The Boy From Hot Ice

It was the news I never expected to hear, especially not during biology.
When Mrs. Hooper called me out of class, I just assumed I was in trouble again. But the look on her face - the one that was trying to be compassionate rather than trying not to beat the shit out of me - told me something completely different. And as she spoke, I became numb, devoid of any sensory perception that might help me to react in that moment.
"Your father has had a hear attack. He's dead."
I don't know how long I was silent, but it must have been a significant amount of time because when I became aware of my surroundings again, there were 5 teachers around me rather than just my principal. And then there was the school nurse checking my pulse. Did they think I had died, too?
"I want my mom," I said finally. It was all I knew how to say in that moment. In fact, I think it was the first sentence I had ever said, and I guess my subconscious wanted to transport me to my toddler days.
"Your mother is on her way from Asia, and in the mean time, we're going to ask that you stay with a friend. Do you have someone to stay with so you're not alone?"
Without hesitation, I answered. "Amanda." She had always been there for me, and now for the first time I felt like we could relate to each other in a real way. In the worst way possible.
"We'll call Mr. Grayson for you," one of them said. And as they exited the room one by one, I became slowly aware of the truth. The truth always seemed to hurt me. The truth had become my worst enemy. I fucking hated the truth.
I don't know why I didn't cry right away, but I sat there for a long while just staring at the wall. As I think back, I try to remember what I was thinking about, but I don't remember. Maybe I wasn't thinking at all. My dad and I had had exactly 13 real conversations in the year and a half I had lived with him. I saw him maybe once a week in passing, and when he was trying to be good to me, he usually just gave me money. And I wasn't ungrateful, but I wished, oh how I wished, that I had been better to him. I wished I had talked to him every day. I wished I had left him notes or said thank you more. I wished so much. So much that would never come to fruition.
"My baby!" Amanda said as she opened the office door and ran to me with open arms. "Oh, sweetie, I love you! I'm here for you!"
I had never seen her cry before today. I'd seen her go through a lot of shit, but I'd never seen her cry. I'd never actually seen her without a smile on her face for any length of time.
As she held me, I could feel her tears on my back as they soaked through my tee shirt. And that's when I was finally able to react. As I felt her understanding, knowing what I was experiencing, real love, real compassion, I lost all control. I sank into her until she could no longer hold me, then I fell to the floor in a heap, crying until there was nothing left in me.
Her father had been on a trip with my father at the time, and as he came to pick us up, he was a wreck himself, mourning the loss of his best friend. But this unselfish man, a man who was like my father only far more present, took his time to make sure I was comfortable in his home, treating me like his own child, attending to my every need.
I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't. And Amanda, acting as my heart and soul until I could feel my own again, stayed up with me, mostly holding me, telling me that I would feel better if I slept. I didn't believe her, but as the sun came up and my eyes began to close, I felt myself drifting into a more peaceful place.
They woke me up around noon, informing me that my mother would be arriving soon. While I knew she wouldn't exactly be heartbroken over his death, I couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for her. Not because of dad, but because she was putting the last part of her trip on hold indefinitely to come tend to me.
She arrived at the Grayson's house within an hour from when I woke up. She was dressed as if today were just another tropical adventure, and as she approached me, it was hard to tell whether she had a spring in her step or was just having a hard time walking in her strappy sandal heels.
"My Lizzie!" she called with arms outstretched as she grabbed me tight. "Oh my sweet, sweet girl!"
I hugged her back because she was the only blood I had left, and there's something unbreakably special about that, despite the circumstance.
"Thanks for taking care of her, Frank," she thanked Mr. Grayson and he simply nodded. She didn't bother to ask how he was, or to thank my friend who had kept me company through the worst night of my life. She simply grabbed me and led me from the house into the car with Scott, and as we drove to my dad's house, she discussed arrangements as if it were a business at stake.
I guess it was, but that's not the point.
"I guess the most important thing for you to do would be to make sure I have the bank account information," she started.
I knew I would be getting almost all of dad's money - everything that wasn't given to Mr. Grayson to help run the business smoothly. I didn't know how much that was and I didn't really care, but I knew that whatever it was, if mom got her hands on it, that would have been the last thing my dad would have wanted. But rather than talk about money, which was not exactly primary in my mind at the time, I simply nodded as she continued.
"And we'll have to sell the old house..." she said.
"Why the house? I love that house," I argued.
"Well, sweetie, your father wouldn't want you living there alone, now, would he?"
I hadn't ever really thought about it, but I didn't want to leave just yet. I had been making friends, I had become popular and accepted, I had only recently begun to recover from the whole Jeremy thing - I couldn't leave just yet.
"And you can rent the house back home," she told me.
