Where You Are

The incredibly annoying and unwanted sound of an alarm awoke John O’Callaghan from his slumber. His left hand lazily reached for his nightstand, fingering around for his cell phone. When he found the device, he quickly silenced it before burying his face back into his pillow. Six o’clock in the morning was much too early to be awake on any given day, but this Sunday, he thought the hour to be absolutely atrocious.

He debated the thought of just falling back asleep, but before he could delve too far into that dream, his phone began ringing, vibrating loudly against the surface of the nightstand. He groaned as he pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes. He sat against the headboard of his bed as he grabbed his phone, answering the call.

“Hello?” he answered curtly, his voice still thick with sleep.

“John, it’s six o’clock. I hope you’re getting dressed,” his mother stated, her tone soft but demanding.

He dragged his right hand down his face, his eyelids drooping. “I am,” he sighed, lying.

“John, please don’t be late. I know how hard this is for you, but you promised Jim you'd stand out front with him.”

No, mom, you don’t know how hard this is for me, he thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud.

“I won’t be late,” he assured her. When she didn’t say anything, he did. “I’ll see you at seven, mom,” he told her, ready to hang up.

“John … please remember that this is not your fault,” she stated softly, desperation in her voice.

John had to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “I’ll try,” he said before ending the call.

Silently, and almost numbly, John rose from his bed and walked into the living room of his apartment. Hanging on the far wall, above the black loveseat, was a painting that took up nearly the entirety of the wall. It was the only thing that he had hung on any of the walls in his entire apartment; it was the only picture that he felt needed to be shown.

It was a bit dark and morose, but it reflected the personality of its painter. She, too, had been dark and morbid, broken in a way that only he understood. Or, at least, he thought he had.

_________________________________________________

At fifteen years old, the last thing John wanted to do after school was to be burdened with the work of a biology project, much less with a girl who appeared to be the ‘queen of freaks’.

Ezra Jeanne Washington was a girl whose skin was far too pale for living in Phoenix, Arizona. She had big, grey eyes, ones that could strike fear in you with just a glance. She was tall, taller than most girls her age, standing at five-foot-nine. She had long, brown hair that curled at the ends. She was shy and quiet, which only fueled those who talked about her. Rumors buzzed around the school, claiming her to be an atheist, a smoker, and a practitioner of voo doo.

Frankly, John was a little afraid to have to work with her. He had begged and begged Mrs. Bartholomew, his science teacher, to pair him with someone else, but she had simply shaken her head and told him to take his seat.

And now, because of her, he was having to invite Ezra over to his house to work on the damned thing. He sat on the couch in front of the TV, biting the nail of his left thumb, his eyes watching the clock.

“John, let me know when that girl gets here. I know you won’t offer her anything to eat or drink,” his mother stated as she passed by, going upstairs with a basket of folded laundry.

John rolled his eyes. “She’s probably a cannibal anyways,” he muttered under his breath.

Five minutes later, the doorbell sounded and John leapt up from the couch. He answered the door, seeing Ezra and a tall man standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He smiled widely, and as John looked to his eyes, he realized he had to be her father; he had never really met anyone else who had those same chilling eyes.

“Uh … hi,” John stammered, his hand gripping the doorknob.

“Hi. John, is it?” the man asked. John nodded his head. “I’m Mr. Washington, Ezra’s dad. Is there any chance I could speak to either your mother or father for just a moment?”

“Uh, yeah.” John turned around, shouting up the stairs, “Mom!”

“What is it, John!?”

“Come here!” he yelled.

He heard her footsteps coming down the stairs. “Is she here?” she asked before looking into the doorway. “Oh, hi! I’m Deborah, John’s mother,” she smiled, holding her hand out for Mr. Washington to shake.

He took her hand, smiling as well. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jim, Ezra’s father. I was just wondering if I could have a quick word with you.”

“Oh, of course. John, why don’t you take Ezra inside? There are cookies and juice on the counter,” she said, looking at her son.

John nodded his head, gesturing for Ezra to come into the house. “Follow me,” he told her.

Ezra gave her a father a tight hug before telling him ‘I love you’ and following behind John. When they got to the kitchen, he saw that there was a tray of chocolate chip cookies, two glasses, and a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid sitting on the counter.

“You can take a cookie … or have some Kool-Aid,” he said, shrugging.

“It’s fine. I ate before I came,” she said softly.

He nodded his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So … you have any idea what your dad is talking to my mom about?”

He watched her eyes shift to the floor. “He’s just … he’s concerned is all.”

“Concerned? About what?” he asked, feeling confused.

“I’ve never really gone to anyone’s house because … well, you know what everyone says about me at school,” she told him.

