Chop, Chop (Chop, Chop Series - Book 1) Read online

  After school my car was one of the first out of the parking lot and I told Coach Covington that I needed to quit the swim team in order to concentrate on my studies. Baseball tryouts took place the last week in February, but I didn’t attend.

  Mom tried to get me to go “see someone”.

  “I don’t need a shrink, Mom.”

  “I don’t mean a shrink . . . I just mean someone that you can talk with and tell them how you’re feeling.”

  “I’m not feeling anything.”

  “David, I’m worried about you . . .”

  “I’m not going to cut my wrists or anything,” I assured her. I’d seen a pamphlet sticking out of her purse a few weeks ago: Teenage Depression and Suicide. She didn’t need to worry . . . I hadn’t even thought about suicide. But I was well aware that everyone was extremely concerned about me. As a matter of fact, I was very aware of everything that was going on around me, but at the same time I was strangely detached from it all.

  The week after Tanner and Mike made the varsity baseball team, the phone rang and Mom knocked on my door. I was surprised because she had quit trying to get me to take calls a long time ago.

  “It’s for you,” Mom said.

  “I’m busy.”

  She didn’t say anything, but she held the phone in front of my face. I pushed my book aside and took it from her. She didn’t close the door until she’d heard me say “Hello?”

  “David?” I didn’t recognize her voice at first.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Dana.”

  That threw me for a second too, because I had always called her Mrs. White.

  “Yes?” I said, sitting up on the bed, my heart beginning to pound wildly.

  “I need you to come over for a few minutes,” she said.

  Her call and her request caught me so off guard that I couldn’t even think of anything to say. My first thought was that she needed me to watch Charlotte for her.

  “David?”

  “You want me to come over now?”

  “Yes, now. It won’t take very long.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, and she hung up the phone without saying goodbye. I turned the phone off and stared at it for a long while. Then I grabbed my leather jacket and headed out the door.

  “You’re not driving over there, are you?” Mom asked when she saw me taking my keys.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s getting icy,” she said. I kept walking.

  “I think a walk in the fresh air would do you good . . .” she called after me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeated, and I jumped into my car and slammed the door.

  The roads were getting icy – especially on the other side of town where I somehow wound up. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to make the right-hand turn at the end of my block that would take me to Greg’s house, and by the time my car fishtailed and almost hit a phone pole I had been driving aimlessly for almost an hour. My phone rang, but I ignored it and headed back in the direction of Greg’s.

  As I pulled into the driveway my phone went off for a second time and I answered it only because I knew that it was Mom again and that she was worried sick.

  “I’m fine,” I said before she could say a word.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m here. I just got here. I’m fine.”

  “David . . .”

  “I gotta go,” I said, hanging up as I turned off the car.

  I couldn’t even look at his house, so instead I gripped the steering wheel and rested my head against it, trying to figure out how I was going to manage to walk up to the door and ring that bell.

  I’m not sure how long I sat there like that or when I knew that Mrs. White was standing outside the car, but even before she laid her hand on the shoulder of my leather jacket and even before she opened my door and spoke my name, somehow I knew she was there.

  That’s when I finally lost it.

  I remember sobbing uncontrollably, my shoulders shaking up and down, and several months’ worth of tears spilling out of my eyes. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to be there and I didn’t want Mrs. White to see me crying and that I was going to ruin my jacket if I didn’t stop.

  Somehow she got me inside and onto the couch and she sat there for a long time with her arms around me while I cried. I kept apologizing for crying and she kept telling me that it was okay and she gave me a clean dish towel for my face and my jacket.

  I finally asked her where Charlotte was because I was still thinking that she needed me to watch her. Mrs. White told me that Charlotte was spending the night at a friend’s house, and that’s when I realized that she and my mother had been conspiring against me (or maybe for me) and that sitting on that couch, crying my eyes out, was exactly where they had both wanted me to be.

  I woke up in the morning on the couch, still in my jacket, with an afghan tucked around me and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Mrs. White made me take off my jacket and eat breakfast, but I really just wanted to get out of there.

  “I have something for you before you go,” she said after I’d managed to eat. She handed me a small package wrapped in green foil paper.

  I took it from her and looked at the “Merry Christmas” tag. I recognized the handwriting before I read the words.

  I had one more jag of crying before I put my jacket back on and left. Considering everything that it had been through, it didn’t look too bad.

  ~ ~ ~

  AFTER MY BREAK down (or break through) at Greg’s house, I started returning each weekend to help shovel snow or cut dangerous tree limbs or salt the walks. After spring turned into summer, I could often be found there, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, or trimming hedges. Laci started showing up a lot too, helping Mrs. White with Charlotte.

