by Clark, Kaisa
Between my first two classes I head to the Union to grab a coffee. I need the caffeine, need the focus, the drive, the energy. I’m standing in line, absently staring into space when Marcus crosses into my line of vision from across the room. I’m at the front of the line now, so I order us both a coffee and take one over to him.
As I approach he catches sight of me and I hand him his cup.
“Hey, thanks!” He’s enthused, lit up in a way I rarely see him. “I’m pretty pumped about this semester. All classes I want, no drab pre-reqs left to get out of the way.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say dryly.
He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. “So I know we don’t have any of the same classes anymore, but do you still want to get together to study?”
I nod.
“I’ll meet you there tonight. We can get a jumpstart on the semester.”
I meet him at Java House that evening and order a latte with an extra shot of espresso. I welcome the jolt it gives me, enjoy feeling like I have a safety net, knowing that when Adam crosses my mind I’ll be able to quickly push him out and replace him with the next thought that comes passing through. I don’t have to worry he’ll linger, that I’ll spend the night pining for him.
I gaze at the textbook spread in front of me. I try to focus on the equations, but they seem to scramble on the page. Even if I’m not being productive I’m grateful not to be at my apartment alone with my thoughts. Every now and then I glance up at Marcus on the opposite side of the booth from me. Sometimes I catch him watching me, but he always looks away quickly. He did a lot of writing over the break and lets me read some of what he has with him. All of it is amazing. I'm jealous of the way he strings words together, the way he can so perfectly capture a feeling I can hardly put my finger on. Maybe if I was able to write like him I could finally explain myself to Adam, finally make him understand. I obviously can’t form words in his presence; I’m pathetically silent when given the chance. But even if I could somehow articulate myself on paper, he’s clearly made his peace with this, so why can’t I?
On Wednesday, Annabelle and I go to yoga. I try to find release. I try desperately to let go like the instructor says.
“Breathe in love, breath out whatever is troubling you.”
Inhale: Adam. Exhale: Adam.
“Imagine a river. Take any thought that enters your mind, set it on a leaf, and watch it drift away.”
Adam smiling at the bar, looking fine, looking happy... How can he be happy?... I wonder if he ever even missed me at all... I wonder if he could tell how much I still miss him... I wonder what he's doing now... Focus Lex.... Lex. He’s the only one who calls me Lex... I always liked the way it sounded in his mouth... His mouth...
“Be here now. Be in this room, now.”
Be here now. Be in this room. Breathe in focus. Let Adam go.
Friday after our shift Annabelle tracks me down as I’m doing my side work. “Party at my place. You’re coming and I’m inviting Marcus. It’ll be good for you.”
She’s probably right. It’s been two months. He’s clearly moved on. Maybe it’s time I give this rebound thing some consideration. It might help keep my mind occupied, push me to get on with my life. Even so, in the back of my mind I know I’ll always be searching, always looking for someone to fill his shoes, always coming up short. He is my perfect match. He is everything I’ve ever looked for. Everything I never knew I needed begins and ends with him. He is love. He is gone.
I take my time getting ready. I brush on makeup and curl my hair. I know it’s a step in the right direction even if my heart’s not in it. By the time I show up at Annabelle’s, the party is in full swing. As soon as I’m through the door she hands me a plastic cup. I can't tell if I look that desperate or if she's just trying to get everyone wasted as soon as they enter the door. There are people everywhere: talking in the kitchen, smoking on the balcony, dancing in clusters in the living room. The lights are turned down, making the place feel intimate and welcoming.
I down the drink Annabelle gave me and go in search of another. When I reach the kitchen I spot Marcus leaning up against the countertop. His eyes flick to mine, and I look at him, really look at him. Annabelle is right, he is attractive, not in the exotic, beautiful way Adam is but in the nice boy you’d bring home to your mom kind of way. He isn't as tall as Adam, and his eyes don't have that striking quality when they connect with mine. In fact, nothing about Marcus is like Adam and I think that's why I like being around him. I can forget with Marcus. When we talk there's not that same fire, but there's also not a void when he's away. When I’m with him I can be rational, and I’m starting to think that’s a good thing. The intensity of my relationship with Adam sucked the life out of me. Rational is starting to have a certain draw. Middle ground is starting to have a certain draw.
