I refuse to get out of this seat. The rest of the family is in the helicopter now, and Mango is on the floor in front of Beth, rewrapped in his blanket. I can’t even look at him. I am dimly aware that Zack and Beth are crying and that my parents are whispering. I still have my seat belt on and am hunched over my knees, gagging. It feels like someone kicked me in the stomach, only a hundred times worse. This can’t be happening, this isn’t real, this is not my life. If I keep repeating this, maybe I’ll wake up from this nightmare. I was so happy last night. Now I can’t feel my legs. My chest is burning, and the numbness in my head blocks out everything else.
“Mia?” my father says in a low, gentle voice as he touches my shoulder. “Why don’t we all go in the house now?”
Still hunched over, I shake my head vehemently.
“C’mon, Mia,” my mother says. “It’s no use sitting out here. I think it’s starting to hail.”
The sound of ice pelting the chopper breaks through the haze in my head. From some dark corner of my brain I realize I can’t see the colored shapes that would normally accompany the sound. All I see are gray blobs that look like used chewing gum. In fact, when the helicopter was moving, the propeller noise didn’t have any color either. The last color I remember seeing is the orange from Mango’s wheezes when I held him. I’ve lost everything.
My mother has unbuckled my seat belt, and she helps me up before I can protest further. My eyes fall on Mango’s stiff shape on the floor, and a fresh torrent of tears flows from my eyes. Mom grabs my arms to keep me from falling back into my seat.
I follow my mother and Zack out of the chopper, vaguely aware that Dad and Beth have stayed behind. In a daze, I walk slowly back to the house, barely noticing that I’m being struck by tiny chunks of ice. My coat and the front of my pajamas are instantly wet. I wish the ice would go right through me and take all the pain away.
I go straight to my room, not caring that I’m tracking water and mud through the house. Locking the door behind me, I strip off my wet pajamas and throw on a fresh pair. I want to smash things. I want to grab my precious clocks off the wall and hurl them across the room. So I do the only logical thing — I climb back into bed and pull the covers over my head. It’s just a dream, I tell myself, curling into a tight ball. I’ll wake up for real, and everything will be back to normal. My eyes shut tight; I force myself to take a deep breath. Opening my eyes, I peek out from under the covers and look down at the end of the bed. All I see is a colorless Mango-shaped space and Mango’s beloved Tweety Bird. I grab the small stuffed animal and hold it against my chest. There are little holes all over it from where Mango carried it with his pointy cat teeth. I start to shake, and the tears come so quickly that my eyes burn. Why did Mango have to go out in the cold? He knew he wasn’t supposed to. How is it possible that I’ll never hold him or pet him or hear his wheezes again? He’s gone, and he took what was left of Grandpa’s soul with him. I’m all alone. Did Mango know how much I loved him?
A while later a knock on the door prompts me to bolt upright, confused. I must have cried myself to sleep. Everything that happened comes crashing back in on me, and I flop back down.
“Your door’s locked, Mia,” my mother says, jiggling the knob.
“I know,” I answer, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“I called Jerry earlier and explained why you didn’t go to the meeting today,” she says through the door. “And now Adam’s on the phone for you. Do you want to take it?”
It takes me a minute to piece together what she said. The meeting hadn’t even entered my mind. Neither had Adam. And I didn’t want to think of him now.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I tell her. “Or anyone else.”
“You should at least eat something. It’s late afternoon already.”
“I’m not hungry,” I call out. I can’t imagine ever being hungry again.
I wait to hear her footsteps go down the hall before I get up to go to the bathroom. The smell from the litter box wafts out of the hall closet and seems to taunt me. It says, “If you had cleaned me more, maybe Mango would have stayed around.” I kick the closet door shut and hurry into the bathroom. By mistake I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red and swollen like I’ve been crying for a week instead of just one day. I pick up my toothbrush and almost throw it down again as the memory of my decision not to brush my teeth last night comes flooding back to me. I always used to give Mango his pill right after I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I’d have realized he was missing earlier.
