I.
Cramped.
Stuffy.
The room was suffocating as expected of a crowded church. In front of Oliver, a woman he vaguely recognizes from Max’s guitar lessons talks about his best friend with tears in her eyes, while said best friend lies approximately seven feet away in a shiny wooden casket. A fly buzzes.
Oliver knows he should probably pay attention, but he’s too busy trying to not think, because this is not the Max he knows. The Max he knows is five foot two of spunk and wild brown hair and charisma. The Max he knows charmed everyone he came across with his infectious grin and always boasted he would reach six feet one day. The Max he knows is the definition of alive.
This Max in front of him is anything but.
He didn’t even get to 5’5 before leaving, Oliver thinks vaguely. Then, he squeezes his eyes shut before that thought can go any further.
Unaware of his inner turmoil, the teacher in front of him - what was her name? - finishes her eulogy, and Oliver sees everyone else giving her sympathetic smiles and wiping tears from their own eyes. On the contrary, all Oliver can think is finally.
(“Oliver, would you want to do a eulogy for Max?”
He tells himself he should. Oliver would be a terrible best friend if he refused. Max would do it for him.
Oliver shakes his head.)
He doesn’t get up.
The people around Oliver begin to mingle, as if this is someone’s birthday party.
He doesn’t get up.
Oliver hears footsteps that head towards him.
(He doesn’t want to get up, but he does anyways.)
Mrs. Saito makes her way into his field of vision before he can even brace himself for social interaction. She offers a tired smile, but even a skilled actor like her cannot mask the rawness in her eyes.
Oliver wonders if he looks like that, too.
Lost in that thought, he almost doesn’t notice when Max’s mom hands him something colorful. When Oliver finally focuses on it, he realizes it’s Max’s stuffed cat. The people around him begin to blur as his mouth dries.
Because this is Max’s favorite stuffed animal. The one he used to curl up with at their sleepovers and carried around as a good luck charm before his soccer games. It’s by no means cute, considering one of the buttons as an eye has fallen out, making it one-eyed. Nevertheless, he tightens his grip unconsciously and digs his fingernails into the ragged fabric.
“He would want you to have it,” Mrs. Saito finally says, her voice is gentle but threatening to break and it’s all wrong. Everything is wrong, yet all Oliver can do is swallow and nod as Mrs. Saito pats him on the back and makes her way to another couple with somber looks on their faces. He is left standing there, a gritty feeling making its way down his throat now.
The stuffed animal burns in his hands.
II.
Oliver returns home to a house of silence and finds a hot pink sticky note scattered on the kitchen floor, as if the writer had attempted to stick it on the refrigerator in a hurry but failed. Any other time, he would have laughed at this and taken a photo to send to Max, who would --
Shut up. Oliver scans the scrawled words that tell him his mom will be home after getting groceries. It’s signed with a smiley face and a heart. Max used to sign the notes they exchanged with a smiley face in yellow highlighter, too. Unconsciously, he grips the stuffed cat a little tighter as he makes his way to his room, wood planks squeaking under his feet. Oliver sets the stuffed animal on the dresser before laying down onto his bed and letting his mind wander off, and then:
Stationary, Oliver sits on the floor as Max swings his feet on the couch. The room is silent other than the clickity-clackity of game consoles and the sound effects from Mario Kart. Max’s tongue is stuck out in concentration as he trails behind Waluigi.
Finally, Princess Peach passes the finish line and the game begins to play the cutscenes. As Max flops back on the couch, defeated, Oliver’s eyes drift off to the side of the other boy’s room where stuffed animals lie in a pile. One catches his eye: the lumpy stuffed cat with a lopsided smile. He wonders if cats can even smile. The thought makes Oliver giggle a little.
Max, who has been focusing on the TV this entire time, finally glances over and notices Oliver’s staring. “You wanna play with my stuffed animals?” the brown-haired boy exclaims, jumping off the couch excitedly. It’s phrased more as a statement rather than a question. Before Oliver can deny it - he’s never had a stuffed animal, he doesn’t know how to play with them - Max is already digging through the colorful heap. “Which one?”
