Hell on Heels

by Anne Jolin

  Now mind you, not all lessons feel like a magnitude of suffering.

  Some are simple moments when you stand up, put on your adult shoes, do what you have to, and move on with your life.

  In the last eleven months, I think I learned what it meant to be in the business of collecting lessons. Before that, I only recognized the shit-end of life’s lessons stick. I’d become blind to the ways in which we could learn, or try to learn, from our mistakes. Instead, I ploughed through my mistakes like a bulldozer on a high school track. I just went around and around for a decade, pushing the same lessons to the side as I waded through my years on borrowed time.

  I think in a way I was blind.

  That’s easy to do, you know, get lost in the pattern and continue around the merry-go-round.

  I used to think it was the unknown that held such a possibility for damage. I was so frightened by the unknown that I never saw how truly brutal routine was.

  Have you ever ridden a carousel for an entire day? If you did, I bet you’d feel sick.

  Too much of anything would make you sick.

  My loss. My grief. My addiction.

  Those were my carousels, and they made me sick, but I’m getting better.

  I’m trying.

  “Charleston?”

  Drawing my gaze from the window, I smiled at Doctor Colby, where she sat in her chair.

  “I’m sorry.” I moved across the room and sat down across from her. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “I was saying we only have a few minutes left and there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, if that’s all right?”

  I nodded, folding my hands in my lap. “Sure.”

  She took her glasses off the bridge of her nose and hooked them into the top of her notepad.

  “You’ve been seeing me for some time now.”

  I thought about it. “Yes, almost ten years now, I think.”

  She leaned forward, twirling her pen in her right hand like she sometimes did.

  “In all those years, I’ve never seen you grow as much as you have in this past year,” she praised me, and I took it warmly.

  Doctor Colby knew me better than most.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “The work isn’t done.” She leaned over the table and held out her hand. I took it. “I’m not sure the work on ourselves every really ends.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  I knew keeping one’s head above water, especially with a personality like mine, would be somewhat of a continuous battle.

  “What I wanted to talk to you about is that I’m not sure you need me to do that anymore.”

  My lips parted. “What?” I whispered.

  “You’ve gotten so strong, Charleston, and I am so proud of you for that, but I think there’s one crutch you’ve been holding onto these past few months.” She sighed. “Me.”

  Panic bubbled in my throat a little. “I need our sessions.” I shook my head.

  Doctor Colby squeezed my hand.

  “That’s the thing, Charleston.” She smiled. “I don’t think you’ve needed them for awhile now. When you come, we discuss things, but you’ve already worked them out in your head without me.”

  I thought about it, and in a way, perhaps she was right. I sought validation from her now more than anything else.

  “I think that maybe it’s time, if you feel comfortable, to go without our sessions for a few months and see how that feels. Would you be open to trying that?”

  My response came surprisingly immediate. “Yeah.”

  “I do not want you to feel as though you can’t call if you need to.” She smiled. “My door is always open.”

  I squeezed her hand this time. “I know.”

  The sound of our hour ending filled the room and I felt a strange sense of calm knowing it was the last time I’d hear it for a while.

  I stood, as did she.

  She walked me to the door and enveloped me in one of our hugs. “I’m glad you found a way to make peace, Charleston.”

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  We held on for another second or two before she opened the door. “I wish you all the best.”

  “Same to you.”

  I walked out of her office, waved goodbye to Maureen, and took the stairs, on behalf of my behind, down to the lobby.

  It was late July, in fact, the last week, and a hot one at that, so I’d walked from work to my appointment. It was only a few blocks, and now I was walking to meet both Leighton and Kevin for lunch at the Cactus Club in Coal Harbour.

  It was a beautiful day to sit on the patio.

  The sun was shining, and the cool breeze off the water would make it bearable.

  My nude wedges kept me at a brisk but manageable pace as they took on the concrete, but my pace sped up when I saw them from across the street.

  They were standing outside by the Olympic torch that still remained from 2010, talking amicably about something. Though I wasn’t able to hear them, I could tell this by the way Kevin’s arms were flailing about and Leighton’s head consistently dropped backward in laugher.

  My people.

  They were so different.

  I loved that about them.

  As I approached them, I heard Kevin whine, “I’m not a full-fledged shopaholic.” He paused, considering this. “I’m more like a Diet Coke shopaholic.”

  “You’re insane is what you are.” Leighton was likely rolling her eyes behind her cat eye sunglasses, but I couldn’t see for sure.

  Then they saw me.

  “Char, you look fab!” Leighton looked at me over her sunglasses. “Where’s that dress from?”

  She pointed to the pale yellow dress I had on. It ended just above the knee and cinched at the waist in a way that enhanced my hourglass figure. The colour made my sun-kissed skin draw envy.

  “Banana Republic.” I kissed her cheek.

  “You got a call while you were out.” Kevin leaned in and kissed me while he spoke.

  I’d seen him just a little over an hour ago at the office.

