by K Larsen
“Breathe, Lotte,” she says in her annoyingly calm ‘therapist’ voice.
“I don’t want to. I’d rather suffocate than breathe without him, but there doesn’t seem to be an alternative.”
“Those are strong words,” she says sternly, before joining me on the couch.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and roll my shoulders to calm myself down. “I’m aware.”
“Tell me about him. About your trip. About what you felt with him,” she urges.
“I can’t. There aren’t words for what I felt. My emotions surrounding him, our trip… they’re too grandiose for conversation. He helped me heal. Really heal. I took him to the cabin.”
“You did what?” Dr. Richardson’s voice is no longer in therapy mode—she’s gone into overprotective family member.
I nod at her. “Yes. I went back. With Dallas. It was weird and a little scary when we first got there, but then... I was able to change it.”
“Change it how?” she probes.
I close my eyes. “I wiped out the evil energy that saturated it and replaced it with love. The best memory is all I picture when I think of that place now. I took all the power back. Filled up that depressing cabin with new memories that can’t be erased. Because what’s more important to a woman than her first time? Than losing her virginity? Nothing.” I hold up a hand, signaling Dr. Richardson’s open mouth to close and let me continue. “I didn’t use him. I did it because I was ready and I love him and he made it more than special. He made it unforgettable for me. It was everything it should have been. And then, before we left, I burned it all to the ground.” I look away from her. “But it feels like Dallas absorbed my past—the burden I carried—and soaked it up, because basically after that he slipped into a mood that couldn’t be fixed. He just got darker and darker and I was scared for him.”
“Lotte,” she starts. “Calling for help was the right thing. Dallas’s mood was not because of you or your history. He has a mental illness, one that he’s been dealing with for a long time now. It’s unfortunate that it reared its head when it did, and I can see how it would feel like something perhaps you caused, but you need to take it to heart when I tell you that you did not. He’d been off his medications for some time. Behavior would have been stable for a short time, then more manic before the inevitable crash into depression.”
I snort. “You make it sound so scientific.”
She shrugs. “Well, basically, it is. Our time is running short. I want you to keep a journal until I see you again. Write down anything and everything. Put it all down on paper. Next week we can go over the emotions that screamed the loudest to you.”
I nod and unfold my legs to stretch.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say.
Dr. Richardson laughs. “Sometimes we all need a safe place to yell.”
45
Charlotte
School is a joke. I go through the motions, but unlike normally, I’m not even interested in learning what is being taught. I barely notice the hushed whispers from students spewing lies and theories about what Dallas and I did and where he is now. And the rumors are rampant and ugly enough that I should care. My mind is always elsewhere. The world a duller version without his presence. My sense of wonder with the world subdued.
The day after I saw Dr. Richardson, was a designated visiting day at the hospital. I took the bus there alone. Eve offered to drive me, but it didn’t feel right to have company so I told her I’d get there on my own. I’m fairly certain she thought if she let me out of her sight where Dallas was concerned, she’d never see me again. But here I am, sitting at the kitchen table, doing the mounds of homework needed to catch up from the days I missed. I don’t have the stamina to do summer school. If I don’t plow through the work now, I fear I might not ever get it done, that my energy and drive will wane even more, and I will just be a lump of skin and blood pretending to sleep in a puddle of my own tears. And the worst part is, that scenario doesn’t bother me. The macabre daydream seems fitting and warranted.
When I signed in, I was elated that I was on the approved list of visitors. It was the happiest I’ve felt since watching him walk away from me. The anticipation of seeing his face, of touching him, finally getting a chance to explain why I called Eve for help, it lifted me up and gave me hope. I had this vision that he’d come through the door all the rest of the patients came from, and when he saw me, his caramel eyes would light up in that mischievous way that they do. I’d stand—too emotional to meet him halfway—and when he reached me, our arms would wrap around each other. I’d smell him, feel him—and my whole world would be set right. He’d pull back while whispering how sorry he was, and I’d tell him to shut up and kiss me. And he would. I could almost feel his lips on mine as I waited.
I sat in the family room littered with tables and people and waited. After an hour, I went back to the reception desk and asked if anyone let him know I was here. They had. I waited another hour. And another. Dallas never came.
On the bus ride home I sat alone and willed my tears to stay away long enough for me to get home. It rained the entire way, matching my feelings. Eve and Nora and baby Emma were waiting for me when I walked through the door, and I wasn’t put out by it. I let myself melt into a puddle of heartbreak right there in the living room with them. And I finally told Eve about the cabin. It was a strange heart to heart—Eve, Nora and I. They both listened. No one yelled when I told them the things we’d done on the road, the night we had sex or for burning the cabin down. No one blinked when I told them how drunk I got, or about the day I got high.
They finally both just listened. Eve even admitted to silly ‘dine and dash’ kind of antics she had done when she was my age. And they both validated my broken heart. They had both been there and understood and let me know that everything I was feeling was okay and normal. And it felt good to tell them everything as baby Emma just gurgled and wriggled every so often while generally looking adorable. And then… I lost it.
