Sherry Ficklin: Losing Logan

He takes a step toward me, tilting his head curiously. “You can see me?”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not falling for this…whatever this is. I’m going to march in there and tell your mother right now.”

He straightens, a cocky grin spreading across his face. That’s a look I’m more used to seeing on him recently. “You’re going to go tell my mommy on me? What, are we five again?”

I grunt and flip him off, throwing the door open.

“Wait!” I hear him call behind me but I keep going. Inside the main room his parents have taken seats next to Kaylee in the front row. Ignoring the minister speaking from the pulpit I stride up the center aisle, stomping angrily. I’m almost to the front when I realize something. The dark brown casket is open. My pace slows and I see Logan’s face, his eyes are closed like he’s sleeping inside the white satin lined box. I spin, looking behind me, but he’s gone. I spin back around and take the final steps to the coffin, clutching the sides for support.

Up close, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. He looks kinda puffy and waxy. Maybe that’s how he’s doing it. Maybe it’s some kind of wax dummy. I reach out to touch his face when a sob from behind me snaps me out of it. Two pairs of arms grab me from either side, Carlos on my left and my mother on my right. They quickly usher me back down the aisle to a chorus of sobs and camera snaps. I’m shaking. Around me there is a thick white fog clouding the very edges of my vision.

“Mom?” I ask.

She’s soothing me, patting my hair and rubbing my back. Outside they lead me to the car amidst more cameras clicking. I can barely walk. My knees are like Jell-O and I feel like I’m breathing through a straw. I gasp and the fog gets worse. I feel Carlos slip me into the passenger seat of mom’s old Camry then he thrusts a bottle of cold, sweaty water in my hand.

“Are you okay Zoe?” My mother asks, kneeling in front of me.

She has her nurse face on and I know if I say the wrong thing, I’m going to end up spending the night in the hospital.

“I think she’s in shock,” Carlos says, patting my hand gently. I pull it away.

“Not helping, Carlos.” I look over at my mother who is clearly on the edge of panic. “I’m fine. Just, overwhelmed. Can we just go home?” She nods, patting my knee before moving to the other side of the car. Carlos gently turns me in my seat, trying to help me buckle. Behind him, on the steps to the funeral home, Logan is standing in the sunlight. Only, the reporters are all ignoring him.

I grab Carlos by the lapel and jerk my head towards the stairs.

“Do you see that?”

He turns and looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“Do you see anyone on the steps?”

He frowns, “No. Why?”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Never mind. I think my breakfast grape juice fermented. I’m gonna go home and lay down for a bit.”

He shuts the door and I lean out the window to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Take care, sweetie. Call me later when you are feeling better.”

I tug my hair out of the bun and let it fall around my shoulders. A familiar ache is growing inside my skull and I know if I leave it in, it’ll only make it worse. “I will.”

He steps back onto the curb and we speed off. I don’t open my eyes all the way home, I just let the cool wind blow knots into my hair and try not to think of the thousands of pictures of me freaking out coffin-side that are hitting the web as we speak, or of Logan’s face in that coffin.

I fail on both counts.

By the time I open my eyes, the sun is shining full strength through my bedroom window. Somehow I’ve made it out of my clothes and into my soft blue pajama pants and grey tank top. I groan, rolling over and glancing at the alarm clock. The flashing red 4:13 makes me jerk up, tossing off the warm green comforter and leaping to my feet. I open my door, but the house is completely silent. A piece of paper is taped to my door.

Zoe-

Working a double shift. Call me if you aren’t feeling better soon. Don’t forget to pick up what you need for school!

Love,

Mom

I rip the paper off the door and wad it into a ball, tossing it over my shoulder as I step into the hallway. The first day of school is in less than a week, but I almost can’t bring myself to think of it. It’s not that I hate school, per-se, but it’s tedious and boring. Not even my advanced classes really challenge me, and let’s face it, I’m probably going to spend the bulk of the year in the library anyway—which I’d rather do without a bunch of other people annoying me. I’m supposed to be there tomorrow since I volunteered to help set up for back to school night, but I’m actually debating blowing it off.

Then a pang of guilt sets in and I think better of it.

Mrs. Jackson had been kind enough to let me spend most of my summer there, helping out at times, or just devouring the new books. As I’m rummaging through nearly barren cabinets my cell rings on the counter. Putting on the Ritz , Carlos’s ring tone, echoes through the house. I snatch it up.

“Hey Carlos. What’s up?”

“Not much. How are you feeling? I called earlier but your mom answered. She said you were still sleeping.”

I stifle a yawn. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. Panic attack or something?”

Yesterday’s events seem so surreal, I can’t make sense of any of it. I suppose grief does weird things to the body.

“As long as you are feeling better now.” His voice is hesitant, like he’s waiting to gauge my reaction.

I cringe and drop the bag of Cheetos I’m holding as I remember my scene at the viewing.

“Oh shit. How bad is it?”

There is a short pause at the other end of the line. “Not terrible. Though you started quite a trend. About 30 girls threw themselves on the coffin and wept like idiots after you left.”

I sigh as relief settles into my chest, releasing the tension. “Well, I suppose that’s good at least. Better to be considered an attention whore than a lunatic, right? Any viral videos yet?”

“A few of the other girls posted pics, but none of you.”

I frown and switch the phone to my other ear.

“I can hear you frowning, Zoe.”

Now I grin. He knows me so well.

“Would you really rather be a crazy, attention grabbing, wannabe?”

I pull open the bag and stuff a cheesy poof in my mouth, crunching on it as I answer.

“Better than being invisible. I could strip naked and ride a horse down the hall in Lady Godiva style and no one would even notice.”

I can hear him laughing. “Oh, honey, you don’t have the figure for nudity.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“Well, if you’re quite done with the pity party, I could use some help picking out my back to school wardrobe. I’m driving to the city to hit Bloomies. Wanna join?”

“When are you going to get over your crush on the hot guy at the Bloomingdales counter?”

He huffs, “When he quits looking so good in a pair of slacks. Come on, don’t crap out on me. If I go alone he will think I’m stalking him.”

“You are stalking him,” I say around another Cheeto.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t want him to know that I’m stalking him.”

I shake my head and take my bag of powered cheese awesomeness back to my room. “Sorry. You’ll just have to go with your plastic.”

“Fine. I will let my credit card be my guide. But you owe me one.”

“Put it on my tab,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face as I end the call.

Brimstone, my lean black kitty, leaps onto my desk and demands affection the way only cats can.

“Well, Brim. We both knew this day was coming. Today is the day I stay in my pajamas and do nothing but glut myself on Cheetos and read books.” I say it as if it’s the first time that it’s ever happened rather than being a semi-regular occurrence.