History Is All You Left Me

by Adam Silvera

I just want you to remember things the way I do. And if bringing up the past annoys you now—as I know it did when you left New York for California—know that I’m sorry, but please don’t be mad at me for reliving all of it. History is all you left me.

On a crowded train, Theo and I usually squeeze together when we sit, our hips and arms pressed against one another’s, and it’s a lot like hugging him except I don’t have to let go as quickly.

Theo stands and does a bullshit pull-up on the rail; his brain gets him top marks, but his muscles can’t carry him as high. He gives up and hops back and forth between the train benches like some underground trapeze artist. I wish he would somersault to my side and stay put.

I really want to spend an hour inside his head, climbing all the different whirling clockwork gears.

To my relief, Wade—back when we were still close with him—was wrong when he said all gay weddings are like Katy Perry concerts.

I stare outside the window as we stop at a red light, counting pairs for some sanity: two women in jackets, sharing a blue umbrella; two old guys pushing shopping carts out of a market; four beaten-down trees in a community garden; two trash cans piled high with garbage. The counting brings me some relief, but it’s not enough. I drop my right hand to the empty space beside me, imagining your hand on mine. Two hands. That feels better.

And for having the kind of laugh that I like hearing so much I would punch myself over and over if you found it funny.”

I have all this history with you, Theo, but he has pieces of your puzzle that would destroy me if I ever had to put them together, and yet I still want them.

I guess there is something comforting about being in a room with people who love you. But you should’ve been given more time in this universe. That way, when you were ready to die, you could pack stadiums with people who loved you, not a single room.

“I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t think any of us do. No one would’ve ever thrown down money, betting we’d be saying goodbye to Theo so soon, and it’s not fair and it’s a total nightmare. But we all have mad love for Theo, and history is how we get to keep him.”

I look up, and Jackson’s eyes f ind mine. For a second, it almost feels like we’re about to race into the hole to join you. Being buried alive has got to be better than whatever comes next.

This is the moment of the end. This is where we give up hope on reversing time, where we abandon f inding a cure to death, where we live in this Theo-less universe, where we say goodbye.

Putting a song on repeat used to drive you crazy. I could never shake certain lyrics or beats out of my head until I listened to the song for a week straight, sometimes two.

My mom has prepared me a plate because apparently when someone’s grieving, they revert back to an age where they have to hold someone’s hand to cross the street, ask permission to stay over at a friend’s house, probably require a nightlight, and can’t serve themselves dinner.

I remind myself that just because someone is forgiving, it doesn’t make asking for forgiveness easy.

Shutting up and shutting down have always been what I do best during confrontation.

You kept me alive when we were apart. I promise I’ll always do the same for you.

“My parents taught me these kisses when I was younger.”

this out of context

The world should stop lying to kids because they’re always brutally honest with us.

I get back in bed and crawl under my covers, expecting to fall asleep instantly. Of course I don’t. Considering the week and year and month and life I’ve been having, I’m stupid to think I’d even be lucky with the small things.

“I love you more, Griff in,” Theo says, pulling me closer to him. “I’m blown away by how happy you make me. Thank you for being there for me when I’m stupid enough to think I’d rather be alone.”

I will never wrap my head around how a single moment can keep throwing our lives around. I feel like a rock being skipped through the ocean—pain, relief, pain again, relief again, eventually destined to sink.

Our situation is like some rigged card game, and the hand the universe laid out for us is made entirely of jesters; we’re some cosmic joke. But maybe we don’t have to fold so easily. Maybe we can keep playing the game and make kings of ourselves, in spite of it all.

I’ve taken many zombie forms throughout high school. There were the brain-dead days when I’d been up very late cramming for a midterm. The same was true after all-night video game sessions or phone calls with you. I would zombie-creep through the halls, unable to pass any tests or even come up with a good lie as to why I didn’t do my homework, whereas you remained at the top of your game. Then there’s the kind of zombie I’ve become now: the one who has lost everything—his brain, his heart, his light, his direction. He wanders the world, bumping into this, tripping over that, but keeps going and going. That is life after death. Today I’m the zombie standing in front of your old locker, as if it’s some underground bunker where I’ll f ind you alive. But I know better. You’re dead, and I’m the worst kind of alive.

I don’t know if they’re suspicious of me, which wouldn’t make sense. They’re completely unaware that the most dangerous thing about me is my capability to lie, and that didn’t start until the end of our relationship. But I’m cutting back on the lies—trust me. Being brutally honest is a freedom I never expected.

