“ I competed in UIL competitions for headline writing,” Beck offered after finishing a drink of his beer. I guess he’d seen the newsletter as well.
I furrowed my brows in confusion, glancing up at him in the dim lighting. He’d dropped his hand on the table and was running his fingers through his sexy mussed-up hair.
“ Headlines as in newspaper headlines?” I asked with a bemused smile.
“ Yeah.”
A half-smile still peeked through my teasing. “Who does that?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Cynical Girl Misjudges Brawny Hero.”
I threw my head back and cracked up. “Wait, where is the alliteration?”
Beck nodded and quickly made amends. “Cynical Girl Cuts-down Cute…”
“ Cunt,” I interjected.
“ That.” He pointed the rim of his beer toward me and narrowed his eyes. “Look at that. Very creative, Ms. Mae. Would have loved to have you on my UIL team.”
“ So did you win?” I asked with a hidden smile.
“ What a Boar! Slumbering Swine Snoozes, Loses State Championship,” he recited animatedly, swiping his hand across the air as if reading off a marquee. You would have thought the competition had taken place earlier that morning rather than four years prior.
I couldn’t stop laughing. It was just too much. “You won with that?”
“ Women threw their underwear on stage when I recited that headline.” He grinned, sipping his beer.
“ Spare me.”
“ What did you do in high school?” he asked as I reached for the first newsletter.
“ Nothing,” I answered.
“ Nothing?” he rubbed his chin.
“ No. My parents pulled me out when I was a junior. When it looked like I wouldn’t get the transplant,” I clarified, remembering how somber my timeline had looked then. “Before that I wasn’t really involved in anything.” I shrugged and started flipping through the newsletter. Beck took a different one and we started working in silence, scouring the pages for any mention of Colby’s name.
I kept flipping through, seeing one cliché small town thing after another: Bake Sale, Founder’s Day carnivals, Town Hall meetings. Then finally I saw a tiny section of sports that covered everything from Odessa elementary to Odessa High School. There was a tiny, grainy photo at the bottom of the page that looked like an action shot from a basketball game. I skimmed the article underneath until I found his name. “ Colby Brubaker leads varsity basketball team to winning season.” To my dismay, i t was impossible to discern which of the tiny pixilated bodies was his in the photo.
“ This one mentions his basketball achievements. I guess he was pretty good.” I pointed to the article so that Beck could read it as well. I couldn’t help but wonder how he died. He seemed like a really healthy kid.
Beck nodded, pressing his finger down to mark a spot on the newsletter. “I found something about his work with the National Honor Society. Apparently he set up a blood drive for the high school three years in a row.”
I nodded appreciatively and grabbed the newsletter in the center. This is what I wanted. I wanted Colby to be a quasi-super hero, right? But to be honest, in that moment, when I found out that Colby was, in fact, a much better contributor to society than I could ever hope to be, I felt like shit. It was the same feeling that washed over me when I found out Caroline had died. If given a vote, would people have chosen Colby’s life over mine?
My hands fell to my lap and I stared down at where they rested on top of my blue sundress. I picked the chipping red polish off my thumb nail, contemplating the peacefulness that comes with defeat. I could let a ghost haunt my life forever, or I could make the decision to carry him with me, not as a burden, but as a talisman.