Looking for Alaska

\"What happened?\" \"Somebody was setting offfirecrackers in the woods,\" he said, andI closed my eyes tight, the ineluctablefact of the matter at hand: I had killedher. \"I went out after them, and I guessshe drove off campus. It was late. Shewas on I-65 just south of downtown. Atruck had jackknifed, blocking bothlanes. A police car had just gotten to thescene. She hit the cruiser without everswerving. I believe she must have beenvery intoxicated. The police said theysmelled alcohol.\" \"How do you know?\" I asked. \"I saw her, Miles. I talked to thepolice. It was instant. The steeringwheel hit her chest. I'm so sorry.\"

And I said, you saw her and he saidyes and I said how did she look and hesaid, just a bit of blood coming out ofher nose, and I sat down on the floor ofthe gym. I could hear the Colonel stillscreaming, and I could feel hands on myback as I hunched forward, but I couldonly see her lying naked on a metaltable, a small trickle of blood falling outof her half-teardrop nose, her green eyesopen, staring off into the distance, hermouth turned up just enough to suggestthe idea of a smile, and she had felt sowarm against me, her mouth soft andwarm on mine. The Colonel and I are walking backto our dorm room in silence. I am staringat the ground beneath me. I cannot stop

thinking that she is dead, and I cannotstop thinking that she cannot possibly bedead. People do not just die. I can't catch my breath. I feel afraid,like someone has told me they're goingto kick my ass after school and now it'ssixth period and I know full well what'scoming. It is so cold today — literallyfreezing — and I imagine running to thecreek and diving in headfirst, the creekso shallow that my hands scrape againstthe rocks, and my body slides into thecold water, the shock of the cold givingway to numbness, and I would stay there,float down with that water first to theCahaba River, then to the AlabamaRiver, then to Mobile Bay and the Gulfof Mexico.

I want to melt into the brown,crunchy grass that the Colonel and I stepon as we silently make our way back toour room. His feet are so large, too largefor his short body, and the new generictennis shoes he wears since his old oneswere pissed in look almost like clownshoes. I think of Alaska's flip-flopsclinging to her blue toes as we swung onthe swing down by the lake. Will thecasket be open? Can a mortician re-create her smile? I could still hear hersaying it: \"This is so fun, but I'm sosleepy. To be continued?\" Nineteenth-century preacher HenryWard Beecher's last words were \"Nowcomes the mystery.\" The poet DylanThomas, who liked a good drink at least

as much as Alaska, said, \"I've hadeighteen straight whiskeys. I do believethat's a record,\" before dying. Alaska'sfavorite was playwright Eugene O'Neill:\"Born in a hotel room, and — Goddamnit— died in a hotel room.\" Evencar-accident victims sometimes havetime for last words. Princess Diana said,\"Oh God. What's happened?\" Movie starJames Dean said, \"They've got to seeus,\" just before slamming his Porscheinto another car. I know so many lastwords. But I will never know hers. I am several steps in front of himbefore I realize that the Colonel hasfallen down. I turn around, and he islying on his face. \"We have to get up,Chip. We have to get up. We just have to

get to the room.\" The Colonel turns his face from theground to me and looks me dead in theeye and says, \"I. Can't. Breathe.\" But he can breathe, and I know thisbecause he is hyperventilating, breathingas if trying to blow air back into thedead. I pick him up, and he grabs ontome and starts sobbing, again saying, \"I'mso sorry,\" over and over again. We have never hugged before, meand the Colonel, and there is nothingmuch to say, because he ought to besorry, and I just put my hand on the backof his head and say the only true thing.\"I'm sorry, too.\" two days after

I didn't sleep that night. Dawn wasslow in coming, and even when it did,the sun shining bright through the blinds,the rickety radiator couldn't keep uswarm, so the Colonel and I satwordlessly on the couch. He read thealmanac. The night before, I'd braved the coldto call my parents, and this time when Isaid, \"Hey, it's Miles,\" and my momanswered with, \"What's wrong? Iseverything okay?\" I could safely tell herno, everything was not okay. My dadpicked up the line then. \"What's wrong?\" he asked. \"Don't yell,\" my mother said. \"I'm not yelling; it's just the phone.\" \"Well, talk quieter,\" she said, and so

it took some time before I could sayanything, and then once I could, it tooksome time to say the words in order —my friend Alaska died in a car crash. Istared at the numbers and messagesscrawled on the wall by the phone. \"Oh, Miles,\" Mom said. \"I'm sosorry, Miles. Do you want to comehome?\" \"No,\" I said. \"I want to be here…Ican't believe it,\" which was still partlytrue. \"That's just awful,\" my dad said.\"Her poor parents.\" Poor parent, Ithought, and wondered about her dad. Icouldn't even imagine what my parentswould do if I died. Driving drunk. God,if her father ever found out, he would

disembowel the Colonel and me. \"What can we do for you right now?\"my mom asked. \"I just needed you to pick up. I justneeded you to answer the phone, and youdid.\" I heard a sniffle behind me — fromcold or grief, I didn't know — and toldmy parents, \"Someone's waiting for thephone. I gotta go.\" All night, I felt paralyzed intosilence, terrorized. What was I so afraidof, anyway? The thing had happened.She was dead. She was warm and softagainst my skin, my tongue in her mouth,and she was laughing, trying to teach me,make me better, promising to becontinued. And now. And now she was colder by the hour,

more dead with every breath I took. Ithought: That is the fear: I have lostsomething important, and I cannot findit, and I need it It is fear like ifsomeone lost his glasses and went tothe glasses store and they told him thatthe world had run out of glasses and hewould just have to do without Justbefore eight in the morning, the Colonelannounced to no one in particular, \"Ithink there are bufriedos at lunch today.\" \"Yeah,\" I said. \"Are you hungry?\" \"God no. But she named them, youknow. They were called fried burritoswhen we got here, and Alaska startedcalling them bufriedos, and theneveryone did, and then finally Maureenofficially changed the name.\" He paused.