"Rent? As in you won't be living there? As in I would have to pay you to live there?"
"I wouldn't ask much," she said. "But just enough to cover the expenses for things like the electric and water and all that. And a little extra."
Scott had changed my mother into someone I never thought she could be. She was a cold, heartless bitch with a hunger for money. This wasn't who she was before, but she was with a businessman who, unlike my father, put money before family, and who had taught her to do the same.
"I'm not sure I want to move back," I told her. "I've gotten used to it here."
"Remember when we told you to come here? You hated it! You hated me!"
"Because I was enjoying myself there! And finally, FINALLY I find myself settling in here and you want to take me back again!"
"I suppose there's no arguing with you," she mumbled under her breath as she threw a despondent look toward Scott. He returned it, along with the shrug of his shoulder.
"I'm not moving back!" I insisted.
"You're my child, you'll do as I say!" she said adamantly. "We'll stay up here for the funeral, but the next day, you're going back with us. We'll stay with you until you're settled back in school, but after that I'm afraid you'll have to manage on your own. Until college, anyway. You have started to look into colleges, haven't you?"
I shook my head and cried, a reaction which my mother didn't seem particularly fond of. How could she be planning my life out for me now? Now, when my father had barely been gone for a full day?

The funeral was forgettable. At least, I've tried to forget it. Almost everyone there was a business associate, with the exception of me, my mom, and a couple of obscure cousins who I think only showed up because they thought maybe he left them something.
The reading of the will took place shortly after, and it was no surprise that he left control of the business, as well as any earning directly from it, to Frank Grayson. All of his remaining money was left to me, of course, and I was actually surprised to learn the number I inherited. His house went to my mom, though I'm not sure why he left her anything, and then he divided his other assets and belongings among several colleagues and frankly I didn't even care enough to listen to the details. Truth was, as per dad's wishes, mom had control of his house and would sell it, and she would have me move back to Modesto. And I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about that.
I sat with Amanda on the swings in our backyard afterwards, as if we were small children at a church picnic. For a long time, we said nothing. I was silently thinking about readjusting my life for the umpteenth time, and she was giving me the courtesy of privacy. I wasn't really sure whether I should thank her or not. I wanted her to talk to me so I wouldn't have to talk. I wanted her to impart some sort of wisdom she'd learned after her mom had passed. But we simply sat there, two lonesome figures, mine hulking over hers, four slumped shoulders set against the golden horizon.
"You'll do okay, Liz," she said finally. "I know it's hard to believe, but you will."
"I just keep remembering all the drama there," I told her. "I don't exactly miss it."
"This is high school," she smiled. "There's always gonna be drama. It's not like you haven't had any drama here!"
I had to smile since she was absolutely right. In fact, maybe there had been more drama here.
"But you'll go back to Modesto with a fresh set of brains under that fabulous hair, and when people throw shit at you, let them be the apes they are. They do it because they're insecure. I learned that a long time ago."
I nodded. "I just wish you were there with me," I said.
"I'm going to UCLA next year. Law school," she told me. "Or at least I think I am. Dad's got connections and everything looks promising. You should apply."
"Me? College?" I sniffed. "I don't know what I want to do with my life."
"Do whatever you want to do," she smiled as she put her hand on mine. "It's not that difficult."
I hugged her for a long time, still sitting on our swings beside each other. There was something else bothering me.
"He must have heard by now," I muttered. "It's been in the papers everywhere. The TV news even covered it. But why hasn't he called?"
"Of course he knows," she said. "He probably just felt nervous calling so soon afterward."
"You think?"
"Of course," she said in her comforting tone. "I promise he'll call before the night's over. I'm never wrong about this stuff."
I nodded. Again, I didn't know what else to say or do. Now I simply sat and waited for his call.
About an hour had passed before we went back inside. Amanda and I talked about everything else we needed to discuss before I left. And with the promise that I'd apply for UCLA, it was finally time for me to leave my father's home, the home I had grown to love in just a short year, a home I had made memories in, a home that would always have a special place in my heart. I had just headed down the driveway and almost opened the car door when I heard the phone ringing. I ran back, knowing Amanda, who had stayed to clean up after we left, would have answered by the time I got inside.
"Is it him?" I asked excitedly, hoping.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I told you he'd call! Didn't I say he'd call? I told you! I told you!"
I grabbed the phone as fast as I could and I pressed it to my ear as if it would help me hear better or bring him closer to me.
"Hey!" I cried into it, "I've been waiting all day for this! You have no idea how badly I wanted to hear your voice after all this."
"You too, baby," he said.
But this wasn't the voice I'd been waiting for. This was the voice of Steve. And oh, how I just dreamed, hoped, and prayed for the past four days that somehow I would hear from my Jeremy.