You'll Never Know

by Katie Cross

  “Ah, I thought about it all the time, it feels like. But I don’t really know the answer.”

  “Good! What did you find?”

  “To be honest? Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Well, if I have nothing to define me, who am I? I mean, how do you quantify or measure that? What am I supposed to picture without accomplishments or roles?”

  A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “An excellent question.”

  “What’s the answer?”

  Her head tilted to the side. “It’s not an answer I can give you. But for me, I find it’s most clear when I’m at my lowest.”

  Her reply muddled my brain even more, like a kid stepping into an already-murky puddle. Why would anything be clear in moments of anguish? I thought back to the night I’d embarrassed myself in front of Chris. No. There was nothing existentially clear or redeemable about myself then. Janine grabbed a pen from a nearby desk and wrote something on the legal pad that rested on her knees.

  “Keep thinking on that, Rachelle. Let me know if you make progress. In the meantime, I want to address something we didn’t dive into on the last visit. Something about Chris.”

  I shifted, shrinking back into the chair. My voice felt hoarse. “All right.”

  “You said you cared for him in a way that you’d never cared for any other man.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me more about your dating background.”

  Her request caught me off guard. What did that have to do with Chris?

  “Uh … okay. It can be summarized by saying that I’ve dated a lot of jerks. Chris was the first one that wasn’t.”

  “What do you mean by jerks?”

  I shrugged. “Losers. I mean, maybe they were just desperate like me. They were someone I could get, at least. That was hard enough.”

  “You mean get their attention?”

  “Or sex.”

  My mind trailed back to the plethora of gaming geeks, nerds, football players, tattoo obsessers, and other creeps I’d tried out in high school and early college. Something sticky filled my chest at the thought. No wonder they’d always been so eager to get their hands on my chest—I’d basically thrown it at them and acted like I liked it.

  “Did you date many of them?” Janine asked.

  “I slept with many of them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Her expression softened. “No, but it’s interesting that you say that. Care to elaborate?”

  No, I didn’t want to. This was another sticky place I hadn’t visited … maybe ever. The flood of heat that filled my chest startled me, but I pressed on.

  “I lost my virginity when I was fourteen.”

  “Quite young.”

  “By choice,” I said. “I wasn’t raped. It was a kid down the street. We were young and stupid, and I was willing and curious, so we did it in his backyard, behind a tree where his parents couldn’t see us.”

  “How does that make you feel now?”

  To my surprise, tears filled my eyes. I blinked them back. I had wanted to have sex with him. To see what all the fuss was about. To feel … special. It had been the first for both of us, and had left me a shattered wreck for a week afterwards. Just long enough to clear my head and go for it again when he came back the next week. Our stupid fling only lasted for a few months, but it had been enough to turn the tide. To show me how to get their attention, fat or not. And how to make it worth their while.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, voice husky. “I just … I was too young to know what I was really doing or how dangerous it was. I started my period at twelve, so I could have gotten pregnant.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “It makes me sad, I guess.”

  Her expression softened. “That’s a lot to take on for a girl that age. Do your parents know?”

  “Geez, no! Mom never asked me about that kind of stuff, and Dad left when I was five.”

  She marked something on her paper with a quick scratch. When she straightened, her gaze met mine.

  “There’s more at work here than you may think. Anytime you date people that you know don’t measure up or aren’t sincere, it’s because you subconsciously don’t want it to work out.”

  “I never went into a relationship hoping it would die,” I said, then silently added, Never thought it would work, either.

  “On the surface, likely not. But on a subconscious level, pursuing a relationship that’s doomed to fail is a safety mechanism. When—or if—they reject you, it’s not your fault. You’re off the hook. It has nothing to do with you. It’s all about them and their issues.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “We often don’t.”

  “I guess it makes sense. Whenever it didn’t work out, which was every single time, I didn’t really care that much. Beyond being bummed that I’d have to start the chase yet again.”

  “Self-sabotaging in that way and setting ourselves up to fail becomes a learned behavior. Think about your date with Chris, for example. You self-sabotaged there, didn’t you?”

  Hadn’t there been something inside me that felt no surprise? That was resigned—maybe relieved when he was out of the picture? Perfect, dateable Chris, who would have been a great boyfriend. Chris, who would never have accepted me and all the ghosts I brought with me.

  Dear heavens. She was right.

  “Oh. I did.”

  “Why? Why did you sabotage the guy that could have been a healthy relationship for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Say the first thing that comes to mind.”

  For several moments, I mentally cast about, as if groping through the darkness would make it clear. There were tendrils. Brief thoughts. But the moment I tried to grab them, they slipped away.

  “I-I don’t know. I guess because relationships don’t really work, so why even try?”

  She straightened up. “Why not?”

  “They never have. Except for Lexie and Bradley, but they’re kind of an exception. Bitsy’s divorced. Mira’s husband is dead. Megan went through so many men it’s not even funny. Then my parents were obvious failures…”

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  “They married. They fell apart. They divorced when I was five after Dad disappeared and never came back. Mom … never really left the house much after that.”