Someone knocks on the door. “Come to Beth’s room when you’re done in there,” Zack says.
I ignore him, and he knocks again.
“Go away.” I place the toothbrush back in its holder, unable to use it.
“Just come when you’re done.”
“Not unless Beth can use her magic to bring Mango back.”
Zack doesn’t answer, but I can hear him out there breathing. “I … I don’t think she can do that.” A minute later I hear him shuffle down the hall in his feety pajamas. I guess he didn’t bother to get dressed today either.
I can’t face going back to my empty room yet, so a few minutes later I find myself in Beth’s doorway. She and Zack are sitting in the middle of the floor inside a lopsided circle made from rope. Candles are burning on every flat surface.
“We waited for you,” Beth says.
“For what?”
“It’s a healing circle,” Zack explains. “Beth said it will make us feel better after what happened. With Mango, I mean. We know what you’re going through.”
I feel the anger rise in me. “You have no idea at all what I’m going through!”
“We loved Mango too, Mia,” Beth says. Zack nods vigorously.
“Not the way I loved him. And you didn’t kill him. I did. I killed Mango.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they are true. It isn’t Mango that I should be mad at for leaving, it’s myself, for letting him go. Like in that book we had to read in school last year, The Little Prince. You are responsible for what you tame. I tamed Mango. I was responsible for him and I failed him. I let him slip outside. I didn’t give him his medication last night. I didn’t pay enough attention to him lately. I put my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god,” I whisper. “I killed Mango.”
I can hear them calling out to me as I run down the hall to my room, but I don’t stop. No brown rings appear when I slam my door. I throw myself down into my desk chair and lower my head to the smooth surface of the desk. The guilt is more than I can bear. I let Mango die. Wherever his soul is now, he must hate me. Grandpa must hate me. I lift my head too fast and get dizzy. After a minute of rifling through my bottom drawer, I find what I’m looking for. A little white box with a green piece of the moon in it. I don’t deserve to have this special gift from Grandpa anymore. Shoving open my window, I open the box and let its contents fall onto the front lawn. I toss the empty box into the wastebasket and slam the window shut. I don’t feel any better.
The phone rings with no red spirals. A minute later my mother comes to tell me it’s Jenna.
“Tonight’s her birthday party, right?” my mother asks as I follow her, zombielike, back to her bedroom. “Mia,” she says in a gentle voice, “why don’t you think about going?”
I stare at her incredulously. “Did you tell her what happened today?”
“No, I thought you would want to.”
I brace myself and reluctantly pick up the phone. “Jenna?”
She launches right into the attack. “Why aren’t you here yet? I have something important that I wanted to give you before the party started. Molly and Kimberly have been here for over an hour helping me set up.”
“I’m sorry, I —”
“You stayed late at your big meeting this afternoon, right? Because those people are more important than me. I bet you didn’t even wear our friendship bracelet to the meeting.”
I flash back to Adam asking me about the bracelet and touching my arm. Was that just last night? It feels like a year ago. And that girl on the bench couldn’t possibly have been me.
Jenna assumes my silence is a confirmation. “I knew it! Don’t even bother to come,” she says coldly and hangs up the phone.
I stand there, numbly staring at the dead receiver in my hand.
“Why didn’t you tell her what happened?” my mother asks, guiding my hand to replace the phone in its cradle.
“She didn’t give me a chance.” I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. Nobody could make me feel any worse than I already do.”
“Why don’t you call her back and explain?”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t possibly go to the party anyway.”
My mother strokes my hair, something I can’t remember her doing since I was a little girl. “I think you should try to eat something now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Please try, that’s all I ask.”
I decide it’s not worth arguing, and I let her take me down into the kitchen. I stare out the window at the bleak gray sky while she busily prepares me something to eat. The newspaper is on the table, and I glance at the large headline type. All the letters are black. I can sense a kind of depth to them, but their colors are gone. I almost laugh remembering how I used to wish all the letters would just be black. So now I’m no longer the girl who sees colors, and I’m no longer the girl whose grandfather’s soul is in her cat. All I am is the girl who is no longer special in any way. I’m the girl who is empty. Like a deflated helium balloon. I can’t believe this is how everyone else feels all the time.
