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THE PARKING LOT AT the banquet hall they rented for the Sue Ikeda Memorial Photo Show was already filled with Ryan’s friends’ cars. A decrepit building a block off Dearborn Avenue, easily accessible to people from the neighborhood. After a week of conscripting everyone to help and distributing flyers to business and community organizations in the area, his friends were here to help hang pictures.
Ryan and Ben were the last to arrive. Shane must have been at Dunn Lumber at dawn to get all the supplies for the temporary display columns he was building. Shane handed Ryan the new plans. “I originally thought round, but large square columns give more surface to hang pictures.”
An hour later, Shane had the base form of the columns in place, with help from everyone not busy with other tasks. They waited on the foam core boards to arrive, to cover the columns so pictures could be hung. While they waited, Ryan and Veronica inscribed visitor response cards to match up with pictures. They affixed numbered Post-it notes to the back of each photo and then numbered matching cards for people to write their memories. Veronica’s calligraphy was practiced and quick. Ryan’s script was finer, but he managed only one card while Veronica did three.
“It hurts me to see your pen skills so lacking, little brother. I’m killing you in getting these done.”
“Not a race. If you weren’t speeding through, maybe yours would look as nice as mine.” He picked one of her cards and held it up next to his.
“If only you weren’t such a control freak, maybe you’d realize that sometimes ‘done’ is better than ‘perfect.’”
Ryan added another card to the ‘done’ stack and picked up a new blank one. “You know what’s weird? I think I’m finally starting to see the importance of that in my painting.”
Veronica slapped her pen down on the table loudly enough that everyone nearby looked up.
“Nothing to see here, folks.” Veronica’s voice rang through the room. “Just miracles happening in our everyday existence.”
“And you wonder why I never take your advice. You are such a drama queen.”
“It’s just so moving to see you growing as person.” She wiped away a fake tear. “I have to share it with everyone.” Veronica’s self-satisfaction twisted into a smug smile.
“Learn from my humility,” Ryan said, “and slow down on your calligraphy. Doesn’t have to be perfect, just readable.”
She said, “There he is. I was worrying for a second that you’d been replaced by a pod person.”
Around them, everyone rushed to the door. Steven and John came in, each loaded down with a stack of foam core sheets so high they could barely see over them.
“There’s more in the truck,” Steven said when Ryan tried to relieve him of his burden. “I’m fairly certain there’s no foam board left in the city limits. I hope there isn’t a school science fair this week.”
Shane calculated how to make his work, to affix the boards to the wall with rolled up tape, placing the panels so they wedged together so tightly they barely needed the tape to adhere. Bash, Steven, John, Lisa, Jamie, Marcus, Veronica, and Ben all moved around the room looking for where they could be the most useful at any given minute. Of course, his friends stepped up when Ryan asked; but everyone was going so above and beyond, it was hard to comprehend how to show his gratitude. Everyone brought their own talents, way beyond Shane’s carpentry skills, to help schedule, coordinate, and plan this entire venture. And then they pitched in wherever another pair of hands might be needed.
Marcus sidled up to Ryan. “Let’s go get these fine people some lunch before they settle down to do the hard work hanging these boards?”
Ryan used Steven’s portable phone to call Pagliacci’s for a pickup order of Coke and pizza. The least he could do.
“This is an amazing idea,” Marcus said as the car door clicked closed behind Ryan. “You doing okay?”
Seattle University campus whipped by as they headed toward Broadway. “I’m trying to put all my grief into this. We’ll see how that works out.”
Marcus’s voice, always rich and warm, softened with concern. “I know you’re miserable right now. I wanted to tell you what I wish someone would have told me: You’re never going to get over this. It’s going to change you forever. It’s going to change who you are.”
Ryan’s surprised laugh echoed in the car. “That’s encouraging. Thanks, Marcus.” He glanced over, but Marcus’s face was dead serious. “Sorry, I know you’re trying to help.”
“You already know how you feel, so you know what I’m saying is true. What you don’t know yet is you’ll get through it. Minute by minute, day by day. It will get easier. One day you’ll take a deep breath and discover you’ve gone a whole day without thinking about her. But it doesn’t ever go away completely.”
Marcus turned onto a side street lined with trees and houses with gardens. The kind of street Gramma loved to walk down.
“I didn’t know I could miss someone this much. I didn’t even see her every day, sometimes not even once a week, but I feel her gone every second. I don’t know how people are supposed to keep going like this.”
Marcus turned onto busy, commercial Broadway, as if crossing into another world from the street they were just on. “You should know, right now, when you can barely figure out how your body keeps going, breathing and moving, when it feels like sadness might drown you. When it feels like suffering has permanently colonized your body, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Even now, when you occasionally hope the river of grief will sweep you away, because maybe then you won’t feel anything anymore. Especially now, don’t let it stop you. Don’t let grief make you stagnate.”
Ryan didn’t answer. For years, he’d fought his artistic process, unaware until recently that stagnancy was his true opponent. He didn’t want grief to set him back further.
Noon on Saturday, and the street was crammed with cars. Marcus circled to a side street and found a spot in front of the apartment building Steven had lived in when he first moved out of Ryan’s apartment. He didn’t make any move to exit the car.
Turning in his seat, Marcus went on. “There’s so much your grandmother wanted for you. So, go forward. You don’t know who you’re going to be at the end of this, but you can’t become that person if you don’t keep going. And the only way to get through this is to push forward and find out what’s on the other side.”
A lump in his throat blocking his words, Ryan nodded at Marcus to let him know he’d heard Marcus speak the advice Gramma Sue would have given: just go on. We got through it, she used to say whenever he asked her about the camps. We just did what we needed to every day until we were on the other side of it.
“Okay, enough preaching from me.” Marcus pulled the keys from the ignition and undid his seatbelt. “I didn’t want to do this in a room full of people, and I didn’t know when I’d see you alone again. Had to say my piece.”
“Hey, I appreciate the realness. Better than everyone walking around like I’m fragile and quietly asking if I’m okay. How could I be okay?” Ryan got out of the car.
Marcus came and put his arm around Ryan’s shoulder. “We’re all just doing our best to get through.”
The echo of Gramma’s words bruised Ryan. Eagerness for a day when he didn’t have to have intense conversations. “Let’s get lunch.”
Marcus laughed. “Yeah, I bet you feel like you don’t want to talk about it anymore, ever. But it’s going to be a while before everyone else is on board with that. I hope the photo show shakes the rest of the pieces loose for you.”