I thought about it. My old stock answer was that I wanted to stay alive for my parents,
because they would be all gutted and childless in the wake of me, and that was still true kind of, but that wasn’t it, exactly.
“I don’t know.” “In the hopes that you’ll get better?” “No,” I said. “No, it’s not that. I really don’t know. Isaac?” I asked.
I was tired of talking. Isaac started talking about true love.
I couldn’t tell them what I was thinking because it seemed cheesy to me,
but I was thinking about the universe wanting to be noticed, and how I had to notice it as best I could.
I felt that I owed a debt to the universe that only my attention could repay,
and also that I owed a debt to everybody who didn’t get to be a person anymore and everyone who hadn’t gotten to be a person yet.
What my dad had told me, basically. I stayed quiet for the rest of Support Group, and Patrick said a special prayer for me,
and Gus’s name was tacked onto the long list of the dead—fourteen of them for every one of us—
and we promised to live our best life today, and then I took Isaac to the car.
When I got home, Mom and Dad were at the dining room table on their separate laptops,
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