What She Left Us

by Stephanie Elliot

  “Darren, it’s been five months. I think… I don’t… damn it. I don’t know what I think anymore. I really need to see you. I’m a mess, and well… Mom died of a hereditary disease and Court and I might have it.”

  She didn’t want to play that card. But she knew that he would show some compassion if she did. Jenna knew Darren well enough that if she told him that she might have the same disease that killed her mother, everything that happened before would become null and void, and things might change. Even a little bit. Even though she really wasn’t sure what she was looking for, what she wanted, if she even wanted him back in her life, if she even deserved to have a sliver of his compassion.

  It was quiet on his end, so she asked again, "Can I come over?"

  She heard him exhale, and it sounded like frustration, or possibly annoyance.

  She wasn't sure if he was reacting from the news she shared or because of her request. Then he said, “I can come by tomorrow.”

  She gave him credit. That he didn’t hang up on her – she gave him credit for that. It also made her incredibly sad that he didn’t come to her immediately with the news that she could very well have a life-threatening hereditary disease. A disease she couldn’t even pronounce.

  Hemochromatosis.

  Jenna clicked her phone to off and held her left wrist in her right hand. Her ring finger had been bare for almost five months now, yet it still stunned her every time she looked at her naked finger. She had considered putting on one of her mother’s old rings but thought that would seem odd, to wear a cocktail ring on the finger where her engagement ring should be.

  She rubbed at the place Darren had slipped the diamond on her hand more than a year ago, and swore it felt numb, like her heart had been since the day she gave it back. Then she moved her right thumb to her wrist and ran soft circles around the outlines of her tattoo.

  The tattoo.

  It had actually been her idea. Just like the breakup. Another dumb idea. She was full of them.

  The two of them had been out to dinner in New Hope, one of the more eclectic neighborhoods in Philly. It was their one year anniversary, and previously, they both had agreed to no presents, but of course, Darren arrived at her door with a rainbow of wildflowers.

  During dinner, and their second bottle of wine, they talked of their future, which was not uncommon, for it seemed early in their relationship that Jenna’s and Darren’s connection was something like no other.

  “You know I’m going to marry you,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.

  Jenna took a sip of chardonnay, looked at him from over the lip of her glass. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”

  “I just am. I’m sure of it. You’re meant to be mine.”

  She smirked, “Oh, like you’re going to own me or something?”

  “Or something,” he grinned at her, and then caught her foot under the table playfully. She slipped her wedge heel off her foot and rubbed at his ankle with her toes.

  After dinner, they walked down to the dock by the river, and threw stones past the boats until their fingers went numb and their noses turned chilled. Darren shielded her from the cool wind with his six-foot-four frame and his strong arms. She felt safe with him, no matter where they were, no matter what they were doing. She knew he would protect her. She wanted him, all of him, always. Just like he had said he had wanted her.

  “So, you want to own me, right?” she asked, muzzling her face into his warm sweater, his arms encircling her. Despite being tall herself, Jenna always felt small when she was with Darren.

  “I want to own you. All of you.”

  “You want to prove it to me?” she looked up into his charcoal gray eyes.

  “What do you have in mind, Ms. Jenna Haddonfield.”

  “Tattoos.”

  “Tattoos?”

  “Yep. You man enough?”

  “You know it.”

  And just like that, they walked from the river up to the street, past the restaurant, and along the walkway. They passed an Indian dress shop, antique stores, some hippie shops where Jenna would have loved to stop in and browse but she knew if she did Darren might change his mind on the tattoo.

  People cluttered the sidewalk – it was a busy Saturday night – young parents with baby Bjorns strapped to their chests, granola-types walking their trendy pups, and all kinds of lovers –young, old, hetero and homosexual – crowded past them. Still, Jenna focused on the task at hand. She didn’t know why this had popped into her head, but once she got an idea, she didn’t let go of it easily. She wasn’t going to let go of this one. She knew exactly what she wanted too.

  As they passed a psychic store front, Darren pulled Jenna away from the crowds, near a lamp post.

  “What?” she asked, impatiently, pulling her hair away from her face.

  He touched her cheek and kissed her full on the lips. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach, but the soft creamy taste of wine on his lips from dinner, made her woozy.

  “What?” she asked, softer this time.

  “Why don’t we go see the psychic instead of getting tattoos?” he asked.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Jenna laughed.

  He grinned at her. She knew him too well, already. She knew him so well, and it had only been a year. She could read him inside and out.

  “We don’t need a psychic. She’s going to tell us that we’re going to get tattoos. Let’s save the money.” And she kissed him again, longer this time, and the light from the lamp post caught in her eye and made him look shadowed, surreal, and she felt she might go blind from looking at him for too long. She closed her eyes.

  “Let’s go.”

  She chose the tattoos. He let her. They were identical except for the color of them. A small heart for each of them. Each to match the other, on the insides of their wrists. Hers on the inside of her left wrist, a warm green color, no bigger than the size of a nickel. His, on the inside of his right wrist, was deep blue, also the same size. When they lay together at night, looked into each other’s eyes, bent their arms at their elbows and put their hands up to their faces, intertwined their fingers, talked long into the dark about their future, their tattoo hearts touched.

  Blue sky and grass green. Earth and ocean. The world. He was the world to her. They were the world together. Connected.

  They were the world to each other.

