In memory of Nicole Lewanski

Ana is dead because of me.
The words flashed unbidden through my mind, and
my body gave an involuntary shudder. Rad stood there for a minute or so, his
gaze fixed steadily on me. It was the first time we had ever stood face-to-face,
and I noticed that the color of his eyes didn’t quite match. One was a stormy
gray, the other a summer blue.
“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” I said. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, and the sharp
pain gave my mind a much-needed diversion. We stood like that for a while,
until my breathing began to steady. Rad looked relieved.
“Did you go to school with Ana?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Were you close to her?”
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
He turned away from me, looking skyward and sighing deeply.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Do you believe in heaven?”
I looked at him, a little taken aback.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, with a small shake of my head. “I believe
there is something, though.”
“How do you know for sure?” he asked.
“It’s a feeling, I suppose.”
“A feeling?”
“Yeah, kind of like . . .” I paused, searching for the right word. “Like
intuition,” I said finally.
He nodded. “I suppose that makes sense.”
He was quiet for a few moments, and then he turned to look at me, his eyes
level with mine.
“What about hell?”
I felt my heart seize in my chest. For one irrational moment, I thought, 
He
knows about the lie.
But then I realized it was just my own paranoia.
“Yes,” I said, thinking back to my panic attack the other night. “I believe
there’s a hell.”
There was a loud crash that came from inside the house, and we turned our
heads in unison.

---

“What was that?” asked Rad.
“I don’t know. We should go back inside.”
T
HE
LIVING
ROOM
was a mess. The table was overturned, and there were plates of
food scattered across the floor. Ana’s dad was standing amidst the chaos, one hand
cradled protectively over his left cheek, a trickle of blood running from the side
of his mouth. Everyone watched in stunned silence as Ana’s uncle stood with his
fist partly raised, his face twisted with rage.
“You sick fuck!” he snarled. “She was a child, for Chrissake!” He was about to
throw another punch when Ana’s mother pulled him back.
“Stop it!” she screamed, stepping between them.
“Why didn’t you stop him, Mia?” he said spinning around to face her. “You
must have known what was going on.”
She shook her head helplessly. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.
Ana’s dad turned to face her, his eyes filled with despair. “Mia,” he said
helplessly. “You know I never touched our daughter—”
She shook her head in disgust. “Don’t you dare talk to me,” she hissed, before
turning on her heel and striding away.
There was a tense silence in the room, broken only when someone began to
pick up the shattered plates. Quiet murmurs floated from all directions as Ana’s
mother was led up the stairs by a pair of somber-faced relatives. With his head
bowed and averted from everyone’s gaze, Ana’s dad turned and left the room.
I glanced at Rad and knew that the look of horror on his face mirrored my
own—although for different reasons.
“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered under his breath.
O
UTSIDE
, 
THE
SKY
was a dark, moody blue. There was a strip of orange along the
horizon, one rolling spark of flame the impending night would soon extinguish.
“Want to go for a drive?” asked Rad.
“Okay.”
We walked to his car, a white sedan, which was parked across the street. I got
into the passenger seat. There was a small tear in the upholstery, and I ran my
fingers over it, thinking about the countless number of times Ana must have sat
there. A flash of guilt opened me up like a fresh, gaping wound.
Rad got into the driver’s seat beside me and shut the door behind him. The
silence between us was comfortable despite the strange turn of events that led us

---

there. As we pulled away from the curb, I turned my head back for one last look
at Ana’s house and could just barely make out her dad sitting bent over on the
porch step, the light from the end of his cigarette glowing pitifully against the
graying sky.
“A
RE
YOU
HUNGRY
?” asked Rad. We had been driving aimlessly for the last ten
minutes through the suburban streets. We barely said a word the whole time, but
it was a companionable silence.
“A little,” I admitted. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate.
“There’s a burger place nearby called Alfie’s Kitchen. Have you heard of it?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“It’s a hole in the wall. They only serve one type of burger, but it’s pretty
damn good. And their strawberry milkshake is the best thing in the world. What
do you think?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
A
LFIE
’
S
K
ITCHEN
WAS
a small beachfront kiosk that sat atop a grassy hill. Like Rad
had mentioned, the place looked unassuming, but the crowd of people waiting to
be served suggested there was something special about the place. A canvas awning
the color of sandstone extended from the brick front, casting a block of shadow
over the sprawling lawn where a number of plastic tables and seats were scattered
across the patchy grass. A girl in a crisp white uniform and bouncy ponytail stood
behind the counter, taking orders while two chefs behind her worked away in
the busy kitchen. The air was filled with the rich smell of fried onions and the
sound of sizzling patties. As we progressed farther in the queue, I noticed several
photographs of celebrities taped to the sides of the walls, burgers clutched
triumphantly in their hands and grins plastered across their faces.
By the time we got our meals, the tables were all taken, so we made our way
over to an empty park bench a short walk away. The bench sat near the edge of a
rocky cliff and overlooked the ocean. The sky was growing dimmer by the
minute, and aside from the crowd in the distance, we were now alone. Toward
the horizon, a man was preparing to launch a large multicolored kite into the sky.
“I come here pretty often,” said Rad, sitting down on the park bench.
“Yeah?” I said, sitting beside him.
“The light is beautiful this time of day, especially during the summer. The
sunsets go on forever.”

---

“It’s nice here,” I agreed, pulling my burger from its brown paper wrapper.
I didn’t realize just how hungry I was until I took the first bite.
“Strange day, huh?” he said, taking a sip of his milkshake.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I felt queasy all of a sudden and put my burger down on the
bench. My fingers gripped the wooden slats.
“Are you okay?” Rad asked. He put his burger down too and turned to face
me.
“I’m okay,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “It just occurred to
me that I’ve never known anyone who’s died before except my granddad, but I
was just a kid at the time.”
“Me too,” said Rad quietly. For a moment, he had a faraway look in his eyes,
and then he shuddered as though shaking off a memory. “Hey.” He turned to
me. “Can we make a deal?”
“What kind of deal?”
“Let’s not talk about Ana tonight. The last few days have been a nightmare,
and I just want to feel normal again. Even if it’s only for a few hours.” His eyes
looked into mine. “Is that okay?” He extended his hand to me.
“Yeah,” I said, secretly relieved. I took his hand, and we shook on it. I noticed
the strange coloring of his eyes again. I wanted to ask him about them but wasn’t
sure how to bring it up without sounding rude.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. “Do I have sauce on my lips
or something?” He fumbled with his napkin.
I shook my head quickly, feeling the heat rise to my face. “No,” I said, looking
away. Then I turned my head back to face him. “It’s just, well, your eyes.
They’re amazing, incredible. Like, they’re really, really cool.” My words came
out all fragmented, and I wondered whether he thought I was a complete idiot.
“Oh, you mean the heterochromia,” said Rad.
“Is that the scientific term?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he smiled. “I hated the fact that my eyes were different when I was
growing up.”
“Are you kidding? I would love to have your eyes.”
“Well, we can swap if you want; I’m not that attached to them.”
“You don’t want my eyes. They’re kind of goofy. My mum says they’re too
big for my face.”
“I think your eyes are really pretty,” he said and then looked immediately
embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course not.”

---

There was an awkward silence.
“You know there’s this series where the main character has different-colored
eyes,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. His name is Spike Spiegel.”
“From