Lost

by Sarah Ann Walker

  “Well, let's go. I'll help you carry it all in. Let me just call your dad,” she said pulling out her phone as we walked toward her car.

  As we walked, I still held the letter in my hand, trying desperately not to crumple it, but wanting to hold it tightly at the same time.

  Actually, I was pretty impressed with my mom not ripping it out of my hands to read, or even asking about it. It must've been killing her not to know what it said, like it was me, but amazingly, she left it for me to deal with as we each sat in her car while she finished up talking briefly to my dad.

  2 hours later, my mom and I both carried a heavy box filled with pottery into my quiet apartment. Entering while juggling the box to turn on the light I was immediately obsessed with the walls of my home. Looking around, I nearly threw the box of breakables on the couch while I spun around and tried to figure it all out.

  My mom looked around too, and seemed to know where my head was at. She knew everything I was thinking, I could tell.

  “Are you sure it's a good idea to keep them in your home where you'll see them all the time and be reminded of...” But she didn't finish.

  “I have to,” I said absolutely sure.

  “Okay. May I make a suggestion then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Put them in your bedroom,” she said so seriously I was surprised.

  “But I'll think of him every night.”

  “You do anyway,” which was true. “Here’s what I'm thinking. They are so personal you probably don't want anyone who comes over to see that side of you, or your relationship with Peter. Plus, if they're in your bedroom, you can feel closer to him while you sleep, which I know has been one of your biggest battles since this all happened to you. And for those of us who love you, it’ll be very hard to see you like that, both the beautiful paintings and the tragic drawing. I know it makes me want to cry, your dad will cry,” she said with a grin. “And your brother will be angry at your devastation. So hanging in your bedroom seems like the logical choice. Plus, you never have men over, so you don't have to worry about potential lovers seeing that side of you until you're ready,” she faded out.

  Listening to my mom, everything she said was exactly right. So naturally, I cried a little as I walked to her to give her the biggest hug I could.

  “Thank you so much for coming to me so quickly today. I know I couldn't have survived today without you. You were amazing, and actually a little scary to Michael,” I whispered as she laughed.

  “Mama-Bear Syndrome. You'll understand one day.”

  “Let's hope,” I replied sadly. “Anyway, thank you so much for being there for me.”

  “You never have to thank me for being there for you. It's my job and even if it wasn't I would be anyway. I love you so much, Sophie,” she whispered back squeezing me tighter. “So what do you want to do now?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I still don't even want to read the letter yet, but when I do I'll tell you what it says, I promise. I'm just so tired, all I want to do is lie down, watch shitty TV and go to sleep early. And you have to get home to dad who is probably pacing right now waiting for you to give him the scoop you wouldn't give on the phone in front of me,” I grinned.

  “Yup, he is. Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go home, and thank you so much for today.”

  “Can I call you later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. I'll call around 9:00 to see how you're doing. And we'll go with you tomorrow to pick up the paintings, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good night, Sophie,” she said walking to my front door. Looking back one last time, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek with a gentle smile that made my eyes fill, but shook her head no to my tears and walked out my door.

  Closing the door behind her, I realized once again my mom saved me, cared for me, and then left me to do the rest on my own, like she knew I needed to.

  CHAPTER 28

  I can't even explain the compulsion that made me hold the letter in my hand but not read it. I can’t explain why after my mom left I had a shower, cooked some soup, and sat on my couch eating, but didn't read the letter.

  I think I was afraid Peter would say something mean, or maybe I was terrified he would tell me our relationship meant nothing to him. I think I was desperate to still believe I had meant to him what he had meant to me.

  I was afraid of the letter because his absence left an opening to rekindle our love due to my lack of closure. But the letter had the potential to give the closure I didn't want to have which scared me from not reading it. So I waited.

  I waited until I couldn't stand the wait any longer. Jumping up, I ran to my kitchen to grab his Jasmine candle from the cupboard, and I ran to my bathroom drawer for his jasmine massage oil, then I ran for my bed with my heart pounding.

  I grabbed my phone on the way to my bed and made a desperate call to my mom.

  “What's wrong?” She asked immediately.

  “Nothing. Look, it's almost 9:00 and I didn't want you to call me and interrupt. I'm going to read his letter now, and I don't want you to call me, okay?”

  “Sure... But-”

  “I'm okay, I promise. I just don't know what it says, so I don't want you to call me before I'm ready. Please don't call?”

  “But how will I know if you're okay?” She asked sadly.

  “I'll be okay. I'm much stronger now, and even if he breaks my heart again it can't feel much worse than it did before, so please don't call. I'll call after, I promise.”

  “Okay, Sophie. Let me know. Call me anytime tonight. I don't care how late.”

  “Thanks. I have to go,” I said desperately as I hung up to her mumbling something I couldn't hear.

  Preparing for the letter, I lit his candle and rubbed a little jasmine oil on my chest and neck before washing my hands of the oil. I could smell and feel Peter all around me, and I remembered everything between us in that moment as I sat on my bed cross-legged.

  I breathed him in as I opened the letter to Sophie Morley, recognizing his handwriting instantly with a sad smile.

