Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

by Chelsea Rotunno

  Chapter Eighteen

  Obsessed

  Without any water

  The flowers in the window box wilt

  How did I even grow these flowers

  If clouds conquer the sun day after day

  and the soil is dry?

  I have nothing to help the blossoms live

  Yet they live

  Struggling, they live

  Perhaps, I consider, they came from God

  I didn’t ask for these flowers, and here they are

  And they wait without dying

  He waters them

  I dream

  Out of my window is the blank, white sky

  The air is thick

  And the autumn breeze carries ashes from a nearby fire

  When I got back to APU, I sported a perpetual ponytail. I didn’t call or see Tyler. I knew in my heart that I would eventually have to end things with him. That I reserved such a huge part of my heart for Paul proved that I didn’t have Tyler’s best interest in mind. Even though I loved him as a friend, I was using him like a drug to soothe my heartache. But instead of talking to him about it, I just let things go on as usual, distancing myself little by little.

  I made it through first semester without anyone at APU knowing about my quiet obsession. On the outside, I looked totally fine. I made tons of friends—more than I ever had in high school—went to all the school events, joined a Bible study, went on a mission trip to Mexico over Thanksgiving break, sang with my choir every weekend, and earned straight A’s. I was genuinely enjoying myself, loving college life. But on the inside I was so broken, feeling far from a God who wouldn’t talk to me, having trouble distinguishing singing from worshipping, and stuffing my feelings down with cafeteria food by day and boxes of Captain Crunch at midnight—chomping handfuls of it until the roof of my mouth started bleeding.

  I was a ticking time bomb.

  Over Christmas break, Tyler and I talked only once. It was so good to hear his voice.

  “How is your marathon training going?” I asked over the phone. He had been running 10 miles a day, training for the 26.2-mile LA marathon.

  “Great,” he said. “Sometimes I have to run on the treadmill because of the weather. But it’s OK. When I get back to California, I’ll catch up again.”

  “How is your family?” I asked.

  “Good. You know, the same as usual. How’s yours?”

  “My mom is driving me crazy. She is insane.”

  Wait, I thought. I can’t let him know my mom is crazy! I can’t let anyone know. I have to hide it. Or I will scare Tyler away too.

  “I’m sure she’s not that bad,” he said.

  “I know! Just getting used to being back at home, you know?”

  Somehow Tyler always knew the right thing to say at the right time. Why couldn’t I be that way too? Why couldn’t I give my heart to Tyler? He was a dreamer like me. He was smart, good looking, hard working, hilarious. He loved Jesus. He was a great catch.

  It didn’t matter how perfect Tyler was. I was still in love with Paul. I had given Paul my heart.

  When we said goodbye over the phone, it was almost like I knew it was our last goodbye.

  The night before New Year’s Eve there was a concert at my home church featuring Dennis Jernigan, an amazing songwriter with a crazy testimony. Bianca and I sat in the balcony and listened to this guy share about how he used to be gay. God took him in his hands and molded him into a new person. He sang song after song, many of which I already knew by heart, like “You Are My All in All,” and “I Stand Amazed,” which we sang in choir. I also recognized one of my favorite worship songs, “When the Night Is Falling.”

  This man’s transparency about his broken past and the sovereignty of God moved me to sing innocently again. I had a true worship experience for the first time in a long time. I closed my eyes and raised my hands in the air, as free as I had been in Mexico. I sang and cried, giving everything I possibly could from my heart to God. The concert was cathartic after a very challenging seven months of feeling like God was pushing me out of my cozy nest of faith and asking me to let him be who he is and do what he does.

  At the end of the concert, Jernigan asked everyone to stand and pray together. When I stood up, I looked over the balcony and saw straight below me the spiky black hair—it belonged to one person who had an uncanny power over me. I almost fell over the balcony as everything came crashing down inside me once again. God must have had angels holding me up.

  Although you are gone I

  Sometimes feel you

  Standing beside me.

  Sometimes I feel you are

  Stamped in my heart

  As if lighting my candle

  Meant joining together

  As one

  To shine, to spread his light

  Together.

  It is so real that I close my eyes.

  I look away

  Before I choke on the intensity

  Before my eyes give away my heart

  Or my trembling hand drops my candle.

  But when I look

  Up and see your softness, your

  knowing smile—

  I watch you look inside me.

  But you do not believe.

  So I cannot believe.

  Yet sometimes I feel you

  Standing beside me

  And sometimes what I cannot see

  What is hardest to believe

  Is most real

  And is stamped in my heart

  Regardless of logic

  Regardless of my mistakes.

  Believe…

  “Have I not told you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Have I not told you?”

