EVOL

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  “Fuck off,” I tell her and walk to my room and into my closet. In it lies some of my most treasured items. Vintage dresses, boots that have lasted longer than any of my relationships, and the idea that on any given day, I could be whomever I wanted to be.

  Sabrina walks in behind me and starts shifting hangers aside to see what possibilities lie here for her.

  “What are you trying to go do?” I mumble as my mind starts swirling with ideas of who I might be tonight.

  “Anything that involves alcohol.”

  I pause my perusing and stare at her.

  “Seriously? You just told me to slow down.”

  Houndstooth patterned slacks in hand, she turns to me.

  “Yeah, because I don’t want to deal with sad drunk you. You’ll keep drinking, he’ll keep calling, and I’ll be bored as shit. If we stay here, that’s exactly what’ll happen.” She puts the pants back, probably realizing they’re cigarette length on me which would make their length laughable on her. “If we go out, I can at least pawn you off on someone else.”

  I throw one of my hoodies at her.

  “I’m kidding, jeez. Calm your liver.” She picks up the hoodie and sets it on top of a stack of shoe boxes.

  “We both know you aren’t going to find anything to wear,” I tell her while I pull out a pair of olive skinny jeans.

  Now to figure out which top . . .

  “Fuck it. I’m going home.”

  She storms out of the closet and I just shake my head, walking out after her.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, so don’t even think about feeling sorry for yourself.” She yanks her jacket from the counter and hurries out, slamming the door behind her.

  In her absence, the sudden loneliness makes me shiver.

  Being alone hadn’t been an issue before.

  But it felt like I needed someone these days. To be a buffer; to keep from letting my sorrow act as an anchor.

  Before I can let my feelings take over, I head back into the closet and pull out a pair of thick heeled black boots and a black cropped turtle neck.

  There isn’t much time to do much of anything if Sabrina is true to her time estimation. And she typically is.

  I turn on the shower and start stripping my clothes off. My clothes are in a pile on the floor and I’m about to climb in the shower when I see the second toothbrush sitting on my counter.

  Gavin’s toothbrush sits there, the same spot it’s been in since he left. And while we never had the chance to live together, he was still here often enough that he needed one and that I’d end up doing some of his laundry with mine.

  Our lives hadn’t been this terribly separate thing that it was now.

  There was a time when I knew, as sure as I knew my name, that Gavin loved me.

  I’m putting on lip gloss when I hear my front door open.

  Sabrina’s heels click on my wooden floor as she makes her way to the bathroom.

  I look past my reflection at her.

  Her halo braid taunts me, knowing I’d never be able to recreate it, even on my best day. She’s wearing a loose knit sweater, the peach bringing out the slight olive tone of her skin. Her brown eyes are darker than my hazel ones and she appraises me as well with hers.

  “Sexy.” She settles on before slapping my right butt cheek.

  “Where are we going?”

  Her peach suede pumps click, click, click, out of the bathroom and I’m shocked at the sight of her destroyed denim jeans.

  “And when the hell did you get those?”

  “You got them for me for my birthday a few years back,” she answers, her phone in her hand. “We’re going to a new tequila bar. Draya told me about it.”

  Draya, who used to be my friend, too.

  Until I alienated myself from everyone.

  “How is she?” I ask, gathering my things to leave.

  “One day, when you’re ready, you’ll find out for yourself.”

  It sounds harsh, and a part of me withers at her response.

  But she’s right and we both know it.

  Still, she hands me my coat and rubs my shoulder absentmindedly.

  When she lets go, she tells me a car is waiting outside for us.

  “Uber?” I ask.

  She shoots me a look that says, yeah right.

  “I forgot how uppity you are,” I respond as I scratch Carlos behind his ears. His sleepy face looks like he’s smiling, and I smile back.

  “Come on.” She drags the last word out and kicks one foot out.

  “I’m coming! Sheesh.”

  I lock the door behind us and we take the elevator in silence, both of us with our faces in our phones.

  I pull up my messages and see the three unread ones from Gavin.

  Gavin: I hate when you do this.

  Gavin: You never give me a chance. Just jump right into anger. I hate that.

  Gavin: It makes me want to stop speaking to you.

  A few hours ago, a text like the last one would’ve sent me into a frenzy. But I’m emotionally exhausted and ready to have a good time. So, I just respond with one word.

  Me: Sorry.

  We get in the black BMW waiting at the corner and Sabrina chats with the driver, asking him how long he’d lived here, if he was married—she nudges me when he says he’s single—and tips him when we get to our destination.

  Outside the bar, people are loitering, cigarettes are being smoked and conversations being had. A few guys focus on us as we make our way inside.

  The music inside isn’t too loud but the conversation amplifies it, a dull roar of sound combatting with my loud mind.

  “Shall we?” Sabrina asks and grabs me by the elbow before I can respond.

  All night, she’s fielding men; getting to know them and deciding whether they’re worth having a drink with. The ones she likes, she somehow manages to get drinks out of them. The others get polite declines and I watch this siren in action, wondering what kind of fucked-up sorcery this is.

