We had to leave at the same time. Both of us putting it off, not realizing that we were on the same flight. That we had another hour and fifteen minutes or so together.
But we figured it out. And Greg talked the businessman next to me into switching seats with him. Greg and I were able to breathe the same recycled air. Inhaling the stench of stale breath and farts on a perpetual cootie-filled loop.
And now he’s here at the food court with Luke. I killed myself to find him, maybe. But now I don’t know what to do with his presence.
You know what it feels like when you finally get over someone and then they call you out of the blue? This feels like that on an infinite scale.
Chapter 17
Naomi is back. The beautiful viper of my death is here. And the man across from me says she is his. By the way she’s staring at him, I’m guessing he’s right.
“Greg.” The name escapes her lips in a whisper.
Greg stands up and rushes to her. He hugs her, even though it doesn’t feel the same way as it did when they were alive. And all I can do is watch.
I bet they would both cry if they could. Those sloppy tears of ultimate joy. Tears I never cried when I was alive.
How am I the loser even in death?
Naomi suddenly becomes aware of my presence and says, “You’ve met Luke.”
“Yeah. He just told me that my grief watch is over. And that you’re dead.” Greg’s smile is that of every boy who could make punk slacker look cool and sexy instead of lazy. How did he end up here? People like that don’t commit suicide.
Naomi leads him back to the table and they sit down. She doesn’t look at me.
“Any second now, Greg will be sucked away to wait for a vapid body.” I look down at this file. “He’s currently number 213 in queue.”
Naomi looks at her hands, then at Greg, then finally to me.
I want Greg to disappear. But more than that, I want him to never have appeared in the first place.
“I didn’t know you were wearing that when you died,” Naomi says to him, pointing at his Black Crowes T-shirt.
“You bought me this. It was my favorite shirt.” He points to her red dress and says, “What’s up with that dress?” He’s smiling again. It’s that mischievous grin that women find sexy. I guess.
“Eliza talked me into wearing it.”
“Typical.”
“How long were you two together?” I put them in the past tense on purpose. A reminder that things have changed.
They both kind of shrug and squirm until Naomi says, “About a year, year and a half.” Then she adds, “On and off.”
Greg stares at her and smiles again.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says. “I kept waiting to see you in my grief watch, but you were never the destination. How long were you alive after me?”
“A couple of months,” she says.
And then Greg is gone. Sweet relief. Maybe he was never there at all.
But when I look at Naomi, I know he was there. She’s looking down at her hands in a way that tells me she’s sad without me seeing her face.
“I had given up finding him.” Her words are almost a whisper.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I try to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, but it doesn’t work.
She looks up. She somehow looks tired. It’s the first time I’ve seen her like that.
“I told you when we were at Daisy’s.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, but I’m not sure anymore. “What happened with him?”
“It’s my fault he’s dead. I broke up with him because he was so sad all the time. I was always taking care of him. I never had time to feel anything of my own. It was so much fucking work.” Naomi looks back to her hands. “But I loved him. I loved him so much. And I destroyed him.”
“Is that why you killed yourself?”
“Yes. That and I had about four vodka cocktails, a bottle of champagne, and three Vicodin in my system when I made the decision. And a dozen or so other reasons, including another ex and his dumb baby. But Greg’s death was the sweet buttercream frosting on my depression cake.”
I feel bad for her, for Greg, for me. There is a misery to life that some of us simply can’t tolerate.
“I wonder if I’ll see him again.”
“No idea.”
“I told you about him. I can’t help it if you were too caught up in your own shit to pay attention,” she says.
“I had a lot to deal with at Daisy’s.” I look at her face.
“I know, I know. A lot to process.” She air quotes “process” and leans back in her seat.
“It’s just weird. Okay? Even if you told me, it’s still new information.”
“Okay.” She shrugs.
If she told me when she knew I wasn’t listening, is that the same as actually telling me?
Would I be so enthralled by her if she wasn’t the only person I know?
“How come you haven’t offered to be the one?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” The way she asks it, I know she knows exactly what I mean.
“I said I would go to Oblivion. And your only response was to make it be Nolan.”
Naomi leans forward and narrows her eyes at me. “Because I want to live. Because I shouldn’t have killed myself. I’m not going to offer to sacrifice myself just to make you think highly of me.”
And then I’m back with Nolan. Just like that. We’re in a mobile home. Another fucking mobile home. Don’t any of us know people who can afford real houses?
“Luke,” he says. A man’s greeting. If he knew my last name, he would have used that instead. I’m sure of it.
“Nolan.” I can be a man, too.
“You look down, son. You okay?”
A strange question from one suicide soul to another. None of us are okay. Are we?
“Yeah. Girl problems. It’s stupid.” I don’t know why I say it out loud. I guess because I know Nolan’s been through some shit himself.
“Sorry, son,” he says.
“Thanks.”
We’re sitting on builder’s grade carpet. It looks pretty new. Definitely newer than the carpet at Daisy’s.
“Is it the woman in the boobie-dress?”
Nolan’s use of the word “boobie” gives me pause. I’ve never heard a man his age use that word before. I wonder if next he’ll say “oopsie-daisy” or “footsies.”
“Yeah.”
“Figures,” he says.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My son’s. It’s a turd-box, ain’t it?”
“It’s not so bad.” And it’s really not. At least it’s clean and the furniture isn’t threadbare.
“My boy’s not so great at keeping a job. He gets distracted. He’ll decide to go camping and stay four days instead of two, basically forgetting to go back to work.” Nolan shakes his head. “He’s a good kid, though. Well, not a kid. But you know what I mean. He’d do anything to help a friend.”
“Grandkids?” I ask.
“Nope.” Nolan looks around the room and says, “If I don’t volunteer to slip off into Oblivion, what will happen?”
“Then it will probably be me.” I didn’t want to tell him the truth. But my mouth didn’t listen to my brain. That’s how it works here.
“But you’re so young.”
I shrug and say, “I killed myself, Nolan. I put myself in this predicament.” I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up about another chance. Things were easier when I had a complete lack of hope.
“That girl.” He holds out his hands to mimic breasts. Straight men all speak the same anatomical language. “Is she special?”
“I think so. But maybe she’s just the only person I know.”
“I had a girlfriend like her when I was young. She was a beautiful girl, but there was always something treacherous lurking underneath the surface. Like she would stab me in my sleep if it suited her.” He smiles at the memory. “Best sex of my life, though. It was worth possibly getting stabbed.”