by J. B. McGee
I literally feel like I’m going to be sick from the crying, from the emotion. I just want to go back to the day we left. To my last day with them. I want to beg them to stay, to just hold me. The new version of the afternoon plays in my mind on repeat. We’re all standing at the door with our luggage.
“Mom, I know this is crazy, but can we just call it all off. Can we just stay?”
“Stay?” She laughs.
“Yeah, just call it all off. I have a bad feeling. Can we just hang out here for a few weeks.” I shrug. “It can be a staycation.”
“Oh sweetie,” she says as she brushes my hair behind my ears. “There’s no reason to be worried.”
“No. I promise. Just please...” I trail off frustrated. I need them to understand this. “Just please entertain me.”
“We’ve spent a lot of money on this trip.”
“More money can be earned. Please. It just doesn’t feel right,” I plead.
Dad steps in, and I think he’s going to side with my mom, but he surprises me. “She’s right.”
My eyes bulge. “You, too?”
He nods. “Yeah, there’s just something that I can’t place my finger on about it. It just doesn’t feel right. I think we should stay.”
Mom turns her head. “Well, it would appear as though I’m outnumbered.” She puts her bags down. “I’ve never been on a staycation, Alex. Tell me what it involves.”
Reality interrupts the fantasy that I’d rather be living through. Memaw’s voice is quiet when she says my name, “Alex...”
I clench my eyes closed as tightly as I can and hold my breath. Don’t go. Don’t leave me, Momma and Daddy. Stay with me.
Then Memaw’s voice fades, “Shh. I think she’s asleep,” as the door to my room closes.
I take a deep breath, and it’s like I unpause the mental movie I’ve been daydreaming.
I say, “A staycation consists of lots of junk food.” I bounce into the kitchen. “And late nights watching movies, playing basketball in the driveway at midnight...” Dad laughs, and Mom starts to interject, but I throw my finger up to cut her off. “Crafting until my fingers feel like they’re gonna fall off.”
They glance at each other. Dad replies, “What about Memaw and Papa?”
The worst part of a staycation ever. “Maybe they’d like to take a vacation to join our staycation?”
Laughter erupts. “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?”
I nod. “Mhmm.”
He turns on the music and brings her into his arms. I watch as they dance, smooch, and waltz out of the room. I follow them, but they’re gone. It’s like they’ve waltzed right out of my life again. I know it was a daydream, but it feels so real. I can see and hear them like they are right beside me. And this time was different. It was stronger here.
I begin to weep again because I know that in leaving this house today, one more thread holding my life together will be ripped with the flick of a wrist and a blue seam ripper.
I pack the last few things into my bags. A few of my best friends have come by to tell me goodbye. We promise to write, to keep in touch. But let’s face it. The reality is that I’ve lost more than my parents. My life is no longer what it was.
All I can think about is that I can’t wait to get back to Drew. If I haven't learned anything else...the one thing I have learned is that when I'm with him the pain is so much less intense. He makes all of this manageable. When I’m with him, I can forget for a few minutes. He reminds me that there’s hope for healing.
“Alex,” Memaw says.
Her green eyes are bloodshot. I know this has been equally as hard on them as it has been for me. Yet, I rarely see them cry anymore. “Yes Ma’am?”
“You ‘bout ready?”
I nod. From a packing standpoint I’m ready. From a heart standpoint I’m not. “Just a minute alone, please, before we leave.”
“Mhmm,” she murmurs as she turns and walks down the stairs.
I stand motionless until I hear the door to the house close. I’ve been in all the living areas and my room today. The one room I haven’t been in is theirs. I didn’t think I could do it at first, but now that the time has come to leave this house, I’m not sure that I can just leave without going in there.
Tossing the last few things into my bag, I pull the zipper and place it beside my door as I make my way down the hall to their room. It’s not like it will be the same. Memaw and Papa have moved a lot of their belongings to storage. It’s mainly just the furniture. The realtor came today and put it up for sale. She wanted us to leave enough to help with staging.
