And The World Spins Madly On
Marissa dies and everything changes and everything stays the same.
Some things that change:
Time moves slower. Your reflection seems changed. People avoid your gaze. The waves crashing to shore sound cacophonous, not soothing. Thunderstorms are suddenly ominous. Laughter – anyone's laughter – is a personal attack.
Annual trips to Tijauna are vetoed in unspoken agreement. Certain rooms in certain houses become off-limits. There are places you are scared to go. Video games fall by the wayside, unused and collecting dust. Picture frames get turned facedown and even happy memories are worth crying over.
There is always an empty chair at dinner.
XXX
Summer refuses to wear black.
Not even to the funeral. She spends the three days leading up to it combing the mall, digging through rack after rack of hangers to find the perfect outfit. It's imperative that she look her best.
She finally decides on a deep purple dress, because Coop always said it was a good color on her and the cut flatters her figure. She hands her credit card to the saleslady and closes her eyes, because she's never bought anything without the official Marissa Cooper stamp of approval.
They always shared their closets and now they won't.
XXX
Julie spends the whole of her daughter's college fund on the funeral and lasts an entire week without shedding a single tear.
Then Neil's maid, young and thin and blond, is slicing tomatoes at the counter and Julie says, "Honestly, Marissa, fix your posture." Startled, the maid slips and cuts her hand and Julie screams as her daughter bleeds.
In the chaos that follows, everyone forgets to clean up the mess and the kitchen floor is spattered with drops of the maid's blood. Despite vigorous scrubbing, the stains refuse to fade, a constant reminder of all that Julie Cooper lost.
XXX
Kirsten gets overly protective.
She asks where they're going, warns that their tires look flat or they need gas, double checks that their cell phones are charged. Then she settles down on the couch, turns on the television, and waits.
They shuffle in midway through Leno's monologue and she stops listening, tuning in instead to the door easing open, the soft click of the lock sliding back into place. They tell her they're fine, just tired, and avoid her eyes as they drag themselves to bed.
The laugh track rolls and Kirsten feels like she's missed more than the punchline.
XXX
Ryan picks fights.
Trouble stops looking for him (it probably figures it's done enough) and he goes out seeking it instead. He revisits old haunts, reawakens old grudges. He throws his words around like weapons, glad when he can use his fists.
There is something brimming just beneath his surface, some desperate ache that screams to be released. It pumps through his veins as he gears up for a fight; it pounds like a second heart against his rib cage.
He cuts his knuckles on walls and jaws and he bleeds, bleeds, bleeds, but he still can't believe he's alive.
XXX
Seth stops reading comic books.
A few days after they bury the only girl he's always known, he gathers up every issue he's collected and tosses them in the trash. It's his own private funeral pyre, the end of an era, the death of his innocence. He knows now that in the real world, there are no heroes, no saving graces.
There are just lives that end too soon and brothers haunted by images he can't even fathom and girlfriends who can no longer stand to be touched.
And there is nothing he can do to save any of them.
XXX
Sandy finds comfort on the beach.
The horizon stretches out endlessly before him, he can never get any closer to it than he already is, and that is what he loves. The certainty that the world continues on far beyond the eye can see.
Sometimes, he feels overpowered by the echo of Ryan's screams, the new light in Seth's eyes, the worry etched on Kirsten's face. But he can always come to the shore and remind himself that something much greater than grief is at work all around him.
Things will get better, he knows, because nothing ever truly ends.
XXX
Marissa dies and everything changes and everything stays the same.
Some things that stay the same:
Time marches on, steady as a heartbeat. Your look like you always have. People talk to you about mundane things like weather and politics. The tide ebbs and flows and other people's laughter fades into the background as your own delight takes precedence.
You go shopping. You make messes and avoid the fallout as long as you can. You worry about your kids. Your scars heal and fade. Your ideals change and change and change again.
You're grateful for every day of your life.