  Her pen scribbled on the legal pad yet again. I wondered if I’d ever get to see the notes.

  “What do you think it would take for you to have compassion for yourself?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would it be difficult for you to look back on all of those times when you dated jerks, when you reached out for attention through sex, when you broke that table with Chris, and forgive yourself for it?”

  Was that even possible?

  “I-I don’t know. I mean … I slept with guys that I hated. I let them touch me when it grossed me out. I sabotaged my chance with Chris because it’s like … it’s like I’m afraid to be happy.”

  Janine pursed her lips together. “Let’s take a slightly different tack here. Who is your best friend?”

  “Lexie.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “More than anyone. She’s always been there for me. Always.”

  Ferocity resounded in my voice. I felt it all the way to my bones.

  “Would you ever tell Lexie that she was disgusting?”

  “What? No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Lexie would never do what I did.”

  “Let’s pretend she did. Swap positions.” Janine leaned forward. “Close your eyes, and think about it. It’s not going to be comfortable, but it’s not supposed to be.”

  With great reluctance, I obeyed.

  “Okay.”

  “Imagine Lexie so desperate for attention that she’ll reach out to anyone who offers it in any form. Imagine her a lonely child. She’s lost without her father. Her mother is
a single mom. Imagine Lexie breaking a table because she’s desperate to impress the guy that she likes. Imagine her filled with disgust and hatred for herself afterward. What do you have to say to her?”

  My chest filled with something hot. It rose in my throat, blocking my voice. If Lexie had been so desperate? I’d put my arms around her. I’d love her with the same fierce and protective love I’d always had.

  “I … would tell her that I love her.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not her fault her parents messed up. And her cry for attention was just desperation. It was coping with cards she didn’t ask for. She…” My throat bobbed up and down. I swallowed back tears. “She was doing the best she could.”

  “Is it possible to feel compassion for Lexie? Even though she feels embarrassed and ashamed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, remove Lexie. Go back to that fourteen-year-old Rachelle so desperate for attention that she turns to the neighbor boy even when she hates it. The girl who feels she must do those things in order to be loved and special. Can you describe her to me?”

  Picturing myself at that age came easy. Jeans. Tank tops even though my arms had rolls. Long hair. Too much makeup. Constantly chewing gum and talking too loud, as if no one could hear me. Instead of obnoxious and larger than life, I just looked … lost.

  “I’m—or is it she?—is sad. Maybe confused. She keeps looking around, like she’s waiting for someone to show up.”

  “Can you see that fourteen-year-old Rachelle acted out of desperation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you wrap your arms around her in compassion and tell her that you love her?”

  Just thinking about it felt strange. Out of sorts. But in that tangle of awkwardness lurked a desire to do it.

  “I can try.”

  “Love that scared teenager, Rachelle. Because you are her. And no matter what you’ve done, you deserve love. No matter who you are, you deserve love. You have value just being. You deserved healthy, compassionate love, and you can give it to yourself now.”

  An eternity seemed to pass while I tried to imagine myself holding the frightened, vulnerable version of me. Memories rolled through my mind. The night after I gave my virginity away, I’d bled. I’d never known I would bleed. Terror had filled me. I’d cried for an hour, too scared to tell Mom. Instead, I’d called Lexie. Whispered what had happened. She reassured me. Googled it. Told me it was normal. I held onto that desperation, remembering how lonely it felt to be in that trailer. My hands tightened into fists. My eyes flew open. Janine watched me with a mixture of concern and compassion.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I said.

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  “I always thought it was.”

  “It was a cry for help from a little girl who desperately needed it. That’s what I want you to do for your homework this week. Think of all the times you hated yourself. Think of times when you felt you’d done something unforgivable. Then let it go. Forgive yourself.”

  A feeling of dubious uncertainty crawled over me. “I guess I can try.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Late that night, Lexie’s groggy voice answered the phone.

  “‘lo?”

  “Lexie?”

  “Chelle?” A note of panic awakened in her voice. “Everything okay?”

  A rustle moved in the background, as if she were climbing out of bed. I glanced at the alarm clock next to my bed. 12:34 a.m. I grimaced.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Nothing bad’s happened. Maybe I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry, I—”

  She yawned. I thought I heard a door close. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  “I, uh…”

  The words that had once been so clear suddenly thickened. I swallowed hard. The session with Janine that afternoon still lay heavy on my mind. Compassion. Forgiveness. Roles. False blame.

  Attempting to straighten it all out had just led to a sleepless, frantic night with no treadmill in sight. Without my injury, this would have been an eight-mile run kind of night. In desperation, I’d reached out to the person who’d always been there.

  “I wanted to call and thank you,” I said, swallowing hard.

  “Thank me?”

  “I just … I had to call. I had to.”

