I JOLT AWAKE.
Blue light flashes through the dim, late afternoon light in my bedroom and eerie Theremin music fills the room. For a second, my mind goes to UFOs. Because of course it does.
Then I realize my phone alarm is going off, muffled by my pillow. Fully awake, I decide the lights are from a police car on the street.
The clock says I’ve only been asleep for an hour, but my body feels heavy like I’ve slept for days with the flu.
I’m super late to meet Shari.
Peeking out the bedroom curtain, I spy a police car as I suspected. Parked in front of the cruiser is an ambulance.
Dread settles on my chest like a heavy weight. Given there are only three units in this complex, and I’m fine, that means it’s either Jim or Wanda. Unless it’s for one of the neighbors on the other side of the street. I cling to that hope as I dash through my apartment and outside.
The screen door to Jim’s apartment is propped open, and an EMT is walking inside, donning rubber gloves.
Oh no. No no no.
“Is he okay?” I practically leap across the courtyard to get to Jim’s.
“Are you family?” the EMT asks. He’s a young, blond guy with round, ruddy-colored cheeks that give him a baby face.
“No, I’m his neighbor. He doesn’t have any family.”
“Are you listed as a medical proxy? Or have a Power of Attorney?” Turning his back to the door, he blocks me from entering into the living room.
“I don’t know if he has one.” I’m ducking and weaving in front of him like we’re in a boxing match.
He stands still, managing to prevent me from seeing past him.
“I can’t let you in, miss. We need to do our jobs and you’ll be in the way.” His answer is a definitive no.
It sounds bad, really bad. Jim is alone like me. Who’s going to go with him to the hospital and help him? If only family can visit, he won’t have anyone.
Tears spill down my face again as I jog over to Wanda’s. Pounding on the door, I call her name. There’s no way she can’t hear me if she’s home. When I don’t get an answer, I look for her car in her spot. It’s not there.
Not wanting to leave Jim alone, I go back to my casita and sit on the small step where I can keep an eye on the whole complex.
I’m not a religious person but for some reason, I begin to recite the Lord’s Prayer from memory. I might not have all the verses in the correct order, but it feels right to say it while I wait.
A few more men go in and out of the apartment. One is a police officer, and another guy is also an EMT. I’m not sure about the third because he’s not wearing a uniform. Finally, the baby-faced guy I first spoke to brings a gurney from the ambulance to the door.
That’s got to be a good sign.
After some maneuvering, he manages to get it through the door.
I stand, waiting to let Jim know I’m here for him and I’ll be at the hospital, too. From the time I spent in hospitals when my mom was sick, I know I can occupy a chair in a waiting room for hours without anyone bothering me. The doctors might not give me medical information, but they won’t kick me out for waiting.
The police officer is the first to exit. He gives me a nod that is neither sad nor happy. Walking to his car, he speaks into the mic on his uniform. The man in plain clothes meets him at the car and they shake hands.
A few seconds later, Baby Face backs out of the door, pulling the gurney over the threshold while his partner pushes from the other end.
I take a step forward, ready to speak to Jim.
But when I see the sheet pulled all the way over his head, I freeze.
A weak sob obstructs my throat. Unable to take a deep breath, I crumple to the ground.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” baby-faced EMT tells me in a professional monotone. “He never regained consciousness. The police will notify the landlord to come lock up the apartment.”
The words make sense, but I can’t comprehend the meaning behind them.
Still crying, but not sobbing, I quietly observe them wheel Jim away.
I’m still sitting on the step in front of my door when Wanda comes home.
Seeing me there, she runs over. Her eyes widen when she sees Jim’s open door and empty chair.
“What happened?”
I try to speak the words, but my throat keeps closing.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Sitting next to me, she envelops me in her arms and her sweet, floral scent. “It’s going to be okay. He’s too stubborn to die.”
“He’s not,” I finally manage to choke out. “He died. I should’ve checked on him when I walked by earlier, but I was too caught up in my own head.”
Her tears join mine. “You should’ve called me when you found him.”
I stiffen. “I didn’t find him. The EMTs were here and working on him when I woke up from a nap.”
