by Nicole Reed
Wrapping her hands around my waist, she pulls me close. “I am so sorry, Jay. We were thinking only of ourselves. In our defense, we were working our asses off to get that business up and running, and it took so much time just to keep it going. We knew something happened, but we never imagined it was this. Maybe we were fools, Jay, in thinking our little world was perfect when, in reality, our main reason for living was trying to plan a way out of it.”
Listening to her speak, I feel much of my anger recede. We haven’t talked about much of anything since I’ve been here. I turn and wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said those things.” My voice cracks as I reply.
“Yes, you should. You need to get all of this off your chest. I’ve been begging you to tell me how you feel. Jay, I wish I could change everything. I wish I could give your innocence back and return those that you love, but I can’t. I can only start over and try to be the mother I always thought I was. I chose my career over you. There. I said it. It’s not pretty, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. Can you forgive me, Jay?”
Nodding my head, I sniffle and nuzzle into her neck. Her scent fills my nostrils, and memories flood my mind. As a child, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I can remember her baking cookies with me, bandaging my cuts, and ordering late night pizza when Molly and I would cry over our most recent heartbreaks. Deep down, I have always known that she loves me, but somewhere along the way, I grew to accept that I came second to what was important to her.
I’m not sure how long we stayed that way, but eventually, my heart slows, and the hate that burned wild inside me settles to embers. Her hair that was gathered under my cheek is wet, and I’m not sure if it was from her tears or mine. Pulling my head away and looking into her glassy red eyes, I smile. For the first time in years, it was genuine, and my heart feels a little lighter.
Cupping my cheek in her hand, she whispers, “I truly am sorry, and I just want us to move forward, together.”
“I love you, Mom. I want that also, but right now, I’m not ready to come home. Not yet.”
“Okay, when you’re ready, but just promise me that you are getting what you need here. Promise me that you are really trying to fix you.”
“I am. I just need a little more time.” Pulling away, I walk over to my bed and gather the clothes to put them in the dresser.
“So, do you want to hear about anyone from home?”
“No, we’ve been through this. I don’t want to talk to or hear about anyone. However, if you will, talk to Mrs. Higgins and tell her that as soon as I leave here, she will be one of the first people I visit. I just don’t want to see anyone right now.”
“I’ll talk to her Jay. She has been really insistent to see you, but I think I can handle it.”
Later, my mother and I go for a walk outside. Side by side, we stroll around the grounds until finally arriving back at the entrance.
“Okay, Jay. I know you said that I can only visit every other week, but since next week is Thanksgiving, can you make an exception?”
“Mom, I love you, and it’s not that I don’t want to see you. I just need a little more time alone to figure things out. I will be sure to call you on Thanksgiving. I promise.” Without giving her an opportunity to respond, I hug her and kiss her cheek. “Have a safe trip home.” With that, I turn and walk back inside to my somewhat solitary existence.
Before falling asleep, my thoughts run through different scenarios of what I could have said to my mom. Perhaps I should have accompanied the harsh and hurtful words that burn from my molten core with telling her how proud I am of what her and my father have accomplished. I know that they want the best for me and that they love me, but I don’t know how to express it to her. I drift off to sleep, wishing I could feel close to her again, to anyone again.
Standing on the grassy banks of the lake, I peer out over the water as the sun turns it different shades of amber and gold. The breeze gently picks up my hair and covers my face with its tendrils. Suddenly, strong arms are around my waist, pulling me back against a solid male body. Chills run down my spine as his mouth nestles into my neck.
“Why do you taste so damn good?” his voice whispers into my ear.
My heart halts, its rhythm non-existent, as I wait for the pain this dream will ultimately inflict upon me. I know he isn’t real, and I know he is gone. Knowing these things makes my dream world much more special; however, it also makes it that much more painful. I’d almost rather have my nightmares than to deal with this.
“Baby, we don’t have long together. Turn around and kiss me like you mean it.”
“JT, I can’t. This is just a dream. Tomorrow I will wake up and have to relive it all again, and trust me when I say that I don’t want to. I can’t.” I break away from his hold and walk closer to the waterline.
“Jay,” he sighs, “baby, it doesn’t have to be this way. If it’s just a dream, then we should enjoy being together.” Walking up to me, he grabs my hand and tries to turn me around. I resist.
“No, JT. I really don’t want to see you. It hurts too much when I wake up, knowing I’ll never see you again. These stolen dreams aren’t worth the pain I will not be able to escape tomorrow. Please just go.”
“Where, Jay? Where do you want me to go? If I’m just your imagination, where do I fit in your life now?” His voice is low.
I can’t help it. Turning to face him, I gasp at what I see. The face of the fairytale prince that I have loved forever hasn’t changed a bit. His thick black hair and sapphire eyes are just as I remember them. His smile is the only thing that’s different. It’s serene, almost peaceful. He has on his standard attire of blue jeans and a t-shirt with our school logo.
Throwing myself into him, I tightly wrap my arms around his neck. This dream feels so real. I can even feel his chuckle as it shakes his chest.
“Girl, are you ever going to figure out what you want? Push me away, pull me back. You give a guy whiplash, even if he’s only a figment of your crazy mind.”
