“ I’ve been on a road trip, kind of. What’s wrong with Caroline?”
She breathed into the phone and I knew she was trying to pick her priorities. If Caroline was okay, she’d yell at me for leaving. If Caroline wasn’t okay, she’d worry about my punishment later.
“ Sweetie. You have to come home. Caroline was really sick. Last night they-”
I cut her off. “ Was really sick?”
“ Abby…” My mom tried to soothe me through the phone, but there was nothing she could say. My heart rate was picking up. My hands were shaking. I lost focus of my vision so that the world became a messy blur.
“ Is Caroline better now?” I asked with a hollow voice. My world caved in on itself like a collapsible tent. The sun seemed to shine too brightly, the air streamed too loudly out of the vents. Beck’s driving seemed slow, as if he didn’t realize that my world was slipping through my fingers with each passing second of this phone call.
Her silence said everything I needed to hear.
But finally she began. “No…Honey…Caroline passed aw-” she whispered, and I felt bile rise through to my throat.
“ I’m coming home. I’ll be there tonight,” I muttered, and then hung-up. My phone slipped out of my shaking hand and tumbled down to the floor of the camper.
Caroline.
Caroline died.
Caroline was no longer experiencing life.
She was no longer a person. She would never answer the phone if I called her. How can that be possible? They say you appreciate something more when it’s gone. That’s bullshit. I loved Caroline through every second of our friendship because we knew it was always terminal. We were never meant to be friends forever. When we first met, we both had timelines that weren’t even supposed to reach a new calendar year. Five years later, she was dead and my timeline was eternal in comparison.
“ Stop the car,” I demanded. We were on an empty stretch of highway with no other cars in sight. The sun was hanging high in the sky, heating the landscape and boiling my emotions even more.
Caroline lied to me. She told me she had eight months to live and she didn’t even have eight days. That selfless asshole. There was nothing but desert until the horizon met the sky. I had the black urn in my right hand. I left my shoes in the car and the sharp rocks were piercing the tender soles of my feet, but I didn’t care. I hoped I stepped on a million rocks. I hope they dug into my skin and drew blood.
Releasing a soul-crushing scream, I threw the urn as far as I could, watching it soar through the sky and then shatter into a million pieces once it collided with the ground. Wind picked up the dark grey ashes and spread them through the desert air. They moved organically, like a tiny tornado, but it wasn’t enough. I picked up rocks and threw them to where the urn had shattered. I reveled in the sound of rock hitting pottery. It dotted the landscape along with my angry sobs.
I felt guilt like a red hot iron branding my stomach. I’d left her in that hospital room so that I could go on a dumb road trip with a dumb guy who didn’t fucking matter.
“ You let me go!” I cried. “You TOLD ME TO GO!”
How dare she decide what was best for me. She didn’t want to show me her sickness? She wanted me to live? I’d fucking show her. I picked up rock after rock, stepping closer to the urn and chunking them as hard as I could.
“ YOU’RE A COWARD!” I screamed toward the desert sky. “I hate you! I HATE YOU!”
She told me to go on a road trip when I should have been with her. I should have been there to give her ice chips or for comedic relief. I would have done anything, truly anything, but she didn’t let me. She was being selfless, anyone would have agreed. But in that moment I had to believe she was actually being selfish or the guilt of last night would be too much to bear. She was dying and I was having my first orgasm. She was choking on her last breath and Beck was helping me spread ashes that weren’t even fucking ashes!
I heard rocks crunch beneath Beck’s weight behind me and I turned toward him. “You know what was in that urn?”
He just stood there, trying to gage my emotions as best as he could. It pissed me off that he wasn’t as angry as I was. His hands were shoved into his front pockets and his eyebrows were scrunched together in concern. There was pity etched across his features and I wished I could wipe it off and replace it with something else.