by Rue, Rebekah
Taking my pillow and pressing it against my ears does nothing to block out what I hear. I roll my eyes, wallowing in Maggie’s vocal acrobatics. Her voice can, in fact, hit that high A. Diddy stands guard right outside her door, clawing the doorframe and joining the choir when things get intense.
By three a.m., I call Talon. I can’t take it anymore, and I have to get some sleep before my big exam that day. Not ten minutes later Talon shows up and takes me to his place.
“Why didn’t you just bang on her door and tell her to shut the fuck up,” Talon says, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“Because that was her place first; it felt weird. She wouldn’t have heard me anyway. The whole thing sounded like a bar brawl.”
We cozy back up in his bed. “Mm, isn’t this nice?” he says. “Wouldn’t it be even nicer if we did this every night? You don’t ever have to go home because this would be your home. I really don’t like you there when he’s there anyway. There’s just something about him that rubs me wrong.” He starts to strip my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor. I’m bare-chested and my nipples harden instantly. He props himself over me, laying simple kisses across my chest, twisting his tongue around my hardened peaks.
“Talon, that sounds very nice, but—” I giggle when he raises my arm and fingers the sensitive skin underneath.
“No, babe, don’t say it.”
I don’t. I’m successfully lost in sensation and taken over the edge multiple times that night. He drives a hard bargain for me to move in, but in the end, my answer is still no.
Several weeks later I ask about Talon’s family again. If we are moving towards something serious, I want to know about them. He tries using sex as a distraction, but I shut him down with a shake of my head, batting his hands away. His demeanor hardens, and he swiftly shuts me down with a “no.” Hey, I had to try.
Out of the blue these random texts I try to ignore keep popping up. I knew who they’re from, but I pay no attention to them at first. It’s been over a month since the accident, and it’s getting old. The less I know of him the better. We’re done, plus, the guilt alone acts as a deterrent to replying. I simply open the messages, delete them, and move on with my life.
They start out with I’m sorry. I’m a fool.
Then change to I left her.
Which turn into romantic words of I love you’s that would have been amazing to hear under normal circumstances. Poems, songs, pictures, and beautiful stories of us, they all grace the screen on my phone. I want to continue to be angry, but as time passes, it’s evident that it’s pointless. No matter if I ignore him or reply with something nasty, I can’t draw him away.
Whether I want them or not, I get constant updates. Maybe it’s a simple “hi” for the day or pictures of him working on his art and him touring. Curiosity always gets the better of me, and I secretly enjoy this knowledge. I’m proud of him.
It’s November and my phone chirps with a message. It’s from Heath and is a picturesque scene of lusciously powdered snowcapped mountains off a hotel balcony. The message below simply reads
Heath: Join me.
For the first time, a needy ache settles in my chest. Then I remind myself that people always want back things they have no control over letting go. It’s human nature.
Lo: This is how it has to be. You chose to make things hard. It could have been easy with a little honesty.
Heath: Lo I’m sorry. I let her go. I never wanted to hurt you.
Lo: Sorry? Well, so am I. You don’t just push one love aside for a newer shinier one.
That effectively shuts him up for a couple days.
It’s been a while since our trio got together: Maggie, Micah, and me. Talon informs me that he’s just going to have a quiet night at home with Stone and to call when I get home. We choose this great Greek restaurant where people actually dance on the tables and throw napkins like confetti in the air and beautiful belly dancers prance around, shaking it to lively music.
I have this particular shirt in mind and can’t find it in my closet; then it dawns on me where it is. I snatch the Jeep keys off the hook by the front door and fly down the street to Talon’s. Using the spare key he had made me for me, I let myself in, almost crashing into Stone coming down the stairs. “Don’t you ever wear clothes?” I ask, covering my eyes with my hands.
“Shit no, this is my house.”
“Well, put some clothes on. If I were Talon, I wouldn’t want to see you walking around naked.”
“Ha! You don’t know half of what goes down. Your boy and I sword fight and have dick-measuring competitions.”
I keep my eyes closed, waving my hands for him to stop. “Gross.” Then I hear the movement of clothes and barely peek to see that he slides on a pair of shorts.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“I’m just coming to get one of my shirts. Where’s Talon?”
“With you.” I give him a questioning look. “I know you have his nuts in your purse and all, but that’s not what I mean. He left maybe twenty minutes ago and said you two were going out and would be home later.”
Huh. “That’s funny because he told me he was hanging out with you.”
“Well, shit, he’s not here. Just me, Johnson, and one hung low are hanging out tonight.”
“Do me a favor and don’t mention this, okay?”
“Whatever,” he says, walking away.
Why wouldn’t Talon mention that he had somewhere to go when I just talked to him, unless . . .
Dang, this hurts.
Chapter 19
Lo
I watch Talon a little more closely after that. My guilt has me believing he’s guilty of something as well, but time after time nothing strange stands out. He’s his usual demanding, affectionate self. Our usual week progresses filled with the gym, school, Wrecker’s, and nights at his place. No cause for concern.
It’s Stone’s idea to host Thanksgiving, opening his home to anyone that has shit for parents or can’t make it home for the holidays. Most of the students stay for Thanksgiving but fly home for Christmas.