I bawled again, thinking about how someday the tiny bundle of perfection would also have to feel the way I was now, and how awful it was to know that she’d have to experience it eventually, which made Nora a blubbering mess, and had Eve cackling with laughter. By the time Aubry showed up with ice cream and some lowbrow comedy DVD, I was spent. But that small lift in my spirit only lasted a day or so.
Eve’s hand rests on my shoulder as she peers over me at my homework. “How you doing?”
“Good. Almost done,” I grunt.
“Want to order out for dinner or cook?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“You said that at breakfast. Did you eat today?” She slides the chair out next to me and sits.
“Yeah. An apple and a yogurt.”
She puts her hand over mine, effectively stopping my pencil on the page. “You have to eat, Lotte.”
“I know. Honestly, I’m just not hungry though.”
“Maybe you should talk to Dr. Richardson about it. She might want to put you on antidepressants for a little while.”
I look at my sister, beautiful yet worried. She’s trying so hard to change our relationship for the better, and I appreciate it so much, but my gratitude is trumped by heartache.
“I don’t want to be on drugs. How ‘bout Thai?” I say. If I can meet her in the middle it will take some of her worry away.
“Sure. Wanna split chicken pad Thai?” I smile and nod before returning my attention to my homework. Eve digs through the junk drawer with the menus before pulling out the one she wants. “Don’t forget the mango sticky rice,” I call over my shoulder as she begins placing the order.
I glance quickly to make sure she heard me, and she gives me a thumbs up.
It’s been calm in the house since my meltdown after visiting day. Eve gives me space to mope about. She tries, they all try, to cheer me up. I’ve been loafing around, unable to find the motivation to go to work. I barely have enough to make it through the day at school
. Thank God summer break is only twenty-four hours away. We eat dinner in the living room, normally a no-no in our house. Eve insists on sitting at the table like normal people. But lately, she allows us to be extra lazy, turn on Netflix and binge watch sitcoms while we eat.
When we’re done, I clean up our plates and containers. It’s not even ten yet, but I can’t imagine doing anything but crawling into bed and staring blankly at the ceiling, so I tell her goodnight, grab my journal and head to my room.
I lie in bed clutching my chest as if I can hold the fistful of ashes of a heart I used to have. Now that he’s gone, my days are wasted, too long. Nights feel like years. I toss and turn until the sun pokes through my curtains. I miss the fire of all his drama—the ups and downs. I know it’s not right. Not healthy, but it’s my truth. Dallas blew into my life like a breath. We swore that what we had would never fall apart with a tattooed promise. But now there is nothing. My heart aches so deeply that the marrow in my bones throbs. It doesn’t matter how many pumps of my lungs it will take to get over him, only how many it took me to lose him.
Friday is the last day of school, and also the day that I’ve chosen to visit Ray. I think about him more now than I ever did before. In my mind, he’s become a link to Dallas even though technically now he’s not even Dallas’s foster parent anymore. I know I should sleep, but it evades me night after night. I long to close my eyes and dream about him so that I can hold on to him a bit longer but anxiety works against me. I keep fighting, but the heartache demon doesn’t let me win. It’s becoming harder to breathe under its control.
“Ray?” I feel weird yelling through the shop, but I waited by the counter and rang the bell to no response. Why didn’t I get to know him better before? How were we so caught up in ourselves that I didn’t spend more time around Dallas in his environment? I can hear music in the garage so I know someone’s here and it’s just after noon so there’s no reason for the shop to be closed. “Ray?” I call out a little louder this time.
His head pops around the corner, the salt in his salt and pepper hair glinting in the light.
“Charlotte,” he says, wiping his hands on a shop rag. “How are you?”
I shuffle my feet and stare at my hands—feeling awkward at being here. Why am I here?
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Fine. Ah shit, that’s a lie. I’m tired. I’m a tired old man,” he laughs out. The sound of his chuckle puts me at ease.
“Yeah? Me too. I like your honesty.”
“Your sister tiptoeing around you?”
I shrug. “A little bit, I guess.”
“He loved you.” Ray scrubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. How you holding up?”
“He won’t see me.”
Ray frowns. “Sorry, kid. He’s working through some shit. Do you need something?” he asks. His eyes widen and then, “Oh, Jesus, you’re not...”
I wrinkle my face in confusion. “Not what?”
“Pregnant?” his voice trails up at the end of the word and I am mortified. I turn eight shades of red. My blush grows a blush and the breath rushes from my lungs.
“Oh my God, no,” I snort.
“Thank Christ,” he says, relieved. “What can I do you for then?”
I glance around the shop, my eyes darting everywhere but Ray. “I don’t know. I just thought I should come check on you. Maybe help out if you need it. I think maybe this was a stupid idea.” I rush my words out, and turn for the door.
“Charlotte, wait,” Ray says. I pause mid-step and glance at him over my shoulder. “I, ah, I’d like that, actually. With Dallas gone, I could use some help around here in the office so I can keep up with the mechanic stuff.”
A grin spreads across my face. “Really?”
“Sure,” he says. “I promised Dallas a job if he wants it when he’s out. But until then, I’m happy to have the company and the help.”
