THAT NIGHT
“You live down the street from the cemetery,” Andy tells me. He’s waiting just a couple of houses down when I come around from the side of my house and meet up with him.
“Yeah, I kind of noticed that already,” I say.
“Is it weird? I mean, you must see a lot of funerals.”
“Yeah, but I’m kind of used to it. It’s not really that weird anymore,” I say. “I like visiting strangers’ graves though. I don’t know them, so it doesn’t hurt.” I pause. “You must think I’m a freak,” I say, suddenly self-conscious of how I’m coming across to Andy.
“Not at all,” he says. “Let’s go down there.”
“What? Right now? That’s kind of creepy,” I say.
“Says the girl who visits strangers’ graves.” He’s already walking down the street without me, so I follow him.
Even though I hang out here more than I should, I’ve never been to the cemetery at night. But I ignore the fear that’s starting to crawl on my skin like a thousand baby spiders.
I follow Andy over the wall and into the cemetery.
“This is really creepy,” he says, and I’m glad that he at least feels the same way. “But kind of cool in a weird way.”
“Why did you want to come here?” I ask as we continue walking.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never been to a cemetery.”
“Never?” I ask.
“Nope, never,” he says.
“Well, I guess you’re pretty lucky then,” I say.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Without realizing, I’ve led Andy over to my usual spot near Em’s grave.
We sit down and Andy notices the marker. “Hey”—he says, pointing to it—“Emily Dickinson is buried here?”
“This Emily Dickinson is. But the famous one is in Amherst,” I explain.
“Huh,” he says. “Hey, remember that poem we read by her in Carter’s class?” Mr. Carter was our junior-year English teacher. “The one about the fly buzzing when the person dies?”
I nod. I did remember the poem, especially the first stanza and what is in my opinion the best first line of a poem ever:
I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—
“So you think that’s what it’s like?” Andy asks. “Like you’re waiting for death to be this majestic wonderful thing, but then it’s just like a fly? And even though you might expect all this white light or to see the face of God, or whatever, all you hear is a buzz?”
I think for a minute. “I don’t know. Maybe. But that just . . . sucks. Maybe it’s more like this moment of clarity, you know. I mean, we’re here right? On earth, living. But obviously we don’t know the reason we’re here. And we don’t understand the things that happen. But maybe when we die, that thing that blocks our understanding is removed and we finally understand everything, even the nonsensical stuff. Maybe for once, you get to see everything for what it really is.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Just somewhere, I guess. Somewhere better.”
I look down to our empty cartons of ice cream and check the time.
“I forgot, I still have to drive you home, or is your car downtown? Do you want me to drive you there?”
“No, don’t worry about it,” Andy says, getting up. “I’ll just walk.”
“You’re going to walk home at three o’clock in the morning?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”
“It’s no problem taking you,” I say as we start to make our way past the graves to the entrance of the cemetery.
“I’d rather walk.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say.
“No, what I mean is, I like walking at night.” We scale the brick wall and start walking to my house.
“Thanks, Frenchie,” he says when we get to my house.
“For what?” I ask.
“For a really cool night.”
I suddenly get a weird feeling, and for a second I wonder if Andy Cooper is going to kiss me.
“Andy, I can honestly say this was the strangest, coolest night I’ve ever had.”
He nods and kind of smiles. “Me too.” Then he looks down and says, “It sucks to be alone, even when you want to be.” It seems so random, but I feel like I understand what he’s saying. And I think I could talk to Andy forever, but he just smiles again and says, “Anyway, thanks again.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
He leans in, hugs me, and says, “You’re a badass, Frenchie Garcia,” so softly into my ear that I feel his warm breath. It smells like liquor but I love everything about it, about this moment, and I wish he would just stay.
But most of all, I wish I had the nerve to say something more than “Rock on, Andy Cooper,” but I don’t. That’s all I say.
He lets go of me and walks in the opposite direction of the cemetery. I watch him go and have the craziest desire to run after him and kiss him and tell him that this has actually been the best night of my whole life.
But I don’t. So I just go inside, glancing back one last time as Andy disappears into the darkness. He turns around, waves good-bye, and I wave back. Then I go to bed, thinking about Andy Cooper. How I wish I had the nerve to kiss him. Hoping that I’ll run into him at school on Monday.