  Spring semester came quickly. I still loved my roommates. I loved my new classes. I had a Bible professor who reminded me of a darker, shorter, married version of Paul. I would stare at him in class and daydream about what Paul might be up to as he taught at my old high school. In the fitness center, where I would exercise on campus, one of the workers resembled a body-builder version of Paul, except with a square jaw and a shaved head. He was very kind and friendly, but I avoided him as much as possible, unwilling to risk falling for another older guy.

  Finally, the day of a very special concert arrived. It was the day that my choir would sing at my home church. I had been looking forward to this day for months. I knew it would be an encouraging and uplifting experience, an important connection between my life back home and my new world at school. I really hoped Paul would go. It would be an easy way for him to show me he cared, without any pressure to let anyone else know he liked me.

  I had invited Jeff and Paul to the concert two weeks prior, on Easter Sunday.

  “Yes, we’ll definitely be there,” Jeff had said.

  “When is it?” Paul asked.

  “In two weeks. It’s at 5 o’clock, right here. Can you come?”

  “Sure, I think I can,” he said.

  “Great! That means a lot to me.”

  “How is school going?” Jeff asked.

  “I love it,” I said, watching out of the corner of my eye as Paul walked away and started talking with some other people. “It is perfect for me. It is amazing.”

  “Any boyfriends?” he asked.

  “Don’t start this again!” I laughed.

  “Right, forget it, forget I said anything!” he said.

  “Actually, I have been seeing a guy named Tyler,” I said, sort of loudly. I didn’t want him or Paul to think no guys were interested in me. “We’re not officially going out or anything.”

  “Really?” he said, glancing in Paul’s direction. “Is Tyler a good guy?”

  “Yes, he is an amazing Christian, from Wisconsin. You would love him.”

  “That’s wonderful, Miriam. I’m really happy for you,” Jeff said.

  The weekend of the concert, I invited my friend Tiahna—the really pretty girl who convinced me to get my hair cut—to stay
overnight at my parent’s house. During our sleepover, I told her about Paul because I knew she would most likely meet him the next day. I guess I wanted her to know he was spoken for. I told her how I was head over heals in love with him and it was ridiculous, but I believed we would get married one day.

  Tiahna went to church with me Sunday morning. Paul wasn’t there. After church we ventured to the Glendale Galleria to do a little shopping before our concert.

  As we were walking by the elevator in the center of the mall, we ran into Lili, Ansley’s little sister.

  “Miriam!” she called. “Hi guys.”

  She hopped over to us, showering us with hugs, kisses, and smiles.

  I asked her how everything was going. She giggled, bounced, and held Tiahna’s hand as she told us about youth group.

  “Oh my gosh, did you hear about Paul Greer?” she asked, her eyes wide and serious.

  “No, what?” I asked, catching Tiahna’s eye to make sure she knew it was the same guy I had told her about the night before.

  “He’s engaged. Isn’t that a bummer for, like, every single girl at our church?”

  “What?” Tiahna and I screamed at the same time. In a fleeting moment of insanity, I got really excited and actually thought to myself, “He announced our engagement without asking me first?” Then I realized the truth. It wasn’t me.

  I gasped. I started coughing to hide the fact that I was choking. I wished I hadn’t told Tiahna anything. I bit my lip and swallowed hard, forcing the physical evidence of my shock and pain to run down the inside of my skin. Tiahna looked at me sympathetically.

  “Are you sure?” she asked Lili. “Who is the girl?”

  “She’s a dancer or something. She’s a Christian, and I guess she’s from Shadow Hills. But I don’t know her,” Lili said.

  I strained to think of who it might be.

  “So crazy,” Lili went on. “Last week on Sunday morning during youth group, he was up there talking, and he said, ‘Take a look at the screen,’ and we looked up and read the announcement: ‘Paul is Finally Getting Married!’”

  “No!”

  I wanted to cry out in pain and run away. I stared off in the distance, feeling my future shatter to pieces.

  The next thing I remembered was Tiahna saying, “Bye Lili, hope to see you at our concert tonight.” She took my arm and led me through the mall, trying to guide me through a Macy’s that was unfamiliar to her. “What’s going on with you? Are you OK?”

  “I can’t breathe.”

  “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be alright.”

  We made it outside. She held my hand tightly and helped me get into her car. I was the Lady of Shalott, floating on a boat to Camelot, dying.

  … She left the web, she left the loom

  She made three paces through the room,

  She saw the water lily bloom,

  She saw the helmet and the plume,

  She looked down to Camelot.

  Out flew the web and floated wide;

  The mirror cracked from side to side,

  “The curse is come upon me,” cried

  The Lady of Shalott …

  —Alfred Lord Tennyson