I’ve known that the house is being sold for a week now. At first I was really angry, but I understand now why it has to happen. My parents had some life insurance, but not enough to get rich. My grandparents can’t afford this mortgage. It’s so much change for me so fast. It’s hard enough to move to another house in the same city, but this entire ordeal has happened so suddenly. I’m not just going to a new school. I’m going to a new town. New friends. New everything. And I hate it.
Papa decided we could hire movers for the rest of the stuff. We just took valuables and things we wanted to move to Graniteville today. I needed to pack up my room. They think that if I have my stuff at their house it will help me move on because it will feel more permanent.
Right now, I’m not sure anything can help me move on. Partly because I don’t want to. I want to live in daydreams where my parents are still real to me. When I get to my parent’s room, it looks so bare. There are no pictures on the nightstands. Mom had one of Dad and me. Dad had one of Mom and me. The framed picture above the bed that said, “Because two people fell in love,” is gone. It’s just an empty room with furniture.
Empty. That’s how I feel. I feel empty. Like there’s nothing left in me other than anger, denial, and such sadness. I’m no longer the happy, perky teen I had been just weeks ago. I make my way to their bed and plop down. Taking a deep breath, I try so hard to inhale their scent, but instead my nostrils are filled with the smell of Tide and Downy. Of course Memaw washed the linens today.
Tears trickle down my cheek at yet another loss, at yet another stitch being ripped from my heart. I clench the duvet, letting the bed absorb and muffle my wails.
Minutes later, I compose myself to leave this house. Grabbing my duffle and backpack on the way down, I stop myself as I go to put them on the same way I had done just a month before. Something about doing things in the same fashion as I had done them that fateful day feels so incredibly wrong. I decide to put one in one hand, and the other bag in another. Holding my head high, I walk with the little bit of dignity I have left down the stairs, and out of the house that is no longer my home.
The fatigue quickly set in on the ride home, and I napped most of the way. The eerie familiarity of the trip causes a pit to form in my stomach. The urge to use the bathroom is what woke me. The scenery is similar to the scenery I saw that day, except I think we’re closer than we had been. I’m pretty sure I know exactly where we are. Within a few seconds a green mile marker confirms. Fifteen. We’re four miles from our exit.
Something about asking to go to the bathroom at this point feels so wrong. Fear, I guess. Fear that if I do things exactly the way I had that day, that history will repeat itself. It’s all a bit too deja vu for me.
“Did you have a nice nap, Alex dear?” Memaw asks.
My voice cracks. My throat is dry, but I don’t want anything to drink at this point. “I did. Interesting how well you can sleep when you’re emotionally and physically exhausted,” I admit.
“No nightmares?” Papa interjects.
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
He nods. “Good girl.” I can see his lips curve into a smile. “Therapy seems to be helping you.”
I glance out of the window. I’m not sure that it’s the therapy as much as it is Drew Foster. The few times I haven’t had nightmares they were replaced with dreams of white horses, carriages, gl
ass slippers, and a certain prince charming. That thought makes me smile. “Sure,” I acknowledge. Maybe it’s the combo. I’ll let them believe what they want. I’ll believe what I want. The true therapy is Drew.
Soon, we’re off the exit. There aren’t really any gas stations off this one. I know there won’t be a place to stop until we’re home. Thankfully, they don’t live that far away from here. I stop my thoughts, and correct myself. Thankfully we don’t live that far away from here. I think of how much easier it is to hold my bladder this go around. The pain of having to go to the bathroom is nothing compared to the memories. The ones that cut at my heart. The only reminders of the last time I traveled these roads.
I put in the earbuds to my discman, and try to go to a different place through music. A place that’s happy, where teenage girls don’t know the agony that I know. My mind drifts to Drew. Just a few minutes until I get to see him again.
