Someone Like Me

by Unknown

  “I am not the reason you didn’t have those five years, Michael,” I say as I slowly stand up.

  “But you had a role in taking them away. The woman that I just asked to marry me played a role in my brother’s death. You’re acting like I’m supposed to be okay with this. Like I’m just supposed to pretend that I forgive you. Tell me, how am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that we can get through this.”

  His eyes rest on me, and for a split second I feel hope creeping back into the room.

  “Tell me something, Mýa. Would you have ever told me?” he asks. We stand in the center of his bedroom, our bodies tired and weary even as our hearts continue to beat out of control.

  “Yes. I was planning on telling you soon. I swear.”

  He reaches out and touches the side of my chin and I grab his hand to bring it to my lips, kissing it as he stares at me. Begging him with my tears.

  “I’m not sure I can get past this, Mýa. I don’t know if I can—”

  “Forgive me?”

  “Yes.” He leans over and places his lips on mine, and I pray that he can feel every ounce of love that I have for him in them. But then he abruptly pulls away and steps back. “I think you should go home.”

  My heart stutters around a beat. It knows that I have lost. It knows that I have lost the fight. “I’ll call Jack to come and pick me up,” I whisper.

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  We pull up to my apartment and I reluctantly take the ring off. “Here.”

  “You keep it.”

  “I only want to keep it if we’re going to be together, Michael.”

  “I can’t promise that right now. Maybe not ever.”

  “Michael—”

  “I’m sorry, Mýa. It may not be right, but I can’t help the way I’m feeling right now. I need to leave, and in order to do that, I need you to get out of my car. Please.”

  I place the ring on his dashboard and then get out of the car.

  The worst part about watching him leave is knowing that my heart will always be on Love Lane when it comes to him, but that the two of us would no longer enjoy the ride together.

  Tonight is the first night where every page that I write in my journal is filled with tears.

  Chapter Forty-five

  I sit on Jack and Mary’s steps, staring at their door while I debate if I should go in or not. I know they are on the other side, waiting for me to tell them how wonderfully everything went last night. And it had been wonderful—right up to the ugly part.

  Then it got really ugly.

  Ten minutes go by before Jack opens the door. “Hey, kid, what are you—” He stops when he sees my red and swollen eyes, then sits next to me and takes my hand. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  All I can do is nod.

  “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  “What happened?” Mary asks as Jack closes the door and she gets a good look at me.

  “Give her a minute,” Jack says as we head to the living room.

  “I’ll go put on some tea. Whatever it is, Mýa, you’re going to get through it.” Mary places a kiss on my forehead, and my tears begin to fall all over again. Jack and I take a seat on the sofa and wait for Mary to come back into the room. “Tell us what happened while the water is getting hot,” she says, easing down into her chair.

  I wipe the tears away and start from the joyful beginning, then start to bawl even harder as I get to the end.

  “Wow,” Jack says as he leans into the sofa and rubs his eyes.

  “That’s an understatement. I mean, one moment I was cruising down Love Lane, then I was flying down it and making a good right-hand turn on Marriage Lane. And then last night I found myself stalled on Alone Lane.”

  Mary tries and fails not to laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard it put that way.”

  “You’re right. It sounds ridiculous,” I say with a loud sigh. “This is a mess.”

  Mary stands up. “It’s not ridiculous. I’m sorry that I laughed.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll go and check on the tea.”

  “Do you have some aspirin? I think I’d rather have just that,” I say as I lean back and stare at the ceiling, my brain still trying to process it all.

  “Sure, dear. I’ll get the aspirin and a cup of water.”

  Jack places my hand in his again. “You’re going to be all right, kid. I promise.”

  “How, Jack? How am I going to be all right? You weren’t there. You didn’t see the look on his face, the disappointment, the anger and—dare I say—even a little hatred in his eyes.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, just the situation.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mýa.”

  I stand up. “Don’t tell me that I have to keep going. Don’t tell me that I can’t let this stop me or get me down. Right now, that’s all I want. I want to be down. I want to be a mess, and I don’t want to pretend like I can get through this without him.” I pause and wipe away the tears that threaten to stain my white blouse. “I don’t want to lose Michael, but I know that I already have.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Yes,” I say, deflated and feeling like this situation has sucked every ounce of life out of me. And in a sense, it has.

  Jack stands up as well. “I was going to tell you to give Michael time. He’s not going to come around overnight.”

  “How much time? Aren’t I worth forgiving?”

  “Forgiveness is not easy—you should know that. We both knew from the start that Michael wasn’t going to start singing ‘Happy Days’ when he found out.”

  Mary comes back carrying aspirin and a bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” I say just as the doorbell rings. I almost fall as I run to the door, wrenching it open and not even registering who’s there before I sigh, “Michael.”