  Her voice was clearer this time, even though I could tell she was fighting off a yawn. “What’s going on?”

  “Thank you for being my friend.”

  She paused. “Rachelle, you aren’t dying or something, are you?”

  A long breath whooshed out of me. “No. It’s Janine, Bitsy’s therapist. And mine, now, I guess. I’ve only been to two full sessions now. I haven’t told you many details about it because … well, I guess I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

  “That’s all right. You gotta do this on your own terms. You told me at the meeting that you were seeing her.”

  “Yeah, but Lexie, we’re tight. We’re sisters. I always tell you everything. It’s been killing me to keep it from you. That’s … that’s why I had to call tonight. I had to tell you what we talked about today and thank you for all you’ve done for me. I need to just … I need to repeat what Janine told me. I think it will help. Can we do that?”

  “Heck yes we can. Tell me everything.”

  “It started when she asked about Chris.”

  For the next half hour, I relayed everything I could remember in a haphazard tangle. She interrupted only to ask a clarifying question or react to something. By the time I ran out of steam, a stunned silence filled the phone. I pressed the phone harder into the shell of my ear.

  “Lex?”

  “Goodness, Rachelle. I don’t know what to say.”

  I let out a long breath. That, in itself, was validating. “Me neither.”

  “That’s only been two sessions? Yikes. Can you imagine what it’ll be like when you’ve gone ten times?”

  “Some people do therapy for years.”

  She laughed. “I’ll probably end up being one of them. So, what is it?”

  “What is what?”

  “What’s going to be the hardest thing for you to forgive yourself for?”

  I knew the answer right away, even though I didn’t want to say it. A lot of water churned under this bridge.

  “Chris,” I whispered. “Messing up with that.”

  “What’s it going to take for you to forgive yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  “I mean, how do you feel now after talking about it? I’ve never thought of forgiving myself, and my mind is still reeling from that whole roles thing you brought up. I can’t imagine how you must feel right now.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel any different. Just more confused, I guess. I’ve been thinking a lot. That maybe if all of these things I did was just me trying to get attention and survive, then I guess this means that I’m not despicable? Is that a totally weird conclusion?”

  “No! Of course you aren’t despicable. Did you really think that?”

  “It seems so easy for you to know that, but it never was for me. I thought … I thought I was just … someone who didn’t deserve any better. But that wasn’t true. I was actually just scared.”

  “You just wanted to be special.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You are special, Rachelle. You are. I hope, through working with Janine, you’ll be able to see that. It’s so clear to me and Bitsy and Megan and Mira. Always has been. Maybe you’ll get to understand that too, eventually.”

  I didn’t. Not yet. But I felt one step closer. Like I’d advanced farther into the darkness, although the light in the distance seemed so dim and cold still.

  “Me too.”

  “I love you like crazy, Chelle.”

  “I love you too, Lex.”

  “Please keep calling me about this?” she said, a note of pleading in her voice. “Only when you want to, of course. When you’re ready. Being married to Bradley doesn’t cha
nge the fact that you and I are sisters. I’m here for you. You are special to me. And I will never let you stray too far away.”

  Tears clogged my voice. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “We’ll talk soon. I promise.”

  “If we didn’t, I’d hunt you down so fast…”

  After I hung up, the phone clattered back to my nightstand. I stared at the dark ceiling. A storm brewed outside, blowing the lilac bush into a tizzy. Light flickered under my door. Mom had stopped going to her room to sleep for the last week. She just camped on the couch now, propped up by pillows. The resonance of her deep snores often woke me up. I didn’t think she could sleep laying down now, with the weight of her body pressing on her.

  The distant sound of thunder mingled with the laugh track of a late-night comedian. I closed my eyes and slipped into a deep sleep.

  Mira picked me up the next morning with a broad smile, her eyelids lined with taxi-cab yellow eye shadow.

  “I’m back, sugar!” she cried.

  My crutches clattered against each other when I tugged them inside her car and balanced them between my knees. The scent of potpourri filled the car with a cloying smell. Mira grinned, her lips stained with pink lipstick.

  “I’m so glad!” I tugged the heavy Cadillac door shut. “It’s good to see you again. How’s your brother recovering from the surgery?”

  “He’s good. My sister-in-law can handle it all now that I got the house cleaned. Bitsy would have had a seizure if she’d seen the place. How’d things go at the bakery?”

  “Seemed fine.”

  Mira’s gaze tapered. “Did she push the lemonade on you?”

  I laughed. “Yes! It was disgusting.”

  “I know. All belted up? Let’s go!” Her tires shrieked as we peeled away from the curb. “She really needs to listen to me and stop trying to make it work. It’s like she’s serving concentrate, but she just can’t bring herself to water it down.”

  While we careened through the streets, I held onto the seat and braced myself at every turn. Mira chatted about a bad drive and her eagerness to get back to her shop again.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked when we stopped at a red light.

  “Sure, honey.”