Bloom

by Grey, Marilyn

  When she finished I left the room and went across the hall to the bathroom. After that, I made sure no one was around and pressed my ear against Vasili’s door.

  Natalie’s voice. It had to be her. I couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t sound good.

  Then I heard his voice cut through the muffled sounds. “I would never cheat on you, Natalie. I’m not like that.”

  “If you want to end the engagement just tell me.” I finally understood her words. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m not ending anything. Stop talking like this.”

  “Then will you stop talking to Sarah?”

  “Why? What does she have to do with this?”

  “I don’t want her to do our wedding photography. I don’t want to see her anymore. Can you do that?”

  A long stretch of silence, then, “Yes. I can do that for you.”

  The door opened. Natalie stared at me as Vasili hung his head and covered his eyes with his hand. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I was prepared to watch him marry someone else, but to never see him again felt like death itself had woven its claws around my heart.

  Natalie looked at me, blinking. We stared at each other for a few minutes, then a single tear fell from her eye. I tried to apologize, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  I didn’t know what I did, but I felt bad. So I walked away without saying a word. For his sake, I’d never come back again.

  And the tiny fragment of joy I experienced earlier, standing amidst the smoky river, evaporated as I drove away.

  After spilling my heart to Ella, she sat on the edge of my bed and cleared her throat.

  “Don’t hate me,” she said. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

  I snapped my head up. “What did you do?”

  “Please don’t be mad.”

  “Ella.”

  “Promise not to be upset?”

  “Ella!”

  “Okay, okay.” She fiddled with her hands. “Um, well, I saw the letter you wrote.”

  “You were snooping in my room?”

  “I was grabbing your laundry and saw it. I know it’s horrible of me. I don’t know what came over me, but I read it.”

  I sighed. “Then what?”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m already mad.” I stood. “What did you do?”

  “I mailed it to him.” She cringed and dropped her shoulders. “I thought I was helping.”

  I crossed my arms and walked to the window.

  “I thought you said you didn’t need a man to be happy?” she said. “Don’t let it get you down. At least he knows the truth now. It would’ve eaten y—”

  “Easy for you to say.” I turned toward her. “Mrs Perfect with Mr Perfect in their perfect house with their perfect love story with their perfect child, and another one coming. Your life is all roses with no thorns, and here I am.” I slammed my hand on my dresser and looked in the mirror above it. “Look at me. Just look at me.” My face reddened. “Every glimmer of joy I find is turned upside down. I’m trying the best I can and what happens? Life screws me over at every turn. Every thorn missing from your life is right here in mine. I’m all thorns with no roses.”

  She tried to speak.

  “No. No. No more. Just let me be.”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “Please forgive me, Sarah. I didn’t mean—”

  “Let me be. Please.”

  She closed my door. I waited until I could no longer hear her sniffles, then I turned back to the mirror. I pulled my hair back and analyzed my scars. Then I placed my hand over them and looked at the normal side of my face, as though the scars didn’t exist.

  Shaking, I dropped my hand and looked at the entire picture. “I hate you,” I said to my reflection. “I hate this. All of it. It’s not fair.”

  Anastasia’s smile came to mind.

  “None of this is fair,” I said, then I drove my fist into the mirror. And again. And again. Until my reflection no longer tormented me and only shards on my dresser remained.

  The next morning I woke up to flowers and a letter by my bedside. Assuming they were from Ella, I turned away from them and looked across the room. The picture of us caught my eye. Ella and me. Young and happy. I thought of our walk in the woods. My words to her. “I may never get married ... thankful I have you ... not many people have a friendship like this.”

  I turned back to the flowers. The handwriting on the envelope wasn’t Ella’s.

  I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes, then opened the letter and scanned to the name at the bottom. Natalie.

  Dearest Sarah,

  I never meant to hurt you. I saw your letter in Vasili’s mail and I guess I was just curious, so I opened it and your love for him didn’t surprise me. I saw it from the start. I’ve been a little jealous too because you have seen things in him that I didn’t, but because of you I’ve realized what a gift I have in him and I don’t want to let him go. I haven’t shown Vasili the letter because I’m afraid to. I’m afraid to lose him. I keep staring at the ring on my finger, imagining it gone, and it hurts so bad. I know if I showed him the letter that I’d lose him, even though you tried to convince him to marry me.

  You may not see it in yourself, and I think if you did it would ruin it, but you are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known. My face may be pretty, but I’ll never be as beautiful as you.

  Since you came around, I admit ... I’ve been jealous. I was even jealous around Anastasia. Mainly because I know Vasili is attracted to that kind of beauty that I don’t have. I don’t even know how to find it inside myself. Meeting you has changed me for the better. You’ve helped me more than you know and the way you praised me in your letter brought tears to my eyes.

