FM Radio

April 22, 2006
It had been years since he had been here, to his childhood home, where his family, his friends, and his oldest memories resided. Adam had always intended to visit often, but his lifestyle afforded him far less free time than he’d hoped for. Now, his band’s new record was just days away from release, leaving Adam extremely anxious, almost to the point of making him sick. The pressure of living up to his name had been eating away at Adam’s conscience, filling him with worry. That worry is what caused him to buy a plane ticket from JFK to Piedmont Triad International Airport, North Carolina. Being at home, he hoped, would help him clear his head and alleviate the fear of failure that had been plaguing him.

The decision to come home had been impulsive. As in, Adam was standing on the sidewalk outside the airport with nothing but the clothes on his back and a half-charged cell phone which had been ringing amost constantly. Adam assumed the calls were coming from his bandmates and friends wondering where the hell he was, as he hadn’t even told anyone he was leaving. But he left the calls unanswered, eventually turning his phone off to free himself of the incessant ringing. He had come home to return to his life before the band, before fame and the pressures that came with it entered his life. To remember what that life was like, he had to isolate himself from what he had left behind in New York. And isolate himself he did.

Without a car, Adam wasn’t sure where to go. It was a good half an hour’s drive into the part of town he was familiar with, and Adam definitely did not have enough money on hand to pay for a taxi. He almost felt like giving up and buying a plane ticket back home with his underused credit card when he heard the distinctive groan of a city bus. He peered down the road, squinting in the afternoon sun, to see one of High Point’s great public monstrocities barrelling towards him, spewing exhaust into the humid air as it did so. Bus fare may have gone up since he was a kid, but Adam felt sure he had enough money to ride the public bus, at the very least. He jogged toward the bus stop to wait, suddenly feeling very anxious to get home and begin a trip down memory lane.

The bus came to a slow stop before him, brakes squeeling with a painful sound. The door creaked open and Adam boarded the bus, stopping at the bus driver awkwardly.

“Uhm, how much?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound too idiotic.

Without saying a word, the driver point at a sign near the depository that indicated the busfare.

“Oh,” he mumbled, embarassed, before fumbling around in his pocket to grab some cash.

Adam payed the fee and turned to survey the empty bus. Well, almost empty bus. There was a girl sitting halfway back, headphones over her ears and a cigarette burning dully in her hand. Her hair was covering her face as she gazed out the window, but Adam’s movement at the front of the bus caused her to turn her head in his direction.

He had started to walk forward, intending to ignore the girl as he would any other passenger on a vehicle of public transportation. But when she turned her head, recognition stopped him dead in his tracks. His eyes grew wide, but hers seemed to stare straight past him. They appeared empty, with a glazed-over look that indicated she must have been a little bit drunk. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. If it hadn’t been for the mesmerizing grey color of her eyes, Adam wouldn’t have recognized the girl sitting before him. The last time he had seen her, she had been a very different person. That was eight years ago.

-----

Adam was 16 years old.

The neighbor girl was 14, a fact he could never forget since his mother had so often pointed it out when speaking of the tragedy that had befallen her, as if her youth made it even more heartbreaking.

Adam remembered the cop cars that lined his street; he had watched the men in uniform get out of them and walk up to the neighbor’s house. Then he had heard that distinctive cry of anguish, the kind you hope you only have to hear once in your life and never again. It wasn’t until the funeral that Adam learned what had happened.

He knew that Mr. Crawford had been diagnosed with cancer. Adam learned of the illness just a few days after the family themselves, and that had been almost six months ago. A week before the cops showed up outside their house, Mr. Crawford had gone missing. The appearance of the police coupled with Mrs. Crawford’s desperate cry of grief could only mean one thing: they had not found him alive.

At the wake, Adam overheard adults again talking about “what a tragedy” it was. Apparently, Mr. Crawford had grown weary of his illness and did not want to see his family suffer any longer. “That’s common with these sorts of things,” a woman had said. Anyway, Mr. Crawford had gone out to the river and crawled into a boat to die at sea. It was seven days before they found him, drifting downcurrent, wrapped up in a blanket and mostly frozen.

