Chapter Seven
April washed away the last of the March snow when my resume was turned down for the seventeenth time. I applied everywhere I could think of and wondered why I spent so much time and money in college for a degree that couldn’t guarantee me a job to pay off the loans.
Ella tapped my shoulder as I drove over the bridge from Jersey to Philly. We spent the morning watching the sunrise on the ocean. Ella loved to drive to the beach for no reason. She called me at 3am and said, “Let’s go.” So I went. It happened five times since the day we met. She loved it and so did I.
She propped her feet up on the dashboard. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” I said. Instinct. “I mean, I don’t know. I get spaced out with these windshield wipers. I was just thinking about money. School. Lack of jobs. We just bought a house and I have a savings account that is vanishing by the second. I need to find something quick.”
“You will. And so will I.” She looked over the bridge at the waves. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone.”
“About the accident?”
“How’d you know?”
“Figured you’d be thinking about it. You always bring it up when we cross this bridge, but my question is ... if you can now play violin again, what’s the big deal? Plus, if you wouldn’t have missed that flight who knows if we would’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, but there’s something I don’t tell anyone. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me or thinking I’m a horrible person.”
“I can relate.”
“I know, which is why I am going to tell you something if you promise to let me read the second letter when we get there.”
“Deal.”
She led me down random roads by pointing and repeating, “Oh, oh. I think it was that road back there. Sorry.” When you’re used to driving solo your entire life it gets weird when you share the road with another person. You see things you never saw before when you drive down the same tired roads. Suddenly things look new and different. That’s the beauty of letting someone else drive. You look at life instead of road signs. So I didn’t mind her sloppy directions. I enjoyed seeing her live.
We pulled into a graveyard. She got out of the car, rain boots hitting the rocky path. I loved the sound of shoes on gravel. I crunched my way over to her and put an umbrella over us. She led me down a hill and to a tree, where a lonely gravestone sat, although the teddy bears and flowers probably kept it company.
I read the name. Didn’t ring a bell. Ella knelt down and kissed the earth. “I’m so sorry, Parker.”
She pulled me down to sit with her, beside the etched stone.
“This is Parker,” she said. “And he would be 13 years old today if I hadn’t killed him.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It was an accident.”
“It wasn’t, Gavin.” She pulled a letter from her purse and placed it on the stone. “I’m not the only weirdo who carries letters.” She smiled, moving the letter to a teddy bear’s arms. “I’ve come to terms with it, but it’s true. If I would’ve been paying attention and not speeding, I wouldn’t have crossed the line. We can say it’s an accident all we want, but it was something I could’ve easily prevented.”
Rain pelted the top of the umbrella above our heads. She stared at the stone as I reached into my pocket and slid the envelope onto my lap. “This one is hard for me to read again.”
She turned. “I love you.”
I handed her the letter and watched her unfold the college-ruled paper between us. Rain dropped off the umbrella, wetting my shaking hand as she started to read.
Dearest Gavin,
My dear boy, please know that I understand why you can’t see me or talk to me right now. I don’t take it personal and I will die knowing that you loved me too much to say goodbye, but you’re avoidance of reality isn’t going to change reality. I’m dying. One day you’ll need to start accepting reality instead of trying to paint it into something fantastical. Sometimes life is fantastical, and other times you have to find fantastic inside of the boring parts and yes, even the pain.
If you can’t learn to find joy regardless of your circumstances, you won’t keep joy. You’ve gotta find it in the things that don’t change, the things that live inside of you.
Heck, I’m old and my hand hurts. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I do know this: you will find her one day and when you do you will have to stop hiding. I hope that by the time you find her you learn this. It’s better to walk right up and hug pain because you love a person, then to run from it and never truly love.
I am still here, hanging on. I had to write this letter over three days, but I needed it to be my own hand writing it, not someone else’s. They are amazed here at how much I can still think and do so close to my death. So weird, Gavin, to come face-to-face with death like this. Sometimes I sit here by myself and just stare at it. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
Still hoping for you to walk through that door any minute. I don’t think I can hang on too much longer.
