She sits reclining in disbelief with fortune wheel distractions and the boy's picture on two of four walls. It's been ten episodes since the funeral. She hears him say "Mommie" at least once an hour in her mind. Sometimes twice. At seventeen he learned the truth. About cars.
An honest woman with credit card debt twice her family's annual income. A husband who travels often and loves. His work.
She worked for me at one time. Not too hard.
The boy came to work with her some days when school was out of session. He would sit there at the empty desk and do nothing for hours. It hurt me to watch them both. She, doing nothing, and teaching him the same trick. It's an old tried and true but helpless trick. Most who learn it will never find the salvation of pure nothing. They only find the blankness of wiped time.
One afternoon I was on my way to the driving range. I asked her if Matthew would like to come along. He feigned disinterest but I knew anything would be better than this imprinting of lonely waste. I talked both of them into it and he and I drove to the range. I had to make all the talk. He was thirteen and not so much shy as he was bored to death and afraid of what might have to come along one day to cure it.
He wasn't very good at the eye-hand coordination required for golf. I tried to give him some tips but he waved them off and said it was a silly game.
Back at the office, his mom was eager to hear how it went. Her son, out with the boss, man and boy. We made up stories of fun.
Last Sunday I open the obituaries and see his picture. He is almost exactly the same age as my daughter and he will be laid to rest on Monday. My mind spins and I realize I can not only not attend this funeral but I can not even call his mother. Not now. Not for a while.
We lose a pet and we grieve for a few days. Then we go get another. We lose a child and the world falls in like empty heavy tepid lava on our heads and fills our mouths and ears and noses with worms our eyes can see up close. Moving in slowly at first, but the entropy is relentless. "What would have happened if…"s and "I should have known…."s course through the mother's brain like overburdened coolant in an engine running hot on guilt and remorse.
I try to escape it, but when I wake up Monday morning and turn on the radio, the first thing I hear on the local news is the mention of his death. Because he was not only the quarterback of his high school football team, but he was also on the basketball team.
And the golf team.