Talon preps me for finals and I pass with three A’s and a B. The one-year anniversary of my parents’ death is fast approaching, and it seems to always be on the cusp of my mind with whatever I do. Heath’s texts intensify.
Heath: You’re strong. I love you.
Several hours later . . .
Heath: Let me come to you. I love you.
I appreciate them but know I have to get through this day on my own.
Very early morning I wake with an explosive scream to a crack of thunderous lightning. Images of hissing fire and pleading screams echo in my head. My body shoots straight up in bed, my hair is balled in knots, and my skin is doused in sweat. Frantically, I look around, noticing my curtains are wide open, and I can barely see the sky through the steady curtain of rain. My clock reads 4 a.m. Maggie comes barreling through my door, tightening her arms around me in a firm hold. I shake; everything feels so real. “Shhh, you’re okay. You’re okay.” She soothes me, rocking. In that moment, I just need her with me. She won’t ask questions. She knows.
Time passes and I catch my breath and the trembling slows. “Are you going to be okay today?” she asks, scrutinizing my eyes.
I lie. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Maggie stares at me with one raised eyebrow for a moment.
“Do you want me to stay with you? We can eat tons of comfort food and watch funny movies. What do you say?”
I’d say that right now I just want her to go away. “If it’s okay, I’d like to just be alone. Please.”
“Sure. But you holler if you need me at all. I won’t go far.”
“Thanks.”
Maggie leans down and kisses me on the forehead the way my mom used to. An eerie dark pain leeches out in my chest and saturates my demeanor, changing it. I want to hurt, relive my pain, and have to beg for mercy. Nothing can save me today. I deserve this.
I can’t fall back to sleep. Bel
ieve me I’ve tried for hours, just a lot of flipping and kicking covers. Around eight o’clock Talon calls, but I send it to voicemail. That’s my first mistake. Sending him to voicemail three more times only adds insult to injury, and I know he’ll be over here faster than a Maserati. Not ten minutes later I hear strong voices and some thumps on the other side of my door. My heart races as I curl my sheets around me and pray he won’t force Maggie out of the way and barge in. I wait expectantly, but my door remains safely closed in silence.
My second mistake is digging out the large box deep in my closet of old photo albums, mementos, and clothes. I wrap my body in my mom’s favorite jacket as if it were her arms and wear my dad’s tattered ball cap that reads US ARMY above the bill. I scroll through books and books of photos that range from them as kids to the Thanksgiving before their deaths. Almost forty years of memories, some that I know and others I’m seeing for the first time. With each flip of the page, the hot tears flow openly, my body shakes with pain, and I deplete every ounce of energy in wails under the pull light in my closet. Leaning back against the inner wall under a row of hanging clothes, I draw my knees up to my body and close my eyes with relief, tight and heavy from exhaustion. My chest hurts, and I sit there for hours, listening to the rain and thunder. Each stabbing memory cuts slightly deeper than the first, opening me up further and threatening to defeat me. I allow that defeat to metastasize into a demonic burly spike-toothed monster, and silence is the food that feeds that monster.
Will I ever forgive myself? I’ve spent weeks and months over analyzing the situation and the life I didn’t appreciate. So many kids out there don’t have parents half as good as mine were. They showed endless love, and all I wanted was for them to disappear. I thought I knew better; boy was I wrong. If only I’d known then what I know now . . .
When I find the strength to lift my body from the puddle of tears on the floor, I glance once more at the box of torture. I hadn’t noticed it before, but at the bottom, covered partially by a shirt lies a DVD. I pull it out, turning it in my hand.
Morbid curiosity, that’s my third mistake.
My finger moves of its own accord and presses play on the player.
First, my bottom lip starts to quiver, and my eyes brim to the edge with an overflow of tears that I quickly bat away with shaky hands.
My father.
So young . . . maybe early twenties.
Alive. Handsome. Brightly shining . . .
Subconsciously, my body drifts forward, holding my breath with rapt attention. When the creamy sound of his baritone voice hits my ears, I cover my mouth with my hands and openly sob, listening.
My darling Lo,
I know I’ll be waiting a long time to give you this video, but I had to make it because I don’t want the emotions I’m feeling at this moment to fade and you not properly know them. My plan is to give you this on your wedding day, so if you’re watching it, congratulations. I’m incredibly proud of you.
Right now you’re a week old and are happily sleeping in your mother’s arms.
The camera swings over to my mom. She’s so young. She’s has me swaddled in the fluffiest pink elephant blanket, rocking us in a wooden rocker. My little eyes flutter open for a brief second, and my pink binkie bounces with every suck. Mom is staring, studying all my tiny features, wearing an intoxicating smile, which makes my eyes crinkle up, and I smile.
We’ve been up all night, not because you’re a tough baby, but because we can’t stop admiring the small angel that fell from heaven who barely weighs seven pounds. I couldn’t wait to have you outside your mother’s body and in my arms. I’m struggling with the truth that even though you were born to us, you’ll only belong to us for a heartbeat. I know somehow, one day when I’m not looking, you’ll find yourself and become curious. Everything will change heartbreakingly fast.
