Bridge to Terabithia

“Hush, P.T.,” a voice which Jess did not know said. “Down.” The door was opened by a man who was half leaning over to hold the dog back. At the sight of Jess, P.T. snatched himself loose and leapt joyfully upon the boy. Jess picked him up and rubbed the back of the dog’s neck as he used to when P.T. was a tiny puppy.

“I see he knows you,” the strange man said with a funny half smile on his face. “Come in, won’t you.” He stood back for the three of them to enter.

They went into the golden room, and it was just the same, except more beautiful because the sun was pouring through the south windows. Four or five people Jess had never seen before were sitting about, whispering some, but mostly not talking at all. There was no place to sit down, but the strange man was bringing chairs from the dining room. The three of them sat down stiffly and waited, not knowing what to wait for.

An older woman got up slowly from the couch and came over to Jess’s mother. Her eyes were red under her perfectly white hair. “I’m Leslie’s grandmother,” she said, putting out her hand.

His mother took it awkwardly. “Miz Aarons,” she said in a low voice. “From up the hill.”

Leslie’s grandmother shook his mother’s and then his father’s hands. “Thank you for coming,” she said. Then she turned to Jess. “You must be Jess,” she said. Jess nodded. “Leslie—” Her eyes filled up with tears. “Leslie told me about you.”

For a minute Jess thought she was going to say something else. He didn’t want to look at her, so he gave himself over to rubbing P.T., who was hanging across his lap. “I’m sorry—” Her voice broke. “I can’t bear it.” The man who had opened the door came up and put his arm around her. As he was leading her out of the room, Jess could hear her crying.

He was glad she was gone. There was something weird about a woman like that crying. It was as if the lady who talked about Polident on TV had suddenly burst into tears. It didn’t fit. He looked around at the room full of red-eyed adults. Look at me, he wanted to say to them. I’m not crying. A part of him stepped back and examined this thought. He was the only person his age he knew whose best friend had died. It made him important. The kids at school Monday would probably whisper around him and treat him with respect—the way they’d all treated Billy Joe Weems last year after his father had been killed in a car crash. He wouldn’t have to talk to anybody if he didn’t want to, and all the teachers would be especially nice to him. Momma would even make the girls be nice to him.

He had a sudden desire to see Leslie laid out. He wondered if she were back in the library or in Millsburg at one of the funeral parlors. Would they bury her in blue jeans? Or maybe that blue jumper and the flowery blouse she’d worn Easter. That would be nice. People might snicker at the blue jeans, and he didn’t want anyone to snicker at Leslie when she was dead.

Bill came into the room. P.T. slid off Jess’s lap and went to him. The man leaned down and rubbed the dog’s back. Jess stood up.

“Jess.” Bill came over to him and put his arms around him as though he had been Leslie instead of himself. Bill held him close, so that a button on his sweater was pressing painfully into Jess’s forehead, but as uncomfortable as he was, Jess didn’t move. He could feel Bill’s body shaking, and he was afraid that if he looked up he would see Bill crying, too. He didn’t want to see Bill crying. He wanted to get out of this house. It was smothering him. Why wasn’t Leslie here to help him out of this? Why didn’t she come running in and make everyone laugh again? You think it’s so great to die and make everyone cry and carry on. Well, it ain’t.

“She loved you, you know.” He could tell from Bill’s voice that he was crying. “She told me once that if it weren’t for you…” His voice broke completely. “Thank you,” he said a moment later. “Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to her.”

Bill didn’t sound like himself. He sounded like someone in an old mushy movie. The kind of person Leslie and Jess would laugh at and imitate later. Boo-hooooooo, you were such a wonderful friend to her. He couldn’t help moving back, just enough to get his forehead off the stupid button. To his relief, Bill let go. He heard his father ask Bill quietly over his head about “the service.”

And Bill answering quietly almost in his regular voice that they had decided to have the body cremated and were going to take the ashes to his family home in Pennsylvania tomorrow.