I couldn’t feel anything, anymore. Everything felt like it was for nothing.
Like I was nothing.
“Brent, I’m not trying to make it harder. Honest.”
“I know, but I’m giving you space and it’s doing nothing.” He tongues the inside of his cheek. “Do you want to just give up? Is that it? Is that what you don’t want to tell me? That you don’t love me anymore?”
“Are you kidding me?” I choked. “Are you fucking kidding me? I love you so much and my heart is literally breaking. It’s shattered into a million pieces and I can’t put them back together. I just feel like it’s all over. Like I don’t know what’s left anymore. I can’t…”
“You think I haven’t lost something, too? That I didn’t lose the baby? That it doesn’t affect me?” His eyes became glassy. “And now I’m losing you too. You’re leaving me. You are. You just don’t realize it because you’re taking your time doing it.”
“Oh you think that’s it?” I sputtered. “You think I’m leaving you? You don’t know what this is like. To be haunted every single night by what our life is supposed to be like right now. Every night I go to sleep and I get to see it all. The way you look at me carrying our baby. And every night I get to feel my body bleed only to see the look on your face.”
“How?” he insisted. “How do I look at you?”
“Not the way you did before. Not at all.”
“It’s just a dream,” he groaned. “It’s not real. I don’t blame you for the baby.”
“I tell myself that everyday, but every night it’s still there.” I opened and closed my hands to relieve some of the tension.
“It’s not real.”
Part of me heard every word he said, but he was competing with my stubborn subconscious that was nightly telling me otherwise. I thought I was the reason everything between us went wrong. I was the problem.
Without thinking I wailed, “You fucking don’t get it. It may be a dream but some things are still real.”
“Like what?”
“You! You put a part of yourself inside me. I had you in me. I felt it. I. Felt. It. And I lost it. I. Lost. It. A piece of you died in me. It was you and me, and it died.”
“So you’re blaming me?” He nodded his head, tightening his mouth. “It’s my fault.”
“No. No, Brent. It’s not. It’s not your fault at all. It’s mine. I couldn’t hold us.”
“We talked about this. It’s no one’s fault. The doctor even said so. You were there. You heard him. It’s no one’s fault.” He sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “It happens. It just wasn’t meant to be is all.”
I stared into my lap, registering acutely his last words.
“That’s what scares me the most,” I said just above a whisper.
“What?” Brent stepped closer, almost touching my feet as they hung at the edge of the bed. “What did you say?”
He heard me. Those evil words that crossed my lips landed on his ears.
“Tell me,” he urged. “What?”
“What if it’s a sign?” Putting it all out there I added, “What if we lost the baby because we aren’t meant to be?”
He fumed. His breathing heaved heavily into the empty space.
“You’re serious?” he asked dangerously quiet. “Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“Wow. Ruby, this…is…something.” His tear-filled green eyes pierced into my equally tearful brown ones. “Really something.” He began to step backwards, pinning me with a wicked glare. “When you figure out what you want, you let me know.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but there was no sound. I felt sick, like I was going to throw up.
“Forget it,” he added. “I don’t want to know.”
Brent didn’t say another word. He spun on his heel, whipped open the door and charged down the hall. There was a soft click as the door fell shut, separating us from one another.
~Present~
Nothing was the same from then on, nor could it be. I was lost and so was he. We apologized to one another, but it didn’t matter. The hurt was done and all that was left were two people with very little to scrape together. We tried to work it out, but in the end decided that a little break was for the best.
We needed to breathe and neither one of us could supply enough oxygen for the other.
Soon after, Brent left for an open try-out process in California to see if soccer would be the answer. It was. For me…well, I searched for answers in all the wrong places. I was such a mess.
“Hey,” Brent calls my attention from the closet area.
“Oh, hey,” I say, dropping my hands.
Silence.
“Let me get your coat.”
I grab his jacket from its hanger and give it to him as he waits for me, leaning on the doorframe.
Taking it in his hand, he holds my attention. I’m at a loss for words, unsure what is the right thing to say. Last night was much heavier than I think either one of us intended.
“I can call a cab for you,” I say, playing with the end of my shirt. “Or you can catch one about three blocks down the street. There are usually a ton this time of day.”
“I can find one.”
Brent shrugs into his jacket and fixes the collar. Stepping forward, he encloses me within his embrace. I join my hands together behind his back and squeeze him tight as his nose gently nudges the space behind my ear. He inhales deeply and I tighten my lids, braving through this farewell. I can break down later, without him here.
“I’m going to call you,” he murmurs. “When I get back to L.A. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I respond, my voice breaking. “I’d like that.”
Loosening his hold, he kisses me just above my hairline and then steps back completely. Brent puckers and twists his lips to the side, and then makes his way to exit with me following to let him out.
Resting his hand on the doorknob, he lets out a heavy sigh, closing his lids.
“Brent?”
“Tell me you’re okay, at least,” he insists, turning to face me.