Pop
Silence enfolded us as we drove home. No music. No cell phones. No conversation. Just wipers screeching, rain tapping the car roof, and thunder rolling through the treetops as headlights swished by.
“You know what?” Ella said as we walked inside the house.
“What?” I shut the door and sat down on the couch.
“I learned something today.”
“Enlighten me.”
She sat down beside me, passion in her voice. “Sarah and I once talked about this, and I understand it a little more right now. Every day we’re given a choice. To live or to die. I think it’s a choice in everything. It’s always about life or death. I can choose to love or choose to hate. Love is life, and hate is death.”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on a second.” I straightened my posture. “I didn’t study philosophy in school.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you know what I’m saying.”
I slapped her thigh with the back of my hand. “Go on. I’m sorry.”
“So there’s this choice. I was looking at his grave tonight, wondering why I couldn’t move on. I realized why. Because I let Parker die. Do you see what I’m saying? If he lives on in my thoughts and memories, if I live for him, then it’s like a part of him is still alive. I can keep him alive.”
“I remember saying that to Heidi.”
“And same with your grandfather. Only, I think sometimes we need to be the one to die. Like Matt with Lydia. Like all of us, really. We have to kill our own fears in order to find a way to love others.”
Her face glowed, like she had unearthed a hidden treasure worth more than anything in the world.
“What happens when it’s your own fear that kills you?” I said. “And then you’re just dead, waiting for something to bring you back to life, but even the most beautiful thing in the world, the thing you thought you always wanted, doesn’t resurrect you? What if you’re just a mess underneath it all? So much that if you were an open book like so many pride themselves on being, people would stop reading after two seconds.”
Her hand warmed the back of my neck. “I will never stop reading this story. Remember something, Gavin. This isn’t your book anymore. It’s ours.”
Chapter Eight
Maybe it was wrong, but I couldn't help it. Not like anyone else should've been reading her letter anyway. And if they were curious, they would've picked it up and read it. There's no doubt about it. But I couldn't bring myself to open it. So I stuffed it in my pocket along with the unopened one from Pop.
My phone vibrated in my other pocket. I took it out and hit the button. "Hey, Matt. How's married life?"
"It's better and the same all at once." Wind distorted his voice. "Hey, I'm on my way to Heidi's house. Her baby had to go in for some kind of tests and Patrick says she's a mess."
"What happened? Is it serious?"
"He didn't say. Something to do with x-rays and amputation."<
br />
"Oh." I didn't pretend that it made sense to me. "What do you need me to do?"
"Patrick invited a few of us over tonight just to lift her spirits a little. Want to come?"
"I guess. Nothing better to do except count my dwindling savings account."
"Still no job?"
"Nothing."
"Where's Ella?"
"She's with Sarah. I'll ask her if they want to come too."
"You guys still living separately?"
"Yep."
"Why won't she just move in? The wedding is only a few months away."
“It’s a year away. She wants it to be old-fashioned. She's obsessed with the regency era and everything up until about 1930. She thinks it all went downhill after that."
"And you agree?"
"Not really."
"So why do you go along with it?"
"Why do you think?"
"Alright. Well, see ya in a few then?"
"Yeah. I'll leave now."
I called Ella. Sarah said she'd love to come and Ella, of course, agreed. Nothing she enjoyed more than loving on people who needed it. By the time I parked outside Ella and Sarah were knocking on the door.
I turned off the car and walked to the porch. Ella wrapped her arms around my neck and stood on her toes. I loved when she did that.
"Alright you two," Sarah said. "I want a hug too. It's been months since I've seen you, Gavin."
"I know. How've you been? Obviously photography does much better than painting right now. I saw your website. Looks great."
"Thank you. I've been trying to focus more on engagement and wedding photography."
