honors Scotty’s memory. A certain amount of deferential stillness on my part would certainly be dignified. But that’s also not really me. I suppose it could be, but it feels out of place somehow right now.
I guess, if I examine what I want, I feel like I want to say something. Like, actually talk to Scotty like he’s still here. Even though that seems cliché and maybe even a little hokey. Because I don’t know if Scotty would be able to hear me anyway. Is the consciousness that was Scotty Clayton still somewhere in this vast expanse of cosmic dust? Does it matter? Is it even Scotty that I’m here for? Or is it me? Is it Maddie?
Fuck it. Who gives a shit?
“Hey, dude,” I say. “Sorry it took me so long to swing by, but... as you already know, I’m a terrible person.”
I don’t say any of this loud enough for Maddie to hear. For a lot of reasons, but not least of all because this ain’t a performance. This is just for me and Scotty. Or maybe just for me.
“Um, so... I guess I should fill you in on everything since there’s no one else who’s been able to... Fuck.” I trail off because, well, because I feel shitty. Then I start back up because, well, because I have to.
“I guess the first thing is that I’m back. Back in Vegas. As you can tell, because, y’know, I’m here.” This is going very well. Christ.
I hang my head. And then I decide to just let it out.
“Look, man, if you’re somewhere that you can hear me or, shit, even if you’re not, here’s the thing I wanna say. For a while now, I’ve been carrying this fuckin’ belief around with me that what happened to you was my fault. Right? Like because I fucked with you and joked around about stuff that it somehow drove you to make the decisions you made. And that if I hadn’t been the way I was – with you, I mean – that you’d be alive now. And here’s what I wanna say about that.”
I crack my neck side to side, then look over my shoulder and see Maddie, sitting under the tree with her eyes closed. I nod a tiny bit and then look back at the grave and resume.
“What I wanna say is... who the fuck do I think I am? Y’know? Like, how the fuck do I think that I’m so powerful and important that you made your life decisions based on me and whatever the fuck I said? That’s messed up, right? You don’t have to answer. Rhetorical. But, yeah, it’s fucked up. It’s arrogant and narcissistic and yet at the same time happens to be chickenshit. Which, I mean, that’s no small achievement, so I guess I can at least be proud of what a trifecta of bullshit I managed to pull off for so long.”
I’m kind of cooking now, so I keep going. I might be getting a little louder than I want to, but I don’t care.
“Because all I really did was use what happened to you as an excuse to wallow in my own sad, lost, failed travesty of a life. And know why that’s fucked up? Of course you do, but I’ll say it anyway. It’s because it fucking diminishes you twice. First, it makes it seem like you weren’t your own person, and second, it then uses you to allow me to be as worthless a person as I could manage to be. And for that... Fuck. Sorry doesn’t cut it, but it’s really all I got. So. Sorry.”
I blow a breath out through my lips.
“And the bitch of it is that I totally know you’d forgive me. Because you were always the bigger man. The better man. And... Shit. Something I never told you... I always looked up to you. I did. Because in all the ways that matter, you were the kind of person I wanted to be. You and Evan. I dunno why the two of you ever decided to keep me around. But you did. And I will be forever grateful for that. Because any good in me, anything that I learned about how to be a good person or a good friend... anything after Mom died, at least... I owe to you two assholes. I don’t think I ever said that. But I’m not sure I knew it before. So. I’m sorry. But, yeah, now you know.”
It feels like my brain itches. But I think maybe what I’m doing right now is actually scratching it. So once again, I keep going.
“And, I suppose, this is particularly important for you to hear because... I don’t know if Maddie mentioned it, but... We’re... I’m... She and I... You get where I’m going with this, right? We’re together now. Like, a couple and shit. And... and this is the important part, OK? So stay with me. I love her. I love her. Like, a lot. Like, I couldn’t see the shit coming, but here it is, and I love her. And I really, really hope you’re good with that. Because, like... and I hesitate to use this phrasing for reasons that will become apparent quickly, but... she gave me my life back, man.”
I glance over my shoulder again. She still has her eyes closed. I again turn my head toward the grave.
“She gave me my life back, dude.” This time, I say it barely above a whisper. “She saved me when I thought I was past the point of saving.” Pete’s words coming through my mouth.
“And I hope you’re OK with it. Which of course you are, because you’re awesome and you just want the best for people. Fucking dick.” I shake my head and smile.
“I suppose there’s a shit-ton more to say, but... hey, man, I can’t make up for the past, which you well know. And I can’t foretell the future, which you also well know. But I can do my best to be here, in the breathing present, and make this world, as I know it now, the best it can possibly be. Or at least I can try that with my little corner of it, right? Oh! And I totally forgot to say... I’m super fucking rich now. Yeah. I am. So when I say that I can make the world a better place and shit, I actually can. So, I’m gonna do that, I think. And I’m gonna do it with Maddie. We’re gonna do it together. We’re gonna try to live in your image, bro. And I hope that you’re OK with that too.”
Now that I’m at the end of my fucked-up little graveside homily, I start feeling self-conscious about everything I just said out loud. I find myself shuffling my feet and kind of looking around, and then I look back at the headstone and say, “Dude? If you actually were able to hear any of this... can you give me some kind of sign? Or whatever?”
I hold my breath. Not intentionally. It’s just what happens. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Like, a dove or some shit to land on the grave marker. Or a gentle breeze to suddenly blow through. Or, hell, Scotty’s voice to come from out of nowhere and go, “Bro, don’t sweat it. We’re cool.”
But none of that happens. Nothing happens. No dove, no cool breeze, no disembodied voice from the heavens. Just the sound of traffic in the distance and of maybe a leaf-blower somewhere nearby. The grounds crew tending to everyone’s lost friends, family, and lovers.
And then, after a few long moments, I let out the breath I’ve been holding in and say, “Yeah. OK.” And then I turn and head back to where Maddie sits.
“Hey,” I say as quietly as I can when I approach. Her eyes flutter open.
“Hey.”
“You wanna stay here anymore, or...?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”
“Are you?”
“I dunno.”
I sigh and nod.
“But,” she goes on, “I think maybe I will be.”
I nod some more. “Yeah.”
She reaches her hand up to me. I take it and help pull her to her feet. When she lands, she falls forward into my arms and leans up to give me a kiss. She strokes her hand down the side of my still freshly naked cheek and says, “Thank you.”
“Shit,” I say, my brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For being here. Even though it’s hard.”
“Hell. This isn’t hard—” I start, with the intention of enumerating for her all the things we’ve gotten up to lately that have been much harder. But she cuts me off.
“Yeah, it is.”
I don’t challenge her. I just nod once again and give her another kiss.
“It’s a privilege,” I say. “I mean, that’s what commitment is.”
“What?”
“Showing up. Even when shit ain’t easy. Especially when shit ain’t easy.”
She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my chest. I can feel her nodding into me as I stroke her hair. And then, without looking up at me, her muffled voice mumbles out.
“I love you.”
With her face as close to my chest as it is, I wonder if she can hear my heart break.
“I love you too,” I manage to croak.
She looks up at me and says, “You ready?” I nod slowly and give her one more kiss on the head.
She takes my hand in hers, and we begin walking to the car.
And as we walk, it’s probably just in my mind, but I swear I can feel a tiny breeze at our backs, pushing us along.