“Is he coming back?” I ask hopefully. Is Dallas coming back here to me? He’s eighteen now; Ray can’t foster him through the state, so I’m genuinely surprised at this news.
Ray shrugs. “I left the offer on the table for him.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Every week, kiddo,” he answers. “When the going gets tough is exactly the time to not get goin’ on a person.”
“That’s really sweet of you. I go on Sunday’s but he doesn’t come out to see me.”
Ray looks pained for a moment before he schools his features.
“I don’t have any answers for you, Charlotte. He’s a grown man now and I know he thinks he’s doing what’s right, but that’s about all I know.”
“When should I start?” I change the subject, knowing that if I ask any more questions that get any more answers like the previous ones I’ll start sobbing and never stop.
“Monday works for me, if it works for you. Can you swing noon to four?”
“Yeah. That’s perfect.”
“Thanks for stopping in. It’s nice seeing your face.”
I lift my hand in a half wave and take a couple steps toward the door before stopping short.
“Hey, Ray? Can you bring him a letter for me?” He cocks his head at me, thinking it over.
It’s nothing extravagant, the letter. It’s short and to the point. I tried writing a thousand different things but ended up with only a few lines. I’ve carried it on me for the past two days, debating on mailing it to him or dropping it off when I visit on Sunday.
Dear Dallas,
I feel so deeply...
Toska.
Sarang.
Consanguinity.
I'll be better when I know you are.
Very truly yours,
-C
What else was there to say, really? How else could I convey what I wanted?
“I can,” Ray draws out the ‘n’ making it more of a question. “I can’t promise you he’ll read it though.”
I nod. “I understand. I just, I need him to have it. I need to know it at least makes it to him.” I pull it from my back pocket and hand it to Ray. “See you Monday.”
“Bye, Charlotte.”
46
Charlotte
Dr. Richardson waits me out. It takes me a while to find the right words to describe what she’s asked. She’s not exactly pleased that I’ve taken a job at Ray’s for the summer. She thinks it will hinder my broken heart from healing. So, I want to make sure that I convey my thoughts wholly so that she understands.
“Dallas and I started like a movie scene. He played it cool, leather jacket and tee shirt, beat up army boots, bad boy. Me, feisty but coy and ready with a genuine smile. The story of us too grand for only black and white. We were timeless. I knew I was never going to wake up and pick out his suit for the day or shop for extravagant houses. But the life I foresaw us having would have been enough for me. Better than enough. It would have made my heart radiant.” I suck in a deep breath and continue on, Dr. Richardson paying close attention, taking notes.
“He won’t even talk to me. I’ve begged Ray to know why. I wrote him a letter. I’ve demanded the receptionist allow me in. I’ve tried to appeal to his curiosity. Why doesn’t he want to know why I did it? Doesn’t he know how hard it was to do the right thing? Why doesn’t he love me despite all that? The wounds that gape on my soul are a constant reminder of what I did. What we had, how we loved—it was worth everything I’ve ever wished for in my life.”
Dr. Richardson is silent a beat before, “‘Everything you’ve ever wished for’ is a big statement. Maybe there isn’t anything to know. Did you consider that? Maybe not being together is the healthy thing. You can still acknowledge that the love was powerful and worthwhile. It was something you learned from.” Her words irritate me, causing my skin to prickle.
I shake my head at her. “For so long I felt tethered to a darkness. I carried fire inside myself—a bitterness over what happened to me—and he erased that. How can that be wrong?”
“I’m not saying it was wrong. I’m saying it’s okay if it ran its course and served its purpose.”
I shake my head rapidly—as if it will help convey my feelings on the matter.
“No. It doesn’t feel over. Being apart doesn’t feel right. In fact, it feels wrong—vehemently so.”
“Regardless of what you feel, you have to accept your reality, Lotte.”
“Why does everyone keep pointing me in the direction of just-accept-you’re-broken-up-and-move-on? What about fighting for love?” I ask.
She shoves her pencil behind an ear. “First love is intense. It will stick with you always. But first love, statistically, is not synonymous with last love.”
“I want to be who I was with Dallas. I want to get that back. He made me feel so much bigger and more luminous than I’d ever felt before. I was bright. Yellow. Buoyant. I dream of him. They used to be sweet dreams, but they’re not the sweet kind anymore. His ghost-like face now has a permanent scowl directed at me in them. When I try to talk, I find my mouth is sewn shut and he laughs at my attempts to explain my reasons why through grunts and groans.” What I don’t tell her is that when they take him away, I fall from grace into a muddy pool of black oil. It coats me now. Slick and greasy and viscous. It weighs me down because I’m not just some girl. I’m his.
47
Charlotte
I put pen to paper to get it all out. If there is one thing Dr. Richardson suggests that I agree with… it’s this. Writing about my feelings. I want to write Dallas letters, make him feel the pain of my heartbreak. Have him understand. But I don’t mail the letters. I never mail the letters. I don’t really want him to hurt. I want him to love.
Dear Dallas,
I still wanna talk to you sometimes.
I fell for the boy who really saw me.