The Blizzard

Title and first illustration by Cecila Evoy
Popsicle and Doc Martin Illustrations by Sammie

I guess it feels like a gradual blizzard. At first it's just cold. You feel the sharpness pierce you. Slowly, you lose that feeling and it's replaced with a numbness. The blizzard gets heavier and begins to bury you. The snow crushes you and you can feel your bones invert, your whole body tightening and you lose the ability to breathe. Then the frost creeps and you start to notice parts of you dying. They turn black and begin to wilt. You watch them fall but you can't do anything about it, as the frost continues up your limbs. You can't feel it – you're still too numb – but that's almost worse. You can see yourself losing essential parts and you can't even feel them leave you. You're suddenly abscessed and the abscess keeps growing. And parts of you keep dying. Until, one day, you're gone.

That's loss.

            I could hear faint strumming through the night air. Jared must have brought his guitar. I'd heard that guitar many times before, but that night it made goosebumps ripple down my flesh. It added a heavy chill to the hot August air, as ghosts of memories danced around me. I clutched onto Samson's arm, glad he was beside me. My fingernails dug through his sweater, pinching his skin, but he didn't say anything. As we got closer to the pit, the loud roar of voices increased its volume. When Derek and I put the word out about this mock funeral for Adam, we had expected at most ten people to show up, but it sounded like at least twenty were already there. Typically, this part of the park was filled with mothers and their children, running and playing. Occasionally, it would give way to a soccer game. That night, it was filled with wild teens.

           

            As we got closer to the edge of the pit, I could see the bright glow of fires, sending dim bursts of light through the trees. Samson and I stumbled over the edge and down, taking in the collection of people gathered there. Groups cluttered around each fire pit. Many of them were talking or yelling, some of them standing on the fringes of their groups, isolated and downcast. They were an eclectic bunch. Many were draped in metal and plaid, their colourful hair glimmering in the fire's light. Some looked like they belonged in colleges, studying. No one fit, but we were all there for the same person.

            “You ready for this?” Samson asked.

            “No,” I said, “but I should be here, right?”

            “I guess.” We were just kids – fifteen – we didn't know what we should do, if we should be there. We didn't know the etiquette of death and funerals.

            Samson and I separated. He went to one end of the field and I the other. I knew most of the faces, knew their names and limited parts of their stories. I picked Tyson out of the group and walked over to him, my hands shoved in my pockets. What does one do with their hands in moments like these? Tyson was talking to an older man I'd never seen before, gesturing wildly. I stood beside him, close enough to feel heat emanating from his body, smell his sweat collecting on his skin.

            “It's not! Raging Bull is the best shit ever, man! Best movie, all time.” Tyson's voice was elevated and quick – he'd taken something before he'd come. I wasn't surprised. The older man threw up his hands in exasperation.

            “Kid, you haven't seen enough movies.” His hair was brush cut and grey. His face was hard and riddled with little lines like paths, leading to other parts of his face. I wondered how this seemingly sober and normal man had known Adam. I nudged Tyson before he could go on a tirade. He turned to me, his face softening. I was getting really fucking sick of that look. I got it from strangers, acquaintances and friends. I wasn't the one who was dead, Adam was. So why was everyone looking at me like I might as well be buried beside him?

            “How are ya doin'?” Tyson asked. I looked at the older man who had turned  away once Tyson had begun talking to me.

            “Fine, I guess.” I replied.

            “I'm sorry this all happened. It's shitty his parents didn't let you come to his real funeral.” Tyson was compulsively running his hand through his hair. The tic bothered me, so I grabbed his arm.

            “Yeah, well that's what Derek and I made this one for, right?” His hand was warm and sweaty. My hands were cold.

            “Samson here?” Tyson asked. I nodded in response. Tyson and Samson had been friends since they were babies. They'd been linked at their hip since I'd known them, but in the two weeks after Adam's death, Samson had been going to great lengths to avoid Tyson, while Tyson was determinedly trying to capture Samson's attention. Samson had admitted to me that after losing Adam (who had become an older brother to Samson) he was feeling resentful to people who hadn't known Adam as well as he did. He'd said he needed space from everyone – including Tyson – to get over that, to nurse his misery himself.

            I didn't have the heart to tell Tyson that as he left to find Samson. Instead I watched him leave and stuck my hands further down my pockets.

            I wandered through the groups of people, kicking the odd stone that I came across. They jumped away from me, skipping in the damp grass. More and more garbage collected on the ground. Cigarette butts, bottles of liquor, cans of beer... someone had started singing along to the tune Jared was playing and the snippets of conversations I overheard became more slurred and disjointed as time passed. I liked being on the fringes of this group. If they didn't notice me, I received no meaningless condolences, I got no piteous looks. I felt bad resenting these people – these were my friends. The friends I drank with, partied with, hung out with, shared with. I spent last year and a half with these people, and enjoyed almost every moment of it. But I was filled with a rage that grew with every person that was talking about music, or movies, or police, or what-the-fuck-ever that wasn't Adam. At least Jared was playing some of Adam's favourite songs.

