and she told me that he was unconscious for a couple hours before he died.
My parents came in then, looking expectant, and I just nodded and they fell into each other,
feeling, I’m sure, the harmonic terror that would in time come for them directly.
I called Isaac, who cursed life and the universe and God Himself
and who said where are the goddamned trophies to break when you need them,
and then I realized there was no one else to call, which was the saddest thing.
The only person I really wanted to talk to about Augustus Waters’s death was Augustus Waters.
My parents stayed in my room forever until it was morning and finally Dad said, “Do you want to be alone?”
and I nodded and Mom said, “We’ll be right outside the door,” me thinking, I don’t doubt it.
It was unbearable. The whole thing. Every second worse than the last.
I just kept thinking about calling him, wondering what would happen, if anyone would answer.
In the last weeks, we’d been reduced to spending our time together in recollection, but that was not nothing:
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