He hoped his face didn’t look as guilty as he felt. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“He just wanted to make sure me being here wasn’t going to be a problem and that you weren’t going to do anything to me.”

“Do anything to you?”

Ezra took her bottom lip between her teeth, looking uncomfortable. “Yesterday – yesterday a few upper classmen threw eggs at me when I was walking home.”

John’s mouth went slack and his eyes widened. “Seriously?” She nodded her head. “Wow. That’s – that’s fucked up.”

She shrugged. “It is, but I’m used to it. It’s not the first time it’s happened.” She held up her black messenger bag. “So, where are we working?”

He was perplexed by her sudden change of subject, but left it alone. “Either in the living room or on the table. You can pick,” he told her.

“Is the table fine?” she asked.

He wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “Yeah, sure.”

They immediately began working on their poster, having to compare the anatomy of a human being to that of a polar bear’s. The concept seemed incredibly idiotic to John, but he wasn’t going to argue with the teacher. He just wanted to pass the class and if that meant having to do moronic projects, he would do them.

“We can use the computer to find a picture of the bear,” John told her, after they had gotten the facts written down, realizing that art work was needed to bring it all together.

“I can draw one,” she suggested, looking at him.

“You can draw?” he asked, arching his brows.

She nodded her head. “I love to draw. I can show you a few sketches of mine, if you want to make sure that I’m any good.”

“Uh … no, it’s cool. You can go ahead and draw it. I’ll just watch,” he stated.

“Okay,” she said, pulling out a pencil.

Lightly, she pressed it to the paper, sketching out the shape of the mammal. John watched in amazement as she drew so effortlessly; like drawing was the easiest thing in the world to do. His eyes went from the drawing to her face, noticing how the tip of her tongue was just barely sticking out of her mouth, as her choppy bangs fell in front of her face. She looked determined, but at ease at the same time.

When she finished, she turned to look at him. “How does it look?”

The bear was drawn perfectly, and he had no doubt in his mind that everyone would be amazed to learn that Ezra had hand drawn the animal. “It looks awesome, Ezra,” he told her earnestly.

She gave him a smile, her pale cheeks turning pink. “Thanks, John.”

For the first time, John realized just how distorted high schoolers could make their peers out to be. He had expected a monster of a girl to come to his house, but he was proven wrong. Ezra seemed just like any other girl to him, despite the seemingly perpetual solemn look in her eyes.

__________________________________________________________

John gulped as he walked toward the loveseat, his knees resting on the cushions as he grazed his fingertips over the oil painting.

Ezra’s eyes never lost that morbid look, but it was just something he had gotten used to over the years. Just like how she seemed to always have a cigarette resting between her middle and index fingers, despite his many attempts to get her to kick the habit.

Ezra had never been good at letting things go, though. She always allowed them to consume her.

_______________________________________________________

They were eighteen when he first saw the red wounds on her wrists. She hadn’t meant for him to see them, of course, but he had stopped by her house unannounced one day, and her father had allowed him to head right up to her room. He had taken a liking to John, and John knew it was because he was the first person who had accepted his daughter exactly as she was.

He didn’t bother to knock on her door, instead just turning the handle and stepping right into her bedroom. And in typical Ezra fashion, her walls had been painted a midnight blue, making the room appear dark. Band posters were hung all over her walls, along with her drawings and John smiled as he saw a portrait of himself hanging on the door of her closet.

She had drawn it two weeks ago, when he was laying on her bed whilst her right hand moved furiously with the charcoal pencil she held, gliding it across the paper. She had wanted him to keep it, but he had insisted she keep it instead, jokingly saying that it was so she could always see his ‘sexy face’ whenever he wasn’t around.

Spread out on the floor and in corners of the room were CD cases and he wanted to laugh at how much more messy she could be than he - a guy. He shook his head and walked over to her bed, where she lay sleeping. He went to yank her right arm, which was dangling off the edge of the bed, but stopped once his eyes caught sight of something that made his stomach turn.

The sleeve of her black Henley had rose up to her elbow, revealing at least a dozen slash marks. John was known for fainting at the sight of blood, and he struggled to keep his breathing even as his thumb traced over one of the lines. Just the action alone made him wince and his heart hurt.

Some of the cuts were old, he could tell by the way they were starting to heal. But most, most were new and he wondered why she was doing this to herself. He looked at her face, seeing how peaceful she appeared to be.

“Oh, Ezra,” he sighed, going around to the opposite side of the bed. He laid down next to her, and brushed back the hair that had fallen over her eyes.