I glance up. I recognize Anika and Veronika from the photos on Jackson’s phone, but he really needs a phone with better camera quality. These two are I’m-forgetting-I’m-gay stunning.

“I f lew,” I breathe. My life has changed. I can’t take back my f irst f light any more than I can take back losing my virginity to you, any more than I can take back the things I would love to undo. Possibilities are wheeling through my mind rapidly. If I can f ly here for you, where will I go for me?

I’m not sure I’ll ever get over how surprising it is to see happiness in someone who’s lost someone they love.

What you don’t understand, Theo, is silence is sometimes better than someone speaking before they’re ready. That is how lies slip out.

Knowing he loves me is the one thing keeping me from going completely insane without him.

I’m trying to be respectful here, but my feelings on faith at the moment are the same feelings I have for the church itself—beautiful and promising on the outside, but possibly disappointing on the inside.

We work on packing your room up. Jackson packs away shirts and jeans I don’t recognize into one box; I clear out your desk and drop it all into the second box. It’s a task that takes a little less than twenty minutes and no more than two boxes. I’m still crying a little when we’re done. I can’t believe your entire life out here could be stored away in two boxes.

I somehow wish your footsteps survived untouched, like in cement, so I could step where you stepped.

I’m learning there should be some times I put you to rest for a little bit instead of obsessing about you every day. Or I’m trying. I don’t know what will be left of me if love and grief can’t bring you back to life. Maybe I need to be brought back to life, too.

You once shared a really weird speculation about water with me. It was when you f irst got out here and I actually thought you must’ve been stoned. You said every single molecule in all bodies of water—ocean and lake, shower and sink—has a story and reason for existence. You always thought there was more to the world, but this idea about water didn’t feel very conversation-worthy before. What was I supposed to say when you thought a drop from your showerhead was about to fall directly into your drain, missing you completely, and head out on its way toward a greater purpose than cleaning you? College kids smoke weed; everyone knows that. This is what I felt like saying. But as I stand here in the ocean that stole you away from us, I wonder if any molecule here witnessed your death, if any water splashing against my legs f illed your throat as you struggled to breathe.

“Some people know a lot about a little, others know a little about a lot.”

I wanted to be more like him, someone who knew a little about a lot, so our conversations would never lose steam, so we could learn what makes this universe tick together. Pointless.

I’ll never understand how time can make a moment feel as close as yesterday and as far as years.

“You confused me too. I really wanted what you and Theo had, and I wanted it with you. Don’t worry, I’m not in love with you.” This wasn’t actually a concern of mine. If anything, it’s another reminder how unloved I am these days, but I keep that to myself.

Sometimes this universe feels like an alternate, but maybe you already knew that.

“Your socks are going to be so dirty,” I say. “I don’t care,” Wade says. “I don’t care about the socks and I don’t care why you’re here. In a good way.” There’s the Wade we know, Theo. He’s always getting the sentiment right and the words wrong, but there’s no getting mad at him because it’s almost as if saying the wrong thing is his f irst language, and he can’t quite shake it off.

You’ve never seen this side of him, Theo, which makes sense because people reveal different parts of themselves to different people. I don’t know why I could never see that before. How I was with you isn’t how I was with Wade, and how Jackson was with me isn’t how he was with you.

Wade is confused, no doubt, but he doesn’t pressure me because he knows me well enough that it might push me away. Wow. Someone knowing me is supposed to be a beautiful thing and not something that prevents him from being open, right? I wish you were here to actually give me an answer.

The thing is, love doesn’t make sense anymore, and I feel lied to. Love isn’t this ultimate power that can make me feel unbeatable and all conquering. If I were truly in love with you, would I have turned to Wade? And if I were falling in love with Wade, would I have turned to Jackson? Maybe my self-destructive streak isn’t so much about cheating on a single person as it is about cheating on love itself. Love, the hugest liar in this universe.

I walk to your room and wish there was a point in knocking.

I should really stop blaming everyone and certain events for what’s happening to me. I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to myself.

I hug him like the brother I never had, like the brother I would’ve never slept with if I’d known I’d one day be calling him a brother of mine.

There’s nothing wrong with someone’s saving my life, I’ve realized, especially when I can’t trust myself to get the job done right. People need people. That’s that.

It kind of makes me sick, like we’re all abandoning you for something that wasn’t your fault. But I guess the point of all this is, Jackson and I will always keep you close, but we’re putting ourselves f irst, and we’re going to move forward as we’re sure you would want us to. I promise I’ll f ind happiness again. It’s the best way to honor you.

I stand, shaking a little as I wrap your hoodie around your headstone to keep you warm.