Oliver hesitates. “The cat,” he finally responds softly.
Max grins, gap-toothed and all, and scoots over to hand Oliver the stuffed cat. “He’s my favorite, so be careful with him, ‘kay?”
Taken aback, Oliver nods, and Max beams that blinding smile again. This time, though, as Oliver cradles the stuffed animal in his tiny palms and Max babbles on about where he got it, he feels warm and fuzzy. Absentmindedly, he thinks the cat is a little like Max.
Now, in the very present, Oliver’s not sure why he’s suddenly remembering a conversation from six years ago. He curls away and tries to forget about it.
(He doesn’t forget.)
III.
Ultimately, Oliver’s life doesn’t change - minus the obvious absence of a short, extroverted best friend. At school, he fakes a smile. He forces a laugh. He swallows down the lunch that tastes like dirt in his mouth. At home, Oliver makes dinner, usually throwing together whatever’s in the refrigerator, and sweeps the floor. In his bedroom, he finishes his homework and plays video games. I am okay, he tells himself daily on a constant repeat. I am okay. The words do not ease the inevitable Max-sized emptiness Oliver feels everywhere he goes.
His mom tries to help. Oliver sees it in the way she creeps throughout the house in the early mornings, making sure the floor doesn’t creak; in the way she looks at him, fatigue and all. He hears it in the way she tells him if you need to talk, I’m here, even though he never responds; and in the way she hesitantly pats him on the head. She never used to be the first to initiate any sort of physical contact.
(A tiny part of Oliver wishes it didn’t take a death for his mom to start trying.)
But most days, he wishes she would just say something else, anything else. Oliver’s never been much of a talker -- Max’s outgoing personality always made up for the both of them -- yet he’s not used to such silence so loud.
He’s not used to playing Mario Kart without Max’s indignant squawking, or being able to concentrate on a homework assignment without his best friend draping himself over Oliver in faux despair. The clicking of single-player video games is his only saving grace now; while in the corner of his room, the multi-player video games begin to collect dust.
Throughout it all, day after day, the stuffed cat lies in his desk cabinet. Oliver does not dare open it, maybe because he’s a little scared of what he might find.
(Maybe because he’s a little scared of what he won’t find.)
IV.
It’s two weeks later when Oliver breaks.
Really, it’s more of a build-up of emotions, because one day Max is gone and the next day he’s in everything Oliver sees: the swings they used to sit at, the convenience store they would buy from, the desks where they would playfully banter. All sickening little reminders, as if the world purposefully is taunting him, constantly reminding him Max is gone without even a proper goodbye.
So finally, Oliver pulls out the stuffed cat and searches for any traces of Max still left on the ragged stuffed animal. He wants a note, a few words, even a stupid smiley face, just anything that indicates Max ever cared about him. He finds nothing.
Oliver has never thought of himself as much of a violent person.
(Until now, that is.)
He punches the desk as hot, angry red begins to cloud his vision. The stuffed cat only seems to taunt him with that stupid one button eye. Rage fills him up, dripping, uncontrollable, and he grabs the stuffed cat with all his might as his fingers clench --
And he’s torn it. Oliver stares at the stuffed animal, before dropping it and backing away, beginning to clutch his knuckles so tightly they begin to pale. The room begins to spin and blur around him, making him nauseous -- which should be relieving, considering he hasn’t been able to feel anything for a long time, but it’s not. The sandwich he had for lunch begins to make its appearance, and Oliver rushes to the bathroom before retching sloppily into the toilet.
It’s awful. His hair is slick with sweat, his face is green, and he’s weeping, sobs wracking his body as bony knees crash onto the bathroom tiles. It’s the first time he’s felt anything other than just nothingness, and it’s gratifying in some twisted way. Oliver hates himself for thinking it.
He stares at his reflection in the mirror, cheeks tear-tracked and all, as he finally comes to a conclusion.
Oliver misses Max Saito. Max Saito is dead.
The world keeps turning.
So, out of desperation and maybe a pinch of insanity, Oliver types out a text to his mom and sends it with trembling fingers, allowing himself to be vulnerable for once.
