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I was there when they pulled Josh from the earth. It had rained the day before, and the ground was still damp. The smell of wet leaves filled the air. I held my breath, but the taste of it lingered in my mouth like something rotten.
The rain was a lucky break. A godsend. It made the dirt loose and damp enough for Josh to fight his way back to the land of the living, for one desperate hand to burst from the ground like something out of those zombie movies we used to watch when we stayed at each other’s houses— huddled in the dark, pretending to be fearless.
I was there because I wanted to see what was happening to my old neighborhood. The land had been leveled, stripped bare of trees. It looked naked. The thick brush that had choked our passage through the river had been cleared away, and I could see its whole course laid out on the flat expanse. I wished Josh could have been there to see it too, and then I looked away, suddenly stricken with the weight of grief.
That was when the shouting started. I barely registered it at first— just a commotion in the distance— but then I saw Josh’s father stop what he was doing and stand perfectly still. His face went white, and the drill he was holding slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground. Then he was running, faster than I’d ever seen anyone move before, and I followed.
I was out of breath and panting when we reached the knot of people murmuring intensely. I stood back while Josh’s dad shouldered his way through and fell to his knees and made a sound I didn’t know a human voice could make. He ripped at the earth with his bare hands, tossing clumps of sod over his shoulder, and then he yelled “Help me!” and my view was blocked by more people crouching down to dig.
I didn’t understand what was happening, or my heart slamming against my ribcage and the deafening roaring in my ears. I couldn’t put words to what I was seeing. Even now the memory comes to me in snapshots: Josh’s father rising slowly to his feet, the other workers sinking back on their heels with stricken faces. The moment he turned and I caught sight of something in his arms. His expression: wide-eyed, unfocused, caught between horror and unimaginable relief. Tear tracks cutting through the dust on his face. His hands, streaked with dirt and blood where he’d broken his fingernails clawing at the earth. And what they carried: mud-soaked, limp, cradled like a little kid, too thin, too pale, dressed in tattered too-small clothes: my best friend.
I don’t remember how I got to the hospital. Actually, I don’t remember much of anything about those first hours. Only that I was sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room chair with my knee jittering uncontrollably when the door opened and Veronica wheeled in and said I could see him.
He looked like a broken doll lying in that bed. Something that had once been someone’s favorite, now cast aside. He was stick-thin and lurid green and purple bruises stood out against the sickly grey of his skin. They’d sponged off most of the dirt by that point, but his hair was still darker than the dirty blond I remembered. I’d only learn later that it had been dyed.
I sat in the chair by the side of the bed and watched his chest rise and fall shallowly. I wanted to reach over and press my hand there, to feel for a pulse like we had when we were young and stupid and pretending to be drowned on the banks of the river. But I was afraid that if I touched him he’d disappear, so I contented myself with the steady beeping of the heart monitor.
I must have nodded off in there, since the next thing I remember is my mom guiding my drowsy steps down the hall towards the exit sign. I didn’t want to leave, but I was too tired to argue. The next time I saw Josh he was sitting up, evidently awake. I waved as I stepped into the room, but he didn’t so much as twitch in my direction. He just sat there, slumped, a puppet with its strings cut. It scared the life out of me. My stomach turned with horror and, suddenly, rage, that someone had done this to my friend, that the monster that haunted my childhood had devoured him instead. I gritted my teeth and swallowed it down.
“Josh,” I said. “Hey. It’s me, Connor.” His dull gaze flicked in my direction and I counted it as a victory. “You remember me?” I try kept my voice low and gentle, like I was talking to an injured wild animal. “Josh?”
He blinked. “Connor,” he rasped. It sounded like it hurt. My eyes stung. “Connor,” he repeated, his voice breaking over the syllables, and then he took a great shuddering breath and began to cry. Silent sobs racked his narrow frame. It was violent. It was awful. It felt like a vice clamping down on my chest. I did the only thing I could. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my arms and let him fall into them.
