Filed to story: If He Had Been With Me Book PDF Free
I’m expecting him to say no. I’m expecting him to pretend he wasn’t just crying.
Instead, he says, “I’m sorry if I’ve been so weird.”
I glance over. He sits at his desk, in profile to me. He picks up the framed picture.
“The only person I’ve shared a room with before was Todd, my twin brother. He died when we were fourteen.” He wipes at his eyes.
I am such a jerk.
Why didn’t it occur to me that his parents had a reason for being so emotional about leaving him? Or consider that maybe there was a reasonable explanation for that Little League photo?
I wish I could apologize for the way I judged him and his parents, but first I’d have to explain my assholery.
“I’m so sorry,” I say and leave it at that.
“It’s the kinda thing that never really leaves you, you know?” Brett says.
“Yeah,” I say.
Perhaps he can hear how I do know, because the rest of Brett’s words come out in a rush.
“I’ve had four years to adjust, but whenever I hear you shift in your sleep or get up in the mornings, for a second, I think you’re him. So I’ve been icing you out. You’re this big reminder that he’s not here with me.”
“No, I get it.” I think of telling him about Finn, but this isn’t the time. “What was Todd like?” I glance over in case it was the wrong thing to say, but his face lights up and reminds me of Angelina at the wake.
Todd could have been an actor, Brett swears to me. He knows they were kids, but if I had seen Todd act, I would understand. Todd could turn on something inside him and become someone else. He did all the junior theater stuff in Kansas City. It didn’t matter what the role was, Todd flipped that switch and became George Gibbs or Mercutio or the Tin Man, it didn’t matter.
Todd also loved baseball and wanted to coach at any level he could.
“I asked Todd if he wanted to be an actor once,” Brett says. “He shrugged. He said he only liked it. He loved baseball. And he wanted to be a dad, and being an actor could delay that.” Brett pauses. “And I was like, we’re fourteen. I thought it was a lot to ask about careers, and here he was talking about being a dad.” He pauses again. “He would have been a good one though. A great coach too. He had a way of being happy for other people that was contagious. When the team won, he was happy for the whole team, and when they lost, he was happy for the teammates who had made good plays.” He laughs. “There was a joke at school, ‘You’d have to be a real asshole to hate Todd Carter.'”
It sounds like Todd and Finn would have gotten along well.
The way Todd died, Brett tells me, was stupid, and when he explains it, I have to agree. Todd was coming home from a practice with their dad, and their car was stopped at a red light. A drunk hit another car in the intersection, and that car was pushed into their family car, which caused an airbag malfunction that broke Todd’s neck.
“Then he was…” Brett holds his hands open as his voice trails off.
“Gone,” I finish for him, nodding. “Just like that.”
Brett looks up at me expectantly.
“It’s funny, but—I mean, it’s not funny at all, but…” I fumble. “This room was open because my best friend died. Last month.” My face feels hot. “It’s not the same as a brother, especially not a twin, but I kinda get it.”
Suddenly tears are in my eyes. Trying to be respectful of Brett’s loss, I feel like I’m diminishing my friendship with Finn.
Before I can be embarrassed about crying, Brett is saying, “Last month? Dude, I’m surprised you didn’t punch me on sight.”
Which makes me laugh and cry a little more.
“What happened?”
Then I’m explaining how Finn’s death was so unfair, how he was always so cautious.
How he was great at soccer, unfailingly kind.
How he’d loved this girl his whole life and had only just gotten to be with her.
How the funeral home was packed.
It’s not like Brett and I instantly become friends.
But we talk about how we never used to believe that we would die.
About how easily bodies can break.
We talk for a long time. I skip running to go to the dining hall with him. The pizza is surprisingly good. Finn would have liked this pizza. I tell Brett that around a mouthful. And about how I don’t want to forget.
“You won’t,” Brett says. He looks directly at me from across the table, his food forgotten. He’s so certain. “You won’t forget. You’ll never forget,” he says.
My throat is tight, and it’s hard to swallow.
We’re silent after that, and I’m starting to feel embarrassed. I barely know this guy, and I’ve almost cried in front of him twice in one day.
When we’re done eating, we clear our trays and head out. We pause and look both ways before crossing the street toward our dorm. Halfway through the crosswalk, he starts talking.
“Someday,” Brett says, “you’ll think of Finn, and it won’t hurt. It’s not that the hurt ever goes away. You saw me today. But sometimes? Sometimes when I remember Todd, I’m just happy that I got to be his brother. Someday you’ll have that with Finn. I know it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and we’re quiet again.
It isn’t until a few minutes later, as we’re getting into the elevator, that he says, “So admit it. You thought I was an asshole with my JV baseball pic framed on my desk.”
The panic must show on my face, because he laughs, which means it’s okay for me to laugh too.
Like I said, we’re not instantly friends, but it’s enough of a start that Mom shouldn’t send Charlie after me.
sixteen
After five weeks of school, I go back to Ferguson. It’s the weekend before Finn’s birthday, and it just feels right to be there.
When I get to town, I go out of my way to drive past his house. It looks like the grass hasn’t been mowed since Finn died. There’s been a drought, so it could be worse, but someone needs to do it before there’s a citation or something. It’s obvious that doing Finn’s chore is more than anyone in his family can handle right now.
But I can handle it. I’ll do it for Finn, not instead of him.
My parents are even happier to see me than I expected and nicer to each other than they’ve been in years. Perhaps time alone is good for them, or perhaps worrying about me brought them together.
“We should go to the art museum tomorrow,” Mom suggests. Dad mumbles something about putting gas in the car first, which means he would be going too.
“I’m going to go by Finn’s mom’s house in the morning,” I say. “Somebody needs to mow their grass.” There’s a pause, and I think they might protest, but my parents beam.
“That would be very kind of you,” Mom says. Dad says something about watching the game afterward, and Mom says she’ll make us a late lunch.
Under the table, I text my brothers that someone has kidnapped our parents and replaced them with actors who don’t know that they’re supposed to hate each other. As usual, only the younger three think this is funny.
I didn’t call Angelina first. I simply loaded Dad’s mower into the trunk of my car and drove over.
I’ve been better the past couple of weeks. I still cry in the shower sometimes, but not as much. It helps to have a roommate who I can talk to if I want and gets it when I don’t.
I guess Brett is my friend, though I don’t think he’ll ever be a friend like Finn was to me.