Summer of Seventeen by Jane Harvey-Berrick
Again and again, I pumped his heart and breathed air into his lungs. I kept pumping and I heard a crack as I broke a rib, but I kept pumping his heart because I didn’t know what else to do.
When my arms were burning, and sweat was running off my body, my own ragged breath roaring in my ears, I stopped.
We stayed there, I don’t know how long. Me crying and begging, him silent and cold.
I stopped.
And nobody came.
I sat there, my body cooling in the morning breeze. But not as cold as his body. Getting colder.
And when I was done and all cried out, I dragged his body up the beach. He was heavy, so heavy, and I pulled and dragged until my frozen limbs were burning again.
And I realized something, why he was so heavy.
The pockets of his boardshorts were full of stones. Pebbles from the beach. All sizes, round and smooth. His pockets were weighted down with stones.
And I knew. I just knew.
He’d walked into the ocean with his pockets full of stones.
Now I knew why he’d insisted that I came to the beach this morning; I knew why he’d made me promise; I knew why he’d texted to make sure I was going to be there. Because he wanted me to find him at the beach, because I was his best friend and this was the last thing I’d ever do for him, for his family, for his brothers. The last act of friendship in this life.
So I reached into his pockets and I pulled out those pebbles one by one. One by one. One by one, until I had a small pile, a memorial in stone. And then I threw them into the ocean, one by one, one by one, one by one. Because Sean was a stupid fucker and a dickhead and an asshole, but he didn’t want his family to know that he couldn’t stand to be who he was anymore—to live his life anymore. But he’d let me know. Just me. His friend. His best friend.
And then I walked to where I’d left my backpack. I walked, because running wouldn’t make any difference now. It was too late. I was too late.
I pulled out my phone and I made the call.
Then I sat in the sand next to his body.
“What the fuck were you thinking, man? I thought we were friends? Why couldn’t you tell me? You should have told me what you were thinking? You could have come live with me and Julia. We’d have figured something out. You didn’t have to fucking kill yourself. Christ, Sean, I would have helped you. I would have. Why didn’t you let me help you? You stupid, thoughtless, fucking prick! You were my brother!”
They sent an ambulance. Too late. Much too late.
The sirens shrieked through the morning air, heads turned and people stared, but I didn’t turn to look at them. A crowd was forming by the pier, and I didn’t turn around. I didn’t turn around when voices called to me or when someone pulled me away. And I didn’t take my eyes from Sean until he was gone, in a body bag, in the coroner’s van: they took him away.
And then there were police. And questions, questions. More questions. And the police officer’s eyes were tired, and I didn’t know if it was because it was the end of his shift, or because now he had to tell a family that their son, their brother was dead.
And when they let me go, after all their questions had been answered again and again, I went home.
Julia went to pieces when she saw me at the door with a police officer. And because I didn’t have any more words, he had to explain to her what had happened—or what they thought had happened.
She hugged me and cried and hugged me again. And Ben was there, saying over and over, “I can’t believe it. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”
No. Neither could I.
It sucks being pissed at someone who’s dead.
They’ve got a name for people like me—I’m a suicide loss survivor. I guess they have a name for everything.
Except that nobody knew it. I looked it up online: shock, numbness, detachment, confusion, irritability, guilt. Yep, checked those boxes. I couldn’t talk to anyone, so I pushed everyone away.
Every time Julia asked, I said I was fine.
Every time Yansi called, I didn’t answer. I just texted back later that I was okay. Another lie. I knew I was hurting her—at least in some distant, out-of-focus way, I was aware—but I couldn’t lie to her face. She’d know. She’d see it in my eyes. So I stayed away.
The police called it an accidental drowning, but I knew there was nothing accidental about it. I knew. Their first guess was that Sean was drunk or high, so they did an autopsy. I hated that, but what did it matter now? Sean was gone, and what was left was just an empty case of flesh and bones. Even so, I hated to think of it. So I didn’t. I kept my brain disengaged, and I went through the motions of living. The coward’s way out.
I think everyone was surprised that the autopsy results showed he’d only had a couple of beers. To them it made the ‘drowning’ all the more tragic, but it was a fucking knife in the heart to me. My best friend had filled his pockets with stones, and walked into the sea sober, and he knew what he was doing, and he wanted it, and he’d done it in the middle of the night, just a few hours after leaving me, hours before I found him. And he’d planned it all.
Everything changed that day. Sean had been desperate for so long … we all knew … I knew, but somehow I’d just stopped seeing. He was crazy Sean, mad bastard Sean, party animal—angry, sad and lost Sean.
But because he’d had his surfboard with him it was filed away as an ‘accidental drowning’. I never said anything, not to his family, not to my family, not to our friends. I never said anything at all, because even if I was a coward, I wasn’t a liar.
Julia and Ben came to the funeral.
Marcus didn’t. You see, summer was nearly over and he was moving on, chasing the next wave, the next woman, the next high.