  “Oh?” I asked. “Anything important?”

  “It was just VanDusen with our request for early setup time for the gala,” he said as we started to walk. “I had Tom handle it.”

  “Great, thanks.” I smiled, falling in stride with him.

  Leighton almost had to jog to keep up as we made our way to the hostess desk.

  “For three,” Leighton told the petite blond, and she nodded.

  We waited as they prepared a table.

  “Who are you two bringing to the gala this year?” My eyes travelled over them.

  They looked at each other.

  Something passed between them and they smiled.

  “What?” I threw my arms in the air.

  “Well, actually,” Leighton pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, “I’ve decided not to bring anyone this year.”

  My mouth opened only a bit in shock. “Really?”

  “I just don’t see the point in going with some guy I barely know.” She shrugged. “It’s a special day for you, and well, this year, I think I’d just rather go with you guys.”

  Kevin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m going stag too.”

  I was stunned.

  “You never go stag.” There was disbelief in my voice.

  He smiled. “We talked about it, and this year, we just want to enjoy ourselves. No dates,” he said.

  “No dates,” Leighton repeated after him.

  I smiled.

  “Well okay then.”

  We all laughed as the hostess sat us at our table.

  “So which of The Charleston Three will be in attendance this year?” Kevin waggled his eyebrows from over his menu.

  I laughed.

  “Actually,” I sipped the glass of water on the table, “I invited them all to the gala.”

  Leighton’s eyes went wide. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kevin looked impatient. “Why
?”

  I just smiled.

  Somehow, somewhere, sometime over the last year, being with these men had stopped feeling like a high and had started feeling like something that meant so much more.

  I was caring.

  I was risking.

  I was falling.

  And I liked it.

  There are often a million reasons we choose not to love someone, and nine times out of ten, that reason we cling to so tightly is because of us, not them.

  I had no more reasons.

  The Fifth Annual Halo Foundation Gala

  “Is the camera on?” Henry laughed.

  I zoomed in on his face.

  “Charlie, is it on?” He stuck his tongue out.

  I zoomed back out.

  “Yeah, it’s recording.”

  He leaned forward in the swing on our front porch. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. It’s me, Henry.”

  This time, I laughed.

  We were filming a video for Mom and Dad’s anniversary party next week.

  “Well, I guess, uh, Happy Anniversary.” He ran his hands through his mess of blond hair.

  He rarely cut it, now that he’d gotten older and started to grow a beard that wasn’t splotchy.

  “Tell them something nice, you doofus.” I threw the first thing I could grab at him, which happened to be an orange peel.

  “I would if you’d quit interrupting me.” He shook his head and put his elbows on his knees.

  His face grew more serious.

  “I know it hasn’t always been easy on ya both, on your marriage, with me and all, but I just wanted to say, thanks for never giving up on me.”

  I zoomed in.

  “Thanks for showing me and Charlie bear what it looks like to love and be loved.” He smiled into the camera. “It doesn’t get much better than that, you know? Being as loved as I am.” He looked to his lap and back up at the camera again. “If I could find someone to love as much as you love me, hell, I’d marry her on the spot.”

  I laughed and he tossed one of the swing pillows at me.

  “I almost dropped the camera!” I yelled at him.

  He laughed.

  Adjusting the lens, I zoomed back in on his face.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I love you, guys.”

  Henry smiled into the camera.

  “Are you done?” I asked, the camera still rolling.

  “Yeah, Charlie bear.” He smiled. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

  “We’re all set,” Tom said from beside me. “You ready, Char?”

  I nodded from my position behind the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great honour that I introduce to you the woman behind tonight’s gala and the founder of The Halo Foundation, Miss Charleston Smith,” Kevin announced.

  Tom cued me to enter, and I stepped through the center of the white curtains to the applause.

  The view from the stage was breathtaking.

  Kevin’s lights, Tina’s flowers, Emma’s pillars.

  The garden was wild in bloom, and all the guests in white stood out amongst the greenery.

  It was our greatest masterpiece yet.

  Walking to the podium, I smiled at Kevin. He looked so handsome tonight in white slacks, shirt, and bowtie. He grinned back at me.

  My dress was floor length white chiffon. It had an empire waist and draped off one shoulder. My hair was pulled high into a mess of curls held back by a three-tiered gold headband that matched the Roman style stilettos, which wrapped up to my knee.

  I was dressed to embody a Greek goddess, and I felt like one.

  Kevin welcomed me on behalf of the audience in a hug. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, kissing my cheek and leaving the stage.

  It was just me now.

  I took a steady breath, wrapping my fingers around the edges of the podium, and looked out over the crowd. “Good evening, everyone.”

  The inception of my speech began to subdue the applause, and I waited, like I’d been taught to do.

  Then, I started.

  “For the last five years, I have stood at this gala and told you all about my brother, and how he died.” The hush grew ever-present now and my fingers relaxed. “This year, I want to tell you of how he lived.”