“Hey there.” His smile greets me. As always it’s placid and reserved. I want it to be more. I want it to light up the room.
He gestures to the alcohol bottles cluttering the counter. “What’ll it be?”
“Surprise me.”
He picks through the bottles then begins mixing. I grit my teeth and force myself to blot out the memory of Adam mixing me a drink last summer. I focus on Marcus, watch as he makes small adjustments until he has the concoction just right. He raises his eyebrows as I take a drink, then another.
“So?”
I nod. He must be feeling daring because he takes my hand as he passes out of the kitchen, pulling me after him. His palm is warm against mine. There’s not a hint of electricity in his touch but I don’t want him to let go. After the gripping loneliness of the last two months it feels so nice to touch someone again. Still holding my hand in his, he leads me into the living room and the crowd of dancers. He pulls me to him and I focus on the movement of his body, feel him steadying me, grounding me. I sway with the music, trying desperately to keep my brain in this moment, willing the music and his presence and the haze of alcohol to numb me to my sadness.
Drink after drink, song after song, we dance through the night. The alcohol dulls my senses and I relax into his embrace, feel his hands move over me, feel him press his body into mine. I let it settle me. He’s staring deep into my eyes and it’s written all over his face that he wants me. Then he’s pulling me by the hand, leading me down the hall to Annabelle’s room, and I don’t resist.
It’s suddenly quiet when he pushes the door shut behind us and leans in to kiss me. I wish I could say I feel something when his lips touch mine, some spark, some fire, but I don't feel a thing. I know the truth: I’m using him, in every way I can be. I’m using him to cover up the emptiness, to distract myself from the only person I ever want to be with, the only person who ever truly mattered. That’s all he is to me, a distraction, a nice, pleasant distraction, and nothing more. I feel like a horrible person for using him this way, for leading him on, because he truly deserves better. I just can't be the one to give it to him and am too selfish to tell him the truth. So instead I take advantage of his kindness, I take advantage of his feelings for me. I let his mouth move over mine, the pressure of his kiss growing. I push my body tight against his and let him take me away. But it isn't really him I taste, isn't really him I feel, isn't really him I want. And though he is great, he is just a poor substitute for the real thing.
When I’m sure he is asleep, I extract myself from Marcus’s embrace and make my way to my apartment, feeling disgusted with myself. I flop back on my bed and stare blankly into the darkness. The reality of what I’ve become sinks in as I lay there. There’s no denying I’m a train wreck. I’ve made a mess of so many good things I had going for me: my outlook on life, Adam’s love, Marcus’s friendship.
In my heart I know I’m exhausted, worn out, my antics over the past eight weeks finally catching up to me. I’ve been running from dreams, dodging memories, trying to squeak out some sort of existence without Adam in it. Everything seems so different, so at odds with the way it should be, with
who I used to be. For better or worse, being with Adam changed me entirely, down to my core, and I know I’ll never be the same. But after seeing him so together, so fine without me in his life, I know I have to accept that he isn't coming back. I need to find a way to put the pieces back together and get on with my life.
Chapter 27
I work a double the next day. Despite staying up most of the night lost in thought, I avoid the coffee pot, wanting to have turned a page. Annabelle and Javier spend the majority of the dinner shift engrossed in a heated debate over the plot of a new release that’s playing in theaters.
Fed up, Javier finally grasps Annabelle by the shoulders. “That’s it! We’re going tonight. Then you’ll see I’m right and you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Fine by me!” She shouts back at him. She shifts her eyes to mine as he walks away. “You’re coming to this thing.”
