Next to You (Life)

by Claudia Y. Burgoa

  “Driving drunk, that’s wrong, bro.” He sighs and drops his head. Mother fucker, what was I thinking? His parents and sister died in a car accident; hit by a drunk driver. That took away his suburban life and dropped him in Satan’s household—better known as our first foster home. “Do you have any fucking idea how many people would’ve been destroyed if something had happened to you? You selfish bastard. You are my brother, what do you think it will do to me; let alone anyone else. Yes she left, yes she didn’t think it through; but what was there to think. That control you exercise pushed her to the edge too. Tell me how drinking yourself into oblivion is going to help Becca, you or anyone around you? There are other ways to forget her, if that’s what you want.”

  Is that what I want? I ask myself resting my arms on top of my legs and my head on top of my hands. Forget we were once friends; that I once loved her and I hoped…

  “My manager will be arriving soon,” he says. “I’ll take you to my place… I think this is enough time to blow off steam. Fuck, that’s coming from me, the irresponsible one. But, D,” I lift my gaze to see his piercing dark eyes staring at me, “promise me this tangent is over, man. I love you but I can’t see you doing this to yourself anymore.”

  As we wait for the manager to arrive, I pull the letter I received from her today and read it with less liquor drowning my mind.

  Hi Dan,

  To answer your email related question, there’s no internet access for patients—part of the organic approach. One of the therapists explained how emails give you an instant gratification that in some cases is counterproductive. Also, the old fashion way of correspondence gives you a deeper connection to who you’re trying to reach. Is it true? I’m not sure. Somehow the note you sent with those delicious chocolates—thank you, I love you—doesn’t connect me to you in any way, au contraire –surprise, I’m learning some French. Though he also mentioned what you write comes from the heart if you do it by hand. That I believe, because that chicken-shit handwriting screams furious, pissed beyond all reasons.

  Us against the world? Most times it feels like you against the world while dragging me along. It might not be that way, but my perspective is different from yours. I need to take off this veil or get my eye prescription checked before we can call this an us.

  Then, there’s this thing called self-love. You and I know that my DNA coding information doesn’t have it. How am I supposed to love others when I can barely stand myself at times? My sneaking away has a lot to do with you, this powerful overlord that can convince me to do just about everything. Even when I’m not sure what I want.

  What’s that?

  You want me to give you an example… Moving back to Boston—no, Massachusetts. Several times we fought about my re-location after college, you called me ridiculous for not wanting to be where the memories were… ridiculous caught up with me and made my life miserable.

  If only I had stayed away… no, I won’t go back to the ‘if’s’, they are my frenemies. Seem friendly but keep you stuck in the past. So now I’m trying to move on. You know most of my secrets, mainly those that I should’ve dealt with long ago, and that’s my current status—working on my crap.

  For the past few days, I’ve been trying to get to the root of what happened to me and how to overcome what the doctors call traumas. I’m dealing with an unloving mother who died without giving me that little thing called love that I needed so much. A rapist ex-boyfriend who died for me… the following statement sounds moronic, but it makes me feel guilty, dirty and yet there’s this want for me to hate him. We both know I’m not a fan of the h word—or feeling. Also, I have come to realize is that I was lucky. When I lost Ian, someone else picked up the slack and kept me going. The books I’m reading mention that sometimes one person who cares can make the difference. And it did, I had you.

  No, I hope with all my heart that I still have you.

  My ogre, who is upset, filled with rage and perhaps pondering a little vengeance because he thinks I abandoned him. I would never abandon you. That touches a sensitive spot. One I think you should look into while I’m away. Do you know that the story of how you lived with the Swansons since the age of five and being in more than one home doesn’t fit? What really happened, Dan? Boy, I’m not gone long and I can see a little light. That light makes me want to ask for a few modifications to the letter I left. Though you’re free to ignore me, don’t date other people…can you wait for me? Or better yet, please, wait for me.

  Love you forever,

  Becca

  Chapter 6

  Rebecca,

  You didn’t give a shit, as a result you have no right to make requests or tell me what to do with my future. You left like a thief in the middle of the night, taking what I value the most, you. I’m moving on, the sky is the limit for me. I can fuck and marry whoever I want.

  Hope you find what you need, certainly it won’t be with me.

  D

  Hello my dear best friend,

  I found your note too short for the answers that I expected and the box of truffles pretty big in comparison, hopefully it might last me a month—thank you for thinking of me. So you’re moving on, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Does it? You know my secrets—most of them. Why can’t I know yours? This place is helping me discover things not only about me, but our relationship too. Here’s a fact: you are a great listener. The best ever.

  I talk, you listen, I ask, you flip the conversation, so I continue talking. You control your environment, what you say, what you share with others. Yes, you shared more with me than any other person, but you keep me at arm’s length too, Daniel. From the first time we met until I left, there’s a long list of mergers, acquisitions, sales and professional goals you achieved, I know all of them. Future plans I can remember off the top of my head: the opening of a residential branch for the Construction Company, dipping your spoon into the restaurant business, golf courses around the world. Am I missing something? Perhaps, but I don’t know much of what’s inside you, for real.

