Free Forgive Me by Eliza Freed Page B

on?” Julia sounds pissed off. That must be some misplaced emotion, right? Can you be pissed at the girl whose parents were just killed in a car accident?
    “It’s been one month. What exactly should I be doing differently?”
    “Look, Charlotte. We miss you. We’re worried about you. Violet and I are going crazy up here; you’re not online, you don’t text, we never see you. Then I talk to Jenn and apparently she and Margo aren’t seeing much of you either. Of course we’re worried. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to lean on the people you’ve trusted your whole life, not some cowboy.”
    “Why do you say it as if it disgusts you? He’s not some cowboy .” I am pissed. “I’ve known him my entire life, too, and to date he has yet to call me and yell at me for my behavior, or lack thereof!”
    “You’re missing my point,” she says, a bit gentler.
    “No, I got your point. I’m not coming up. I’ll be up there in a few weeks and I’ll see you and Violet then,” I say, ending the conversation. “Thanks for calling,” I add, and hang up.
    Now I feel completely horrible. What the fuck? And why is she talking to Jenn? It’s as if my grief counseling team in Salem County is preparing for the patient transport to New Brunswick. Margo and Jenn will soon be replaced with Julia, Violet, and Sydney.
    I fold the towels with a new verve and question whether Julia’s words have any merit. She doesn’t really expect me to be online one month after my parents’ death, does she? I get up and walk to the computer to Google local grief share programs. I think there’s one at my church. Maybe I should talk to someone. I have no idea what I should be doing in the wake of my parents’ death. When the Google window pops up I type “Steer Wrestling” in the search box.
    Images of steer wrestlers diving off horses onto steers, riding alongside, and wrestling on the ground pop up on the screen. It slows the action and I’m able to mentally connect it with the five-second memories I have in my head. I type in “Rules of Bulldogging” and expect the computer to laugh at me, but it lists different resources with steer wrestling rules. One website describes it as the Big Man’s Event because many of the steer wrestlers are large, hefty cowboys. I wish you were here . It requires strength, speed, and timing. I Google “Rodeo’s Big Man Event” and it’s like I’m reading about some alien competition amongst super heroes. Articles describe the bulldogger leaping from the back of a galloping horse at thirty miles per hour onto a four hundred-and-fifty-pound steer with the goal of stopping it and putting it on its back. What the hell is wrong with you, Jason Leer? Maybe some perspective wouldn’t hurt.
    I text Jenn:
    Do you want to go out?
    I get back from her:
    I’ll be right over.
    Within a half hour Jenn and Margo are both at my doorstep. They help me fold sheets and towels. What am I going to do with all these sheets? With all these beds? They’re excited to see me, as if today is the first day I’m home from college and I realize I’ve neglected them. Probably Julia and Violet, too.
    “So, where are we going?” Jenn asks, not hiding her excitement.
    “We have two great options,” Margo offers. “Sam’s parents are at their shore house. We can either go there, or have a barbeque at his house here.”
    “Not the shore. Not yet,” I say.
    “It might be good for you,” she tries again.
    “I’m not interested in what’s good for me,” I say without a hint of humor. “Where do you guys think I should be one month out in this whole grief process?” I ask because every person I know must know more about this than I do. I can’t remember even being sad while my mom and dad were alive, let alone working through grief.
    “I don’t know, but if we string twelve of these together, you’ll have made it a year and that’s got to be better than now,” Margo says as her phone rings and she walks