Chapter Five: The Desolation of Kevin Tran

Kevin landed on his chair, which spun around a bit before he stopped it with his feet. He tapped the space bar on his keyboard, waiting impatiently for the screen to light up. He opened Google Chrome, typing in “facebook.com”.

At last, the screen had loaded, and… one message from Tara. He clicked it open.

Tara: sorry kev i was sick today

Kevin: yeah its fine… just worried

Tara: worried about me? hahaha

Kevin: … so how are you now

Tara: don’t worry i’ll be back tomorrow.

Kevin: tomorrow? so what was it? a cold?

Tara: a very big cold that has mucus and snot and disgusting ew

Kevin: lol. you sure you’ll be back tomorrow

Tara: im sure

***

Kevin weaved his way through the hall, purposefully bumping into Angelina. She paused, taking a moment to recognize his face.

“Hey, have you seen Tara?” he blurted out.

“No, I haven’t seen her all day,” she shrugged, already pushing herself away into the crowd. “She’s probably still sick or something.”

Of course. Why was Kevin so worried about her? Sickness wasn’t something that could be foretold. Yet… something still tugged on his stomach. He shrugged. He’ll go online afterschool and ask her. Then, she’ll tell him that she’s still sick. And everything would be all right.

With that, he hurried away to his Orchestra class, stopping every now and then to ask about his sick friend.

***

“It’s C sharp,” Elle pointed her bow at the music sheet and then to the fingering sheet.

“Right,” Kevin replied, realigning his fingers on the fingerboard.

Together, the two watched as the conductor began the piece again. Playing the cello was more of a peaceful thing for Kevin. It gave him time to think about things. He bit his lip, watching his teacher move his hands back and forth to count the beats.

For some reason, things seemed lonelier without Tara, but not emptier. Things were always empty, even if there was something amazing going on. Empty. Filled with nothing but blackness and sadness. Well, if it was filled with sadness, then it wouldn’t be empty. Not empty then. But it still felt somewhat empty.

His thoughts were interrupted by the grainy speakers that hung above his head. They crackled to life, a high pitch sound cutting through the music. Yet the conductor went on, and the students went on. Barely anyone could make out the words that blared from it, not even Kevin. He was typically annoyed with these kinds of things. Why have speakers when no one’s going to listen?

Finally, he played his last note, his ears slightly ringing from the unintelligible words.

“What did they say?” the conductor questioned the girl sitting at his desk.

“I couldn’t hear either,” she replied, getting up to pick up the phone.

Kevin watched as the girl dialed in the office number. He rested his arm on his leg, turning to watch as the other students talk amongst themselves. Elle was chatting with the other cellist Brian, typically ignoring Kevin. He sighed, watching as everyone talked and made faces while he sat silent and observing.

The teacher assistant leaned back, saying something to the conductor that Kevin couldn’t even begin to interpret. The class had gotten too loud. Boys shouted across the class, and girls giggled at their crushes. He sighed again, plucking the strings on his cello.

“Quiet down, quiet down!” the conductor yelled over the screaming and laughing.

Instinctively, a wave of shushing blanketed the classroom. Everyone turned to face the teacher.

“The office said that we’re supposed to go to the auditorium for a special announcement,” he replied, his voice as grainy as the speaker.

“Are there awards today?” a violinist raised her hand.

“I don’t think so, but maybe some Presidential Awards,” the conductor replied.

The class sat together in the big, gaping silence before realizing that they still were to be in the auditorium. The students laid their string instruments gingerly on the ground, rearranging everything so that nothing would be damaged. Then, together, they walked in a jumbled mass towards the gym.

Kevin, of course, having no good friends, strayed along in the back with his “acquaintances”. He tucked his hands into his pockets, bowing his head to watch his feet. Although he appeared to be thinking on something else, Kevin listened quite attentively to their conversations. He wasn’t an eavesdropper or anything. He just particularly enjoyed listening to people talk on and on about things that they loved. Kind of like how he liked to listen to Tara talk all the time.

“Hey, Kevin,” one of them piped up. “Didn’t you date that chick that left for acting?”

“No,” he answered.

“I thought Tara set you up with her or something,” Luke laughed.

“Nah,” Kevin shrugged, raising his head to watch the students walking before him.

“You know she’s with Leo now, right?” Brian nudged him.

Kevin replied with another shrug.

“Man, that’s harsh. She hooked up with your best friend,” it was Brian’s turn to laugh at him now.

It really was no big deal to him. Kevin truly and honestly never really “dated” Katelyn. Sure, he tried a few things out. He took her to some random Starbucks once, but that was it. They had barely talked then and don’t talk at all now. It was a hopeless relationship. Yet, of course, she would fall for Leo. He was everything a girl could want – or not want. He was everything Katelyn wanted, then.

Although Kevin felt barely any sadness for Katelyn, it would be a lie to say he didn’t care about Leo. Leo was his middle and high school friend. He was always just there. They didn’t talk about girls or about extremely deep thoughts like Tara, but they were there for homework and parents and stuff. It was a mediocre relationship, but it was the closest thing to having a best friend.