            I drew myself over to the people who weren't participating in conversations, who stood lonesome, by themselves. I spotted Derek across the pit. I wanted to go over to him, but he was talking to Tyson, who looked upset. Derek's was about the only presence I could tolerate then. He didn't try to give false comfort. He understood how I felt – he felt the same. Derek and Adam had been best friends for a long time. Adam's death had impacted him as much as it had me.

            With Derek unavailable I walked over to Jason who was sitting at the base of a maple tree, dragging on a cigarette. He smiled at me as I approached. He was twenty-four, a lot older than me, but easy to talk to. For all the stupid things I'd seen him do, he carried an air of maturity and worldliness  that I envied at fifteen.

            “Hey, how's it going?” Jason asked as I sat down beside him. The grass was soft.

            “Fine, I guess. You?” I received only a shrug. Jason turned his body more toward mine and started picking at the grass around him. I looked closer and saw that he had made numerous mounds of grass, all stacked neatly into domes. “You've been bored.” I commented. Jason chuckled quietly.

            “I don't think bored is quite what I am.” Jason was giving me an odd look. Not the one I'd been getting from everyone else. There was no pity or awkwardness that came with not knowing what to say. There was sadness, there was confusion.

            “So how's Samson coping?” Jason asked after a pause, “I haven't seen him in a while.”

            “He's... getting better. I don't know. The first week he wouldn't even talk to me.” Jason just nodded. I scanned the field of the pit to find Samson. He was standing with a couple of other guys, an angry look on his face. His body was blocked off, arms crossed and hips twisted away from the others. He was angry all the time now. I didn't wonder what had caused his anger at that moment – it didn't matter. I felt his anger, shared his anger. It was a constant underlying emotion – like Gesso under a canvas. They say grief has five stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. That's wrong. It hits you all at once, alternating and mixing into unrecognizable emotions. Everything but the acceptance. Seeing Samson's anger caused a chain reaction in me. I began to feel the familiar slow encompassment of the blizzard creep up my bones. I continued looking around the field, taking in the scores of people treating this memorial like a party – using it as an excuse to drink and smoke up and bitch to their friends about their lives.

            “I hate this.” I said, ripping out a handful of grass and tossing it in front of me.

            “Hate what?” Jason asked, his voice was concerned.

            “This!” I gestured at the crowd, “these people, here, acting like Adam's not even dead!” Jason grabbed my arm, pulling on it gently but firmly. I looked at him and tugged my arm away.

            “They have as much a right to their feelings as you do.” Jason said. This angered me more.

            “What? They have a right to be assholes? They have a right to forget about him?” I stumbled upward, having a difficult time getting my legs under me in my flurry of anger. Jason stood up, too. His face contorted into a heavy frown, his thick eyebrows slopping down and almost meeting.

            “What do you expect form these kids? You expect them to miss him? He was an asshole! Yeah, sure, he was charismatic and knew how to tell a fucking joke. But past that, he was a fucking drunk asshole who's last move in life was to fucking kill himself and put the people who loved him through even more hell!” Jason's voice was so full of anger and disgust that it startled me. I didn't know what to say to that. At the time, I was still too encompassed in grief to realize that Jason was right. In that moment, all I could feel was betrayal.

            “That's not... no! Adam was a good person! He loved me – loved us!” I could feel tears streaming down my face. People were looking over at us, some confused, some ready to egg on a fight. Jason ground the base of his palms into his forehead, groaned, then flung his arms out beside him. With his palms up he looked for an absurd moment like Jesus Christ looking God-ward.

            “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? A good person?” Jason laughed loudly, “he was an abusive fucking asshole, to everyone! You know why these people are here? You wanna know? It isn't because they loved him ever so much! Its because they just wanna say they knew someone who died! They don't give a flying fuck about Adam, they just want some fucking badge of valiant fuckin' glory!” I'd never seen Jason this angry. I hadn't seen many people this angry. The words that would ring true to me later then only caused fury to invade all of me.

            “Then why the fuck are you here? Huh? Why in fuck's name would you show up here if you hated him so god damn much? Why are you here?” I screamed back. The anger I'd carried for so long had finally found a purpose, a point, and I couldn't constrain it anymore.

            “I'm here for you! For you and for Samson, and for all the other people who've convinced themselves that Adam's was the death of a god! Because one day you'll all realize who he really was and you'll need someone there who knew all along! You'll need someone who understands what you will!”