I shrug my shoulders in response as she pulls out her cell phone from her apron pocket. A wide grin spreads across her face. “I’m texting Marcus too.”
When I don’t say anything she jabs my shoulder. “Oh come on! I saw you two dancing last night and I definitely didn’t sleep on my own couch for no reason!”
After a beat I say, “You should ask him. It’ll be fun.” I know she’s trying to help the only way she knows how, pushing me towards a rebound. Marcus really is a great guy. I should give him a fair chance. Maybe we can somehow get past the rebound phase and move into something real.
We decide to catch the last show of the night, so I race home to change after checking out. I’m dressed and nearly ready to race out the door, just struggling with the buckle on my left heel when I hear two short knocks on the door and freeze. Panic floods my chest. Did Marcus get my address from Annabelle? I don’t know if I’m ready for an actual date.
I pull the door open and let out an audible gasp when I see who is standing in front of me. Part of me wonders if I’m dreaming, but if I am I don’t want to wake up. His face is desperate, his palm pressed flat against the open door as if he’s afraid at any moment it will close.
“Please hear me out, Lex. I know you probably don’t want to see me but please, I need you to hear me out.”
He couldn’t be more wrong. There’s still no one I’d rather see standing outside my door. No matter how much distance he put between us, he’s the only one I ever want to see. I want so badly to pull him into me. I want to take him in my arms and tell him over and over and over again how sorry I am and how much I love him and how badly I don’t ever want him to go away. But I don’t know why he’s here. I don’t know what his presence means. I grip the door in stunned silence staring at his beautiful face, willing him to bridge this gap, to take all this pain away with three simple words.
When I don’t move to close the door, Adam takes a step inside. Then the words come spilling out of him, pouring into me. “I’ve thought about you every single day. I’ve missed you every single day. I’ve picked up the phone to call you over and over again, but stopped myself every time.”
Unlike the night out at The Berg, his eyes are pleading, begging me to listen. I can see the familiar sadness wash over his face, linger on his features. It wrecks me inside, knowing there’s some torment in him I could never take away.
“There's so much I wasn’t ready to tell you, and the harder I fell for you the more I wanted to keep that side of me from you, to keep you loving this partial version of me. The better part. The part you brought out. From the second you came into my life I never wanted you to see that other side of me. And for the longest time it was so easy to hide because you’ve always brought out the best in me, made me think maybe I wasn’t even that person anymore, that maybe the rest would just fade away completely.”
I stare at him in confusion, trying to sort through the words that are rushing out of him, not entirely sure what he means.
“After the fight at homecoming I promised myself I’d never let you see that side of me again. But then I let myself slip again with that idiot in line. I was so furious that you even had to ask me in the car what my problem was, that I ever let it get to that point. I stayed up that whole night knowing you deserved so much better. I didn’t want bring you down with me and I convinced myself that if I broke it off you’d find a way back to normal.”
“What about you?” I whisper.
“I’m used to feeling like shit, Lex. That is my normal.”
His eyes meet mine and they look so flat, so naked, so exposed. I hear it seep into his voice as he goes on.
“Only being away from you is so much harder than I thought it would be. It is so fucking hard to stay away knowing you’re here. I caved with school starting. I had to see you, to know you were okay, to know it was all worth it. I dragged Damien to The Berg every night for a week, just waiting. Then finally you were there, but I could see all over your face how much I’d hurt you. All the warmth and levity I loved about you was gone. You just looked empty and it killed me, is killing me that I made you feel that way, that I was the one to extinguish the glow I’ve always loved so much about you. I thought I was helping, but you were the one I hurt the most.”
“I’m so sorry I pushed you, Adam,” I breathe, finally saying the words out loud. “It’s all I’ve thought about. I never should’ve pushed you. You needed patience and support and understanding and I didn’t give it to you. I am so sorry. I was wrong and I am so incredibly sorry.”