  “Nope, I’m sorry. It’s just me,” David says.

  “Sorry. Come in.”

  David walks into the front room and shakes hands with Jack and Mary.

  “He told you?” I ask.

  “He did.”

  “Of course. How is he?”

  “He looks as bad as you do.”

  “I told her that Michael just needs some time,” Jack says.

  “And I’m not sure time can heal this one,” I say, feeling hopeless.

  David sighs as he holds out the black velvet box. “He wants you to keep it. He insists.”

  “Maybe that’s a good sign,” I say, clinging to the spark of hope that the box inspires.

  David runs his free hand through his hair. “He wants you to keep it because he said he doesn’t want anything that reminds him of you.”

  “I see. I think I need to sit. I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it already has, but this takes it to a whole new level.”

  David hands the black velvet box to Mary. “I’m sorry, Mýa. For the record, I don’t feel that he should blame you for Daniel’s death, just like I don’t blame Michelle for the death of our son. They were both situations that resulted in tragedy, and all of it was beyond your control. From what I read in your letter—”

  “He let you read that?” I ask, looking up at him from the sofa.

  “He did. I’m sorry. I know it was personal.”

  “It’s okay. Of course Michael let you read it; you’re his best friend.”

  David clears his throat. “From what Michael told me last night, the only person to blame here is Zee. He wanted to rob that store so he could get back at Mr. Johnson for firing him. Zee had that gun, and he intended to use it. There wasn’t anything you could have done to stop that.”

  “That’s what I’ve been
trying to tell her for the past four years,” Jack says. I shoot Jack a look that begs him to stop talking and he immediately adds, “Sorry, Mýa, but it’s true.”

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Mary asks David.

  “I wish I could. It smells amazing, but I need to get going. Hang in there, Mýa. I’m on your side.”

  Jack walks David to the door as I sit and stare at the box in Mary’s hand. A strong part of me wants to snatch it out of her hand and fling it across the room.

  She must sense that, because Mary puts it down on the sofa and leaves the room.

  Chapter Forty-six

  I walk into Jack’s at five in the morning, hoping no one will notice the bags that are beginning to make a home under my eyes.

  “That’s two nights in a row with no sleep, kid. You can’t continue this way,” Jack says as he places a bag of green peppers and some white onions on the counter. “You want an omelet? I can make you one real quick.”

  I shake my head as I plop down.

  “Well, I’m going to make both of us one anyway.”

  I don’t respond as I stare at my coffee cup. I know Jack wants me to go home; he beats a few eggs like they’ve personally wronged him. But I’m glad he doesn’t try to force the issue. I need to be here. I need to be in a place where people love me instead of being at home, staring at a spider that couldn’t care less about what I’m going through.

  Mary walks in and squeezes my shoulder before making her way to the refrigerator to grab the flowers for the tables.

  Maybe you should have stayed home with the spider.

  I stand up and put on my apron and name tag.

  “Why don’t you come and help me put the flowers on the table,” she says, rolling the cart filled with flowers in front of me.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll bring the omelets out once they’re ready!” Jack shouts as Mary and I head up front.

  “You know what you need right now?”

  “A very stiff martini?” I say with a sigh as I grab a few flowers and begin inserting them in the vases.

  She takes a seat at one of the tables. “Sit.”

  I walk over slowly and slide into a chair.

  “Didn’t you tell me that you and your mother used to cook and that you loved it?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, start cooking, and I don’t mean with me for our Sunday dinners. Get some cookbooks and start doing something that makes you feel good.”

  “That would require me having food in my refrigerator. Which I don’t.”

  She laughs. “Well, buy some.”

  “I could do that,” I say as Jack walks over with the omelets that he insisted on making.

  “I don’t get one?” Mary asks.

  He places his omelet in front of her and then turns around and walks back into the kitchen.

  “I think I’m going to write him a letter.”

  Mary doesn’t need me to explain who I’m talking about. She simply says, “From what David said, it sounded like you already tried that.”

  “I know, but I feel like I have some things that I need to say, and since he won’t take my calls—” She looks at me sternly, so I add, “Yes, I’ve tried to call him. Multiple times.”

  “I guess I would be shocked if you hadn’t.” She takes a bite of her omelet, and I follow suit. “Okay, get the cookbooks and write Michael the letter.”

  “Man, this is good,” I say as the silence rests between us like an uninvited guest.

  “Yeah, mine is very good,” Mary says, taking another enthusiastic bite.

  “That’s because you’re eating Jack’s.”

  “Exactly,” she says with a sly smile. Then, her expression shifts and she’s looking me over with genuine curiosity. “Are you still journaling?”

