The End, page 12
Amanda:
hi lucinda! been a while. wish the circumstances were different but I just wanted to make sure you knew what had happened to tilda.
don’t know if you still use this chat. haven’t got ur number.
Lucinda:
Hi.
I’ve heard. Thanks for thinking about me.
Amanda:
hi <3 it’s awful. i can’t stop crying.
we were so worried something like this would happen & it still feels totally unreal.
Lucinda:
How was Tilda doing? I’ve seen people hint at stuff, but I don’t know what to believe.
Amanda:
most of it is true tbh, esp the drugs. she wasn’t doing well at all, we didn’t know what to do.
Lucinda:
But it’s so unlike her, it doesn’t make any sense.
Amanda:
i thought so too. but now I think it does make sense, in a way.
u know what she was like in the water, always pushing herself. so fucking stubborn.
it’s like she did the same thing with this bad-girl trip she was on, pushing pushing and pushing, more & faster, etc.
a lot of people lost control this summer but I think it was worse for tilda cause she’d only had one goal her whole life & then it was taken from her.
she was so out of it during the final weeks u could hardly talk to her.
Lucinda:
Sorry I’m so slow at replying. A lot to take in.
Amanda:
it must be a bit of a shock.
Lucinda:
What did she take?
Amanda:
i think amphetamines mostly. & weed when she wanted to chill out.
i know she tried molly & shrooms too, like everything she could get her hands on.
elin & i were gonna tell her parents but we chickened out. don’t feel great about that now but maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference
it seems like simon did it & he wasn’t doing drugs
Lucinda:
Saw your comments. Do you really think he did it?
Amanda:
not sure but the last time I saw tilda they were fighting. it was the night she died
Lucinda:
Wasn’t he at the afterparty? Saw some pics from it.
Amanda:
only later. could have done it before he came
Lucinda:
Did she seem afraid of him?
Amanda:
no don’t think so but he stuck to her like a band aid. made her panic.
wonder how caroline’s doing
Lucinda:
I think about her, too.
Amanda:
klas will be doing some jesus thing I guess
Lucinda:
Sorry, I don’t understand.
Amanda:
he’s a truther!
Lucinda:
Whaaaat?!?!?
Amanda:
yeah that was my reaction too.
klas brother started it. they’re back in town.
the true church is SO CREEPY
felt so bad for tilda. klas was her only normal parent
Lucinda:
Sorry, I don’t get it. Again. What about Caroline?
Amanda:
ok she’s normal but so difficult. hated when she’d join us at practice
didn’t you?
Lucinda:
No.
Amanda:
she was always questioning tommy’s strategy & thinking he should focus more on tilda
it really stressed me out when she came to the competitions.
maybe it’s just me.
we missed you on the team
Lucinda:
Thanks.
Amanda:
i’ve started writing in tellus. it’s kinda like summarizing your life & we were never super close but i always liked you & hope/believe it was mutual. we’ve done so much together these past few years.
Lucinda:
Thanks. I’m also writing in TellUs and get what you mean. Am slightly addicted.
Amanda:
how r u doing?
Lucinda:
I’ve stopped with the treatments so I feel better. You?
Amanda:
honestly?
Lucinda:
Of course.
Amanda:
feel like shit
johannes broke up with me & it feels like he’s been lying to me this whole time. great timing when you’ve just lost your best friend & the world is ending
maybe I should follow tilda’s example and do drugs
jk. sorry inappropriate
Lucinda:
I’ve become an expert at inappropriate jokes this year.
Amanda:
we’re having a small memorial thing tmrw at ali’s. wanna come?
Lucinda:
I don’t think I can.
Amanda:
u coming to the funeral?
Lucinda:
Maybe. I don’t know. Crowds are difficult for me, in case someone has a cold or something, you know?
Amanda:
yeah god totally
but let’s hang out someday? we can talk about tilda
or something else
Lucinda:
I’d love to.
Amanda:
great
feels good to have talked
Lucinda:
I think so, too.
Amanda:
cool let’s keep in touch HUGS
Lucinda:
<3
See how easily I use the cancer card? No one questions me when I tell them I’m sick.
It’s not quite a lie. My immune system is bad. But that’s not why I won’t go to the funeral or their memorial thing. The thought of seeing everyone I’ve avoided for so long gives me intense anxiety. And I don’t even know if I’d be welcome at the funeral. Tilda and I weren’t friends in the end, and her parents haven’t invited me.
I got goose bumps when Amanda wrote that Tilda was always pushing herself. I can picture her determined face, her eyes focused on the finish line. Her body, which could always work a little harder.