Looking into his eyes, it all feels so real, but I know if I give in and let the dream become reality, it will only hurt more when I awaken. “You’re dead,” I sob, burying my head into his chest.
“But not forgotten, Jay. I know you’ll never forget me.” Pulling away from me, he smiles down and lets me go.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid I will never be able to move forward unless I let you go, and honestly, I don’t have a clue where to start. It’s my fault, JT. It’s entirely my fault.”
Shaking his head, he turns to walk away. I fall to my knees and bow my head. Tears flow from my eyes and saturate the earth beneath me.
I open my eyes, and my heart starts again. I’m back in the land of the living and my personal hell-on-earth.
Rolling over, I notice the clock reads 7 A.M. On Mondays, I have early sessions with Dr. Raines. Slowly, I rise out of bed to stretch my stiff body. My mind is still hazy from slumber. I grab a pair of black yoga pants, a grey t-shirt, and my shower items. Sliding on my black ballet slippers, I head down the hall to the bathroom.
As I pass by the guy’s bathroom, the door suddenly swings opens, and out charges the new guy. He crashes into me, knocking everything from my hands.
“Ow...hey, watch where you are going!” Huffing, I bend down to pick it all up.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” he says, squatting down at the same time to help me retrieve my items.
In haste, I swiftly raise my head and jar my forehead against his chin. My hands go to my head as the pain radiates through my skull. God, it hurts. “Damn! Really?!? I can get my own stuff.” I hurriedly grab the scattered items and stand up.
“Are you always a bitch or am I just the lucky one?” he asks before turning and walking away.
I glare at his back as he leaves, and his words ring in my head. Is this what I’ve become? For the past two years, most guys have landed in the following three cate
gories: friend, foe, or fuck. More often than not, they can find themselves in the last category because my idea of control revolved around the concept of controlling my body. Unfortunately, that notion has messed with my mindset, how I look at guys, and how I perceive that they look at me.
After showering, I head over to the cafeteria. It’s a public space shared by the entire facility. At any given time, fifty plus people can be sitting around eating. I grab a cup of coffee and a banana then head to an empty table. Minutes later, Dr. Gale speaks to me as he walks by.
“Morning, James.”
“You called me Jay the other day.” That must have caught his attention because he stops and turns around.
“When?”
“During our little chat. I think I’m getting through to you, Dr. Gale.”
“I don’t know about getting through to me. Driving me bonkers may be a more apt description. See you later this afternoon, James.” He smiles and walks away.
Smiling, I have to admit, he is driving me a little crazy with his need to always have the last word. I throw away my trash and walk over to Dr. Raines’s office. Her door is always open when she is waiting for me to arrive.
“Good Morning, Jay,” Dr. Raines says with a smile on her face and in her voice. She is already sitting in one of the chairs that face each other in the back of her office. With her hair in a bun, prim black suit, and matching pumps, an air of authority surrounds her.
“Morning, Dr. Raines,” I reply, sitting down in the empty chair.
“So, how did your visit with your mother go yesterday?”
“Fine..,” I start to tell her but quickly change my direction, “actually, not so fine.” Suddenly, my words can’t come out fast enough, and I tell her everything I said to my mother during her visit. When I finish, we both fall silent.
“Jay, how did you feel afterwards? Give me the first word that comes to mind.”
I think about what she is asking for a second before I reply, “Relief.”
“From what?” Dr. Raines asks.
“From saying how I felt. For getting the anger that I didn’t know I even had off my chest. But then, that also left me feeling sad for how I spoke to her. She didn’t deserve that.”
“I know we’ve spoken about this before, but some would say that, in a sense, you were abandoned. I’m not blaming your parents, but your emotional state could have been much better had you had their support. Your mother and I have discussed this in the past. She takes full responsibility for not being there when you needed her. You needed to have that discussion, and more importantly, she needs to know how you feel.”
I notice that she said my mother took full responsibility but not my father.
“What about my father? I know you have spoken to him. Does he also take responsibility?”
Dr. Raines gently smiles at me and clasps her hands. “Have you spoken to your father recently?”
Looking directly into her eyes, I shake my head.
“How does that make you feel? Again, give me the first words that you think of.”
“Worthless. Broken. Unloved. Unforgiveable. Ashamed. Take your pick. I feel like he’s avoiding me. I don’t know what to say to make anything better, and it’s not like I’ve been given the chance anyway.”
“Does your mother know how you feel about your father?”
“No. She can’t handle it. She is barely holding it together for me. That’s why I feel guilty about coming down so hard on her yesterday.”
“You do know that eventually you will have to speak to him and tell him how you feel?” Dr. Raines straightens in her chair and leans forward. “He loves you, Jay. That hasn’t changed. He is just trying to figure out this new life. Is your mother coming to visit on Thanksgiving?”
“No, she’ll be here next week. She wanted to, but I told her I was fine. I’m hoping she’ll go visit my grandmother like we normally do.”
“Do you think your mother is living her normal life now?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Do you honestly believe that all of your lives haven’t been majorly disrupted? That life can return to a normal pattern for any of you? I only ask that, Jay, because I want you to understand that everyone you were connected with has experienced an irrevocably changed life from the moment you decided to try and take yours. You can’t make decisions based on how everything used to be. I just want you to be aware of that.”