He’ll certainly take my mind to happier places. The minutes that it takes to get home seem to be some of the longest minutes of my life. I don’t know what it is about coming back from a trip. It always seems ten times longer than the trip to wherever.
Drew burned me a CD of songs that he thought I would like. The nice thing about this CD is that it doesn’t remind me of my parents. The memories are new. They are of good times. Maybe I’ll make him one. Ha. I would if I had any idea of how to do that. Oh well. I smile as I look out of the window. It’s the thought that counts anyway, right?
We are two turns from the house. We have to drive by Drew’s on the way home. I take my ear phones out and ask, “Hey. Can you just drop me off at Drew’s on the way home?”
“No. We’re going to have supper here in a few minutes,” Papa answers so quickly, it’s almost like he knew I’d ask and had already thought of the answer.
“Well, can he come over for dinner then?” They call it supper, but we’ve always called it dinner. I refuse to switch.
“Yes’um I suppose so,” he responds.
“Yes!” I put my earphones down and turn the discman off. When we approach his house, I notice something new. Something unwelcome. That can’t be in front of his house. With each moment, it becomes more and more clear that it is. “Is that a For Rent sign in his front yard?”
“I believe it is,” Memaw continues. “Surely there’s an explanation.”
“He didn’t say a word about this to me this morning. I don’t understand.” I rattle that out at super fast speed. The same speed I feel my heart pulsating inside of me. When was he going to tell me this? How could he tell me that he loved me this morning when he knew this?
As soon as Papa stops the van, I swing the door open. I hear Papa yell something about springing the hinges. I don’t care at this point about some stupid van. I just want to know what the heck is going on, and the closer I get to his house, the more obvious it becomes.
No. I shake my head as my pace increases. There’s nothing on the front porch. I get to the windows and everything is empty. There’s no trace of Drew Foster to be seen. Like he never existed in the first place. Have I lost my mind? Was he just a dream this entire time? No. He was real. He had to have been real. I feel my knees becoming weak. I catch myself and make it to the steps. I bury my head in my hands, my body shakes and shudders.
My mind starts playing rewind to all of the things he told me. He made promises, and he doesn’t break them. He told me he wouldn’t leave me. He promised to help me. We had plans for this week. How could he do this to me? How could he leave me right now?
My brain can’t fathom the loss it’s experienced. I want to take the seam ripper that keeps ripping threads from my heart and just stab myself. I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t do this without him, without them, without my friends, without my house. How do I do this? How do I survive?
When I told him bye earlier, it was temporary. This isn’t temporary. This has no closure. He might as well be dead to me. I know I’m hyperventalating. I gasp for air in between sobs, and I feel my head getting fuzzy. Soon, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Please let it be him. Please let this be just a dream.
I glance up, and it’s not him. It’s Papa. He sits beside me, and pulls me into his chest. “Breathe with me, Alex,” he instructs me. “In.” I breathe in and then he reminds me to exhale. “Out.” He waits a second, “In.”
“I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this,” I sob.
“Yes you can. Switch your breathing. Less in and more out.”
I nod. It wasn’t the breathing I was talking about.
He rubs my back. In time it helps me slow my breathing. “I don’t understand,” I manage past my wails.
“I don’t know either, Alex.”
I use the the backs of my hands to wipe away the tears. “I mean how could he have been here this morning, and gone in a matter of a day?”
“We just packed your entire house. It’s possible.” He kisses my temple. “I’m not sure why he left. Maybe he’ll call or write you.”
I shake my head as the anger sets in. “If he had any intention of communicating with me, he would have said so before I left today.” I stand up, completely furious, realizing what just happened. “He played me, and I let him.” Papa starts to talk, but I continue, pacing back and forth in front of Drew’s now vacant home. “I made it so easy for him. I was easy. And Daddy taught me to never be dependent on a man...on a boy.” I throw my hands up. “And I did just that. I was completely dependent on him.”