  Last Christmas, for the first time in years I learned about this wife and children plan you had and you shared a piece of your foster parents. Usually, you told me about the slutty girls you dated, screwed or whatever you did, only of course that they meant nothing. Buddy confides more about his life than you, my best friend; the man who swore to love me—forever. I believed when you said you did—love me—but in truth, you did to only an extent. You allowed yourself to love me up until some point. Maybe I’m wrong, then again with how my world and luck go I might never find out.

  Now I’m looking at things from a new perspective… still, I have so much more to learn though. Thirty some days here, gave me a different perspective of who I am. There’s still a whole lot to discover, but one thing is for sure, I’m not that bad myself.

  I’m very sorry for leaving—to quote your words—like a thief in the night and taking what you value the most, thank you for consider me that too. Again, sorry for running away, dropping off the face of your world, hurting you and putting you in a position where you hate me.

  Right now it is time for me to meet Becca, what makes her crazy, why she retreated inside herself, an introverted child, teenager and adult who shielded herself behind you. Her love for pink, why the holidays are so important to me and also, that I can’t and shouldn’t keep anything inside. Becca unfiltered, twenty four seven. A scary thought, but better out than in is the motto here. If I don’t let it out, I begin to resent myself and that takes me down the wrong path, but also I’m beginning to learn that there’s the truth and then there’s being nasty.

  While getting to that balancing point, analyzing everything brought me to the great discovery I pointed out at the beginning of the letter. You don’t trust me or anyone for that matter. Your heart is like the human brain, it only uses a little percent of it to function—imagine if you used it all. You gave me more of you than you had given to any other person, or for that matter more than anyone had given to
me. But it was not much. At the end, not even safe Rebecca Trent was enough for you to trust with it. Of course, now in that great mind of yours, we’re not even friends, so you will have an even harder time sharing a little information about you. Though I’d love to know everything from whenever you remember until… your future. What’s next for you? Reinventing yourself, find yet another person who can cover the role of Daniel’s significant other and move on with what is expected of a rich guy? A family?

  That’s sad, heartbreaking for me. Will she know you the way I do? Will she learn that you have a sullen all powerful professional glare for the world and that special smile for me inside those magnetic blue-greys? Will she know that the way your shoulders tense tells me if you had a good day or not? There are multiple things I know about your moods, but I never learned what you really wanted for yourself as a person. Making money seemed to be your only goal in life. Do you have any personal ones?

  I don’t know any of those answers, and wretchedly, today you seemed to have shut the door in my face. Anyway, that’s my take of the day and the things I needed to get off my chest. May I send some sprinkles of hope, a little optimism that when this isolation ends, you can find it in your heart, the possibility of letting me reintroduce you to Becca Trent?

  Love you forever,

  Becca T.

  P.S. If you let me, I’ll be back, I swear.

  Chapter 7

  Trust, jeez, she’s losing it. Wasn’t the center supposed to give her some clarity? I read the letter again, and wish I could order a round of Jack Daniels mixed with Don Julio to accompany me while I try to wrap my head around her letter. However, I’m at my office, and also I promised to clean up my act after my brothers’ intervention. The fogged-drunk days are over and I’m taking charge of my life—the professional side.

  “You need me to call your brothers, sir?” Betsy, my assistant enters into my office without announcing herself, I shake my head. She gives me a tight smile, her dark eyes look worried. With her index finger, she places a strand of her short blond hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to intrude, but if there’s something I can do.”

  She gestures toward the letter she handed me earlier. Certainly she might know more about Rebecca than me. Becca loves Betsy, she thinks of her as a fairy godmother impersonating an assistant. The power of the books she immersed herself into, in order to escape reality. Betsy and Becca have a friendly relationship, hell, Becca makes friends with everyone that will allow it. She just never realized it.

  “Have you spoken to her?” I point at the eight by five portrait next to my monitor where Bex is hugging a koala. It was one of those crazy expeditions to an Australian sanctuary where she ended up volunteering her time to care for the furry creatures. I wait a few more beats before I ask the next question in hopes that she has some insight. “Well, has she written to you yet?”

  “She sent me a birthday card,” is all she answers.

  “That’s it?” My voice sounds like a growl. “Sorry, I didn’t…”

  “That time when you disappeared from the face of the earth and forbade anyone to give her your whereabouts damaged my relationship with Becca.”

  “She said something?” Becca isn’t like that, what could she possibly do to one of her favorite people?

  “No,” Betsy shakes her head and presses her lips. “But she withdrew from me. I did write back just last week, offering her my love and hope for a fast recovery.” The deep breath doesn’t go unnoticed, but I have no idea what it means. “I love her like a niece; you introduced her to everyone right after she finished high school. She puts up with you. Not an easy task.” Betsy purses her lips and then asks, “Will you need help with her birthday present this year?”