“Sorry, man,” he said. “But I didn’t really know him that well.”
Jonno was there at the funeral, Frank too, standing with a group of our surfer friends, uncomfortable in shirts and ties, avoiding the blurred eyes of Sean’s family, his mother weak and inconsolable.
For the second time that summer, Yansi held my hand while someone I loved was laid to rest: stupid fucking phrase.
We have come here today to remember before God our brother Sean; to give thanks for his life; to commend him to God our merciful redeemer and judge; to commit his body to the ground, and to comfort one another in our grief.
And his mom cried.
We have but a short time to live. Like a flower we blossom and then wither.
And his father cried.
We have entrusted our brother Sean to God’s mercy, and we now commit his body to the ground: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I looked up and saw Camille standing by herself. She nodded to me and looked like she wanted to say something, but then she shook her head and walked away.
What did they think, these people standing around a hole in the ground, filled with dust and dreams? Were they remembering, wondering? A boy, a man, a kid who surfed? The joker, the laugher, the lover, the sinner … the suicide? No, that was just me. Just me.
And when we got to the end of the service, his family threw flowers into the grave.
And I threw a pebble.
I threw a pebble.
Lacey wasn’t there. I heard after that her family had taken her away.
Yansi didn’t let go of my hand the whole time. She kept looking at me, staring at me, willing me to speak, to say something. But I couldn’t, because the huge lie burned every word that I tried to force out of my mouth.
I felt like I was watching everything through a thick pane of one-way glass, like I was observing grief from a distance. Again.
Mr. and Mrs. Wallis didn’t speak to me at the funeral, but Aidan came across and hugged me, his face broken and lined. Even Patrick murmured a greeting, and Dylan shook my hand and said ‘thank you’.
Thank you for coming? Thank you for standing at the side of my dead brother’s coffin? Thank you for finding his body? Thank you for watching him fuck his
Yeah. You’re welcome.
They had a gathering at Sean’s house after. I didn’t want to go. Julia said I should, but I couldn’t see the point. Ben said I shouldn’t go if I didn’t want to. They started yelling at each other, so I said I’d go, just to shut them up. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? For your family, for your friends—you do things you don’t want to do. Or maybe you do what you’re supposed to do, to fit in, to be like them, not stand out.
I stood in Sean’s dining room, staring at the plates piled with food. Mrs. Wallis had hired caterers. That seemed wrong, somehow. But judging another person’s way of grieving is like trying to wear their shoes.
She’d hired waiters, too. They looked like us in their black pants and white shirts. Only their black bow ties marked them out as the staff.
“Should I get you some food?”
Yansi tugged at my hand.
“Nick, should I get you some food?” she repeated.
I shook my head and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. Tears hung like diamonds in her eyes, but she didn’t cry, and I didn’t try to comfort her. There was nothing left inside me for that.
So I walked away.
I watched the people here, eating, talking, laughing, joking, remembering. Sean, the class clown: that was the one they seemed to remember the most.
I watched his parents, moving with measured steps around the room, wearing their pain like a winter coat in summer: a word here, a half-smile there; his brothers, silent and serious.
Did they ever wonder? In their quietest hour? In their darkest thoughts? Did they think of the strange coincidence that their son, their brother, who’d knocked up a girl, and believed them when they said he’d have to drop out of school, did they ever wonder how desperate he really was? It was safer to blame the ocean. Easier. But did they wonder?
Finally, it was over, and I was allowed to leave and try to breathe again. When we arrived back home, Marcus was gone. All his things had been packed up and the room was empty.
It was like … I don’t know … as if … as if I’d been as seduced by him as Camille and all those other women. By the way he lived, by the way he moved on, leaving a memory, like the scent of cinnamon rolls at the edge of a dream. A footprint in the sand, washed away by the tide, just like all the people who’d wanted to call him their friend.
I realized something … that I’d never really known him. He only showed you what he wanted you to see. Julia said that was a shell person because there wasn’t anything else there. Maybe she was right. I don’t know. He must have had his reasons. He didn’t get connected—like he always said, whatever I chose to do, it was my life.
Or death.
I didn’t blame Marcus for moving on, not really. Shit had got real, and Marcus spent his life avoiding that. Sean had been drowning for a long time, I just never saw it. So if anyone was to blame, it was me.
But I didn’t want to be like Marcus either. Not anymore. I didn’t want to be the man who left people behind.
So yeah, life is black and white, but there’s a whole load of colors in between.
I don’t want to be the bastard asshole that leaves people because life is shitty and difficult and all the colors that aren’t black and white.
Julia stared at the empty room.
“That didn’t take long. Oh well. I’d better put another ad on Craigslist. I think I’ll ask for a girl this time.” Ben raised his eyebrows, and Julia muttered, “Or maybe not.”
“I’m going for a surf,” I said.
Julia frowned. “But you’re going to drive Yansi home first?”
Before I could reply, Yansi said, “That’s okay thanks, Julia. I’ll wait here for him.”
“What for?”