  Sophie,

  I love you so much I don't have any words greater than you are adored by me. You are adored like you've always wanted to be, and I wish I could express it better than that. You are adored and loved by me, now and forever.

  I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm so sorry I left you. I wish I could explain my actions, but I can't. There are things you don't know and things you'll probably never know about me, but I wish I could tell you so you understood- it was never about me not loving you when I left. You are, and will always be the greatest love I’ll ever experience for the rest of my life. You are the only person I have ever connected with so intimately and so deeply, you often nearly shook me from my purpose.

  But I can't be with you because I made promises before you. I have things I have to do, which you would understand if I could tell you, but I can't. All I will say is this- and I hope you keep this with you always; you were sacrificed for the greater good. Being with you has been the greatest gift of my life, and leaving you has been the greatest sacrifice.

  Please don't look for me because you can't find me. I don't exist, and I can't be with you. You are too important to me to ever risk your safety. And I need to know you are safe for the rest of your life, even if that safety is without me.

  I love you so much, there simply are no words.

  Peter xo

  After I exhaled the tension in my body, I read and reread Peter's letter. With an absolute belief in his love, I read his letter until it became a beautiful chant in my heart.

  I was loved and adored. I knew it!

  I knew I couldn't have felt what I felt alone. I knew it wasn't possible for one person to feel the depth of love I felt without the other person feeling the same love. It simply wasn’t possible.

  Peter loved me as I loved him, totally and completely. But for whatever reason he couldn't tell me, we couldn't be together.

&nb
sp; After reading his words, the relief I felt was overwhelming. Reading I was loved and treasured was everything. The absence of him still ripped me apart, but there was a definite comfort in knowing the truth.

  I was loved and adored by the man I loved and adored.

  With a smile and a few tears, I calmed my stomach of its knots, and I curled into my bed holding his letter tightly. The absence of him still hurt, almost unbearably so, but knowing there was a reason for his absence was the closure I had needed since the moment he left me.

  And once I accepted his absence for reasons that were valid but unknown, sleep came much easier to me for the first time since he left me.

  *****

  Later that night I had the most amazing dream.

  Peter and I were together again. We made love and we connected so deeply, I felt him in my soul. We were together again, and I was happy once more. I had experienced our greatest pleasure and I had taken him into me as part of my own life.

  I experienced his mouth on mine and his mouth and tongue devouring me. I felt his body move inside me and I felt my release in his embrace.

  Peter was everything to me and I was adored by him.

  Each touch was amazing, and beautiful, and fulfilling. We made love for hours and we experienced pleasure so completely, we seemed to breathe each other's breath as we moved within each other. We once again shared the intimate connection we had always known together.

  I was alive again, and I was sexually and emotionally whole. I was alive in his arms where I would stay forever.

  After we made love, Peter and I showered and dressed each other. We held each other and walked together for coffee. We entered our cafe with private smiles and loving embraces. And it was obvious to everyone in the cafe that we were in love with each other by the return grins and smiles we received from strangers.

  Then our day changed.

  When Peter and I left with our coffees, still holding hands, I was suddenly thrown to the ground against the brick wall of the cafe as I screamed through a sound like no other I had ever heard as I turned back to see a falling Peter. Holding his chest, he fell beside me as a man stood suddenly in front of him.

  Screaming, I reached for Peter desperately. Reaching, I had just grabbed Peter's hand as his eyes held mine for a brief second before slowly closing. Then I screamed.

  With renewed purpose, I found the strength past the death of my heart to reach and hold Peter. I held him until I was overcome with the grief that was destroying me. I held him until gasping and shaking, I begged him to stay with me. Over and over I begged him to stay. Pleading, I offered him everything I had if he would stay with me for just one more moment.

  But I knew he was lost and I died with him on the sidewalk.

  When I woke up crying and moaning, and shaking, I couldn't shake the unreality of my world. I felt his pain, and I felt his death so clearly, it was an agony ripping through my chest.

  Scrambling for the phone, I called my mom hysterically, until moving, I could hear her dressing as she tried to soothe me calm.

  Then I was talking to my dad who also tried but there was no comfort or understanding to give. I knew my reality, and I was nearly psychotic with the death facing me.

  Peter was lost. I knew it in my soul.

  Suddenly nauseous, I dropped the phone my dad stayed on and I ran for the bathroom. Throwing up, I was stricken with such grief, it was like an ice pick puncturing my heart over and over again. I couldn't stop crying, and I couldn't stop vomiting.

  I was nothing in that moment but death and decay on the bathroom floor until the exhaustion hit me, and then I was nothing more.

  When my mom woke me on the floor, I cried out as she held me. Pulling me into her arms, she gave me all the strength she could. She tried to shake me coherent, and she tried to lift me back to reality, but I was gone.

  Trying to explain, I mumbled, “Peter is dead,” until pausing with me in her arms, my mother stopped trying to bring me back.

  “What do you mean, baby?”

  “I mean I felt it tonight. I know he's dead. I felt him die...” I cried harder.

