Forever Dark(60)

Josh, one of Steven’s three older brothers, comes outside when he sees my truck pull up. He looks and acts just like Steven. It’s bittersweet to see yet helps me remember my friend.

“Hey, man, nice game against Washington.”

I hit the button to my alarm and lock my truck and then glance over to see Landon’s truck parked in the driveway. It makes my stomach knot but I push that aside and smile at Josh. “Thanks. You catch the game?”

He nods walking with me to the door. We step up on the porch, his hand reaches over and pats my back. “I did. It was strange to see you fumble the ball.”

He had to mention that.

Ass.

I laugh it off but I don’t like that he had to point that out. Sets my mood off for the night.

I don’t say much more because when I get inside the house I see Alexa laying into Landon. At first it’s surprising because I would have thought that she would be weak from recovering. Here she just took enough Vicodin the other day, enough to kill a horse, and now she’s fine.

Physically.

Mentally, I would say she’s far from that. They had put her on a twenty-four hour mandatory suicide watch and then allowed her to go home after that.

I’m betting Landon wishes they would have kept her longer. It’s almost entertaining to watch.

Almost.

Looking at Landon, it’s clear that nothing Alexa says to him right then can make it any worse. He’s already been so hard on himself that he doesn’t know the difference.

Alexa shoves him, her tiny fists connecting with his chest. “Just because you’re fucked up,” she then motions to Madison who’s standing against the wall next to Macy, “or she’s fucked up, doesn’t mean we’re not, you selfish bastard. I’m tired of seeing you two like this! It doesn’t mean that Cash and Macy aren’t dying inside either. We’re all fucked up forever.”

That statement washes over all of us. I feel it. It needed to be said and finally, someone did, and it took an act of desperation like attempting suicide to bring this to a head.

Landon looks at me. Only me. And then walks out. I know where he’s going. Finally.

I give Landon a couple hours. I sit and talk with Alexa in the other room and never look in Madison’s direction. I can’t.

I give my attention to Alexa and hold her while she cries against my chest. I don’t say anything right now because I think saying anything at this point isn’t what she wants. She’s having a hard enough time facing reality without Steven. She doesn’t need another “I’m sorry.” What she needs is her friends reunited so we can help each other heal.

What she needs most was buried three years ago but maybe the broken pieces of us all can reconnect to form one whole. Who knows, all I know is that what we have going on right now is most definitely not working.

So I hold her like I did that night. Just hold her. Somehow that seems to be what she needs at this moment.





It’s nearing sunset when I leave Alexa at Jackie’s house. Never once did I look at Madison. It wasn’t easy. When I get to the cemetery, it’s quiet. There’s no one there and it’s a relief. I don’t want to see anyone. It’s clear by the jersey laying on the headstone that Landon’s finally been here. For once I’m proud of him.

I’ve been to Steven’s grave about ten times since he died. Mostly after big games. We talk a lot. Well, I do, but if he was here, I imagine him talking to me. He would. I tell him about the Civil War game and how close it was. I tell him about Alexa and that I’m going to keep a better eye on her.

I had no idea she’d dropped out of school six months ago. If I hadn’t been so caught up with everything else, I would have noticed. I would have been there for her if she needed me.

I stare at his headstone and the words written over its smooth surface.



Steven Daniel Griffin

October 10, 1992 – December 5, 2010

Your memory will always live on within the souls you touched.



I’ve never been here and not cried. Today’s no different. I sit down in front of the grave and stare at it. Madison and Landon think I’ve never grieved Steven’s death… that I moved on too easily. That’s not it at all. I grieved. I did maybe even more than they did but I’m doing right by my buddy and living for what he would want. If you let it, grief controls you and infects your blood just like depression does. It makes you weak. Takes your beat.

Drawing in a deep breath I look up at the gray sky that feels so bright I squint and squeeze my eyes shut. It still hurts from where I was punched. The ground’s cold and hard, the dirt beneath my feet crumbling as I raise my knees to my chest, the football in my hand hanging over my left leg. I look at it and the signatures of all the Oregon Ducks players stares me in the face. After the Civil War game we all signed it and then coach gave it to me and said that I should find a good place for it. He was right. I did.