To Adam, it seemed sort of beautiful, and sort of selfless. He didn’t dare express his thoughts to anyone, though. He kept quiet, weaving in and out of groups of people talking in hushed voices, catching snippets of conversations here and there.

“Don’t cry, honey. We have to stay strong.”

The pained voice of Mrs. Crawford came to Adam’s ears from the kitchen around the corner. He peeked around the doorframe to see the recent window on her knees before her daughter, whose cheeks were stained with tears.

“Mommy, it’s not fair! Daddy’s gone and I can’t even cry?!”

“There will be a time for that later, baby. Right now we have to hold it together for these people. Do you understand me pumpkin?”

The girl just nodded, sniffling. Her name was Mary, but that was about all Adam knew of her. They had been neighbors his whole life, but Adam spent most of his time indoors or at a friend’s house. She was always outdoors, adventuring on her own or with her father, never with a friend. Now, with her dad gone, Adam wondered if she had a single friend left in the world.

A few months later Adam and his family moved from North Carolina to Long Island, leaving the Crawfords and their “tragedy” behind. After the day of the funeral, Adam never once saw Mary out of doors again. He hadn’t said a word to her, not even at the going-away party that his neighborhood threw for the Lazzaras, not even when her family stood on their front lawn to wave goodbye as they drove toward the airport.

That was the very same airport the bus Adam had gotten on was now parked in front of, where he realized he was still staring at Mary. He hadn’t heard from her or about her in the eight years that had passed.

The bus began to move though Adam hadn’t taken his seat, the driver growing impatient with Adam’s hesitance to sit. Mary was still staring through him, and her gaze did not follow him as he moved toward her. He sat in the seat across from her, never taking his eyes off of her face. He was studying her, looking for some sign that would tell him what had happened to her in the past eight years. She’d be 22 now, but the scared look in her eyes was still that of a 14-year-old girl.

The bus had gone several blocks before Adam said a word. He had no idea where to begin with this broken girl that sat before him. He wanted to ask her name, to make sure it was really her, but his curiosity got the better of him and he instead blurted out,

“What happened to you?”

At the sound of his voice, the girl’s eyes shifted from the spot he had been standing in to where he was now sitting. She wasn’t looking through him anymore; she was looking at him. Her suddenly direct stare scared Adam a little, making him shift in his seat as he waited for an answer to his question.

Maybe she didn’t remember him and had no idea who this strange person was and what right he had to ask what had become of her. Or maybe she knew perfectly well who he was and needed time to formulate a response. In any case, it was awhile before she gave a response.

“Excuse me?” she asked, not in that indignant sort of way, but in a tone that made him think she just hadn’t heard him. So Adam foolishly repeated himself.

“What ha--”

“You try it,” she interrupted.

“What? Try what?” he asked, flabbergasted at the progression of their conversation.

“Try losing everything you’ve ever known, seen, and loved. You try it, and tell me how it goes, Adam Lazzara. Because when it happens, it never leaves you. Every place you go, every thought you think and ever goddamn time you wake up you’re haunted by what you lost. Just try it and see if you end up any better.”

Her words shocked him. Sure, she was a bit drunk, but Adam would never have thought this girl capable of saying what she had just said. He had no idea the impact her father’s death had had on her. But it’s not like he had stuck around long enough to find out. She had become numb, dettached, and bitter. It was a hard thing to see, like some strange continuation of that “tragedy” everyone had spoken of eight years ago.

Adam didn’t know what to say. He simply stared back at Mary, whose eyes had never left his. There was now a fury burning in them, and it mingled with her sadness and fear - the perfect recipe for the tears that were building in her eyes.

At a loss for words, Adam scooted across the aisle to sit next to her, slowly of course, unsure of how he would be received. Somewhat surprisingly, Mary scooted back to give him room on the seat. Then it was Adam’s turn to be surprising as he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her in a hug. She did not struggle or shy away from his touch. She just lay in his arms, allowing his comforting arms to swallow her up.

“Promise me you’ll be okay?” Adam asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Mary pulled back to look at Adam again. A smile flitted across her face as her eyes met his.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked in a small voice. Adam nodded.

“You’ve always reminded me of my father.”

With those words, Adam pulled her close again, now feeling hopeful that he could save this lonely soul.