“I can’t. I’m not going to lie to you.” I force a smile. “But I will be. How about you? How are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I think I’m worse now than I was before.”
“How so?” I take a step forward, closing in on him.
“I’m not saying this to piss you off or to hurt you, but you really know how to fuck with my head.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I know you aren’t,” he groans. “But you still are.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know how to make this better. How does anything make this better? “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
My hand rises to meet the ruby gem resting just above my heart. Brent’s eyes land on the same space, as my fingertips rub the stone underneath the cotton. He reaches out, placing his palm over my hand, and then bends his knees so we’re at eye level.
“Did you mean what you said last night?” he questions.
“Which part?”
“About not wanting me to leave?”
“Yes,” I admit, dropping my gaze to the buttons on his coat. “I did.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I would have waited for you, you know.”
“Brent,” I breathe. “I know, but I couldn’t let you do that. I was such a mess and felt like I was just making things worse for you. Everything was falling apart and you needed something good. I just wanted you to be happy and thought that—”
“You thought wrong. All I needed was you.”
“But I couldn’t be there for you. I couldn’t be anywhere for anyone. Even myself.”
Brent hangs his head, pondering at the ground for five audibly counted breaths.
“Then I just have one question.” Lifting my chin, he asks, “Where are you now?”
“Here.” I swallow. “I’m right here.”
“Then I’m still wa
iting.” He looks straight into that place only he can find. “For you to find your way back to me.”
Author’s Note
Many locations in Forgotten Yesterday are based on real places in the City of Chicago. I have a great love for the city, having lived there myself, and wanted to share some of those special locations mentioned throughout this story.
The restaurant where Ruby works is entirely fictional, but Chicago is home to many steakhouses. Some of my favorites include: Wildfire, Morton's, Ruth's Chris, and Gibson's. The atmosphere and food is delightful, in every single one, and so are the cocktails.
That first night Brian takes Ruby to the neighborhood of Wrigleyville, which is well known for its sports bars and of course, the Cubs. I always imagined that they were standing outside one of my favorite pubs, The Irish Oak. They have great music and it’s within a block of Wrigley Field.
The University of Chicago, while not highlighted too often in the book, is located in the neighborhood of Hyde Park, and is by far one of the most beautiful campuses I've ever visited.
In Ruby's dream, where she and Brent go out for her birthday, I always imagined they were at the South Loop restaurant, Gioco. I love the plush interior of that establishment.
In Ruby’s notorious dream, where both her fantasies and nightmares are played out, she and Brent go to Lincoln Park Zoo. I adore that place. It’s free to the public and open year round. Be sure to say hello to the primates for me, they were always a favorite.
The Drake Hotel is iconic to Chicago, and located on the northern end of the Michigan Mile. I highly suggest taking part in the Afternoon Tea.
The restaurant where Ruby and Brent have brunch is based on The Oak Tree Restaurant & Bakery. I always enjoyed taking family and friends to breakfast there. Nothing compares to dining with a bird's eye view of Michigan Avenue.
The hot dog stand with the "insatiable" customer service is based on The Wieners Circle in the neighborhood of Lincoln Park. There’s so much to say about this place, it certainly does have a reputation. Take Ruby's advice...check it out online.
Finally, Lake Michigan. Ruby's comparison of the lake to the city is exactly how I felt when I lived there. You can look out over its horizon and bask in its calm and serenity, whenever you needed a break from the noises and city lights. It truly is a constant and welcomed friend.
Deciding Tomorrow
Renee Ericson
DEDICATION
~To Patience~
Thank you for your companionship.
Decisions
“You thought wrong. All I needed was you.”
“But I couldn’t be there for you,” I say. “I couldn’t be anywhere for anyone, even myself.”
Brent hangs his head, pondering, while looking at the ground for five audibly counted breaths.
“Then, I have just one question.” Lifting my chin, he asks, “Where are you now?”
“Here.” I swallow. “I’m right here.”
“Then, I’m still waiting”—he looks straight into that place only he can find—“for you to find your way back to me.”
I suck in a jagged breath, but the oxygen ceases to fully enter my lungs. Time stands still as the anticipation of my reply hangs in the air.
He plants his warm lips softly on my cheek and then drops his hand from my chin. He waits.
I nip my bottom lip and tighten my mouth to keep it from shaking. “I want to,” I stutter out, throwing my arms around his neck. “I want to.”
Brent relaxes his stiff form, slowly wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me from the ground, securing me into his chest. “We’ll figure something out.”
One Week Later
One
“Attention, passengers,” a female voice alerts overhead. “The captain has started our final descent. At this time, please return your seats back and tray tables to their upright positions and stow carry-on bags under the seat in front of you or in the overhead bin. Make sure that your seat belts are fastened and please remain in your seats until the plane has reached the gate. We will be on the ground shortly.”