“No.” His eyes flick to mine. They are hollow, empty shells. It wrecks me to see him like this, to be so powerless to take his anguish and pain away. I feel the lump take shape at the back of my throat and swallow hard.
“I needed to tell you. In a way I think I wanted to tell you from that first night I mentioned his name in the car. I never talk about Isaac. Not with my parents. Not with Damien. Never. But one night with you and that story just slipped out. With you it never felt so bad. I just didn’t know how to tell you about him without telling you everything, without letting you see me for who I really am.”
It hits me then. This is it. This is the truth I pushed him so hard for, the thing that wrecked it all. He leans against the wall and rubs a hand over his hair before going on.
“He and I were really close as kids, practically inseparable. He was a couple years younger than me, but we did everything together. He was such a sweet kid. He loved to play, loved to joke around, always had a smile on his face. I was always the serious one but he brought out that other side of me, brought it out in everyone he came in contact with. He could light up a room. And he really looked up to me, would do anything for me. I'd say Isaac go get me a drink or bring me this toy and he'd jump up with this huge smile on his face and do it right then, no complaints, no questions asked. He was just a really sweet, happy kid.”
The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly as he recalls the memory; I almost hate myself for letting him go on. I watch his expression shift, becoming darker as he continues.
“It started out he just kept getting sick. He was constantly getting these infections. But even when he was sick he was happy, always smiling and laughing. It never held him back so my parents didn’t think too much of it. It wasn’t until he started saying his bones hurt that they got worried and took him in for blood work. That’s when they found it. Leukemia.”
He says the last word in disbelief, as if he still doesn’t understand how it happened.
“Things moved pretty fast after that. They started him on drugs to manage it, but after a while he stopped responding and went into a blast crisis. The doctors told us a bone marrow transplant was his last chance. They tested all of us and I ended up being the only match. I couldn’t have been more excited. I was going to be the one to save him. My mom even got me this stupid Superman shirt I wore to the hospital practically every day.”
He shakes his head slightly at the memory. His face is grave and my stomach turns. We’re still standing in the doorway and I lean into the wall to steady myse
lf as he goes on. His voice is raspy now, low in his throat.
“They had to do another round of chemo and radiation right before the transplant to get rid of all his bone marrow so it could be replaced with mine. All the drugs and needles and tests sucked the life out of him, finally stole his smile. I remember sitting with him, day in and day out, hoping he would get better, willing my marrow to please help him get better, and listening to the incessant beeping of those machines letting me know he just wasn’t. When they tested him again, they found both his cells and mine. The one thing I could give him wasn’t working. I couldn’t make him better. I couldn’t save him.”
It breaks my heart to imagine a younger Adam, all brown eyes and dark hair waiting by his brother's hospital bed, wanting his friend back and feeling so powerless and guilty for not taking his sickness away. I want so badly to reach for him now, to take him in my arms and shower him with love, but I just stand there, watching him stare at the floor, not knowing where we stand. The sadness I’ve previously seen flick across his face is now etched in every line, every contour. For the first time he doesn’t bother to tuck it away.
“He finally got one last infection and couldn’t fight it off. It was right before Christmas when he let go.” His voice is a hollow whisper. “After that we were never the same family again. It completely changed us. We didn’t know what to do if we weren’t fighting for Isaac. My parents threw themselves into their work, like if they somehow worked hard enough, long enough, they could still save him or forget him or both. And I was just so angry.”
The emotion flashes across his face as he recalls that dark time.
“I was angry with myself for not saving him, angry with the doctors for letting him die, angry with my parents for not catching it sooner, angry that it was him and not me in the first place. I was angry with everyone all the time. I just felt this rage. It boiled up inside me, made it so I couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. I wanted to fight everyone, all the time, take on the whole world. My parents thought boxing might help. You know, put all that rage into something productive. And it did. I spent all my time at the gym, hours on end every day, letting go, letting all that anger and grief wash out of me.”