  I found my parents in the crowd. Mom had already begun to cry, and Dad held her around the waist. They’d came, like I’d asked them to, and just as I knew they would.

  My parents loved me. They didn’t love me because they only had one child left to love. They loved me, because that’s what parents did. They loved their children, regardless of how life turned out.

  Tom cued the slideshow to run behind me as I began.

  “Henry was my best friend.” I smiled at Mom, knowing the photo of Henry holding me the day I was born was now showing behind me.

  “He was the kind of person who talked to strangers on planes, just because he wanted to get to know them.” I laughed, and Dad did too. “He was vivacious and funny.”

  The photo of Henry using chopsticks as fangs appeared on the screen behind me.

  “Henry wasn’t afraid of anything. He lived his life at full speed and it was a beautiful thing.”

  I knew now there was the photo of Henry doing the polar bear swim when he was twelve.

  “Henry was crazy about living.” I started to cry, but I wasn’t scared, not this time.

  I was ready to show this room of strangers how blessed I was to have been loved by someone like my big brother.

  “He was also crazy about me.” I had to stop as my breathing became ragged. “There were fewer things Henry loved in his life more than me, his baby sister four years his junior.”

  I paused again, my limbs trembling with unwept emotion, as I knew the last photo ever taken of us was now showing on the screen.

  “Henry beat up the bully who stole my lunch in the second grade. He built me a pillow fort on my tenth birthday, and he picked me up off the ground after my first broken heart.” My eyes fell to Dean and I smiled. He knew I’d forgiven him.

  “That was my big brother. He was charming and kind.” I found my parents again; they were both crying now. Leighton had her arms around both of them. “And I loved him more than anything else on this earth.”

  There was barely a whisper in the audience as I spoke.

  “That is why we are here tonight. We are here in honour of the memory of my brother, Henry Jon Smith, my angel with no halo and one wing in the fire, who lost the life he loved so much to his addiction.” I picked up the folded paper from the top of the podium.

  “So, tonight, I ask all of you to light one of these lanterns and help me say goodbye to Henry.” My hands shook as the tears continued to flow, but Kevin appeared at my side. He lit the fire and handed my lantern back to me. “Let us all take a moment to honour the lives we’ve lost to the battle of addiction.”

  I waited as the crowd lit their lanterns and a sea of images began to play on the screen behind me.

  Over the last few months, we asked those whom had lost loved ones to addiction to send us a photo, and we would honour them here, tonight.

  I’d asked my parents to prepare this part of the slideshow in hopes they too would be able to find a way to heal.

  “It’s time to let go now, Charlie bear,” Henry whispered in my mind.

  “I love you, Henry,” I said into the microphone. “Goodbye.”

  I lifted my lantern in the air and it began to float into the night sky.

  “I love you, Charlie bear. My heaven is here with you always.”

  I cried.

  I cried on this podium, on this stage, in front of hundreds of people, as I said goodbye to my brother.

  I let go.

  I was no longer the woman whose brother had died.

  I was no longer the woman whose first love had left her.

  Those were things that happened to me, but they didn’t belong to who I was.

  I, Charleston Smith, was a lot of things. I was messy.
I was sometimes poorly tempered. I was someone who believed you could still wear white after Labor Day. I was successful. I was someone who still thought a good horror movie could fix a bad day. I was a woman, and I was loved. The important thing was, I was not defined by any of those one things on their own. I was defined by the collective whole of the things I believed in.

  I was no longer the woman who needed saving.

  I was by no means healed in completion, but I was a woman willing to save herself.

  I was a woman who believed she deserved to give herself her best shot at life.

  Looking up, I watched as the sky filled with white lanterns. I watched as hundreds of people said goodbye.

  It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  My eyes moved over the crowd and I marveled at the three men I’d invited here tonight.

  Beau.

  Maverick.

  Dean.

  They were in such stark contrast to one another. Light, dark, and somewhere in between. Sometimes, I wondered if their reflection wasn’t an exact duality of Heaven and Hell. Angels and demons. The sinner hired to protect the saint. My three perfectly rounded out by a mortal man whose sins hardly made him a saint, but whose heart did not plague him a sinner.

  How could I ever choose?

  The smaller part of me, still broken and naïve, wanted to never choose, wanted to love each of them, but the larger part of me that had begun to heal knew now that there was only one.

  As I admired them all one last time, the saint, the sinner, and the mortal, I imagined the woman I’d be with each of them.

  She would be great, because I was great, but I had chosen.

  The gambler in me was finally ready to double down on my heart.

  As we rounded the completion of the lantern ceremony, I found it was ironic where life takes us. The things that break us eventually make us whole again.

  I watched the waiter approach him, delivering the note I’d written earlier today. It asked him to meet me under the canopy after the speech.

  Where I would tell him I had chosen him.

  I was healing—not healed, but healing—and I was ready to share that, with him.