  I place my fork down. “I am. The last few pages are soaked in tears, but the words are there.”

  “My journal is like my best friend. But don’t ever tell Jack that I said that. I’ll deny it.”

  I chuckle, even though there are tears behind my eyes. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Another week. Another evening that seems to pass by at a turtle’s pace. The only thing that makes this night tolerable is sitting on my new sofa, flipping through a cookbook I picked up at the library. I’m still waiting for my chair to arrive, but the sofa came this afternoon just as I pulled up to my apartment building.

  I stop scanning the cookbook and stare at the piece of paper and pen that sits beside me with only two words written on it. Forgive me.

  Still no calls from Michael.

  My stomach growls, so I pick my cookbook back up. Finally, I settle on a creamy garlic Alfredo sauce with bow tie pasta and pan-seared chicken breasts seasoned with rosemary.

  It’s weird opening my refrigerator and finding food in it. Real food.

  I pull out the chicken breasts and begin flattening them out. My phone rings, causing my heart to jump at the thought that it could be Michael. Please let it be him.

  “Hello,” I say softly.

  “Is this Mýa Day?”

  “It is.”

  “This is Jazzmyne Mitchell.” I almost drop the phone. When I take too long to respond, she adds, “Mýa, you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I say, willing my hand to stay steady and my heart to return to a normal pace.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, I was just cooking dinner.”

  “For that overly zealous boyfriend of yours.”

  I wish. “No, just for me.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that it’s taken me some time to call you, but I was wondering if you could come and see me tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you about performing at my place.”

  “I work during the day, so it would have to be after I get off.”

  “Sure, no problem. What’s a good time for you? I’ll be here all day.”

  “I work both shifts tomorrow, so how about six?”

  “That sounds perfect. I should be able to get away then since my assistant usually gets here around four.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  As I place the phone back on the hook, I can’t help but let out a little scream of joy. I immediately begin to dial Michael’s number after I get myself together, but then I remember our reality. Just like that, the air inside my balloon of joy slowly fizzles out.

  Five minutes and a hundred tears later, I call Jack and Mary.

  “Hey, kid. What time is it?”

  I glance down at my watch. “It’s a little after nine. Mary already asleep?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

  When you work in a pancake house, getting to bed by eight becomes standard practice. However, after four years, I still haven’t adopted the habit. Young and dumb, as Jack would say.

  “What’s on your mind? Did Michael call or something?”

  “No, but I have some good news.”

  “Good, I could use a little of that to help me get back to sleep.”

  “Sorry, Jack.”

  “No worries. Tell me the good news. Sleep is overrated.”

  “I got a call from that new jazz restaurant you told me about. They want to hire me.”

  “Congratulations, that is excellent news.”

  “It feels good to have someone that I can share my news with.”

  “Well, let me wake Mary up so you will have two people. You know she will want to say congratulations.”

  I hold while I hear him waking up Mary and telling her what I’d shared with him.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Mary says. “When do you go see her to get all the details?”

  “Tomorrow, after I get off work.”

  “Aren’t you scheduled to work both
shifts?” she asks.

  “I am, but I told her that I can’t come until six.”

  Jack takes the phone from her. “We can get someone to cover the second shift for you. I want you to have enough time to change out of your uniform and make it over there. You know how bad traffic can be.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday, Jack, not a workday. I’ll make it with no problem. I’ll leave by four, get home by four-thirty, and head back out by five.”

  “Sounds tight.”

  “It will work; don’t worry.”

  “Okay, kid. I’m going to close my eyes again, but we’ll chat more in the morning,” Jack says with a yawn. “I’m happy for you.”

  “I am, too. I really am.”

  “You wanted to call Michael and tell him, didn’t you?”

  “I started dialing his number, but didn’t go through with the actual call.”

  “You know what they say about letting a person go so they—”

  “Can come back to you. Yeah, I’ve heard that. You know what’s wrong with that saying, Jack?”

  “What?”

  “They never say how hard the letting go is.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  I walk in the door of my apartment at five o’clock. I regret working both shifts, but I’ll never tell Jack that. Of course, today of all days, we had to be packed. As in, every seat and a waiting list—packed. I jump in the shower, then frantically search my closet for anything that doesn’t require ironing. I settle on the black dress with gold buttons and struggle to put it on while fighting back tears.

  For a split second, I seriously consider taking everything off, finding a good Nina Simone song, and drowning myself in a glass of wine. But the thought of Jack’s reaction if I have to tell him that I didn’t make it tonight is enough to push me out of the house around five thirty.

  Thankfully, traffic isn’t bad. I reach Jazzmyne’s, park, and make it inside with less than five minutes to spare. I spot Jazzmyne standing by the bar and she quickly waves me over.