I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. We hadn’t been particularly touchy the last time we were close. Not beyond the hair-ruffling shoulder-punching roughhousing love language of ten year old boys. The last time I’d seen him— at my 12th birthday party— he’d kept his distance. I went to shake his hand as he was leaving and he’d flinched away. Every time I look back on that awkward conversation in the doorway I wish I’d grabbed hold of him then and never let go.
I couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how badly I wanted to. But I held him while he muffled a scream in my shoulder and laid my cheek against his matted, filthy hair and nothing could have made me let go. After a while the jerking of his shoulders slowed, then stopped. He sagged against me for a moment, then rolled off to the side.
Josh was panting like he’d run a marathon. The sound of his breathing was a low, creaky whistle. I stayed where I was, balanced precariously on the edge of the hospital bed. Just in case. In case of what? I couldn’t have said.
There’s a picture of us squeezed into that bed, curled towards each other like parentheses. (It was taken by Veronica. I know. I watched her do it.) It’s almost funny— we look like twins, gangly teenage boys with the same dark hair and dark circles under our eyes. We’re even about the same height. Josh had been taller than me, before. He’d hit his growth spurt first. But even in that shot you could see the birdlike fragility in his limbs. The hospital gown hid the worst of the bruising but not all of it. His fingernails were caked with dirt and blood, just like his dad’s had been. It was clear which one of us had been through hell, and which one had been lucky enough to escape.
My mom came in after a couple of hours and tried to take me home. I refused, then grudgingly relented when she pointed out that Josh’s parents might appreciate some time alone with their son. She had a point. But I was back the next morning at 9 AM sharp, just as the morning bell would have been ringing for homeroom and visitor hours began. Josh was asleep. He looked a little better. A bit of color had returned to his skin. I’d brought my homework, but I didn’t get much done. I couldn’t focus— I just sat there, hunched and glowering like the world’s lankiest gargoyle. I don’t think Josh’s family were surprised to see me when they came in. His mom didn’t seem to see me at all. His dad just nodded in my direction as I gave up my chair. Veronica and I exchanged glances and said nothing.
They started bringing me back food and coffee from their intermittent cafeteria runs. We didn’t speak, even when Josh blinked awake sometime in the afternoon. His mom covered her mouth with her hand and blinked back tears. His dad reached out a shaky hand to touch his son’s face. I couldn’t see his reaction when Josh flinched, but I saw the look in Veronica’s eyes. I just stood in the corner with my eye on the door. I don’t know what I was looking for, but I found it when two black uniforms came around the corner and headed our way.
They were Detectives Fisher and Green, and they were there to take Josh’s statement. Josh’s mom’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.
“Is this really the time—“ she began, but her voice broke before she could finish her sentence. Detective Fisher, a broad-shouldered man with a two o’clock shadow, began to say something reassuring. Detective Green, a small blonde woman, stepped neatly around him and spoke directly to Josh.
“We can do this with your parents present, or in private.” She was straightforward, I’ll give her that. Veronica bit her lip like she was going to say something, but ended up leaving in silence.
“In private,” Josh said, as soon as the words had left her mouth. His parents looked at him with surprise and concern.
“Are you sure, buddy?” his father asked. Josh nodded, resolute.
“I want to talk to them on my own,” he insisted, and his family reluctantly left the room. He glared at me where I lingered in the corner. “You too, Connor,” he said, and I had no choice but to follow them outside.
Seconds ticked on to minutes in the harsh fluorescent glow. At the hour mark I offered to run down to the cafeteria to grab some sandwiches for Josh’s family. I took the stairs two at a time on the way back. When I got there the hallway was empty and the cops were gone. So was Veronica. I waited outside for what felt like ages until Josh’s parents reemerged. They took the sandwiches gratefully and motioned me inside.