  You were wrong about something though. I don’t deserve him, not even his last name. But please know that I will do the best I can. I appreciate your honesty so much, Sarah.

  I won’t show him the letter. Let’s keep it as our little secret, okay? After the wedding we’ll be in touch again. I trust you. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. That’s one of your shining qualities.

  Thank you for everything.

  Your friend,

  Natalie

  I reread the letter fourteen times. A mixture of disbelief and longing battling inside of me. The fact that she believed he would actually be tempted to leave her for me, even after seeing those pictures of me, made me anxious. Half of me wanted to jump up and down like a girl who just saw her crush’s name on the caller ID, but the other half of me knew she was right. She could trust me. I despised hurting people. I wouldn’t say a thing.

  They’d marry next week. And I’d keep our little secret.

  All that aside, I wasn’t as beautiful as she thought. If I were, I wouldn’t have blown up last night. I wouldn’t have made my best friend cry. And really, do people with that kind of beauty shatter mirrors and hate themselves?

  I folded her letter and set it by the flowers, then picked a yellow rose from the vase. Turning it in my hands, I thought of my life. From beginning to end. Good mixed with bad.

  Anastasia’s letter came to mind. The one I read at her funeral. “Sometimes there’s bad news and sometimes there’s good news. Sometimes we have pain and sometimes we have smiles.” Yes. That would be life in a nutshell.

  I smiled as I pictured her on that swing, the shimmery ice reflecting her happiness. That moment when time stopped as we compared our scars. That was true beauty. A moment of truth. Two people connecting and smiling amidst their struggles.

  I set the rose back in the vase and stood. “Okay, life. You’ve knocked me down, but I’m getting back up again.”

  Not for myself either, I thought. For the millions of others who feel like they can’t find the strength to go another day. I knew it when Anastasia showe
d me her chest. We all have different shapes and colors to our scars that make us feel alone, but we’re only alone when we hide.

  It was time.

  I plucked a rose petal and inhaled its sweet scent.

  Time for me to bloom.

  Twenty Eight

  On a rainy April morning I visited the burn clinic to go over a few things about my scars. Instead of treading through puddles with my woe is me attitude, I wore colorful rain boots and brought bags of gifts for the doctors and other patients.

  My visit went well enough, I suppose. They said my scar color was great. Nice and pink. My range of motion had improved a ton. I could even open jars myself and my showers were no longer the most dreadful experience of my life. I was less tired and my pain was under control. I showed them how I could write letters and twist pen caps off.

  We scheduled my surgery for skin grafting. Four days after Vasili’s wedding. They would take skin from my back and graft it into my neck to help with movement. I’d be home within a few days.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the surgery, but I knew it was for the best. For months I wallowed in self-pity, missing the old Sarah. Now, I genuinely looked forward to the new Sarah.

  The old Sarah was nice and all, but she concealed her true feelings and, well, she was a people pleaser. Not because she cared about them, because she cared about her own reputation.

  I no longer cared about that. The world could say what they wanted about me. It didn’t matter anymore.

  I spent the rest of the week as the new Sarah. I invited people into my life and made eye contact with strangers. I still refused to use my phone, so when I sat in waiting rooms with a bunch of people staring at screens, I made it a point to bother them and force a real life conversation. By the end, they thanked me for it. And it felt good for me too. It felt like living. Really living.

  By the end of the week I was exhausted when Ella handed me the mail. I carried the letters to my room, plopped onto my bed, and read the return addresses. One from James. One from Vasili.

  This should be interesting, I thought. I saved the best for last and opened the letter from James first.

  Dear Sarah,

  I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I saw the pictures and I heard about the news thing. It wasn’t me. It was Cheyenne. We got into a fight over you and she got mad. I would never do that to you. I’m sorry I even took the pics. I know you’re better off without me. I can see that now. Maybe when everything calms down you can visit Abby and me. She’d like that. Let’s try to be friends. I won’t bother you anymore.

  James

  I hated that I always felt sorry for people who hurt me. Sometimes I wished I were one of those people who held grudges for ten months and stopped talking to people who hurt me. That’s something old Sarah and new Sarah had in common. We both wanted to take the blame for our enemies. I guess I didn’t see them as enemies. I saw them as fellow hurting people, just as broken and in need of love as I was. My bitterness would only hurt them even more. And me.

  So I snapped my pen and wrote James a quick note.

  Dear James,

  I forgive you and I love you as a friend. I always will. Looking back, I feel like this was meant to be. We would’ve gotten married if it weren’t for the fire and I know part of you still thinks we should, but I hope one day you see what I see. For me, marriage is only worth it if both people become better people simply through their love for each other. I don’t think we did that for each other and I’m sorry for my part in it. We didn’t inspire each other to live. Slowly, we stole the air from each other’s lungs. We were suffocating.