The room fell silent and everyone stared at me.
“Nick, that’s a bit rude,” Julia said quietly.
Ben tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the kitchen.
“Let them work it out,” he said as he closed the door, leaving us alone.
Yansi stared at me. She was trying to look angry, but her lip was trembling. Just what I didn’t need—more fucking emotion.
“I’ll drive you home,” I said.
But before I could pick up Julia’s keys from the table, Yansi grabbed them and threw them out of the open window.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” I snapped.
“God, Nick! Just talk to me, please!” she cried out.
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
She grabbed my arm. “Stop it! This isn’t you!”
I shook her off. “Jesus, Yansi! Call your dad, or get Julia to give you a ride. Just leave me the fuck alone!”
I stormed off up the stairs to my room, furious and frustrated when I heard her following me.
She slammed the door shut, so we were trapped in my room. I felt caged and tried to move her out of the way, but she gripped my arms and wouldn’t let go.
“It’s not your fault!” she began, her lips trembling.
“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted.
“No! You have to listen to me! It wasn’t your fault!”
“Get off!”
I tore her arms free and tried to push past her, but she grabbed hold of the door handle and wouldn’t move.
“It wasn’t your fault!” she screamed. “It was just a stupid accident!”
Something broke inside me, and I yelled back.
“It wasn’t a fucking accident!”
She gasped and her eyes went wide. “What?”
“I’ve got to go,” I begged her, running my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots.
“Nick, what? What do you mean it wasn’t an accident? Tell me!”
Defeated and desperate, I slumped onto the bed. “It just wasn’t,” I choked out. “It wasn’t an accident.”
She sat next to me, her eyes huge and unhappy. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Sean killed himself. He wanted to die.”
I couldn’t control it anymore as the words ripped out of me.
“What? But…? How … how do you know? Did he leave you a note?”
“No,” I said, my voice cracking. “He filled his pockets with stones and then he walked into the ocean.”
Her face froze in shock.
“But … I don’t understand. The police said it was accidental…”
She clasped her hand over her mouth, and I knew she understood.
“He was so fuckin’ scared—about being a father, about everything. He just wanted out. He told me that. I thought … I thought he meant just check out for a while, you know? Not … not this!”
I closed my eyes in despair—thinking about the last few times we’d talked, remembering everything he’d said.
“That’s why he wanted me to meet him that morning,” I whispered. “He wanted me to find him. Just me.”
Yansi pressed her arms around my neck as I began to cry.
“Oh my God,” she gasped over and over again. “Oh God, Nick. I’m so sorry, baby. No wonder…”
“I keep thinking, what if he changed his mind? What if he was struggling to breathe and…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence, but Yansi’s hands were around me, pulling me in closer, holding me tighter.
She held me for a long time, until there was nothing left, not even tears. Then she pushed me gently, so I was lying on the bed, and she curled into my side, still holding me.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, her voice shaky.
I shrugged, not meeting her eyes.
“Nick?”
I sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Because he didn’t want anyone to know and … because of the Catholic thing … about suicide.”
“Oh,” she said softly. There was a long pause. “I’ll pray for his soul.”
There was an even longer pause before I replied.
“Okay.”
I felt her hand grip my fing
“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.
“No,” I shook my head. “It’s not what he wanted.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
And I was. And sometimes I hated Sean for laying that on me, but I guess I understood, too. He didn’t hate his family; all he’d ever wanted was their approval. I knew that now.
“Okay,” Yansi said softly.
We lay there as the light faded and the shadows crept across the floor, the Earth spinning into the future, the day dying.
I don’t know how long we’d been lying there—I think Yansi had been sleeping. My eyes were dry from staring at the ceiling, but I didn’t want to move because that would make everything real.
I heard voices outside, then footsteps on the stairs. There was a light tap on the door.
“Nicky?”
Julia’s voice was hesitant.
“Yeah?”
I sat up, my eyes sore, my body sluggish, and my brain too exhausted to function.
“Can you come to the door?” she whispered.
I stood up and pulled the door open.
“Oh,” she said when she saw me, and I knew she was taking in my rumpled clothes and the black tie still knotted around my neck. “Sorry,” she said quietly, “but Yansi’s dad is here. I didn’t know what to tell him…”
“We fell asleep. What time is it?”
“After ten.”
“Shit, I didn’t realize. Is he mad?”
“It’s hard to tell,” she admitted, and that forced a small smile onto my face.
“Yeah, he’s kind of hard to read.”
Then Yansi’s voice sounded from the bed. “Is Papi here?”
“Yes, honey,” Julia said apologetically. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Yansi nodded. “Okay, I’m coming.”
We walked down the stairs hand in hand. When I saw Mr. Alfaro, I could tell immediately that he was angry, but his face softened as he saw us.
“Your mother has been worried about you,” he said to Yansi.
“I know, Papi. I’m sorry. But I needed to be here.”
He nodded slowly, then stretched out his hand to my shoulder.