Papa grunts as he tries to get up from the step. I feel bad and offer to help, but he waves me off. “I agree you were too dependent on him.”
My eyes widen. Even though I know it’s true, it’s hard to hear, and from Papa, who usually sides with me on everything. “But –”
“But God gives us the people we need in our lives for the amount of time he sees fit.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and walks me back to the car. “We’ll never understand God’s timing.”
I swallow. I know he’s talking about more than just Drew. “Okay.”
“Did you enjoy your time with him?”
“I love him, Papa.” I cry. “I loved him.”
“Did he make these last three weeks easier?” I know it’s somewhat of a rhetorical question.
“You know he did.”
“Then I think everything happens for a reason.” He stops us and turns me to where I’m facing him. I look down, but he lifts my chin. “And I’m sorry that you’re mending a broken heart on top of a shattered one.”
I clench my eyes closed to fight the tears. “I’m hurt. I’m so mad. I hate him.”
“Hate’s an awfully strong word. Especially since you just said you loved him.” Papa holds his hand out, as if to help support me the rest of the way. I place mine in his as we start to walk. Poor Memaw has been waiting in the van all this time.
“I don’t know what I feel. I’m just angry, frustrated, hurt. I’m a million different things right now. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay,” Papa concedes.
We both get back in the van, and drive the short distance to the house. Part of me wonders for a moment if maybe he left a note. That makes me feel bad for all the nasty things I just said about him. I hope he left a note. Some kind of redemption. Otherwise, he’s dead to me, too. The thought makes my throat constrict. My blood pumps through my body. I know I need to calm down before I blow a gasket.
A few seconds later, we pull into the gravel driveway. I run to the back door, looking for a note. Nothing. Then I think to go check the front. Nothing. The creek. “I’ll be right back,” I yell.
I rush to the water. Even though my mind tells me he isn’t there, my heart wants him to be there, like in the movies. My wild imagination hopes when the creek becomes visible he’ll be standing there. I hadn’t even noticed the afternoon thunderstorm, but suddenly there’s a loud rumble of thunder as the bottom falls out of the sky. I’m completely drenched. I get to where I can
see the water, and there’s nothing. He’s not there. I continue to run, disregarding anything poisonous in the brush to our spot. Nothing.
It’s like he never existed to me. Like we were nothing. When I go back to my stone, I see our pile. It’s the only thing that lets me know it was all real. I pick them up and start throwing them. I don’t care if I ever skip a stone again in my life. It means nothing.
How could he do this to me? Who plays a teenage girl who’s just lost everything? I loved him. As the downpour increases, the thunder gets louder. They drown out the grunts, sobs, and yells that come from my body as I release this anger that has suddenly consumed me. Much like the anger I had the first day I met him.
“Alex!” Echoes through the neighborhood. I’m sure they’re worried about me. I roll my eyes. The last thing I need them to do is come after me. I’m angry enough to run laps, but instead I sprint back to the house. When I’m under the shelter of the carport, Memaw brings me some towels.
“What were you thinking runnin’ off like that right before a storm?” She scolds me. I’ve always been a pretty good girl, and I don’t like being in trouble. Trouble makes me think of Drew. Three hours of uncomfortable. I hope he has three hundred years of uncomfortable for what he just did. I forget for a minute she a question I’ve yet to answer. She continues to lecture me. “Dry off out here. You’re not going to romp around the house soaking wet like that.”
I nod, feeling sad that I’ve disappointed them. “Thanks.”
She stomps back inside. The storm is easing up. These pop up summer thunderstorms can be scary. I know God isn’t an angry God, but sometimes I feel like storms are his way of just screaming at us. They are much like us. Our tears are the rain, our cries are the thunder, and the lightning is the sword stabbing us right where it hurts the most, setting us on fire. Nothing good comes from lightning other than the magical facade of it. It’s intriguing. It’s draws us in like a magnet. It excites us, yet scares us. It’s dangerous, yet entertaining. It’s all the things he was for me.