I Named My Sadness Bernie
Apologies to any Bernie you may know, but the name will always belong to one of my oldest friends.
My grandmother died when I was young. Not young enough to have no idea about death. But having never dealt with a loss of a loved one until then, it was young enough. That was when I met Bernie.
Bernie was apparently a friend of the family, not related but close enough. Luckily for me, he was about my age. So we naturally hung out away from the grownups. He said he knew my grandma, so it was nice to have someone to remember her with. And also play G.I. Joes with in my aunt’s old Barbie Star Traveler MotorHome.
I never really met his parents, but Bernie would drop in from time to time over the next few years. He wasn’t the most fun to play with and I wouldn’t say I was ever happy to see him. But he was there and I wasn’t really all that picky.
He seemed to enjoy my company, even if the girls in my school said I was “too weird” to be friends with. Let alone want to be my girlfriend. Bernie would convince me they did like me and urge me to call them on the phone; that way, there’d be no other kids around and they would be honest with me.
I remember dialing the numbers on my grandma’s old rotary from her bedroom. My heart racing with excitement like a giddy contestant on “The Price is Right” as the wheel rolled back after each number. A mother or older sibling would answer and I asked to speak with the girl from my class.
A moment of confusion as the older person would call the youngest kid in the house over to the receiver. Then something whispered like, “He says he’s in your class, just talk to him…” Followed by the most reluctant “Hello?” in telecommunications history to that point.
“Hi, Annette?” I would question, knowing full well it was her voice.
“Yes…”
I’d cheerfully introduce myself and add “from class” to familiarize her, before launching into my most hopeful pitch. I would end strong with a bold open-ended question.
“Do you really like me?…”
Bernie’s family would let him spend the night sometimes in high school. His parents were having more trouble than mine it seemed. At least, that’s what he’d assure me when we heard loud voices and doorslams coming from my mom and dad downstairs.
Spending time with Bernie would become less and less a thing, though. I found friends in the band and he moved further away. Then I met Diana and we started dating.
He called a couple times after that. He actually helped me break it off with her when a lot of my friends and hers would tell me she was still seeing her ex-boyfriend. But I got too busy to talk once Miranda and I kissed at her best friend’s house party. She and I were high school sweethearts for most of the rest of my junior and senior year.
I lost touch with Bernie for a while. I went off to college at a school not to far away, so I lived at home and just commuted back and forth. I had gotten a job at the local pharmacy where mom worked as a clerk. I would stock the store in the early morning hours before it opened. Just as the first customers would come in for the day, I’d be off to school. I’d catch a nap here and there in my car between classes, or at a friend’s dorm before orchestra rehearsals. I was busy, but I loved what I was doing — from work to school to music to occasional outings with friends from class and back over the same thing.
One day as I was driving to school, I heard on the radio that campus was closed and classes were canceled until further notice. “Due to police activity” was all the info the broadcast offered. I was nearly there, so I kept going anyway, thinking I’d grab some burgers at the drive-in and maybe head to one of my friends’ dorms to crash.
I stopped at a payphone outside the Sonic to let my friend know I was picking up some food and heading over. He answered and was shocked to hear a light tone in my voice.
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Classes were canceled? Yes, I know. Great news, right? I could use the break, I’ve been so busy I’m exhausted.”
“No, man, Curie Hall is gone, the science lab exploded. They think it was some kind of terror attack but they aren’t sure.”
“Holy shit.” and “Fuck.” was what I thought — but very likely said something far less intelligible.
“Yeah, our R.A. Jenn was in the next building, she said it felt like an earthquake. There’s shattered glass and broken bricks and concrete everywhere. EMTs and firefighters were bringing out people bleeding or burned.”
“Fuck.”
“Hey, didn’t you know that girl…”
I don’t think I heard the rest of what he asked, but he didn’t need to finish. My mind, though tired and taken aback, already put the pieces together.
Despite our breakup sophomore year, Diana and I had somehow stayed friends. Heck, when Miranda and I broke up senior year, I was all but ready to return to Diana, realizing far too late I ended it for all the wrong reasons. She hadn’t been seeing her ex. She told me as much every single time I brought it up and then hopelessly again, pleading through tears and sighs, when I told her why it was over.
By some twist of fate, we were both awarded the same full scholarship to the same college — me for talent in music, her for excellence in science. We hadn’t really run into each other much though while here. I got the job back home and she, of course, landed the coveted work-study position on campus at Marie Curie Research Labs and Lecture Hall.
Knowing our shared work ethic and what we called “scholarship guilt,” she would surely have been there today. Working. Keeping busy. I knew in my gut what reports would later confirm. The “one that got away” had gone away. “For good.” I could never understand why that phrase uses the word “good” for something that almost never is.
I walked back to my car and the radio stuttered on as I started the engine. I rolled down the window to catch some air. A song my grandma used to sing to while she cleaned popped on. A wave of dammed emotions broke free from the pit of my stomach and flooded the wells of my eyes. I cried a tsunami for the first time in a very long time.
As I sat there gently weeping, I hadn’t noticed the car hop skate up to my window. With a knock on my door and a hesitant but cheerful voice, he asked for my order. “Hey there, are you ready for me?”
“Oh… sorry, I…” I muttered, stifling sniffles.
“Nono, no worries, take your time. I’m here when you need me…”
I turned to look out my window and let out a half sigh, half laugh when I recognized him.
“Hey!… Bernie. How’ve you been?”