  It’s a reminder to myself.

  You still have power, Denise.

  Two guys are talking to us and one of them is staring at my boobs beneath my turtle neck.

  I roll my eyes and turn to Sabrina, who’s a little too enthusiastic for my taste.

  She wiggles her eyebrows at me, as if to tell me, see? You’re beautiful. They want you.

  But Sabrina doesn’t know what love is like. To only ever want to be seen by one set of eyes in one specific way; to have fallen so hard that only they know what to do with your pieces.

  She doesn’t know that the way these men are looking at me makes me feel more uncomfortable than anything.

  “What do you do for work,” the boob ogler shouts over the people talking around us.

  “I’m a prostitute,” I respond, and I feel a pinch inside my arm. “Fuck.”

  Sabrina smiles at the guys and leads us away from them, the drinks they bought us clutched in her hands.

  “Will you cut it out?” she hisses.

  “It’s not far from the truth with you acting like my pimp.”

  She sets my drink down and grabs my arm.

  “What is with you tonight?”

  “You don’t want to make me feel better, Sabrina. You just want me to paint a pretty picture over my fucked-up one.” I grab the drink from the table she set it on and take a gulp. “How are you different from him?”

  “You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

  “Look! We actually have something in common!”

  People around us are starting to look and Sabrina notices.

  She sets her drink down and takes a deep breath.

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “I want to just exist. No pressure. I don’t want guys in my face. I don’t want drinks poured down my throat. I don’t want to pretend everything is okay. And most of all,” it’s my turn to take a deep breath and it’s shaky, “I don’t want to end up like Mom.”

  All of her annoyance melts away an
d she grips my fingers tight.

  “Never.” One hand grabs my chin. “You hear me, Denise? I will never let that happen.”

  I nod, and she puts her arm around me. We walk toward a smaller table where there aren’t many people, just a few girls and Sabrina strikes up a conversation with them.

  She tries to include me, but I just sit back and let them chat, sipping my drink.

  My phone vibrates.

  Gavin: It’s okay.

  Gavin: Plans tomorrow?

  Me: No.

  Gavin: Lunch?

  Me: Sure.

  Gavin: You can pick the place.

  I sigh and glance around the bar.

  Me: Idc.

  Gavin: Everything okay?

  Me: I’m out with Sabrina.

  Gavin: Oh.

  Gavin: I bet she’s trying to get you to talk to guys.

  Once Gavin knew Sabrina was no longer a fan of his, it created this insecurity in him. Because he knew what I’d known all my life: Sabrina was no one to fuck with.

  Certainly not when it came to me.

  He sends me an emoji; one with a sad face.

  Me: What?

  Gavin: Nothing.

  Gavin: Have fun.

  Tonight, my hurt will sleep where you were supposed to.

  Empty hands that were once outstretched,

  Will be used to hold me instead.

  We learn to self-soothe when in love alone.

  And mistake actions driven by loneliness,

  As some sort of twisted strength.

  Day 373

  I don’t remember most of my childhood. My old therapist used to say that sometimes, when faced with traumatic events we . . . simply forget them. As a way to cope with things that are just too overwhelming to comprehend, our brain will protect us by no longer giving us access to these incidents.

  One of my most poignant memories is of Sabrina and me on Christmas Eve. We were in our living room, admiring the way we could see our warm breath, pretending we were smoking cigarettes. Our mother forbade us from touching the thermostat in our tiny apartment where we all slept in the same bed. I don’t remember where she was, but she wasn’t home, so we were without heat. In an attempt to stay warm, Sabrina and I made a game of putting on as many clothes as we could, even diving into our mother’s wardrobe, as bare as it was.

  There we were on Christmas Eve, sitting on the living room floor, covered in layers of clothes, watching one of our five VHS movies. Sabrina had chosen The Little Mermaid this time. She’d always loved Ariel’s hair, and by default, mine, always playing with it and sighing wistfully, remembering her own dark brown hair.

  I didn’t care what we watched; I was just waiting for Santa.

  I stayed awake for as long as I could, even outlasting Sabrina. But, of course, I couldn’t stay up the entire night, no matter how hard I tried.

  We fell asleep on the floor, piles of clothes around us, our tummies rumbling over the day’s missed meals.

  I remember waking up, excitement hitting me before I could even blink the sleep away.

  “Did Santa come?” I whispered into the dim morning light, my breath coming out in puffs.

  I sat up and glanced around the room. And when everything looked exactly the same, my mother still not home, I felt my heart chip, just a little.

  Something felt so wrong about the entire experience. It wasn’t until I was a grown woman that I understood. Children believe in magic. The moment the magic ends for us is our first heartbreak.

  So, this morning, I woke up reminiscing. Because Gavin would be coming home and . . . something about it felt so important. That precarious hope and I had done this several times before.

  But I pray, to someone’s God, that this time I wouldn’t fall and further shatter my heart.

  I don’t know where he is at this very moment. It was my understanding that he’d be here sometime this morning.