  I do love you, James. Enough to tell you the truth. It was never meant to be.

  Find yourself someone who gives you a reason to wake up every morning. Be kind and stop blaming yourself for your brothers death. And for my scars. My dad once told me, “Why are you so arrogant that you think the world’s problems are your fault?” It’s true, James. We’re only hurting ourselves when we hold onto guilt. Even when we hurt people on purpose, it’s up to them to accept our apology and move on. We can’t dwell in our issues. It’s selfish and it will ruin you. So please move on. There’s nothing I want more for you than to see you smile, really smile.

  We’ll keep in touch soon.

  Always,

  Sarah

  I addressed and sealed the envelope, then turned Vasili’s in my hand. I feared opening it. The closure that it would bring made my chest ache.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I glanced at the calendar on my wall. Three days until his wedding.

  Someone knocked on my door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  Ella entered my room and sat beside me. “Everything okay? I saw who wrote the letters.”

  “James was nice. He didn’t post those pictures. My very kind and loving cousin did.”

  “I wasn’t talking about James.”

  “I haven’t opened it yet.”

  “What if you regret it?”

  “I won’t.”

  “You might.”

  “I can’t ruin his life. He has a beautiful girl who wants to do whatever it takes to be the perfect wife. I’m not going to ask him to give that up for me.”

  “I’m tempted to tell him myself, but I won’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You could always do what they do in movies.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Show up while he’s at the altar and scream, ‘No. I love you. Don’t do it.’”

  “Right.” I laughed. “I’m okay. I know I’m doing the right thing. If I’m meant to get married, someone else will come along. I’ll be better by then. Less insecure. It will work out.”

  She sighed. “I hope so.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I waited ten years to see Gavin again. One glance is all it took. I wanted him and I wasn’t willing to let my dream of him go. When I got set up with Matt and thought it was Gavin, it crushed me. In that moment I let go of my fantasies. I realized love doesn’t need to be magical to be true. Then he came. And you know, I was expecting fireworks when we finally saw each other again. It wasn’t like that. We sat in my cafe until the sun came up. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. The best part about it was that in place of fireworks, we had contentment. It was like walking through a desert for years and finally finding your home.” She walked back to the door, then peeked back in. “There’s no place like home. Once you find it, no matter how many houses you move in and out of, there will never be another home.”

  Twenty Nine

  Mom and Dad wrote me quite a few letters, most of them ending with, “Can we come and see you?” And I always responded the same by saying, “Soon.”

  They thought I lost my mind when I gave up the phone. I wanted peace and simplicity. And I got it in abundance. Immersing myself in technology again didn’t have the slightest appeal.

  I wrote Dad again and asked them to come for my surgery next week. Without Cheyenne poor Ella would end up taking care of me and she had enough on her own plate.

  After mailing a few letters I drove to Philadelphia. Something I hadn’t done since the fire. I couldn’t bear it.

  As I drove into the busy city, I was reminded of the reason I spent so long avoiding the streets of Philadelphia. Every turn and stop light, every house and tree, every single detail of every single street reminded me of my life before.

  I stopped in front of my old apartment building. The one I shared with Ella when I found out I had cervical cancer. She moved out while I was in a coma. I still hadn’t opened the boxes of clothes she packed from my closet. I didn’t want to see them. Or smell them. And remember the memories I created in them. I didn’t want to bury the girl I used to be.

  I parked my car near my
favorite diner and stepped outside. The cool spring air felt good as I inhaled and caught the fragrance of a blossoming tree.

  Walking down the city sidewalks, I swept every last detail into my mind. From the sidewalk chalk stick figures to the colorful tulips sprinkled amidst weathered bricks and strips of pavement. Kids laughed and chased each other from one set of steps to another, while parents chatted on their porches.

  I came to Philadelphia to look for an apartment. To surprise Ella after my surgery with plans to find my own place and let her growing family be together without me. But the more I walked those familiar paths, the more I felt that I had moved on.

  I stopped and leaned my back against a shop window. Looking out at the place I once called home, I missed my new home.

  The quaint city of Lancaster, a hidden gem surrounded by cities too large for their own good. It’s tiny shops and local markets. The humor of hearing rap music disappear down the street, followed by the clippity clap of an Amish buggy. And the look you give your friend when you say, “Only in Lancaster.”

  I walked back to my car and smiled. Without hesitation, I could bury the old Sarah and walk away, because somewhere along my recovery I had already moved on. I already changed.

  And I didn’t mind it.

  In fact, I quite liked it.

  I arrived back in Lancaster by sunset. Instead of going home, I parked on King Street in the center of town and meandered from shop to shop, buying little gifts for my friends as I discovered them.

  In a thrift store on Prince Street, I spotted Vasili near the entrance. I ducked behind a rack of clothes and pretended to sift through them, hoping he’d leave without seeing me.