Josh was sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest, his face hidden in the crook of his arm. He looked up when I sat at the foot of the bed. His eyes were red-rimmed and for a moment it was like he was staring straight through me. Then he spoke.
“Connor.” His voice was still rough from disuse, and he had to stop to let a coughing fit pass before he continued. “Listen to me. I am never going to tell you what I said in here. You are not going to dig around and find out.” I winced. The thought had crossed my mind, but the steely look on Josh’s face put a swift end to it. I’d always wonder. But I could live with that. After all, he’d have to live with knowing.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” I nodded. He sank back against the headboard, not so much relieved as exhausted. I hesitated, unsure whether to go or stay. Josh cracked one eye open. “Tell me something.”
“Like what?” I asked. He shrugged and closed his eyes again.
“Anything,” he said. “Tell me about school. All the stupid boring crap I missed.” So I did. I started on the topic of school lunches ranked most to least disgusting, then gave him the lowdown on the petty feuds and short-lived flings between kids he’d never met and wouldn’t give a damn about. I barely noticed when his parents slipped back into the room, or how his breathing slowed and evened. I was hoarse and out of breath when I finally realized he’d fallen asleep.
They finally let Josh out of the hospital after a month or so. I’d already been dragged back to school by my mom and the state truancy law, but I’d been driving over to see him as soon as the last bell rang. Sometimes sooner. I’d have backed off if he told me to. At least, I hope I would have. The truth is that I was always a little afraid that he’d disappear again if I wasn’t looking at him. Anyway, he was always happy to see me, so I kept coming.
It was a pleasant surprise when he told me that his family was moving to the same town my mom had moved us to. I could understand why they’d want to put some distance between themselves and the site of so many horrors. I wasn’t sure if any distance would ever be far enough. But this meant that Josh and I would be classmates again in September— or at least we’d be in the same building. Three years is a lot to catch up on. They’d talked about homeschool, but Josh was adamant about going back as soon as possible. So they placed him a grade behind, which he wasn’t thrilled about. Even his griping reminded me how good it was to have my best friend back. He’d grumble and I’d smile and he’d glare and I’d smile wider and then he’d reach around for something to throw at my head. That’s probably about when the doctors decided he was fit enough to leave.
In the few weeks before school started we were in and out of each other’s houses like we lived there. It was a little like the sleepovers we used to have as kids, except there was no dark thicket of woods and no twisting, winding river. He got tired quickly, but I was never in a rush. As the days wore on I watched him get some strength and weight and color back. We were mostly inseparable, the way we had been before. So it was only a little unusual when my phone rang and Josh’s name showed up on the screen. I answered immediately. His voice was tight on the other end of the line.
“Connor— can you come over? I need your help. I’ll explain when you get here. Just— please.”
I had one foot out the door before he’d finished his sentence, and I was outside his house in ten minutes. The curtain twitched and I caught a glimpse of him peering out before I heard the deadbolt unlatch and the door swing open.
Josh shut the door and locked it behind me— twice, I noticed. He turned to me with an eyebrow raised. “That was fast.”
I shrugged. There was nothing to say about it. I followed him upstairs, past his bedroom and into the bathroom. Josh caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. For all his recovery, the faded echoes of bruises still showed on his arms, which were still pallid and unnervingly thin. He reached up and tugged on a brown lock of hair.
“I gotta get rid of this,” he said. “Every time I look in the mirror it’s driving me crazy and I—“ He bit back whatever he was going to say and sighed, then turned a crooked smile my way. “But I’d rather not show up at a new school looking any more like a circus freak. Which is why I called you.” It made sense. His dad’s electric razor was lying on the counter beside the sink. I briefly wondered why he’d asked me and not either of his parents, but I brushed the thought aside.
“How do you wanna do this?”