The gesture woke her up and she stared at the ceiling for a moment before realizing John was laying beside her. She gasped and quickly sat up, pulling the sleeves of her shirt down and over her hands.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“I came to hang out, but your lazy ass was sleeping,” he told her.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

He shrugged and leaned against her headboard, his hands lacing behind his head. “So … interesting marks you have there,” he said, eyeing her wrists.

Her face paled and she looked nervously at John. “You can’t tell my dad. Please, John,” she begged, her eyes pooling with tears.

“I would never do that,” he assured her.

She drew in a breath of air to calm herself. “Thank you.”

“I’m not really sure that deserves thanking,” he stated.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I assume you want to know why I cut.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, taking his hands to rest them in his lap.

“It started when I was thirteen,” she started, staring at the wall behind John, instead of at him. “When my parents got divorced. My mom – she wanted me to move with her to Florida, but I couldn’t – I couldn’t leave my dad like that. He wouldn’t have been able to take it if I left him,” she said, shaking her head. “My mom, she could make it – has made it. But my dad, I’m all he has and I couldn’t leave him like that. I love him too much.

“My mom took my decision as betrayal and she all but spat in my face before she left. It hurt … to have your own mom, the woman who gave you life, who you spent nine months living inside of, basically tell you that you’re nothing to her and disown you. I didn’t want to bother my dad, because he was dealing with his own hurt. So, I just … I started cutting.” Her eyes finally met John’s green orbs. “I’m not proud of it and I know that I shouldn’t be doing it, but it’s my life, John. Everyone has their own way of dealing with things, and this – this is how I deal.”

John had no words for the girl sitting before him. Instead, he simply opened his arms and allowed her to crawl into them. He wrapped them tightly around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Tell me about Michigan,” he said, making her laugh.

John loved to hear her stories of snow and winter in the northern state, ever since her and her father had gone to spend Christmas there the previous year. The story wasn’t the only thing he loved hearing. No, he loved to see the way Ezra’s eyes sparkled and the way she spoke with complete adoration of the place. He wanted to take her mind away from what they had just been talking about and onto something else; something happier.

“Well, it was cold – really cold when we got there. I had to wear a jacket over my sweater and long john, and I was still cold!” she laughed. “Our cabin was in the middle of the woods, but it wasn’t scary like you see in the movies. It was peaceful and serene and every morning you could hear the birds singing. At night, you could count all of the stars in the sky and make out the constellations. Every morning I would go for a walk to the lake, which was frozen, and sit on this bench. No one else ever came, but I guess that was because it was too cold.

“I’d watch the sun rise and I’d just stare at how the snow glistened like glitter. It was so beautiful, especially when there were no footprints; just clear, untouched snow. Sometimes I would catch a family of deer running through the trees, but none ever came near me. The last morning we were there, I went to the same bench and sat down. It was a cloudy morning and the sun was covered by the clouds. I took a picture of the lake and when I looked up, there was this black crow flying in the sky. He was alone, and I thought it was weird, because birds usually fly with at least one other bird, you know? But there he was, flying all alone, and I just kind of thought … if I were a bird, I’d probably be him. Flying in beautiful places, but flying alone.”

John laced his fingers with hers, cradling her back to his chest. “Do you think you’ll go back?”

“Of course,” she answered quickly. “I love it there. I love that you actually get to experience all four seasons and I love how there’s so much scenery, not just desert. It’s just … it feels like home to me, you know?”

John nodded his head. “I guess I’ll have to buy some winter gear for when I go to visit you.”

She laughed and then it became quiet between the two of them. “John?”

“Hmm?” he hummed against her shoulder.

“If I were to … leave … would you miss me?” she asked softly, an eerie tone in her voice.

“Ezra,” he sighed, “you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here, in Tempe, with me, until you move out to the fucking goonies in Michigan.”

She gave a laugh, but it wasn’t genuine; she was laughing more for his satisfaction that her own.

________________________________________________________

John’s thumb traced the outline of the painted black crow, his eyes hoarding with tears. He had always kept Ezra’s secret just that – a secret. Even as the years passed and she became more of a recluse, more frightened of the world and the people in it who had the ability to hurt her, he kept his mouth shut.

Maybe a part of him always wanted to believe that he could be the one to fix her, to make the hurt stop.

But, God, she was always hurting and sometimes he just didn’t have time or the patience to deal with her. Sometimes he just wanted to tell her to stop with the fucking tears and cutting, to tell somebody else her secret because, at times, it was just too fucking much.

And that was where he had gone terribly and horribly wrong last Sunday.

_________________________________________________________

Saturday nights usually meant partying and tons of alcohol for John, and he had barely made it to his apartment before he collapsed on the couch in the living room, passing out at four in the morning.

