Luke

As the light sounds of Modest Mouse blared from the back of my jeep my mind was serenely blank. The salty fresh smell of the ocean calmed me like on it could. Hundreds of vehicles had passed, cut me off, and pissed me off that morning. But the blazing sun of the afternoon had soothed me like a drug. As my stomach was full of Sonics beautiful burgers I thought of how much I would miss this. Waking up at 10, strapping on a suit, tattered jeans, and sandals. Walking across the street, up the bridge, and onto the hot beige sand was what I would call a sanctuary. A faith of some sort. I worshipped the air and the way the cool water felt on my skin. I was leaving with the same frame of mind as a child wanting to stay at a playground. Stubbornly, grudgingly, I had packed my belongings and was now driving up the coast with nothing but a few souvenirs and bruises from a Kayaking accident. A cell phone brought me back to reality and I almost hit a motorcycle on the side of me. The phone belonged to my friend Kristine who went with my family and I on the trip to The Outer Banks. “Hey, Katie.” I heard her say while I sang the chorus to “The View.” “How do you know?” Kristine’s voice was tense but I kept singing while glancing warily at her though the mirror. After two minutes of her questioning and my singing she ended the call, looked up at me in the mirror, and blurted out “Luke Tiahart is dead.” My singing stopped, “Satin in a coffin” ironically played on the sound system, and as I stared at the road ahead of me it might as well have been a blank wall. That’s not funny Kristine. We were just talking about him last night, calling him a crazy asshole. “Who’s Luke Tiahart?” asked an urgent voice from inside the car that didn’t belong to Kristine. I had forgotten my Mom was in the car because I was pretending I had a license instead of a permit. “A friend of ours. Alexe just broke up with…” trailing off I panicked. Oh my God, Alexe. She had to know. Everyone must know because it’s a fact that I am always the last to know anything. We pulled over to a gas station and as my Mom went in to get me a much needed Red Bull I called Alexe.
“Hey, what’s up? How was the beach?” said an excited unfazed Alexe. Her happiness depressed me for the first time. “Uhh fine, fine. Um so you haven’t heard?” I said awkwardly. Please say yes. Please say you’ve heard. “Heard what?” she asked and I suddenly didn’t seem to have lungs in my body. Kristine threw me a surprised look. She thought Alexe know too. As I searched for the words to crush my best friend’s world Alexe laughed “Who died?” Here was my chance. “Luke, I’m sorry, it’s Luke, he’s dead, Katie called Kristine. He died from internal bleeding because he was in a car accident. That’s what Katie said…” Suddenly with an alarmingly unfamiliar voice “I’ll call you back.” And hung up.
I did not cry on the way home. Maybe it was the shock or disbelief. I kept daring myself to call Luke’s cell phone to if he’d pick up. I never did. Partly because I knew he wouldn’t pick up and partly because I still wanted to believe there was a chance he would. When we arrived in Fairfax everything looked so… different. I can’t explain it. But I felt that things would never look the same. In a frenzy to find the answers Kristine and I called every single person we thought might know something. After we were done we mutually concluded that we should have just made of our own assumption of what happened because everyone had a different story. He died from alcohol poisoning, being shot, getting hit hard in the head in a fight, hitting a tree with his car, and the most popular one was that it was all a joke and Luke was at home laughing about it. By that night the rumors were cleared up for good. I was with Alexe at Starbucks the night I got back into town. We met up with Faye and Kelly. To see a sobbing, heartbroken Faye was just as painful as anything else that had gone on that day. She was supposed to be cheering everyone up. She was supposed to be making jokes about the good times. She was not supposed to be leaning on me for support, like everyone else had that day. I was mad at her for being weak. I had not cried. I don’t know how or when we found out the truth, but as soon as it did all I wanted was to be lied to. Luke got drunk at a party, attempted to drive home, was in a car crash, received a DUI, was brought home by the police, yelled at by his parents, and then went to his basement where he hung himself on a ceiling fan. He was found the next morning.
When it all finally sunk in no one moved or spoke for what seemed like an hour. All of those stories about Luke had been accidents. We could justify them. We could explain where and why it happened. It was a loss, yes, but it was an easy loss. Soon we let go and move on. Years later we would refer to him as our friend that died. But he did it to himself. Who was to blame? Could we blame anyone? I don’t know. All I know is that I suddenly felt too old for my body.
The rest of the night was blur. I came home for the first time in a week, said goodnight to my parents, quietly retreated to my room, shut the door, locked it, and then I screamed. I screamed so loud and so long that it felt as though I had swallowed a razor. I picked up anything within two feet of me and chucked it across the room. I hated Luke at the moment. I hated him so much that if he hadn’t done it already I would have killed him. I hated that no one had been there to stop him. I hated that he was so selfish. I hated that he left us behind. And I hated that his coy smile would be sketched in the back of my mind until the day I die.