  “What do you mean, Sophie? How do you know?” My mother sounded confused.

  “I dreamed about him dying. It was a dream, but it wasn't. It was real. I know it was.”

  “You had a dream?” She asked me again sounding more confused.

  “Yes. I know it was a dream, but it wasn't. I'm telling you, Peter died tonight. I felt him die,” I moaned.

  “In a dream?”

  “Yes! I know it sounds fucked up, but I'm telling you mom he died tonight. I felt it and I can't explain it, and I know it sounds weird, but I know he died. I know it...” I faded out because even in my despair I could see the absurdity of my statement. “I just know...” I cried.

  “Come out here with me, Sophie. Let’s go talk in the living room,” she soothed trying to lift me off the floor. But I couldn't let her distract me until she understood.

  “I'm not crazy, mom. I'm really not. I actually know how crazy this sounds, but I'm telling you it's the truth. I know it's not possible, but somehow I felt him die tonight. I wasn't there, but I kind of was and I looked at him and he looked at me for one second before he closed his eyes and died. I was there, even though I know that's not possible,” I tried to explain.

  “Sophie, I need you to come talk to me. Now, Sophie.”

  Giving in like I always did with my mom, I let her help me off the floor until I pulled away and mumbled I needed to use the washroom. Looking at me, my mom relented slightly, but as she left the bathroom she did push the door wide open like she didn't trust me to have any privacy.

  Minutes later when I walked into my living room my mom and brother were sitting on my couch. I didn't know he was there, and I didn't even know what to say to him.

  “When did you get here?” I asked passing behind him on the couch.

  “A few minutes ago. What's going on, Soph? Mom told me about earlier with the paintings, but what happened tonight?”

  “I read his letter and it was beautiful,” I moaned. “He really does love me as much as I love him.”

  “What did it say?” My mom asked taking my hand.

  “Everything I've ever wanted to hear from Peter. He didn't leave me on purpose. He left me because he had to. He said loving me was the greatest gift he'd ever known and leaving me was the greatest sacrifice. He told me he didn't want to but had to, and I believe him. You can read it if you want,” I said standing to get the letter from my room.

  Walking, I was half numb and still shaking from the horrible dream earlier as I handed the letter over to my expectant mother, and my curious brother.

  Waiting as they read my beautiful letter side by side, I stood watching them understand my newest reality.

  Exhaling herself, my mom looked up at me and smiled. “It’s beautiful, Sophie. I'm glad he could at least explain that he couldn't explain why he left you. How do you feel about it?”

  “Relieved. I still miss him and love him, but at least I understand there's more going on than him just not wanting me, or not loving me like I loved him. It feels better somehow, but I still want him so much I feel horrible, too,” I added as she nodded her understanding.

  Steven didn't say a word to me about the letter. He just watched our exchange like he either had nothing to add, or maybe couldn't think of the right thing to add. But at least he stayed with me and listened to me.

  “What happened earlier?” Steven asked pulling me down onto the couch between them.

  “Um...” Suddenly, the reality of what I was going to say struck me as ridiculous. I felt like an idiot for believing what I believed, but I did still believe it. “I had a wonderful, loving dream about me and Peter, and then it changed into a nightmare and he was killed in front of me. I know it sounds crazy, but I really feel like he died tonight. I just feel it everywhere inside me,” I cried softly.

  “Can we google him?” Steven asked, and I was stunned. Cons
idering all the stalking, watching and waiting I'd participated in the last 8 months of my life, I couldn't believe I didn't just google him to see if...

  Jumping, I ran for my laptop in my dining room, until I returned seconds later and crashed down between my mom and brother on the couch.

  “I don't think... Would it be in the news yet? I'm... But it happened tonight-”

  “Just start with his name,” Steven pushed, so I did.

  Googling, all I had was Peter Connor- 32 years old. I typed his name, his birthdate, our city, his parents, everything I could think of until the information was too hard to distinguish.

  Every once in a while, my mom or brother would point to a site with specific Peter Connor looking news but just as often we'd find an article about a Connors living in Petersburg, or a Peter living in Connorsville, Indiana, etc. There were so many things to look at and read, but nothing seemed current, or relevant. Nothing seemed anything like Peter Connor, a 32 year old something, from somewhere, doing who knows what that we could find that sounded like my Peter.

  We read about a football captain named Peter Connor who scored the winning touchdown in Grade 12 at a local high school, but we couldn't see his face through the helmet to be sure. We read about a Peter Connor 23 who was in a bad car accident. We read about a Peter Connor arrested for burglary one town over, and even about a Peter Connor who died 5 years earlier from leukemia. It was endless, and sadly, completely pointless.

  We tried military records, and even the local police. We tried to find his name mentioned on the police force or in the service somewhere, but we came up empty, which almost seemed stranger when we thought about it.

  Everybody is on google at some point. Steven was mentioned because of a baseball tournament he was in, and my dad was mentioned because of the company he works for; there was even a photograph of my dad in the article. My mom wasn't mentioned anywhere which made her fake pout, but I was mentioned twice because of a college paper I won an award for, and even for my pottery which was an entry only three days old.