I did the back first, then Josh sat on the counter so I could get the rest. When I looked closely I could see the natural dirty blonde starting to grow in. I tried to spare it where I could, and not to think about the last person to have done this. The end result was decent given my level of experience (none), if a little uneven. I stepped back so he could hop off the counter and take a look. I expected some kind of cute remark like “Don’t quit your day job.” Instead Josh was quiet for a long time. I studied our reflections. It was the most like his old self he’d looked since I’d last seen him all those years before. Which is to say not particularly, but there was something right about it. I wondered what our younger selves would say if they could see us now.
“Thanks,” Josh said, eventually. He ran a hand over the short fuzz experimentally. Then we looked at the fallen brown hair scattered everywhere but the trash can and began to laugh.
Afterwards we went to his room. His parents had left all his old stuff untouched when he went missing. He told me he’d seen it once, a snapshot of a memory smothered in dust, and had barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. He’d only kept a few things from the old house. I recognized a battered TMNT lunchbox on a shelf. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and I followed. Then he sighed and let himself fall backwards.
“Wanna hear a secret?” Josh asked, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Sometimes— I mean, only sometimes— I kinda felt glad that it was me. You understand?” I didn’t. I turned to look at him. “Me and not you,” he said. His eyes were closed. “Since you were the one he wanted. I mean,” and he laughed even though it really wasn’t funny. “So the bastard didn’t really win after all. And sometimes I told myself I was protecting you. It was a reason not to lay down and die.”
I had no idea what to say to that. “Josh—“ I started, then stopped. What the fuck? How do you expect me to live with that? Either of us, to live with that? But he waved me off.
“Hey, don’t go thinking I’m a saint,” he said. “There were days I hated you. Cursed the day I helped you look for that stupid cat. Wished I’d never said a word to you, never laid eyes on you.” Josh opened his eyes. “But, you know, I don’t think I could ever really mean it. You were my friend. Best one I ever had.”
I collapsed down to the mattress beside him. “It should have been me.” The words tore themselves out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re right, I was the one he wanted. It should never have been you.” Hot tears pricked at my eyes. I told him everything I’d been thinking for the past three years: “I’m sorry, Josh, I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this. Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.” I screwed my eyes shut and whispered, “It should have been me.”
Josh’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder. “Shut the fuck up,” he said and squeezed hard enough to bruise. The pain jolted me back to the moment. “Never say that again. It shouldn’t have been either of us. If life was fair he would’ve gotten hit by a fucking truck before he knew you existed.” He shook me lightly and I made myself look at him. His face was deadly serious and cheeks were wet. “Connor. I’m not sorry. Do you understand? I’m not sorry for any of it.” I swallowed hard. “We didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not sorry for being your friend. So you don’t get to be sorry for being mine.”
It’s been a couple decades. I live a pretty quiet life. He’s dead, by the way. My… penpal. I don’t know the details and I don’t want to. That part of my life is dead and buried.
Knowing that hasn’t let me stop looking over my shoulder, though. I don’t think I ever will. I still have nightmares. Sometimes I wake up screaming. So does Josh.
He’s sitting next to me as I type this. Reading over my shoulder. His giant stupid chin is digging into my— oh, and now he’s laughing at me. Asshole.
He wants to say something. Fine.
connor’s right. after all these years it’s still not gone. i still jump at shadows and the sound of camera shutters. less than i used to, though. every year it fades a little more. like the scars. some of them have disappeared. most of them won’t, ever. i have new ones now, though, with better stories. crazy or stupid, take your pick, but we never did grow out of the wilderness thing. search and rescue is one hell of a job, and there’s all kinds of thing out there in the woods. there’s no moral to this story, not really, unless you want to count “don’t tie letters to balloons”— which, seriously, don’t— but you can draw your own conclusions. believe us or don’t. it doesn’t really matter. most days things are pretty good. most days i don’t think about it at all. sometimes i do, and it really fucking sucks. either way, connor’s around. couldn’t shake him if i tried. it helps to have someone you trust watching your back. there’s no one i trust more. what can i say? he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. i’ll never be sorry for that.
Yeah. Me neither.