Hey, the text reads. I think I need to talk.
V.
They talk. Oliver cries -- once, twice, thrice -- and she stays silent, other than the reassuring pats and noises of understanding every so often.
He (reluctantly) begins going to a grief counselor. At the first session, he isn’t really sure what to expect: maybe some old, smelly old lady poking at him. Instead, a woman with cropped red hair and scattered freckles across her face introduces herself as Emmie. Oliver estimates she’s in her late 20’s.
Tell me about yourself, Emmie says. He’s a little hesitant at first, but eventually he begins talking about Mario Kart. She listens, offering small commentary and reassuring smiles. When Oliver leaves, he’s a little confused, but decides it’s not too bad.
The following week, she asks him about his day and how school went. Words tumble out of Oliver’s mouth, jumbled and messy, but Emmie doesn’t seem to mind. At the end of the session, she asks Oliver to bring something he enjoys next week. He nods, and if Emmie notices his sudden stiffness, she doesn’t mention it.
Another week passes. Oliver is torn between bring Mario Kart and Zelda right as he’s about to leave for his session. eventually, after hearing another hurry up from his mom, he grabs Zelda.
(In his opinion, the graphics are better, anyways. And there’s an actual storyline. Mario Kart didn’t stand a chance.)
Still, Oliver can’t help but feel as if something is wrong as he cradles the colorful game box in his hands. Emmie notices, of course -- she notices everything. When she asks him what’s wrong, he’s not sure how to respond.
Finally, he says, “I think I like Mario Kart better.”
What he isn’t expecting is for Emmie to quirk a tiny smile, nod, and reply with, “I think so, too.”
VI.
(More weeks go by and the harsh, white snow begins to drip away.)
“What colors are you?”
“Blue. And gray, dark gray.”
“I see. Why?”
“I don’t know. I used to be yellow when … when Max was with me.”
“Ah, well … now you must find a way to be yellow when he is not.”
“That seems impossible.”
“No. No, not impossible. Nothing is impossible.”
(Then, the naked trees begin to dress themselves with spurts of green.)
“How are you feeling today?”
“Empty. It doesn’t … it’s weird.”
“That’s okay. That’s normal. You’re healing, and that takes time.”
“Some days it feels too long. It feels like it’s been years since I last saw Max.”
“Tell me about him?”
Oliver does. In the middle, he begins to cry, tears dripping and snot running. Emmie lets him.
(Afterwards, the sky clears itself of clouds and bears new offerings of blooming nature.)
“I have some homework for you.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to do something for Max, but also for yourself. Closure is important.”
“I don’t know if I can. I don’t … I’m not sure if I even want to.”
“Please give it a shot, Oliver.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll try.”
(Finally, summer's flowers start to thrive as the sky looks on, endless.)
VII.
“Mom, do you know how to sew?”
She teaches him. At first, Oliver’s fingers fumble and the thread pierces his flesh more times than once, causing him to yelp. While he practices on a scrap piece of fabric, his mom tells stories from her work. One day, she nails a particular impression of a grumpy co-worker and Oliver can’t help but burst into chortles. He only laughs harder as his mother stares at him in surprise. It’s genuine, not forced or faked, and Oliver decides he rather likes this feeling.
Later on, as Oliver lies in bed, he realizes it was the first time he hadn’t been thinking about Max. He feels a little guilty. When he informs Emmie of this, she shakes her head.
You’re allowed to be happy without Max, she tells him.
Oliver decides to trust her on it.
They celebrate the tiny successes that weave their way throughout his days. Slowly but steadily, the veil of guilt and anger and bitterness begins to lift. Oliver knows it will never truly be gone. He thinks he might be okay with that, though. For Max, he’s okay with that.
Two more months pass and leaves begin to warm, turning red and yellow and orange. All of Max’s favorite colors. Oliver picks up what’s been residing at the corner of his room ever since the whole incident. He takes a deep breath and grasps the pale yellow thread in between his fingers. As sunlight filters through the windows, Oliver smiles, this time with dry cheeks and a healing heart.
Then, stitch by stitch, he begins to sew the stuffed cat back together.