Page 11 of Through Quick and Quinn
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Hey,
It’s almost April. Most people love this time of year. The weather, the flowers, the greenery. Not me. I want to climb into a hole.
Miss you, bud.
-Deck
04/02/23
2:47 a.m.
I can’t breathe. Air is getting caught between my sobs and my screams.
“Geoffrey! Geoffrey!” I fall to the ground, dizzy and gasping. I choke on my tears and start coughing, which finally alerts the people around me to pay attention. Had I not been screaming long enough or loud enough? Did they think it was a game?
A lady bends down next to me and asks if I need help, if I’m okay. The look of concern on her face reminds me that I have a mother of my own, and I yell for her as I sprint to where she was in line just a few minutes before. I see my dad’s head above the others and I push my way to him, collapsing into his arms.
“Deck! Deck, are you ok?” Dad is fanning my face and searching for answers there, but my mom already knows.
Hysteria takes hold of my mother. “Declan, where is Geoffrey? Declan!”
I can hear the fright in her voice right before I pass out.
Quinn:
A Triple Tradition
The weight of the air in our house that April morning felt like thousands of pounds per square inch. Normally, on weekends, my parents tried to get creative in the kitchen, using eggs to transform any leftovers from the week into a unique breakfast meal. It was a bizarre tradition, but we loved it all the same. On that particular Saturday, I didn’t hear either of my parents utter a single syllable and all of the dinner meal remainders were still in the fridge, awaiting their eventual fate of the trash can.
It was not difficult to figure out why this Saturday morning felt different. For weeks there was a dread amongst us, knowing that Troy’s birthday was looming around the corner. Troy would have turned eight in a few days, and this weekend probably would have been the time of birthday party hats and frosted cupcakes, of wrapped toys and pure delight. I was nervous to challenge my poor parents that day, but after hours of silence and sadness, I could not take it anymore.
“Troy is watching us from above and I bet it’s tearing him apart to see us so sad. We need to do something. As much as it hurts, this isn’t the way to honor him. Please, Mom. Dad. Please.” I pleaded with my words in case they couldn’t see the desperation in my eyes.
Several seconds passed before my mom walked over to hug me and asked, “What do you suggest we do, honey?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “What if we each decide on one thing we want to do together as a family today, and then we do all three things?” It was the best I could come up with.
My dad wanted to cast every single one of our photographs and videos of Troy’s short but sweet life to the big television and eat snacks on the couch while doing so. Mom had her heart set on us baking a birthday cake from scratch and decorating it with all of the love that could possibly be expressed through sprinkles and frosting. My wish was for us to spend time together in the backyard by using natural elements to create a simple Zen garden. I thought it would be lovely to have a place that we built together, one we could visit when we needed to relax, clear our minds, or just think about our Troy.
As it turned out, we accomplished all three wishes. Kicking the late morning off with pictures and videos made Troy feel so present, and we found ourselves crying through giggles and laughing through tears as his perfect little face filled our screen and our hearts. It inspired us to bake the most beautiful eight-shaped cake, complete with all the fixings and ready for candles. It was surreal to experience traditions being born, knowing in real time that this was how we would spend every April for the rest of our years.
Working on the Zen garden with my parents made my heart swell. Even though this backyard was not my childhood oasis, it had the potential to become a sanctuary in its own right, and this first step was the perfect one. We were honoring Troy through building an everlasting area in his memory. To work with my parents on something that aligned with my core belief system was truly the most powerful spiritual practice I could imagine. That Saturday, we planned the simple design and gathered rocks from our yard. We went to the home improvement store as soon as it opened for business on Sunday to purchase wood, gravel, and sand, as well as a new rake and a few large stones. My parents and I spent the weekend before Troy’s eighth birthday working and sweating, communicating and helping. Upon the Zen garden’s completion, the three of us stood side by side, holding hands and gazing at the most precious space we had ever laid eyes on. It was the perfect place to sing “Happy Birthday” when we later lit the candles on our eight-cake. We each raked a row and wished him peace before heading inside and wrapping up our weekend.
As I rested in bed that evening, my parents knocked on my door. Through grateful tears and tight squeezes, they thanked me for what they both considered to be the best weekend we’d had as a family since Troy passed away. I agreed with a grin and suggested that we have dinner at the Zen garden on his actual birthday on Wednesday. They nodded, and in that moment, we all knew that the triple tradition would live on for always.
Quick:
Piqued, But Not Enough
Tenth grade was a snoozefest. How did an entire year pass by and feel completely uneventful? A total hamster wheel. There were a few chemistry demonstrations mixed in with some gothic literature. Some graphing calculator work jumbled up with ancient dynasties. Oh, and of course, smelly P.E. clothes.
I went to school, came home, ate, did my required busywork, ate, snuck in an hour or two of digs if I was lucky, and then showered. Rinse. Repeat. Over and over again.
I didn’t have a social life, but that was my choice. My Aiden/Kayden/Hayden/Jaden chihuahua friend had finally moved on and found a new bulldog to idolize. Honestly, I missed him a little bit, but not enough.
There were plenty of people at school, and some of them even seemed interested in sparking a friendship. It was me who would always shoot them down. My chem partner invited me to three parties before he stopped asking. I started jog-walking in P.E. to kinda make the slow, lonesome kid less obvious, but once he figured it out, thanked me profusely, and wanted to go to the arcade together after school, I was out.