“He must’ve pushed his alert button.” Wanda squeezes my hand.
The explanation only makes me feel worse. He was suffering enough to call for help and I was a dozen yards away, oblivious.
The parallels to my dad hit me like a kick to the stomach.
“Breathe, sweetie.” Wanda’s voice sounds far away. “Put your head between your knees.”
She sounds like she’s underwater, but I’m the one drowning and can’t get oxygen into my lungs.
Following her instructions, I lean forward.
The darkness continues to encroach as I struggle to inhale. Wanda rubs circles on my back until my breathing normalizes.
“You’re okay,” she speaks in a soothing voice. “I’ve got you.”
My tears return harder than before at those two sentences. Boone said the same words when he found me in the storm.
“Lucy?” someone calls my name.
I lift my head at the familiar voice and see Shari standing in the middle of the courtyard.
Seeing my face, she rushes over to us.
“What happened? I called and sent a hundred texts when you didn’t show up. Are you okay? Was it something Boone did? Do I need to get a shovel?” Her words fly out of her. “Hi, I’m Shari.”
Wanda manages a weak laugh. “I’m Wanda. And I like the way you think.”
I forgot about meeting her tonight.
“My neighbor died.” I point at Jim’s casita.
Shari crouches in front of me and Wanda. “I’m so sorry. Did you know him well?”
I think about her question. “Not really. We talked occasionally and I made him cookies sometimes.”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats.
“Nothing to be done about it now,” Wanda says. “I’m going to lock up his place, then have some tequila. If you want to join me, good. If you don’t, I understand.”
She pats my knee, then stands.
Shari takes her place next to me. “Want me to stay with you?”
Resting my head on her shoulder, I shake my head no. “It’s been a really shitty day and I think I need to go to sleep for a week. Maybe then I’ll wake up and feel okay.”
“You can sleep and I’ll hang out in case you change your mind. How does that sound?” She leans her cheek on the top of my head.
“It’s really sweet of you, but my couch is old and uncomfortable.” I think about the spring poking Boone and suddenly wish he was here instead of his sister. “Please don’t tell Boone. I . . . I would prefer it if he doesn’t know about Jim.”
Something tells me Boone would be here in minutes if he knew I was hurt. Even the last time I saw him, when he was a complete and utter asshole, he still stayed with me until he knew I’d be safe.
Rubbing my eyes, sleep settles heavy in my body. I feel a million years old and completely empty.
“Promise you’ll call or text if you need anything. Or you wake up at three and want someone to be here. You don’t have to be sad alone, Lucy.”
I nod and shift so I can stand up. “Thanks.”
She also rises, brushing off her bottom. “I’m going to call you in the morning. If you don’t want to talk, text me back so I know you’re okay. Otherwise, I’ll be on your doorstep again.”
One more tight hug later she leaves.
If grief had an official holiday, today would be the day.
I notice the glow of the full moon rising over Jim’s roof.
We send people to the moon, but we can’t cure cancer, heal broken lungs, or restore memories.
I flip off the glowing disk. Sadly, it doesn’t help me feel better.
It’s not the moon’s fault.
Memories from when I was little float into focus as I stare up at the sky.
Images of Dad and I in his car, driving at night, especially during warm summer nights with the windows down and rock music playing on the car’s stereo.
Neither of us cared where we went or if we drove around in circles, being in the car was special. Something about the glow of the dashboard, headlights illuminating the dark, made the time together feel magical. Like we were the last people on Earth. Some nights he’d pretend we were in a spaceship, flying through the stars.
And at some point during all of our drives, he’d ask if I could see the moon.
“I see the moon and the moon sees me,” he’d say.
“No, Daddy, I see the moon, so the moon sees me,” I’d argue back.
“If you see the moon, you’ll see me,” he’d sing to me. “The light of the stars shine on me, let them shine on you, my love.”
Even now, when I see the moon, I think of those drives.
Returning to the step outside of my front door, I gaze up at the sky, indigo to the east, still bright with violet and red in the west as the sun sets.
“I see the moon,” I whisper. “Do you see me?”