Pressing the button on the armrest, the seat pushes my back upward, posturing my body at a ninety-degree angle. I return the magazine that I feigned to read the entire flight to the seat pocket in front of me and then look out the window. The early morning gray sky is splattered with clouds.
A soft finger brushes my elbow, and a rattling sound comes from the passenger next to me.
“Hang on,” says the woman in the middle seat. The child on her lap wriggles, twisting his little body around. “I’ll get it.”
She bends over, stretching toward the floor where people’s dirty shoes shuffle all day long, as she attempts to reach something. The toddler is blocking her exhaustive efforts as she tries to maneuver in the small space.
“Allow me,” I offer.
“Thank you,” she sighs, relieved.
I easily snatch up the soft, plush giraffe from the floor and hand it to the mother’s waiting hand. She gives it to her son, who immediately puts it into his mouth.
So much for germs.
“Thanks again.” She adjusts the little boy as he bounces up and down on her lap. “It’s so hard traveling with a little kid, especially on such a long flight like this.”
“No problem, and I’m sure it is.”
She wipes the hair from the front of her face. “I can’t wait to get home. We’ve been gone for what feels like forever.”
“Oh, you live in L.A.?” I smile at the slobbering little guy sitting on her legs.
His angelic white-blond hair falls in wisps around his ears.
“Yes, well, just outside in one of the southern suburbs. My son and I were visiting my mother in South Carolina. I try to make the trip once a year.”
“That sounds really nice. I’m sure she was excited to see you two.”
“She was.”
Her little boy pulls one of the magazines from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her and waves it in the air.
“What about you? You heading home, too?” she asks.
“No, I live in Chicago. I’m just coming out for a visit.”
“Oh, are you visiting anyone special?”
“Yes”—I smile—“I am.”
She doesn’t reply because her son paws at her face, and she tries to keep him content as we descend toward our destination. Out the window, the world below gets bigger with each passing minute.
This past week has been like no other I’ve ever experienced before. Brent, the man who at one point in time was everything to me, has plunged his way back into my life, upheaving everything I had in motion—college, work, dating.
Yes, I had to cancel a date. A coworker and I’d had plans to go out, but there was no way I could meet him. My heart wasn’t in it as it was being drawn toward someone else.
Just this past Monday morning, Brent left my apartment and headed back to L.A. I understand why. Our lives are different than they once were. He has responsibilities and obligations. So do I, and mine are in Chicago. I badly wanted him to stay, so we could try to be together to find out what is left of us—if there is still an us—but that wasn’t possible. He walked out the door, leaving me in fragments. Since he’s been gone, I’ve realized that a piece of me has always been with him. I can feel the emptiness acutely without his presence, like a dull pain that I’ve learned to live with for years is suddenly a reopened wound.
After he left, throughout the week, we’ve talked on the phone every day. It has been difficult finding time when we are both available since he has been so busy with team play-offs with his professional soccer team, and I have school and work. Plus, the time difference plays a factor.
His team had a play-off game this past Thursday, and they won. Later that night, Brent and I agreed that we wanted to see each other soon. However, with the unpredictability of when his season would end, we couldn’t plan anything. The unknown just made him seem farther away. I was beginning to question
what we were doing, if anything at all. I thought that maybe I would have to live with just our memories, including his recent visit to Chicago.
Brent called the next day and asked if I would fly out to L.A. on Sunday. His brother, Cohen, would be flying in for the weekend as well, but Brent assured me that my company wouldn’t intrude on the visit since Cohen would be leaving right after the match on Sunday evening. Brent would have Monday off, so it would be just us the whole day. It seemed crazy and last-minute, not to mention expensive, but I said yes. I couldn’t help it.
So, here I am, on a plane, about to see Brent again in less than one week’s time after about a four-year hiatus. I guess when someone wants something badly enough, they do irrational things, like fly more than halfway across the country to spend forty-eight hours with someone they haven’t seen in years. Right now, I’m one of those illogical people. Oddly though, it feels right.
Brent was right that fate had driven us back together, but the rest is left to us to figure out. I’m not sure if we can ever get back to what we were long ago, to the kind of love we shared. There was something special about that time. It was almost magical in some way. We were once something beautiful, bonded through a process of heat and fire, much like porcelain. Our love was put on a pedestal—only to fall and break, shattering into millions of tiny pieces scattering everywhere. How can we ever find them all?
It’s time to find out.
Nervous is not a big enough word to describe the anticipation for this little spur-of-the-moment trip. It’s impulsive, illogical, and everything I want to do.
The airplane lands with a jolt, and we taxi to the gate. My palms are ridiculously clammy as I turn on my phone to let Brent know that I’ve arrived. According to the clock, it’s just before ten in the morning, local time. Moments later, a text appears.
Brent: I’ll be waiting outside near the baggage claim exit.
Me: I just landed. You here?
Brent: Yes. I’m in a silver Audi. I’ll be looking for you.
These Days Series: After Tuesday | Forgotten Yesterday | Deciding Tomorrow Page 36