Mom places a plate of wheat crackers covered with cheddar cheese on the table in front of me. I take a bite and nearly spit it out.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“It tastes like wet cardboard.”
“Just try to get it down.”
I was trying to get it down, but swallowing is proving difficult. My throat is too tight. I spit the cheese and cracker out in the sink. As I stand there holding onto the counter, it dawns on me that I didn’t have to step over Mango’s bowls to get there. I look down. Sure enough, they’re gone. I can feel the now familiar hysteria rising up in me, and I point at the ground.
“You got rid of his bowls already?” I accuse my mother with a shaky voice. “How could you do that?”
Jumping to her feet, my mother says, “Your father thought it would be best if —”
“And where’s Mango?” I’m screaming now. “Did Dad throw Mango away too?”
“Mango’s out in the woodshed, Mia. Just calm down.”
I honestly feel like my heart is shattering into a million pieces at the thought of Mango lying alone in the cold shed. In an instant I’m out the back door and running to the tiny shack. Mom calls out that I’m not wearing shoes, but I ignore her and swing open the flimsy wooden door. There he is in the corner, still wrapped in his Pooh blanket. I take a step toward him and then can’t make myself get closer. I kneel on the cold, hard floor and cover my face with my hands.
“I’m so sorry, Mango,” I whisper over and over as the tears warm my cheeks and hands. “I loved you so much. You were the best cat. It’s all my fault.”
My mother appears at my side and puts her hand firmly on my shoulder. “Mango loved you very much, Mia. You gave him a wonderful life.”
“I killed him,” I state matter-of-factly, not looking up.
“Is that what you think? That’s crazy.”
“We all know I’m crazy, right? Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, because my colors are gone.”
Mom hooks her hand under my elbow and lifts me upright. She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. I try to turn away, but she holds on.
“Look, Mia. The only thing that’s crazy is the idea that you had anything to do with Mango’s death. And remember, Jerry said that your colors could disappear in times of trauma. This certainly qualifies as traumatic. I’m sure they’ll come back.”
I wrestle free from her hold. “I don’t want them to come back. I don’t deserve to have them anymore. You don’t understand; I did kill him!” I run back inside and straight to my room, which is starting to feel like a prison cell. Sometime later that night my father delivers a bowl of warm creamed-corn soup and says he’s not leaving until I finish it. I shake my head repeatedly, but he stands firm and gives me the spoon. I finally choke down the soup without even tasting it and hand him back an empty bowl.
“I thought we’d have a memorial service for Mango tomorrow,” Dad says, still standing by my bed. “It might help you feel better.”
“I won’t go.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind in the morning,” he says, switching off my light. I know I won’t change my mind. There’s no way I’m going to watch Mango being lowered into the ground. I try to sleep, and somewhere in the back of my mind I think, Wait, I have to give Mango his pill before I fall asleep. Sure, now I remember. When it’s too late.
The next morning I awake to Zack shaking me. “We’re going to start the service soon,” he says. “You have to get up.”
The pain comes back instantly. I cover my head with the comforter. “I told Dad I’m not going.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m not going,” I repeat louder.
“Do you think that’s what Mango would have wanted?” he asks as he storms out.
“Mango would have wanted to live,” I whisper. After a few minutes I make myself get out of bed and brush my teeth. The bathroom window looks out onto the backyard, where Dad is hacking away at the nearly frozen ground with a shovel. I move closer to the window and see a small wooden crate lying a few feet away from him. My stomach knots up as I realize Mango’s inside it. The rest of the family stands nearby, bundled up against the cold. It must be windy too, because Beth’s hair keeps whipping around her face. Suddenly she turns her head and looks right at me. She gestures for me to come down. I shake my head and back a few steps away from the window. I stand there for a minute, my arms crossed in front of me. Then I hurry back to my room, search under the covers for Tweety, and run outside in my slippers. Everyone is standing around the hole now, with the wooden crate in the center. They’re holding hands and offering Mango to heaven, but I just can’t do that yet. I won’t.