Suddenly, it makes perfect sense. Whenever Tilda settled on something, she went full-out. It was her greatest strength, but this summer, it might have turned into her greatest weakness. She fainted while holding her breath underwater trying to beat her personal best. I had to get her out of the pool when she started sinking. I was in panic mode, but she wasn’t even fazed. Just angry with herself for not pulling it off.
We quizzed each other on Spanish verbs and the fall of the Roman Empire during rest periods in interval training. Her brain was as quick as her body. I couldn’t keep up with that, either.
She comforted me when she made the Swedish Youth Swimming Championship and I couldn’t hide my jealousy. “You’re next, I swear,” she said. But we both knew that if the choice was between me and her, I’d never make it. When you swim, you always know exactly how far away you are from your dream, how much better someone else is; you can measure it down to the tenth of a second. It can break you. And I wasn’t nearly as committed as Tilda was.
Amanda is right. Swimming mattered more than anything to Tilda. She was addicted to it.
Competing was her whole life. And suddenly, it was all over. What was she going to focus on instead? What was she going to do with all that energy? She needed to get her kicks somewhere else.
Foxworth has changed people in ways no one could have anticipated just a few months ago.
I was shocked to hear that Klas has joined the True Church. I told you about religion yesterday, and they’re a pretty extreme version of it. They came knocking on our door once and almost wet themselves with excitement when they saw that I was sick. They assured me that Foxworth was a sign of the rapture. They talked about labor pains that had to be endured before a new and glorious world could be born. My suffering wasn’t in vain—as long as I joined them, the ones who truly know the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. The ones who truly love God.
I would never have guessed that Klas would join them. He never seemed particularly interested in anything but his construction company and buying new and exciting gadgets. He let Caroline decide everything else. I don’t think I ever heard him express an opinion on anything. Klas was happy to lie on the sofa and watch TV until it was time for bed. I used to wonder how Caroline could stand it. It’s hard to imagine that Tilda inherited half her genetic makeup from him, but she loved her dad. How did she feel about him becoming a Truther?
I’m less surprised about Tilda’s uncle joining them. I hated it when Anders and his family visited Tilda. He scared me when we were kids, and he upset me as I got older. I’ve never heard Anders refer to himself as an “alpha male,” but he’s definitely the type to consider himself one. (So-called So alpha males think they’re better and smarter and stronger than everyone else, especially women. They’re actually just obnoxious and full of BS. I don’t know who told them that those qualities made them the pinnacle of creation. You can probably guess from this description that I don’t love them. Historically, they’re the cause of most of our problems here on Earth.) Someone like Anders would never admit that he was afraid of anything, not even the apocalypse, but he needs something to believe in, too. A religion that provides simple, straightforward answers, that doesn’t complicate things by encouraging independent thinking, would suit him. Like every other alpha male, he just wants to follow a strong leader. Which, ironically, is the opposite of being an alpha. Anders is married to a woman named Erika, who laughs at his terrible jokes. She dresses herself and their daughter, Molly, in matching dresses on Christmas, and introduces herself as “Anders’s wife.” I don’t think Erika even gave it a thought before becoming a Truther. She doesn’t follow their God; she follows Anders, her personal deity.
I’ve looked at their profiles on social media. They were at church the night Tilda died. Klas is smiling piously in a way I don’t recognize. Maybe the True Church suits him. It’s yet another place where he doesn’t have to make his own decisions; he can just cede control to someone else again.
But what do I know? Maybe they’re happy.
I feel sorry for Molly, though. Tilda’s cousin is the same age as my little sister, and they would play with each other occasionally as kids. It’s difficult to believe now. Miranda is still a kid. Her body is all long legs and long arms; she’s thin and coltish. She still secretly plays with her Barbies. She’s stopped sleeping in her own room. Molly appears to have gone the other way. Judging from the photos, she’s hit puberty. She’s always been precocious, but now she looks like a smaller version of her mom—a child-sized adult. Long, neatly coiffed hair; clothes that never look wrinkled; concealer carefully covering the zits around her nose and forehead. Her eyes, gazing into the camera, are nervous, her smile fake.
If Amanda finds the Truthers “creepy,” what must it be like for Molly? Her world has been turned upside down. She’s just moved here, to a town she’s visited but never lived in. Her parents and her uncle Klas have changed completely. Her cousin’s been found dead. And the world is ending. She knows she’s going to die.
I don’t like to think about it. I have to go and hug Miranda now.
P.S.: I should get in touch with Caroline. I just have no clue what to say to her.
SIMON
Judette is the one who forces me back into the world. She tells Boomer to jump onto my bed, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate.
“Boomer! Wanna go for a walk?” Judette says in the enthusiastic way that always gets him fired up.
He yelps excitedly, trampling the bed until I have to choose between getting up or getting squashed. Judette throws me the leash and tells me to take him out, then drive Stina to work, since Emma needs to borrow her car this afternoon.
