He walked through his days like an apparition. The act of living felt wrong and harsh and uncomfortable. Nails on a chalkboard. A machine running without oil. Gears grinding and gnashing on each other, breaking teeth, disintegrating. Burning up. Wearing out.
He would get up and go to school with Lydia, their rides mostly quiet, with Lydia trying to get him to talk. He would count the minutes until school let out, unable to focus or concentrate. He would go to work and perform his tasks in a somnolent haze. Then he would return home and go to sleep as soon as humanly possible, so that he wouldn’t have to interact with his mother. She also knew she was losing him. He could see it on her face, and that was just one more thing that hurt. He knew she was praying for him and he didn’t want to become one more unanswered prayer.
And most of all, there was the crushing weight of destiny. The ossifying conviction that he was living out some ancient and preordained plan, encoded in his blood, built into the architecture of his name. Something horrible and inevitable.
One day at the end of March, he woke up and wondered if he’d ever be happy again. It was a sunny day at least. The world was verdant, in contrast to the desolation inside him.
He went to Bertram Park to watch a train. He had to wait a long time. Then he walked alone to the Column and climbed up it. He wore his favorite clothes. Ones Lydia had picked out for him.
He sat with his back resting on his handwritten list of the things that he once loved. He closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face as he watched the light patterns behind his eyelids and thought about whether he had anything left to lose—if he had any reason left to stay. No.
Would Lydia miss him the way he’d miss her? Probably not. Would she at least forgive him for breaking his promise? He hoped so.
He wondered if he’d see Travis again. He hoped so.
He wondered if his parents would miss him. Maybe his paycheck, but probably not him.
He wondered how things might have turned out differently for him if he’d had more faith, a different name, or been born to different circumstances. He didn’t know.
He wondered why it seemed like God had abandoned him. There was no answer to that question. Would God notice enough to be offended by what he was thinking about doing? He didn’t care.
He looked down at the river and remembered the day of his baptism there.
He’s eight years old and dressed in a white dress shirt and black dress slacks that are both too big for him. His father’s told him that he’s following in the footsteps of Jesus, who was baptized in the River Jordan by John the Baptist. And Dill’s happy to be following Jesus, but even happier to have so pleased his father.
His father tells him that baptism symbolizes a death, burial, and rebirth as a disciple of Christ. That it will wash away his sins. And this sounds pretty good to Dill even though part of him realizes he hasn’t had very much time to sin.
The congregants line the banks and sing “Amazing Grace” as Dill wades unsteadily into the river, sinking into its mucky bottom as he tries to reach where his father stands, smiling. The river writhes around his calves, knees, thighs, and then waist. It feels alive, like a snake.
His father takes his hand and holds him while he immerses him completely in the muddy water and quickly pulls him back up, dripping. Dill wipes the water from his face and the sound of applause from the riverbank becomes sharper as the water drains from his ears. His father hugs him. Dill wades back, singing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” in his high, clear voice.
He feels cleansed. Like the river’s flow has swept away his every burden and worry.
And as he gazed down, he longed for that feeling once more. He wondered if the turbid water gliding past could again carry away his burdens. Then he remembered the other time he had felt so free and clean. Standing on stage at the talent competition, looking into Lydia’s eyes.
He waited for the indigo gradient of the sky as the sun went down, until the first star of the evening.
Then he stood, gathered his courage, and decided to end this life and take his chances on the next.
The knocking on the door grew more insistent.
“Hang on,” Lydia called. “Just a second.”
Knocking.
“Chill already, jeez,” she called.
She got to the door and opened it, and her pulse quickened.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
Dill stood on the doorstep. Tears streaked his face. “I’m here because I made you a promise. I need to leave and go to college or I’m going to die. I can’t do it without your help.”
She fell on him and embraced him harder than she ever had. She almost broke her glasses against his cheekbone. Her own tears of joy fell on his neck.
“Sweetie? Is everything okay here?” Dr. Blankenship said, coming to the door. “Dill?”
Lydia broke the hug and exhaled quickly, fanning herself with her hand while she composed herself. “Yes, everything’s fine. Dad, I think we’ll be pulling an all-nighter. Dill is going to college, and because his decision is coming a bit late in the game, we’re in a hurry.”
“You’ll need coffee. The primo stuff. And lots of it,” Dr. Blankenship said, starting for the kitchen.
“And Pizza Garden. With bacon and jalape?o cream cheese. Stat!”
“You hate Pizza Garden.”
“I don’t love Pizza Garden. There’s a difference.”
“What about Dill’s mom? She probably frowns on all-nighters at girls’ houses,” Dr. Blankenship said.
“Correct,” Dill said.
“And we can’t mention college to her,” Lydia said. “We need a solid lie.”
“I’m officially required to tell you that I don’t approve of lying to parents,” Dr. Blankenship said.
“I’m officially required to tell you who cares and let’s get cracking on that Pizza Garden,” Lydia said.
“Touché.”
“Okay. Lies,” Lydia said. “You’re not feeling well and you’re going to sleep on our couch?”
“Not even close,” Dill said. “We need to go full Bible…I’m reading the New Testament out loud and witnessing for Jesus to your whole family, and everyone is caught up in the Spirit, and you all keep demanding to hear more and more.”
“She’ll buy that?” Lydia asked, awestruck.
“Wanting to believe something is powerful.” Dill smiled. A genuine one. The first Lydia had seen from him in weeks. Since before. They texted Dill’s mom with the story. She was pleased. Besides the Jesus angle, she was probably happy to believe that Dill was excited about something again.
They spread out over Lydia’s room. They kept her printer hot with college, student loan, and financial aid applications. Dill, fortunately and unfortunately, knew all of his family’s relevant financial information, down to his mom’s social security number.
“Dad?” Lydia called down at one point.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Start writing Dill a letter of recommendation for college.”
“Coming right up.”
They worked through the night. They quickly determined that Dill would apply to Middle Tennessee State University, the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, and the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. Middle Tennessee State was Dill’s first choice, because of their music recording programs and Lydia’s sense of where Dill might thrive. She Googled it and discovered that seventy percent of the MTSU student body were first-generation college students.
By dawn, Dill was ready to apply for college, complete with admission essay and financial aid documents. He and Lydia lay on her bed, side by side, staring at the ceiling, exhausted, quiet. Like marathoners who had just crossed the finish line.
“Dill?” A long pause. “Can I ask you something?”
Another prolonged silence. “Yes.”
“How close did you come?”
He drew a deep breath and held it before releasing it. “Really, really close.”
“What stopped you?”
“My promise. And remembering the talent competition.”
She turned to him, lying on her right side, and put her hand on his cheek. “Thank you for keeping your promise. A world without you would break my heart.”
He put his hand over hers and held it there for a while. Then he began slowly stroking her hand, running his fingers along hers.