"Yeah," Ella said. "When will you be engaged? I still can't believe you won't bring James around for us to meet him."
"Actually, he's coming tonight. I was supposed to meet him after we finished looking at bridesmaids dresses, but since I'm here I thought he could be too."
"Interesting." Ella smiled and rubbed her hands together. Such a mischievous little Cupid. She loved relationships. I sometimes wondered why she didn't become a wedding planner. Would've been an ideal job for her.
My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. When I went to ignore the call I accidentally picked up. I motioned for Ella and Sarah to go in while I took the call.
"Gavin?" The voice said. "Is that you?"
I tried to register the man's voice. Brain cells pulled up blank cards. "Who is this?"
"Please don't hang up."
"What is your name?"
"This is yo—I mean, this is Harold K-K-Kessler. Please do—“
I hung up and immediately accessed my cellular account via my iPhone to block his number. Call me unforgiving and cold all you want, but until you go through something like that yourself you can't judge my actions. That's the thing with life, isn't it? We spend our days judging everyone else when we don't know the entire story. And someone else is probably judging us just the same. I walked into Heidi's house with Eminem's Beautiful song playing in my head. I never liked rap. Growing up I was into grunge and lately I'd been on a jazz kick. No idea why. Maybe from the Cosby reruns I watched. Rap and I weren't friends, save the occasional Tupac. Eminem never made sense to me, until he wrote Beautiful. It's almost like he climbed inside my head when he wrote that.
I sat next to Ella. Yes, on the floor against the wall. Patrick, Heidi, and her baby were on the love-seat. Patrick held the baby. Matt, Lydia, and Sarah sat on the other couch.
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it." Sarah jumped.
"What's the baby's name?" I whispered to Ella.
"Riley."
"And what's the deal with Heidi and Patrick? Are they together now?"
"They say they aren't, but I think the only people they are fooling are themselves."
Sarah cut in and I forgot what I wanted to say. She introduced her boyfriend, James. Ella and I stood and shook his hand and his little sister's hand.
"And what's your name?" Ella said to the young girl.
"Abigail," she said. "But they can call me Abby, right Daddy?"
"Of course," he said.
I looked at Ella. Eyebrows raised, she tried her best to hide her feelings, but whether she wanted them on her face or not they were there.
I pulled Ella away. Sarah could thank me later. In the kitchen, I held her hand and kissed it. "I know this is not what you wanted for Sarah, but if it's what she wants you need to let it happen. She probably hid this from you for so long knowing that you'd react this way."
Ella's eyes darted around the kitchen. "I can't believe this."
"Everyone's love story has it's own words, it's own feel. You can't write every single story the same way. Life would be boring that way."
"Okay." She wiggled her fingers and exhaled. "Why does this bother me so much?"
"Maybe you aren't settled enough in your own decisions?"
"What is that supposed to mean, Gavin? You know how I feel about you."
"I know. Trust me, I know that. I just mean . . . sometimes we fear other people making decisions we wouldn't make because it blows wind on our dreams. If our dreams are shaky, the wind blows it over. If our dreams are solid, the wind can turn into a tornado and it wouldn't matter."
"What do you think I'm dreaming about that isn't solid?"
"All I'm saying is maybe you need to worry about making your own dreams solid and if some wind blows this way you won't have to defend yourself or offend others. You can just live your own life and be content."
"I can't think clearly right now to know if what you're saying makes any sense at all, but one thing I do know is that I'm not upset because of wind blowing on my dreams. I'm upset because my dream came true and my best friend is settling."
Patrick walked in. "Hey, when's the big day for you guys?"
Ella faked a smile as I pulled her into me. Her shoulder fit right underneath my arm. Perfect.
"It's in the beginning of December. We wanted a simple winter wedding. Nothing elaborate."
"Nothing like Matt and Lydia's?"
"No. Not at all. They started out trying to go the simple route, but never quite made it. We are inviting less than fifty people. Light reception after, no sit-down meals. Anyway, how's Heidi and Riley? I don't understand what happened."