  Sometimes, after Charlotte was in bed, I would find myself in the living room with Mrs. White and Laci. Those were the only times when I would allow myself to feel anything or let someone else see into my heart. They were the only times I knew for sure that I was still alive. The moment I left Greg’s house, I would turn my feelings back off and shut everybody back out.

  I did so well on the AP Physics exam that I went off to State in September with six semester hours of college credit. My roommate was named Todd and he was from Texas. I felt bad for him because I could tell he really wanted me to be a friend, but it just wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t because he was sleeping on what should have been Greg’s bed each night or studying at what should have been Greg’s desk. Mostly, it was because I was detached from everything that was going on around me, except for the times when I was at Greg’s house with Laci and Mrs. White.

  Laci went to Collens, which was on the other side of Cavendish and about four hours away from State, but we were both close enough to Cavendish that we returned home almost every weekend. Invariably, we wound up together at Greg’s house over and over again.

  “Are you coming to church tomorrow?” Laci asked as I was walking her home one evening.

  It was a stupid question and she knew it. I hadn’t been to church since the funeral.

  “Probably not,” I said, continuing to pace along.

  “You know,” she said, stopping on the sidewalk and grabbing my arm so that I stopped too, “you can’t stay mad at God forever.”

  “You think that’s why I haven’t been going to church?” I asked her, almost laughing and shaking my head. “I’m not mad at God.”

  She looked slightly relieved, but she still persisted.

  “Why then?”

  I shrugged and started walking again so that she had no choice but to come along.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it, Laci,” I said, and I was glad when she let it drop.

  The truth was that when I wasn’t at Greg’s house I removed myself as far from God as I did from everyone else.

  One night I was working on a calculus problem when Todd interrupted me. He was examining something small and shiny. I
t was probably a coin, but I didn’t ask.

  “Do you have a magnifying glass?” he asked.

  I did. It was in my top desk drawer, rewrapped loosely in the green foil with the “Merry Christmas” tag still on it.

  “No,” I lied, “sorry.”

  I’d waited about three weeks to unwrap it after Mrs. White had given it to me. The night I finally opened it I lay in bed, puzzling over why Greg had bought it for me. Suddenly I got it.

  Sam and I were so far apart that I had needed a telescope to see her, but Laci and I were so close . . .

  Maybe Greg had been right, maybe Laci had been ‘the one’. Before he’d been killed, it had certainly seemed as if Laci and I were headed that way. But ever since Greg and Mr. White had died, I’d regarded Laci the same way I did Mrs. White – she was someone to remember them with . . . someone to grieve with – nothing more.

  Walking her home another night she stopped me again.

  “I’m worried about you, David.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, for what seemed like the millionth time.

  “You’re not fine,” she argued. “You aren’t enjoying life – you’re barely even living!”

  I started walking again and she had to hustle to catch up.

  “Do you think you’re the only one who misses him?” she shouted, tugging at my arm. “Look at Mrs. White! Do you see her shutting everybody else out? Do you see her feeling sorry for herself all the time?”

  I knew it ticked her off that the only time I let her in was when I was at Greg’s house. She was trying to make me mad . . . anything to get a rise out of me.

  “Greg wouldn’t want this,” she said, softly. “He’d want you to be happy.”

  She was looking for some emotion – any emotion – good or bad.

  She shouldn’t have wasted her time.

  “I don’t want to be happy,” I told her, and I kept on walking.

  “Laci’s worried about you,” Mrs. White told me the next weekend.

  “I know,” I said, “but she doesn’t need to be.”

  “Greg always thought that you and Laci would be together,” she said. “You know that, right?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “He might have mentioned it a few hundred times.”

  She smiled.

  “Laci’s a sweet girl.”

  I nodded.

  “She cares about you.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding again. “I care about her too.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said, reaching over and laying her hand on mine. “You don’t care about anything anymore.”

  I knew I’d be lying to her if I tried to argue.

  The following weekend we spent the afternoon at Greg’s, raking leaves into piles for Charlotte to jump into. As usual, I walked Laci home.

  “Good night,” she said, heading up the stairs to her front door.

  “Laci?”

  She was at the top of the stairs. She let go of the door handle and turned back around.

  “What?”

  “I want to ask you something,” I said, “and I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “Okay.”

  I held up my hand in the circle that Greg had always signaled her with.

  “What does this mean?”

  She stared at me for a long time before answering.

  “He’ll come around.”

  I looked at her, not quite sure what she meant, but almost.

