Numbness contained me until Jamison’s dad drew me out of the cab and held me against him. I went limp. I don’t know why I didn’t fall. They led me into the house, and I sat on the couch between the two of them, the gaily wrapped present being crushed by my grief, as my hands squeezed it with pain. Jamison took it away from me.
It was, by now, New Year’s Day. It felt like the morning was painted in black and white, instead of colors. It felt like the sun would not rise and cast its golden glow over the white of the snow outside, or over the black of the shadows and the pain inside my heart. My grief tore at me like a sword slicing through my chest. I remembered James Dean’s line in the old movie Rebel Without a Cause: “You. You’re tearing me apart.”
And though the context was different, I