Crying, I thrust Tweety at my father, and he lets go of Beth’s hand to take it. “You’ll put it in there with him?”
He nods and bends down to open the crate. I turn away before I see anything and run back into the house. I can’t stay in my room anymore. I need to be far away from here. I wish I were old enough to drive. I put on my sneakers and a heavy sweater and run right past everybody into the wet fields. My mother calls out after me, but I don’t turn around. I run past the ravine, which now has water coursing through it. I’m amazed that I don’t fall on my face since the grass and the fallen leaves are so slippery. I keep running until I feel a sharp pain in my side. I guess the hunger is finally catching up with me. I’m only a few yards away from the cemetery, so I keep going until I reach Grandpa’s headstone. I lean against it to catch my breath. It occurs to me that I never really mourned him, because I thought he was still with me. Now that I know he’s really gone, it feels different being up here — sadder and definitely more final. Usually when I came here Mango was with me. I remember when I brought Grandpa his painting and Mango walked all over it. He had so much energy then, and that was only a few months ago. I hang my head and close my eyes and just try to breathe.
“Your mother thought we might find you here.”
I whirl around to see Jenna, Molly, and Kimberly standing a few headstones away. They still have makeup on from the night before, and I can tell that Molly and Kimberly feel uncomfortable standing around the graves. They keep checking the ground as though they’re worried that a hand will suddenly shoot up.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Jenna walks over and gives me a big hug before answering. I see her hair is still in a French braid from the party. “Molly and Kimberly slept over last night. Your mother called my house this morning and told us what happened.”
“Yeah, Mia. I’m really sorry about Marshmallow,” Kimberly says gently.
“Marshmallow?” I look at her quizzically.
“She means Mango,” Jenna says, glaring at Kimberly.
Kimberly looks puzzled. “Are you sure? I thought his name was Marshmallow.”
“His name was Mango,” Molly says firmly. “I’m really sorry too, Mia. I know how much you loved him.”
All I can do is nod, afraid that if I answer I’ll start crying again and won’t be able to stop. I’m surprised my tear ducts still function at all.
“I’m the sorriest of all,” Jenna says, her eyes filling with tears. “I was horrible on the phone last night, and I understand if you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I tell her. “You didn’t know what happened.”
“I didn’t even give you a chance to tell me,” she says, kicking the ground hard. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I was just nervous about the party.”
“How did it go?” I ask. “I see you agreed to let Rebecca do your hair.”
“Rebecca didn’t do it; Molly did. Good old Rebecca has moved on.”
I allow myself my first smile in two days. “You mean she dumped your dad?”
Jenna shakes her head. “Nope. He dumped her. At least that’s what he said.”
“The party wasn’t the same without you,” Molly assures me. “All the guys asked for you.”
“All the guys?” I ask doubtfully.
“Well, okay, one guy. What was his name, Kimberly?”
“Roger from your history class,” Kimberly answers, nervously jumping out of the way of some leaves that the wind rustled up. “I think he likes you.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask, feeling my cheeks grow hot.
“Just the way he says your name. It’s like Mee-ia,” Kimberly imitates in a singsong voice.
The others laugh, and I say firmly, “He doesn’t say my name that way.”
Kimberly shivers. “Can we all go back to Jenna’s house? No offense, but this place is a little creepy.”
They have distracted me for too long. “I have to go,” I tell them, practically tripping over my feet as I turn away. I start walking quickly back in the direction of the woods.
“Wait, Mia.” Jenna catches up with me. “Look, I know how you feel. It’s okay to be really sad.”
I walk even faster. “You don’t know how I feel.”
She grabs onto my sweater. “How can you say that to me?”
I look her right in the eye. “You didn’t kill your mother, Jenna.” I leave her staring after me as I run into the woods. After a few minutes my luck runs out, and my legs suddenly shoot out in front of me. I fall flat on my butt, hard. But I barely feel the wet grass underneath me. I’m too empty.