Her words stun me. I had a pretty good understanding of how my death would have affected my family, but I never considered the results of a botched suicide attempt. I never thought about how they would have to live with that knowledge. It was different when it was just my secret.
“Just think about that this week. We will discuss it more tomorrow. Do keep in mind that we only have two more sessions this week since it’s a holiday.”
Standing, I really don’t listen to much more that she says. I leave the office and walk back to my room with my mind abuzz from the things she said. Grabbing my iPod, I lie down on my bed. I put in my ear buds and listen to the first song that plays, letting it blast into my head.
I always knew that living was harder that dying, but until today, I had not realized that it might just be harder on those around me. Do they ask the same questions that I ask myself? Why me? Why now? Why not me? Molly wrote me a letter a couple of weeks ago that talked about how she blamed herself for not being there. I wanted so badly to write her back to tell her that it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t have changed anything, but when I sat down the write the letter, the words never came. My mother also wrote a letter saying that she didn’t know where to go from here.
What have I done to those around me? What have I done to make them second guess their choices and their beliefs? Now, they have to live with the knowledge that I am actually willing to do it. They now know that I will pull the trigger, slice my wrists, or swallow the pills. What worry they must be going through. It doesn’t matter what I want now; I made a promise to live. I will keep that damn promise no matter what I do, but the people around me, they don’t know about that.
God, I really need to get out of this room. I grab my iPod and walk down to the common area. It’s a small room with a couple of plush couches, chairs, and several wall-mounted flat screen TVs. We are only allowed to watch a selection of approved movies, so I never pay any attention to them. Looking around for a place to sit down, I notice the only available chair is in the back corner. There’s just one problem. New guy is strumming his guitar in the adjacent seat.
Choices: Stay or go? Going is the easiest, but it will leave me still stuck in my head. As for staying, well, maybe I have been wrong about him, and it’s time I move forward. I glimpse at him again as his shaggy brown head bobs up and down, lost in his music. I guess he is about six feet tall, and even in my “nun-ish” state, I notice he has a decent body. With his light brown skin and dark features, he stands out. Again, I ponder why he is here. He has on a black t-shirt that fits snuggly across his chest and worn grey sweatpants with the knees ripped out. His feet are bare, but that is common around here.
Making my decision, I walk towards the empty chair as he glances in my direction. His fingers freeze from strumming, and his dark coffee colored eyes warily stare at me. I shoot him a small grin, and one of his eyebrows raises in question. Suddenly, I stop walking and our gazes lock. I desperately want to turn and walk away, but I can’t. My feet, on their own accord, start towards him again. His eyes never leave mine.
As I speak, my voice shakes with emotion, “Do you mind if I sit here?”
“Depends. Are you going to bite my head off?”
Shaking my head, I sit down in the chair cross-legged and fidget with my iPod. The weighted pressure of his eyes clothes me in anxiety. Before I can place my ear buds in, I hear him clear his throat.
“What? Do I not at least get a ‘Hi’ or maybe even a ‘What’s up?’” he asks, winking at me.
“I thought we talked about
the whole flirting thing?” I say sarcastically.
He chuckles and shakes his head. He leans in and whispers back, “Last I checked, being friendly wasn’t the same as flirting.” His eyes trace me from head to toe. “Though, I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re not my type.” Moving back in his chair, he begins to play, what I think is “All Apologies” on his guitar.
Okay, well, that was embarrassing. Not to mention that I am starting to recognize just how much I do sound like a bitch -- who I hate and who I need to change.
“I am such a bitch.” My eyes go wide, realizing that I may have said that out loud. He snorts, so I know I made a public announcement.
As he looks at me, his fingers slide up and down the neck of the guitar. I can’t help but notice that he has nice strong hands. He puts the guitar down and turns to face me.
“The name is Eli. Just in case you are wondering. Like the biblical prophet, not the football player,” he says, holding his hand out to me.
“Jay,” I reply back as I reach for his hand.
“Well, Jay. Doesn’t seem like you have too many friends around here. Want to hear the reasons why I think that is?” Smiling at me, he tugs on my hand one last time and lets go. He picks up his guitar again, sits back in the chair, and plays some riffs.
Staring at him, I wonder if I have lost my mind. Something about him reminds me of someone, but I can’t think of who it is. Plus, I’m at a loss for words, and that doesn’t happen often.
“No answer necessary. You push everyone away so you can keep everything bottled up inside, or you could just be a raging bitch. I like to think the best about people, so I’ll go with option A,” he says with a grin.
Is this guy for real? Gritting my teeth, I hold back every scathing comment that is coming up, but the weirdest thing happens. I laugh. Hard. Looking at him, I try to think of something to say, but the only thing that comes to mind makes no sense whatsoever, so of course, it spills from my mouth.
“I think you have nice hands.”
My God, did I just say that I think he has nice hands? For the love of all that is holy, please let the ground open up and swallow me whole. He just reminds me of someone, and who that it is, I don’t know. It lingers on the edge of my mind.