            “I don't need you, okay? I don't now and I wont later!” I took a step toward Jason. I wanted to hit him, to hurt him like he was hurting me. As I took another step forward I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. I turned around and saw Derek. His grip was tight on my wrist, his other hand coming up to grab my shoulder. He was glowering terribly at Jason.

            “Step off, man.” He said, his voice low and quiet. Jason looked surprised, like he'd just been shaken awake. He looked from Derek, to me, to all the people around us, all entranced by our altercation. I looked around too. Some of them looked ashamed, some looked upset. Most looked disappointed that the fight had been stopped. I caught Samson's eye and he quickly looked away from me.

            “Sorry,” Jason said eventually, “I'm sorry,” he began backing away from us, turned, and walked briskly toward the entrance of the park. I leaned back into Derek. The storm of anger had drained me. Derek's grip on me loosened but he didn't let go.

            “You okay?” he asked quietly as the crowed that had gathered around us dissipated.

            “Yeah,” I said, righting myself, “great.” Derek tugged lightly on my wrist.

            “Here, c'mon.” He led me back up the edge of the pit, to the top. We settled on the grass, between two massive oak trees, their roots protruding from the ground. We were covered from sight by trees and darkness, invisible to those below us. I was glad to be with Derek. He understood how I felt. He knew Adam as well as I did. Knew his thoughts, reactions, quirks... his entire being. We had seen each other several times since Adam's death, never talking about Adam, but always thinking about him.

            “Why would he say that about Adam?” I asked Derek, as he rummaged in his backpack, pulling out two cans of Molson's. He handed one to me and I turned it over wordlessly in my hands.

            “Because it's true.” Derek replied. I looked at him incredulously. He shrugged. “He was an ass. He was a drunk. He was mean. That doesn't mean he loved us any less. Or us him.” It didn't make sense to me that Derek was saying this. I knew he loved Adam. I didn't understand how he could love Adam, yet say these things about him. Derek sensed my confusion and smiled wanly. “Listen. I think Adam was a great man. He was funny and smart and generous when he could be. But he had a fucked up life. It changed him, not for the better. It wasn't his fault. And when you love someone, you take the good with the bad. The only thing Jason was wrong about was that I thought he was a God. I don't. He was human, and it was his humanity that I loved.”

            Derek's speech left me silent. I tried to understand what he did, but couldn't. My grief was still too raw to let myself admit that the beautiful, intelligent, charming man I'd known was what Derek and Jason were saying he'd been. I took a swig of beer and set the thought aside. Derek and I sat in silence for a long time, taking sips of beer and drags of smokes, letting each other's presence be comfort.

            “’Member how he used to throw fits about his stupid docs?” Derek muttered, swirling his beer in his can.

            “Yeah. He… liked to keep them clean.” I replied.

            “Clean? Sparkling. I ‘member this one time we were on the subway, at Kipling. Some dude stepped on his docs by accident. Adam went ape shit, fucked the guy up.” I believed it. Adam had always been so full of emotion that sometimes it came bursting out of him like an avalanche crushing anyone in the vicinity. Derek snorted and took a gulp of beer. “Y’know what the last thing he said to me was?” many people had been telling me what the last thing Adam had said to them was. For everyone but Derek, I didn’t care. Derek was different though. Derek knew Adam like I did. Loved Adam like I did.

            “What did he say?”

            “He asked how much it hurt to wax your balls.” I laughed loudly, louder than I had since Adam died. My laugh infected Derek, who started giggling, too. After a few moments we tapered off and sat in silence for a while longer.

            “He’s not coming back.” I said eventually. Derek gave me a sidelong glance, “I mean, before…. When he’d disappear before, he’d always come back. But he’s not coming back this time.” My eyes glossed over with tears, and I gasped for breath that wasn’t there. Derek was staring at me and he looked just as hopeless as I felt. He slung his arm around my shoulders.

            “I know, babe.” I felt ridiculous, sitting in this pit, off to the side and surrounded by howling kids, screaming and shouting and laughing. It felt like they were only thinking about Adam when I got close – like I was some fucking widow, making her rounds to collect their sympathies. That wasn’t what Derek and I set this up for. It was supposed to be a memorial, a funeral to replace the one we were too trashy to be invited to. It wasn’t supposed to be a party, with kids spilling their vodka, pissing in the fire and talking about things that had absolutely nothing to do with Adam. I wasn't supposed to be told how horrible Adam had been. It wasn't supposed to be  like this.

            I got up and brushed dead grass from my thighs.

            “Y'wanna get out of here?” I asked. Derek looked one last time around the pit. Jared was no longer strumming, but circling a fire with a can of beer. Tyson and Samson were together again, off to the side with their heads bent together. The cacophony of the crowd was winding down.

            “Yeah, let's go.” Derek said, following me toward the entrance of the park. In the darkness I shuddered as the blizzard descended on me.