  “He was telling me to give you time . . . that one day you’d come around . . . that you’d like me back . . .”

  I dropped my eyes and looked at the ground, thinking about the first time I’d seen him give her that signal.

  We had been in the seventh grade.

  “I’m sorry, Laci,” I finally said, looking back up at her. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I know,” she said, and I turned around and walked home.

  ~ ~ ~

  ON THE ANNIVERSARY of Greg and Mr. White’s death, I arrived to help Mrs. White and Charlotte and Laci decorate for Christmas. The lights were already on the tree and we began unpacking ornaments. The second one I opened was a little felt reindeer. On the back was a piece of masking tape with the name “Greg” written on it. I handed it to Laci and took Charlotte outside to put lights on the big spruce tree near the edge of the yard.

  “David?” Charlotte asked.

  “What, Charlotte?”

  “Do you think it’ll snow?”

  I looked up through the cold air into the magnificent black sky with thousands of brilliant stars. Asterisms and constellations.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Maybe by Christmas?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “David?”

  “What?”

  “Did you give me that calculator last year?”

  I nodded at her.

  “Did you buy it for Greg?”

  I nodded again.

  “I miss him,” she said.

  “I know, Charlotte. I miss him too. And your dad.”

  “I like the calculator though.”

  “Good.”

  “My mom says you’re having a hard time.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “She says we have to pray for you every day. I pray for you a lot.” She paused. “Is it helping?”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, kneeling down next to her.

  “Do you want me to keep praying for you?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, hugging her so she wouldn’t see my tears.

  She rested her head on my shoulder.

  “Do you know what, David?”

  “What?”

  “Jordan threw up at school yesterday.”

  “Oh!” I said, standing up. “That must have been interesting.”

  “It was gross. Mrs. Germaine had to call the janitor and we got to go outside on the playground until he cleaned it up.”

  “Well, that sounds like fun.”

  “It was okay,” she said, shrugging. “We couldn’t get out any of the jump-ropes or four-square balls though so the only thing we got to do was play on the monkey bars.”

  I let her rattle on until I was sure the tree inside was done.

  ~ ~ ~

  LEARNING THAT AN eight-year old little girl was praying for me every day woke something up inside of me. If I had put one moment’s worth of thought into it earlier, I would have realized that many people were praying for me, but I hadn’t. Maybe Laci had been right – I’d been too busy feeling sorry for myself.

  I returned to college and began waking up even more. Todd was surprised when I accepted his offer one night to go get pizza. I talked with the head swim coach about joining the team . . . not right now, but maybe next year? I told him my times and he nodded. We could probably work something out.

  I signed up for summer classes and trained at the college pool all summer. I went for long runs and pumped weights and joined a local church that had a huge population of college students. I began to make new friends.

  At the same time though, I quit going home to Cavendish. It seemed as if there was a limit as to how much I was going to be able to open up and let others in, and something had to go. I called Tanner and Mike and asked them to check in on Mrs. White from time to time. Tanner said that he would. Mike said he would too, but that the last time he’d gone to church, he’d heard that Mrs. White was dating one of the deacons who was a widower. I got a letter from Charlotte. She said that Mr. Barnett had taken her and her mom to Six Flags.

  In the fall of my sophomore year, Jessica and her husband came to visit me at State. She wanted to tell me in person . . . I was going to be an uncle. We tromped around the campus, talking of her old times there and my new ones. Her husband waited in the car while we said goodbye.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing okay,” she said softly, and I smiled at her. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “We were all so worried about you.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said, patting her st
omach. “I’m fine.”

  This time I meant it.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE NEXT SUMMER I had to officially declare my major and I chose engineering. I was certain by now that I was doing it for the right reasons. I thoroughly enjoyed the classes and I was doing very well – I’d made the dean’s list every semester.

  I remembered what Mom had said about some people not knowing what they wanted to do until years after they graduated and I understood that God was going to guide my steps if I just listened to Him. I’d been doing that, too.

  I used that same understanding during the fall semester of my senior year. I was already getting job interviews and even a few offers from companies across the country. I didn’t accept even the most attractive ones because I didn’t hear God telling me what to do yet, so I just waited.

  On a crisp Saturday in October I attended a football game with some friends. We were in a restaurant, celebrating afterwards, when I felt my phone vibrating. I stood up quickly, rushing to get away from the noise so that I’d be able to hear when I answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “David?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Dana White.”

  “Hi!” I said, very surprised, but pleased too. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Good,” I said, pausing. “Is everything alright?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all.”

  “I watched the game on TV. Were you there?”