I take Boomer for a short walk through the park. My body is stiff from having been still for so long. When we get back, I shower for the first time in days. Let the warm jets massage my shoulders. It doesn’t do anything to change the fact that none of this feels real. When I drive off with Stina, it’s as though the world outside the car window is just scenery. I’ve pulled my hat down—I don’t want to accidentally meet anyone’s eye—but from time to time, the surrounding cars seem to slow down. Can they see me? Are they saying Isn’t that the guy who killed his ex?
We pass the entrance to North Gate. I stare straight ahead, but it’s impossible not to see the glass factory’s turquoise façade from the corner of my eye.
“Simon,” Stina says. “Won’t you talk to me?”
“About what?”
“You know what.”
She straightens her glasses. They’re still sort of bent from when she fell asleep in my bed. I take the old bridge across the tracks, and we drive along the edge of a lush green neighborhood. The forest grows thicker on the other side of the houses. The old church tower peeks out above the treetops.
“Are you going to church or to the fellowship hall?” I ask.
“The fellowship hall.”
The silence that follows is heavy with everything Stina wants to say and that I don’t want to talk about. I drive past the entrance to the small chapel where Tilda’s funeral will be held. I’m not invited. I’ve reached out to both Klas and Caroline but haven’t received a response. Maybe they think I killed Tilda, too.
It shouldn’t matter. We’ll all be gone soon anyway.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. If I start to cry, Stina will never leave me alone.
The car feels like it’s shrinking. Sealing us in like a tin can.
The forest ends abruptly, and I glance up at the white stucco church that’s been there since the nineteenth century. Grass has grown around the gravestones, but the gravel path leading up to the church stairs looks freshly raked. I continue on toward the fellowship hall. We’re nearly there. In just a moment, I can go home and back to bed again.
More and more cars line the drive to the low brick building. When we get closer, I see that every parking spot is taken. It’s actually startling.
“I’ve never seen it this busy before,” I say, slowing down.
“Right?” Stina says, her smile ironic. “This was my dream when I was studying to become a priest.”
An old man in a denim shirt steps out of the car in front of us, gesturing wildly A few senior citizens down by the parking lot laugh and wave back. I see families with children and middle-aged ladies who’ve dressed up. Mr. Andersson, my old math teacher who told us about the comet, is smoking at the entrance.
“Do they believe in God?” I ask.
“A lot of people want to be baptized now, just to make sure,” Stina says, and smiles again. “But they don’t have to believe in order to come. The church should be open to everyone.”
“But what are they even doing here if they don’t believe?”
“People need a community. Togetherness. I think our group discussions are really helpful. So many people come here alone, but I get to see these amazing connections being made between complete strangers.”
“It almost sounds like you think the comet is a good thing.”
“No. Of course not. But . . . I wish we’d dared to be more like this before.”
In the rearview mirror, I spot a group of moms with strollers walking past the car. I wonder if they knew each other before they started attending church.
“People are opening up in a way I’ve never seen before,” Stina continues. “And a lot of them are burying the hatchet right now. People want to forgive and be forgiven. They want to ease their consciences.”
I wonder if the person who killed Tilda wants to ease their conscience. Could I get them to confess if I only knew who it was?
“Doesn’t it drive you crazy to sit and talk about death all the time?” I say.
“We don’t actually spend that much time talking about death. We mostly talk about life, and how to make the final weeks matter.”
Tears burn behind my eyelids. I blink hard a few times.
“What do you tell them then? What is the meaning of life?”
Stina smiles faintly. “I mostly try to listen. That’s what people need right now.”
“But you have to say something. Isn’t that your job?”
“I can’t tell anyone what the meaning of their life is. But I can help them figure it out for themselves. And the answer is usually . . . people need their loved ones. Just think of the people who try to call their families from crashing planes, or the calls that went out from the twin towers in New York.”
I wonder if she’s actually talking about us now. About our family. That we have to stick together. But all I can think about is Tilda. Our planet is a crashing plane, and Tilda didn’t need me like I needed her.
“Okay. Call me when you want me to pick you up,” I say.
Stina undoes her seat belt and pulls the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. But she stays. She reaches out a hand, carefully, like she’s afraid I’m going to pull away. And I have to suppress the urge to do just that.
She hastily brushes her fingers across my cheek.
“I miss Tilda, too. I liked her a lot. And she loved you.”
“Not enough,” I manage to say. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have broken up with me.”
“You were important to her. I know that.”
“Stop. You don’t know anything about how Tilda felt. You don’t know who she became.”
Stina looks away. Straightens her glasses again.
“No. You’re right, of course.” She opens the car door. “Maybe you should talk to her. She might hear you.”