  I shake my head and dismiss her. There won’t be a birthday trip, or a top of the world, ridiculous surprise. Our relationship is over and the only thing left for me to do is begin to erase her presence from my life. I mean, trust, how dare she says that. After all that we’ve been through. What else does Becca want from me, from us? We’ve been through everything. Only a week after her mother’s wedding, we began to exchange emails and phone calls. Those damn phone conversations became the highlight of my day.

  “Hello,” I answered the phone, only a few minutes before leaving my hotel room. My group and I were heading to a round of night clubs and bars in London, where I was working on a two week internship. “Hello,” I repeated because I couldn’t hear well.

  “Is this a bad time?” a melodic soft voice asked. “It’s Becca—Rebecca Trent, you told me that if I couldn’t email you, to at least give you a call.”

  “For you,” I said, trying to smooth the worry in her words, “I’m never busy, you call me whenever you need—day or night. It’s been a week since your last email, what happened?”

  “Not much, got a job,” she said taking a deep breath. “Annie, the woman from the diner hired me since I’m about to turn sixteen. Now it’s become almost impossible for me to go to the library before it closes, and as you know during the week I’m babysitting a couple of kids two blocks from home. I arrive there before eight and get done between three and four, the library opens at nine.”

  “Hold on, it’s almost six o’clock, why aren’t you working then?” my voice came with a mix of worry and chiding. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, all is fine,” the answer came automatic. “Thursdays and Saturdays are my days off at the diner,” she says, the background noises don’t tell me much of where she is. “I went to the library at four, the computers were busy and I got side tracked browsing the new books and getting a few for the week. The library closed before I could connect. That’s why instead of waiting until Monday, I called.”

  “You did well,” I praise her after the realization that indeed the lack of response had me worried, with Lisa and her mother, things were unpredictable. Not that she said anything about them, but the glimpse I got of those vipers had me on the edge. “But tell me, why waste your summer working so much, when you can have fun at home.”

  “Fun?” She snorted. “You call dealing with Mom and Lisa entertaining and pleasant, when in reality it’s more like Alcatraz meets Friday the 13th. Sorry, things are… different these days, I’ll get used to it. Plus, I told you, I’m saving for a car. Where are you?”

  I began explaining to her the gig in London, the pay wasn’t great but I accepted it because of the things I’d learn. My investment company was doing well, and so was the remodeling company; but I wanted to expand. Freight, would be the next step. But I couldn’t pass this up, the opportunity to learn more about the IT business and how I could use the computer science degree I’d acquire at the end of next year. Information systems and Technology are definitely the future of the world and another way to increase my business. From a long explanation on computer solutions, we switch to the two mansions I bought in foreclosure and planned to remodel. My project manager and I planned on starting a commercial construction company and after we finished refurbishing the last two houses, we’re selling the small remodeling business to an investor.

  “I’ll be back in two weeks,” I told her, changing gears, but impressed how she kept asking questions, showing a real interest in what I had to say. “How about if we get together to celebrate your birthday? Do you think your Mom will let you come with me to Boston for a day?”

  “Mom… ha, as if she’d care where I am,” she growled. “Sorry, it’ll pass—the bitterness. Most of the time I stay in the tree house to avoid them. Like right now, that’s where I’m heading when I arrive home. If you don’t mind taking me without permission… but you really don’t have to.”

  “Weekend, take Saturday and Sunday off from the diner,” I said making plans in my head. “We’ll go and find you a car, You have your permit, right?”

  “Not exactly,” her voice darkens. “I haven’t found a way to convince Mom to come with me to the DMV. Being a minor sucks. Although I do know how to drive, Ian and Mr. Patrick have been teach
ing me.”

  “How much money have you saved for the car, Becca?” Not much, twelve hundred dollars saved for the past five; almost six years. “I know a guy who can find you a bargain… repossessed cars for pennies. I’ll ask him to find you something safe.”

  *

  Two weeks later, Randy had pulled enough strings and had set an appointment for Becca, to take the test and get her driver’s license. As I arrived to pick her up in the white Subaru, the girl sat on the steps of the porch with a plastic bag in hand—her change of clothes for the next day.

  “Happy Birthday, Bex.” I pulled her gently from the floor and gave her a hug, she flinched. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Let’s go, you said we have an important appointment at noon.”

  We left and while we drove she told me about the diner and some of the customers she encountered. Her grandma had been good friends with Annie—the owner—and now that Becca was old enough to work, she offered her a job as a waitress and the tips weren’t bad. When we arrived at the DMV, she jumped out of the car and hugged me. Of course, Becca aced both, the written and driving test, her reward, a very official driver’s license. Instead of Donna Sanders, I signed as the adult responsible. Happy didn’t begin to describe her face when they handed it to her, but that emotion became microscopic when I told her the car we drove was hers if she wanted it. After explaining to her how the deal worked out and showing her a fake invoice, she gave me a check and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

  “Let’s get you some cake.” I gave her a side hug. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Chocolate.” Her big eyes crinkled. “Everything is better with chocolate.”