I know I’ll make some mistakes over the years, but I can honestly say I will always do what I think is best for you in that moment. The mind of a growing young lady is a fascinating world that will take great patience and skill to maneuver through. I will catch your tears, hold you close when you scrape your knees, and hunt down any guy who tries to break my daughter’s heart. Count me in. I’m there. Your mother and I will forever be a part of you.
I hope you choose a man not like me, but better. Marry a man who doesn’t sit down but stands up to protect you. Marry a man who will make you proud to have a son that’s his replica. Remember he’s not perfect and you’re not either. Life is not about racking up points against each other when you fight. Don’t magnify the little things because, believe it or not, that’s really what they are, little.
Use me as your strength as I walk you down the aisle, and I promise I won’t let you slip.
Alive or dead, you will forever be my baby. We love you wholeheartedly and are so very proud to call you ours.
With two fingers to his lips, he blows me a kiss, blinking away a glassy twinkle. And then the screen goes black.
That’s my motherfucking tipping point! I make many mistakes after that.
I silently raise my eyes to God and ask why, feeling the fast flowing tears roll down my cheeks and rush down my neck. It’s hard to swallow, but somehow a laugh breaks through all the whimpering, then another, and another, until I’m full on in hysterics, sobbing, laughing, sobbing, and laughing. My sanity went insane.
I tip my head back, painfully fisting handfuls of hair and scream!
Moving at a frantic pace, with all my might, I launch the remote control across the room where it shatters into a hundred shards of plastic before my very eyes. Somewhere off in the distance that I don’t care to acknowledge is Maggie banging on the door for me to let her in to see if I’m okay.
I am so not okay.
I rip my dad’s ball cap off and roughly shed my mom’s jacket, throwing them to the ground where I trample and kick at the threads. More shrieks and cries escape.
When I look up from the floor, I don’t think; I just do. I run over to the TV and, with all my might, yank it off its stand and step back, watching it gloriously crash to the ground. Splinters of glass soar and embed in the surface of the skin on my lower legs, and I don’t even care. I’m numb.
Stronger heavier banging starts back up on the door behind me, but I pay no attention to it because my eyes lock on all those depressing albums. I run over and fall to my knees pretty hard; the albums and sweet letters get shoved in every direction. I’m rabid and so out of control that my hands shake terribly. Holding it up, I jolt the book of pictures back and forth, spewing the pictures from their safe pages. My hands fumble around the floor, and one by one I shred as many pictures as I can get my hands on. My eyes burn, and when I no longer can see anything, I sloppily shove everything around like an angry toddler. “Why? Why did you have to leave me like that?” I chant, hearing a loud crash behind me and annihilating a strand of pearls my father gave my mother for their fifteenth wedding anniversary.
“Stop! Oh my God, Lo, get control of yourself! Stop this now!” Maggie yells.
That’s when strong arms twist me up from behind, tighter than a strait jacket. I fight those arms, but Talon uses his weight to restrain my jerking movements until I don’t have a single ounce of fight left. Some of his beautiful words trickle in and out of my subconscious, though I don’t believe them. The numbness I feel everywhere dissolves, leaving me with nothing but the jagged little pill of reality to swallow.
Talon’s lap becomes safe, and I lean completely into him hanging my head with much remorse. Maggie and Talon handle me delicately after that, cleaning my wounds, and placing me back in bed. Sleep swallows me up quickly, knocking me out for the next four hours. When I wake up, my head throbs and my face and ankles burn. My room is empty; all carnage and destruction has been cleaned up.
Just then Maggie comes wandering in. Talon stays by the doorway, leaning up against it with his arms crossed, simply staring. She comes in for a big hug, squeezing a few stray tears out of me. I
don’t want to cry anymore, and it hurts to see that Talon won’t come near me.
Talon wants to stay the night, more like strongly urges, but I decline. I don’t want to have to think or talk or even be welcoming. I need to simply be.
My room is pitch black and silent with peace as I lie on my side in bed with my phone next to me. I’m done fighting, and if my fingers happen to find their way to the call log then so be it.
I FaceTime Heath.
It barely rings once when he picks up. With my room dark, he can’t see me, just a black box in his upper screen, whereas I bask in his handsome familiar face.
“Lo, are you there?”
I sniffle, soaking my pillow with heavy tears. I keep blinking so I won’t lose visual of him as he speaks. “Love, I can’t see you, so listen to me. Are you listening?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Good. I know today wasn’t easy for you, and I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms all day and reassure you that everything would be okay. You’re an amazingly strong woman. You know that, don’t you, Lo?”
“Sure,” I barely say.
“Say, ‘yes.’” He corrects me. “Say, ‘yes,’ Lo.”
“Yes.”
“Good, love. And you also know your parents loved you so much or else your daddy wouldn’t have kicked my ass that night at the lake, don’t you?”
I laugh.
“Okay good. Never forget that those two amazing people birthed, raised, and sculpted an even more amazing young woman. They would only want you to live in happiness and take everything they taught you, whether you rolled your eyes or not, and build a life twice as good as theirs. Can you do that, baby?”