When he had awoken again, it wasn’t on his own free will, but because a loud knocking was coming from his door and he thought his brain might implode if he didn’t stop it. Rather angrily, he got up and slowly trekked to the door, ready to give whoever was behind it a piece of his mind.

But as he pulled the door open, he was greeted with Ezra’s crying face, big, salty tears falling down her cheeks. She didn’t say anything as she threw herself into his arms, causing him to stumble. His arms went loosely around her, but his irritable mood was not forgotten. He rolled his eyes and walked backwards into the apartment, shutting the door behind Ezra.

He walked to the couch, Ezra still clinging onto him. He sat down and she sat beside him, sobbing onto the shoulder of his white v-neck. He used his left hand, as his right was wrapped around the crying girl, to rub his tired eyes, yawning.

“What happened, Ez?”

She sniffled a few times before looking up at him. “He – he cheated on me,” she cried before sprouting more tears.

John sighed. He had warned Ezra time after time about dating a boy in a band, for he was the lead singer of one himself and knew firsthand the things that happened on the road; the “boyfriends” who slept with random girls on lonely nights.

“Did you break up with him?” he asked.

“No,” she squeaked out.

“Then why are you over here crying to me, Ezra?” he questioned, rather annoyed. “Eric cheated on you, and yet you didn’t break up with him. Your tears are your own fault,” he told her.

She hiccupped and looked at him. “H – how can you say that, John? You’re my friend! That’s why I came to you!”

“I’m your friend, Ezra! Not a damn therapist that you can come crying and bitching to every time something happens to you!” he snapped. “God, if it isn’t one thing with you, it’s something else.” He leaned back into the couch, his head throbbing with a hangover and his mind clouded with anger.

“I – I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, getting ready to stand up.

“Wait, wait, don’t go,” he told her, sighing. “Sit down.” She did as he said, sniffling, and he licked his dry lips. “I’m just really hungover and sleepy. I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She nodded her head. “It’s okay.”

“Look, Eric’s one of my best friends and I love the dude to death, but he’s not ready to be anyone’s boyfriend, much less yours, Ezra. Break up with him before he hurts you again,” he instructed.

“But I love him,” she insisted.

“Do you think he loves you?” She was quiet. “Exactly,” he said, validating his point.

More tears came and John just watched her cry, waiting for her to calm down. Once the tears had slowed, she leaned against his side. It became silent and he fought to stay awake.

“Why do people always hurt me, John?” she questioned softly.

“Everyone that matters to you will hurt you at some point. It’s a fact of life, Ez. People that I love and care about have done me wrong, but I’ve also crossed them, too. It’s just how people are,” he stated.

“Well I’m tired of it,” she told him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, too tired to say anything else.

“Would you miss me if I left, John?” she asked.

Oh, God, he did not want to get into this. She had asked him that same question dozens of times, but this time – this time he was just sick and tired of hearing it.

“Ezra, please just shut up,” he said flatly.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and that surprised him. She always had something to say. He opened one eye, watching her as she removed herself from his side.

“I’ve gotta get to work,” she told him, rising to her feet. “You’re my best friend, JohnO. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ez,” he said.

She nodded her head and walked to the door, giving him one last glance over her shoulder before walking out.

John sat on the couch for the next thirty minutes, thinking over their conversation. He knew he had acted like a dick, but he couldn’t change that now. And, in all honesty, a part of him was glad; he had been holding back those words from her for awhile now, and it felt good to have them finally be said.

His phone began vibrating in his pocket and he pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Ezra’s name flashed across it and he sighed, debating on answering the call or not. He decided not, and ignored the call, sending her to his voicemail. If she really had something important to say, she could leave it in a message.

Ten minutes passed and when no voicemail popped up, he thought about calling her back. But … if he did that, didn’t that mean taking back the words he said? Taking back the truth?

He groaned and threw his phone onto the coffee table, laying back on the couch. Sleep would surely help clear his mind.

John had no idea how much time had passed, but when he awoke again, his phone was going off. He thought he had only been hearing the sound in his dreams, but now, looking at the twenty missed calls on his phone, he realized he hadn’t been dreaming.

The most recent call had come from his mother, and he decided on calling her back first. He pressed the phone to his ear as he stood, going to the kitchen. He rubbed a hand over his stomach as he looked into the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. He had barely unscrewed the cap when his mom answered.

“John!” she cried, causing John’s brows to knit together in confusion.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” he asked, setting the bottle down on the counter.

She sniffled and John felt his stomach churning. “John, it’s – it’s Ezra.”