And then, Tara came bouncing into high school, a bright smile on her face and an extremely extroverted personality. Leo still talked to him back then – in the beginning of the year. But it was Kevin’s fault for ignoring him. And then it was Leo’s fault for avoiding him. And partly Tara’s fault for spending so much time talking to Kevin.

Instead of Leo and Kevin’s friendship falling apart all at once, things just aged, became thinner, and eventually tore. It was a slow, saddening recession. Relationships sometimes expire, and like all expired things, they leave a bitter aftertaste. Leo and Kevin left with a fight, and the fact that it didn’t hurt either of them made it feel worse.

“Line up and file in. I think we’re late,” the conductor declared.

The orchestra pulled themselves together, and finally filed through. Of course they were late. The bleachers were already crowded with students from every grade and every classroom. Kevin’s eyes widened, searching for some lonely spot he could sit, without having to have a conversation with anybody. Perhaps Tara had come late, and she was still here somewhere. Oh, nevermind, she was probably already sitting with her friends.

He spotted a small space next to the stairs three rows up. Kevin managed to push his way through the crowd of students, collapsing on the dark gray seat. He sighed, turning to face the scared freshman that sat beside him. Kevin gave a half smile, gesturing for the boy to scoot over more. The freshman nodded, pushing his other friend to the left. Kevin moved over a bit, and then settled himself down. He stared down at his shoes intently, thinking about the upcoming Biology test.

“Hey, do you think there’s any more room?” a girl stood beside him, nodding towards the freshmen that watched her.

Kevin turned his head, searching for any space where she could sit. Finding nothing, he shrugged, turning back to her.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Okay, thanks anyways,” she smiled, bouncing her way up the stairs.

He watched after her for a while, pondering why she had even asked him. He glanced back up, noticing that she sat with her friends, giggling. Oh, well. Kevin turned back to the principal that stood in the middle of the basketball court. She patted the microphone, nodding towards the student who stood beside her, operating the machine.

“Please, please, settle down,” she spoke into the microphone, waving her arm to get everyone’s attention.

If it was awards, Kevin promised himself that he would sneak out of the auditorium. Perhaps he would fake needing to go to the bathroom or something. He hated awards, even if he got one. They were embarrassingly stupid and hurtful. What was the use of them? Right, to show everyone how better off other people will be than you. Kevin sighed another for the day.

“I have a very important announcement for you today,” the principal looked down at her feet for some reason.

The school leaned on their feet, waiting for her to continue. Yet, the pause prolonged, and murmurs arose.

“I… regret to inform that this morning, around 5 a.m., one of our students died in a car accident.”

Almost immediately, screams arose from the crowd of students. Kevin froze in place, his mind set on his best friend. A flash of memories from yesterday crossed his mind. She said she had been sick. But she promised she’d be here today. There was still some hope that it wasn’t her. There were always various absences. Why would it have to be her that died?

“Please, quiet,” the principal waved her arms again. “She was a brilliant student at our school. Tara Pham won and was to win many awards. I give my greatest condolences to her older brothers Victor and Stephen, who attend here as juniors. I knew her family personally, and I hope that she rests in peace. God bless her.”

“Oh,” Kevin heard the freshman boy beside him gasp.

“That’s Kevin, isn’t it?” he heard the boy’s friend whisper.

Yet, Kevin could only hear nothing and everything. Screams and cries arose from the bleachers. But he couldn’t do anything. What was he supposed to do? Run.

He pulled himself up, stumbling down the stairs. Why were his strong legs failing him now? He fell – once, twice, three times now. A girl – that girl, made a move to help him, lifting him by the arms. She propped him up on the steps, but Kevin didn’t want to stay. He didn’t want to talk. There was nothing to say, but so much to regret.

Kevin turned around, pulling himself up again. He noticed the terrified faces on the bleachers, hanging down and hanging high. And in them, he saw her. Her hair was hanging down and she was laughing at him. He shut his eyes, but he couldn’t bear anything anymore. Closed eyes meant he faced pain. Open eyes meant he faced Tara. Tara was everywhere.

He felt his legs drag themselves out the doors, out the gym, and suddenly he was running. Kevin ran, feeling the rush of air fly through his hair. But his eyes were open. And he remembered running after Tara. Where was she? Where was the strange, little child?

Kevin wasn’t one to cry, yet painless tears fell from his eyes, dropping onto his arms, his lips, his neck. His eyes closed, and fear entered. Everything, everything was a dark, painful emptiness. Empty? What was empty? He had been so selfish, so self-absorbing. Empty? He hadn’t been empty all this time, he had been dead. He had been crushed by everything and anything. And now he was flying, flying, flying, falling. Kevin was falling back into emptiness.

And at last, his eyelids lifted themselves. Kevin was on a bench – the same bench that she had sat on only a few days ago. And he sat in the middle, longingly watching the space where Tara would kick her feet up, hang upside down. Where was she?

His elbows bit into his thighs. His fingers intertwined each other. She was sick. Only sick. Sick with a cold. A cold with snot and mucus and very disgusting. She said she would be back, didn’t she? She promised, and Tara Pham never breaks a promise. Tara would be back. She would materialize before everyone, and it would be a big joke. Just a joke. A sick, sick joke. And she would laugh and he would laugh and everyone would laugh.

What’s wrong? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.