  I try not to wonder where he is while I brush my teeth and shower. I straighten my hair the way he likes it, on the off chance that he’d like to meet up with me. I even pick out an outfit that I’m sure he’ll like.

  And I sit at home.

  I take Carlos out for several walks when I get antsy, I check my phone and make sure it’s fully charged.

  I ignore Sabrina’s texts, especially when they start to become abrasive.

  Sabrina: Don’t forget everything, Denise.

  Sabrina: I love you.

  Sabrina: But I swear to God, I’ll kick your ass myself if you go easy on him.

  And I wait.

  When it starts getting dark out, my impatience morphs into a monster. I wouldn’t message him; I wouldn’t give him the same anger I’d been giving him the past few weeks.

  My breath leaves my body in a frustrated whoosh.

  And, for some reason, I put The Little Mermaid on. I take my clothes off and pour myself a glass of sweet red wine. The blanket on the back of the couch, the gray one that used to be his, ends up wrapped around my body.

  Only when the movie is done, do I look at my phone and notice a text message.

  Gavin: I just managed to get my phone charged.

  My mind plays over the ways today could have gone.

  He knows my number. He knows where I live. He knows how to reach me because for the past year, he’s had unfettered access to me and my time.

  And yet, I sat up waiting for him all day.

  My heart is no longer this immaculate thing, save for one chip.

  It’s cracked and flawed and mangled beyond belief.

  It is so beyond repair that it doesn’t react to today’s disappointment.

  Maybe tomorrow, it tells me. Today I’m tired of being your punching bag.

  My phone vibrates, and I see a text from Sabrina.

  Sabrina: I’m guessing he didn’t show?

  I don’t want to go into detail. Don’t want to worry her. Don’t want to deal with her.

  Me: No.

  I turn off my phone and fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in his blanket, while Ariel is trying show Prince Eric that she’s the one he’s been looking for.

  Crying out with no voice.

  Will you still feel like my favorite blanket?

  The one you left behind

  To keep me warm in the absence of you.

  Day 371

  Me: I’m nervous.

  And then I send another to clarify.

  Me: To see you.

  I don’t expect an immediate response from him and am pleasantly surprised when I receive one.

  Gavin: Don’t be.

  Me: Easy for you to say.

  I push my phone into my back pocket and glance around. The store is in immaculate shape, finally. Accessories are in order, shoes are displayed neatly, and the clothes look magnificent.

  I stand beside the store’s manager, Paula.

  “You done good, girlie,” she says and touches the end of my high ponytail. “Hairs getting long. I’m surprised you haven’t cut it yet.”

  My shoulders move in a halfway shrug.

  “I kind of like it.”

  She chuckles.

  “Never took you for the long-haired type.”

  I turn to her, my features scrunched together.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her brown skin is clear, and her locks have these gold embellishments that make me think of an African queen. She’s taller than me, which isn’t hard to be, and her slim frame makes me wonder why she never went into modeling.

  “Just that you’ve always cut it before it got this long. You don’t seem like you have the patience for this look.”

  It’s true that longer hair takes more time to manage, but I love the way I look with it longer.

  Softer. More feminine.

  “I’ve seen the error of my ways,” I tell her with a grin.

  “Good. It looks great on you.” She looks around the store. There are only a few customers perusing through the merchandise. “I think we’re doin
g all right here, right?”

  This isn’t a busy location and I’ve heard rumblings from the higher-ups about a possible closing or relocation.

  “Ever think about transferring?” I know she’d do well in a high-traffic area. The girls here look up to her, with her quiet authority and her easy-going manner.

  She sighs and pushes her long locks from one shoulder to the other.

  “I know it’s pretty slow. But this is home and I have such a great team.”

  We chat a little more but all the while I’m thinking, of all the stores I have, she was likely the best store manager. She genuinely cares about her staff and it shows. I never have any issues when I come here.

  Because of the lack of earning, I wasn’t out this way often. The company thought it best to keep me in the popular areas, where the styles were everchanging and women were always looking for their next look.

  She’s walked away to speak with one of her employees when I pull my phone out.

  Gavin: I hope we get some time together to talk.

  A pit settles in my stomach.

  I don’t know if I’m ready for that talk quite yet.

  Me: You sure you want to do that?

  Gavin: You don’t scare me, Denise.

  I can hear him say those words in my ear. And it’s so unlike the times before when he’d whisper the opposite to me.

  You scare me.

  Why?

  Because you’re so good.

  When did that change? I wish I could ask him, but I already know the answer.

  It changed when we realized we wouldn’t have forever. When we finally woke up and realized that just because we love each other, didn’t mean we would come out of this clean.

  I sigh and when a hand touches my shoulder, I yelp.

  “Sorry,” Paula says.

  “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “I called your name a few times,” she tells me. “You okay?”

  There comes a moment in everyone’s life when someone asks them if they’re okay. The askee has a split second and in that moment, they have to decide whether or not they want to unload everything on a complete stranger. And while the person asking me isn’t a complete stranger, we hadn’t ever gotten too personal before.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t been asked this question by others. But with her in particular, I was tempted.