He felt his spit get caught in his throat and his fingers gripped the edge of the countertop so tight the skin over his knuckles became white. “What happened to her?” he asked softly.

“S – she killed herself this morning, John.” His heart plummeted to his feet and his knees went weak. He fell down onto the tiled floor and tried to remember how to breathe. “Jim had been calling her all morning and when she never answered or called him back, he knew something was wrong. He went to her apartment and found her-” she had to stop to suck in a breath of air, “he found her hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom.”

Just the words alone brought goosebumps to his skin and tears pricked his eyes, instantly falling down his cheeks.

She had called him and he had ignored her for his own selfish reasons. John’s entire body went numb and he could no longer hear the jumbled words coming from his mother’s mouth.

_______________________________________________________

John was dressed in a black suit with black Ray Ban sunglasses hiding his red eyes, as he stood uncomfortably in front of the church’s open doors, greeting Ezra’s family members; something he was only doing at the request of Jim. He tried to smile, but it didn’t feel right.

Just like the people who seemed still half-asleep and who he knew had never given a shit about Ezra when she was alive, shaking his hand and stepping into the church.

Fucking bastards, all of you.

When it was finally time to go inside the church, John stood beside his family and Jim in the front pew. Ezra’s senior picture sat in a frame in front of them, a silver urn placed just before it. Although it pained her father to do so, Ezra had requested in her suicide letter to be cremated, and Jim went along with it, fulfilling his daughter’s last wish.

The preacher recited verses from the Holy Bible before Jim had gone up and given a speech, which brought tears to his eyes. John could see just how bad this was tearing him up, and the guilt was eating away at him like no other time before.

“John, would you like to say a few last words?” he asked into the microphone, causing everyone to turn and stare at him.

John gulped before nodding his head, walking to the podium. He licked his lips nervously and Jim nodded his head, as if telling him to go ahead. “Well … Ezra was my best friend. I met her when I was fifteen … we had to work on a science project together. It was the first time that I realized that you can’t always believe what you hear. We became close after that. I like to think that half of her good memories were created with her dad, and the other half were created with me.

Ezra was beautiful and broken, and sometimes I thought that I could change that - that I could be the one to help her. But I couldn’t. I didn’t,” he had to stop to swallow the tears in his throat. “I love Ezra and I’m going to miss her,” he cried, his voice cracking. Jim pulled him into a hug and John cried on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed uncontrollably, repeating the phrase over and over.

___________________________________________________

The following Saturday night, John and Jim had flown out to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where Ezra and her father had gone to visit a few years back; where Ezra seemed her most happiest.

It was bitterly cold that Sunday morning when they trekked out of the cabin, towards the lake. It was early December, and the water hadn’t frozen over yet. The woods were just as Ezra had always described them to John. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out why she loved this place so much.

The two of them crouched down as Jim took the lid off of the urn. Tears stung John’s eyes but he tried so hard not to let them fall.

“We’ll always love you, Ezra Jeanne,” the man stated, salty tears glistening his cheeks. He tipped the urn over, allowing Ezra’s ashes to flow into the water.

They watched the water for a long while, before John stood up, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes.

“If it’s alright with you, I think I’m going to take a walk,” he said.

Jim nodded his head, standing up. “Of course. You remember where the cabin is, correct?”

John nodded his head before walking off, heading farther down along the lake. He still felt incredibly guilty for that phone call he missed. The only person he had been able to come clean to was his mother, who tried over and over to convince him that Ezra's suicide wasn't his fault. He just couldn't bring himself to believe it.

He walked for awhile, chewing over his friendship with Ezra and he had only just realized how much she truly meant to him. How she had been a great constant in his life without him ever really realizing it.

He came to a stop in front of an opening and gazed up at the sky, the wind blowing through his hair and nipping at his cheeks. His eyes caught sight of something that nearly made his heart stop.

There, flying in the grey sky, was one lone crow, its wings spread as it soared in the open air.

”… He was alone, and I thought it was weird, because birds usually fly with at least one other bird, you know? But there he was, flying all alone, and I just kind of thought … if I were a bird, I’d probably be him. Flying in beautiful places, but flying alone.”

“Ezra,” he whispered, and chillingly, the bird turned to look at him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He stared at the creature for a long moment, as it just flew in wide circles right over him. “Ezra,” he called again, and the bird, once more, looked at him. “You always asked me if I would miss you if you left,” he started, the bird still gawking at him. “I miss you … I miss you more than you can imagine.”

The bird stared at him a moment longer before flying off and John could only watch as it did so. The crow flew high into the air before disappearing from his sight. A sad smile spread across his face.

“More than you can imagine, Ez,” he repeated.