I should never have suggested we take the A Street Bridge. What if we’d gone the other way instead? Eleanor would still be here.
Mr. Embry clears his throat. “I’m sorry about Finch. He was a good, screwed-up kid who should have had more help.”
This gets my attention.
Then he adds, “I feel responsible.”
I want to send his computer and books crashing to the floor. You can’t feel responsible. I’m responsible. Don’t try to take that from me.
He continues, “But I’m not. I did what I felt I could do. Could I have done more? Possibly. Yes. We can always do more. It’s a tough question to answer, and, ultimately, a pointless one to ask. You might be feeling some of the same emotions and having some of these same thoughts.”
“I know I could have done more. I should have seen what was going on.”
“We can’t always see what others don’t want us to. Especially when they go to great lengths to hide it.” Mr. Embry plucks a thin booklet off his desk and reads: “ ‘You are a survivor, and as that unwelcome designation implies, your survival—your emotional survival—will depend on how well you learn to cope with your tragedy. The bad news: Surviving this will be the second worst experience of your life. The good news: The worst is already over.’ ”
He hands the booklet to me. SOS: A Handbook for Survivors of Suicide.
“I want you to read it, but I also want you to come talk to me, talk to your parents, talk to your friends. The last thing we want you to do is bottle all this in. You were closest to him, which means you’re going to feel all the anger and loss and denial and grief that you would feel over any death, but this death is different, so don’t be hard on yourself.”
“His family says it was an accident.”
“So maybe it was. People are going to deal with it however they can. My only concern is you. You can’t be responsible for everyone—not your sister, not Finch. What happened to your sister—she didn’t have a choice. And maybe Finch felt like he didn’t either, even though he did.” He frowns at a spot just over my shoulder, and I can see him going back over it all in his mind—every conversation or meeting with Finch—the same way I’ve been doing since it happened.
The thing I can’t, won’t, mention to him is that I see Finch everywhere—in the hallways at school, on the street, in my neighborhood. Someone’s face will remind me of him, or someone’s walk or someone’s laugh. It’s like being surrounded by a thousand different Finches. I wonder if this is normal, but I don’t ask.
At home, I lie on my bed and read the entire book, and because it’s only thirty-six pages, it doesn’t take long. Afterward, the thing that sticks in my mind are these two lines: Your hope lies in accepting your life as it now lies before you, forever changed. If you can do that, the peace you seek will follow.
Forever changed.
I am forever changed.
At dinner, I show my mom the book Mr. Embry gave me. She reads it as she eats, not saying a word, while my dad and I try to carry on a conversation about college.
“Have you decided which school you’re going to, V?”
“Maybe UCLA.” I want to tell my dad to choose a school for me, because what does it matter? They’re all the same.
“We should probably let them know soon.”
“I guess. I’ll be sure to get right on that.”
My dad looks at my mom for help, but she is still reading, her food forgotten. “Have you given any thought to applying to NYU for spring admission?”
I say, “No, but maybe I should go work on that now. Do you guys mind?” I want to get away from the booklet and from them and any talk of the future.
My dad looks relieved. “Of course not. Go.” He is glad I’m going, and I’m glad I’m going. It’s easier this way, because otherwise we might all have to face each other and Eleanor and this thing that has happened with Finch. In that moment, I’m thankful I’m not a parent and I wonder if I ever will be. What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.
Actually, I know exactly how that feels.
* * *
At an all-school assembly the second Thursday after Finch’s funeral, they bring in a martial arts expert from Indianapolis to talk to us about safety and how to defend ourselves, as if suicide is something that might attack us on the street, and then they show us this film about teenagers on drugs. Before they turn off the lights, Principal Wertz announces that some of the content is pretty graphic, but that it’s important we see the realities of drug use.
As the movie starts up, Charlie leans over and tells me the only reason they’re showing it is because there’s a rumor going around that Finch was on something, and this is why he died. The only people who know this isn’t true are Charlie, Brenda, and me.
When one of the teen actors overdoses, I walk out. Outside the auditorium, I throw up in one of the trash cans.
“Are you okay?” Amanda is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.
“I didn’t see you there.” I move away from the trash can.
“I couldn’t get through five minutes of that.”
I sit down on the floor, a couple of feet away from her. “What goes through your mind when you’re thinking about it?”
“About …”
“Killing yourself. I want to know what that feels like, what a person thinks about. I want to know why.”
Amanda stares at her hands. “I can only tell you how I felt. Ugly. Disgusting. Stupid. Small. Worthless. Forgotten. It just feels like there’s no choice. Like it’s the most logical thing to do because what else is there? You think, ‘No will even miss me. They won’t know I’m gone. The world will go on, and it won’t matter that I’m not here. Maybe it’s better if I was never here.’ ”
“But you don’t feel that way all the time. I mean, you’re Amanda Monk. You’re popular. Your parents are nice to you. Your brothers are nice to you.” Everyone’s nice to you, I think, because they’re too afraid not to be.
She looks at me. “In those moments, none of it matters. It’s like that stuff is happening to someone else because all you feel is dark inside, and that darkness just kind of takes over. You don’t even really think about what might happen to the people you leave behind, because all you can think about is yourself.” She wraps her arms around her knees. “Did Finch ever see a doctor?”