Patrick lifted a glass from the cabinet behind us. "You guys want something to drink?"
"No, thanks."
"Riley has fibular hemimelia. Basically one of the bones in her leg didn't form right in the womb, and now one leg is shorter than the other."
“What was upsetting Heidi today?"
"She was given two choices today. One, they amputate Riley's leg and treat her with prosthetics."
Ella perked up. "Wow. I didn't realize."
"Or two, they correct the bone and over time Riley would need approximately five lengthening surgeries. They attach a thing to her leg and we would have to turn the pins each day to lengthen the bone. Her case is considered a severe difference in lengths. Most people in our shoes amputate."
I couldn't help but notice his use of "we" as he referred to Heidi and himself. I have no doubt Ella noticed too.
"What's Heidi going to do, then?" Ella said.
"She wants to lengthen and if Riley decides on her own at some point to amputate then she will support it."
I shook my head. "What a hard decision."
Ella pretended to be happy for Sarah the rest of the night. Even played tic-tac-toe with Abby. I knew as soon as we got into the car she'd explode, but we drove off and she didn’t speak. We got home, made small talk, grabbed a can of paint and some brushes, and started painting our soon-to-be bedroom an antique green.
"I think you're right." She looked at her engagement ring, making sure it didn’t have paint on it. "But I think you need to start taking advice, too."
I nodded. Harold's voice hurting my head. What advice would I give myself if I weren't me?
"Gavin."
I am not the crying type. I don't t
ake pride in it either. I'm not a macho man. My tears dried up when I was in elementary school and they only returned for two brief moments. One, when I saw Ella on the news and realized she was waiting for me too. And two, when I received the last letter from Pop four days after he died.
My well dried up. Maybe that's why no one could pull any water out. I had nothing left. And I'd give anything to cry again. Really cry. Get this feeling out of me and wash it away in the bathtub.
"Are you okay?" Ella reached for my shoulder. “You seem out of it.”
"Harold Kessler called."
"And?"
"I hung up on him."
My iPod shuffled. I turned up the music. Fleetwood Mac. The Chain. We listened. That would be normal, except that Ella and I never listened to that song. We always sang when it came on.
I turned it down. "What are you thinking?"
She hesitated.
"What advice would you give me?"
"I don't know anymore. We aren't even married yet and everything around us is falling apart. It's making me doubt everything I once believed."
"What are you doubting?"
"My own definition of love. Do soul-mates exist? And if they do, do you remarry when they die? What about people who abuse you or leave you? Do you let them back into your heart? This relationship between you and me. What is it? What are we?” She inhaled. Bit her lip. "What is love, Gavin?"
Chapter Nine
We allowed Ella's question to hover in the air between us for weeks. Neither of us knew the answer. Or at least knew how to answer it. Instead, we occupied ourselves with a new business venture. All the credit goes to Ella. My little business woman. We decided to call it “Studio K.” I didn’t like the name. At all. But she insisted. We’d teach ages one to twelve how to paint, draw, mold, sculpt, build, and also offer piano, guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, flute, and voice lessons. Yes, between the two of us we knew how to do every one of those things.
According to the organization queen, we’d start out with lessons in our basement since it had a separate entrance and good setup for sound and mess. Then we’d move to a studio in the city after we saved enough money. Not in a million years did I imagine this working out, but I humored her. I loved her excitement. In the few short months that I spent with her I could already see her intense drive to devote herself one-hundred percent to something or not at all. I loved seeing her put herself into these things, but it worried me a little. I saw that personality get burned out more times than I can count. Sitting on the sidelines of life gives you a lot of time to think about what you don’t want to do if you ever decide to play. And spending life as a pendulum wasn’t something I wanted to do. Any second those pendulums could fly right off into some oblivion. Balance, when savored with passion, can do a soul good.
Down from the Clouds (The Unspoken Series) Page 5