  Chapter 7

  Courtney was back in her room, trying to write her soc paper, thinking about how horribly wrong her ‘mandatory’ dorm floor meeting had gone – only fifteen students had shown up. Still, she went over the dorm rules, tried to be upbeat about the events coming up – there was a festival, parent’s weekend (Courtney was dreading that), and then Battle of the Dorm Floors. No one seemed too enthused about the information she was sharing. This RA stint wasn’t turning out to be what she had hoped it would be. Still, she was trying to be positive, thankful she didn’t have a ton of bills piling up like most college students her own age.

  She tried to remember what it had been like a short time ago, just last year, when she was a freshman, away from home for the first time, when her mom was still alive, when she was excited to be free from parental guidance, when she could do whatever she wanted, when she did whatever she wanted. Had she behaved liked the animals she was now in charge of? Sure, she had ventured out of her comfort zone, experimented with alcohol, ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor more nights than she cared to remember, but she didn’t go crazy like she’d seen some of these kids. She never tried to sneak a keg of beer up six flights of stairs, or run around the common area practically naked. What kind of parents did these kids have?

  There was a light tap on her door, and then, “Courtney?”

  Her door was usually cracked open. It was one of the rules that when she was on duty, she had to have it partially open to let the kids (kids, ha, they were barely younger than she was, some of them only by a few months) know that she was there and available for them.


  It was Bren. In a half shirt and teeny tiny shorts, rubbing her eyes from the light in Courtney’s room, swiping black eyeliner all around, her dark hair pulled on top of her head in a big, floppy bun. The girl looked exhausted. If it wasn’t Angie complaining about Bren, then Bren was usually coming to complain about Angie. Courtney didn’t see how those two were going to make it through the year as roommates, they had so much trouble getting along.

  “Come on in. Are you and Angie at it again?”

  “Sorry to bother you so late. No, actually, it’s the dude next door to us. He’s been jamming on his guitar and I have a psych test in the morning. Can you ask him to quit playing?”

  Courtney tried to picture who was in the room next to Bren and Angie but couldn’t remember. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Mark, Matt. Something like that.”

  Courtney couldn’t place him. She knew he hadn’t shown up for her meeting, and since there were forty-eight kids she was responsible for, she hadn’t quite gotten around to meeting every one of them personally. Well, she was going to have to go and have a chat with this Mark-Matt guy right now she guessed.

  “Okay, I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Courtney grabbed her keys, locked her door, followed Bren out and walked with her down the far end of the hall toward the sound of the guitar. It was loud, but not terribly so, but Courtney could see how it could prevent Bren from falling asleep. Bren slipped inside her own room, and said goodnight to Courtney.

  “Night Bren, good luck on your test tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” Bren smiled, and closed her door.

  Courtney put her ear to the door where she heard the music. Mark-Matt was playing the final riff of some Dave Matthews song and she felt it might be kind of rude to knock and interrupt. Besides, Courtney thought he sounded kind of good.

  She had never played an instrument. When she and Jenna were young, about eleven and six, their parents had wanted them to take lessons of some kind, and Courtney had no interest. Yet Jenna had taken up the piano. She had been so good that her parents, after a few years of lessons, finally invested in a piano for their home. That’s when Courtney decided that she liked playing the piano, and she would bang on the keys any chance she got. Her mother would come into the living room and say, “Courtney, get off the piano. It’s Jenna’s. You had your chance. You didn’t want to play an instrument, remember?”

  Every now and then though, when her mother wasn’t home, Courtney snuck onto the sleek seat of the piano, feeling the cool of the shiny wood on the back of her sweaty thighs. She’d touch the keys, and listen to the plinks it made, pretend that she could, in fact, play. Her father would come by and give her a knowing wink, but then she’d jump when she’d hear her mother coming, scared she’d get in trouble for playing on her sister’s piano.

  Once, in a moment of childhood sisterly bonding, Jenna taught Chopsticks to Courtney, and the two of them spent a couple of weeks playing it side by side on the piano. It amused their parents, until Courtney went back to the obnoxious banging of the keys or the da-da…da-da…dadadadadadadadada Jaws theme song, and that had been the end of Courtney’s piano career. The end of all her musical talents. That's when everyone decided she would be better suited to work with art supplies. Less noisy.

  Courtney listened by the door again. Mark-Matt finished the song and moved onto another one. She realized she better get in there and stop the music so the other kids could get to sleep, but before she knocked, she heard the first notes from a song that wrecked her soul. It was Gravity by John Mayer. Oh, how she loved that song.

  She listened to the quiet beginning of the song, and then knocked softly. Because she really didn’t want him to stop playing. The music continued.

  A harder knock this time, and she heard fingers slash through the guitar strings – and an abrupt stop in the music. She heard the guitar plunk down, movement from inside, and then the door handle turned.

  Mark-Matt opened it.

  And there he was. The guitar player.

  How come Courtney hadn't noticed him before?

  “Hey RA.”

  “Hi, are you Mark? Matt?”

  “Mitch.”

  “Oh. Mitch.”

  “Yeah, Mitch.”

  Courtney said nothing.

  “Did you come for the performance?”

  His smile. That was the first thing she noticed. Well, that was a lie. The first thing she noticed was the music.

  But the second was the smile. His straight beautiful, white teeth. And the way he grinned down at her. And that cheeky little bit of humor. Did she come for his performance?! And a sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of his nose. And lashes. Lashes like no boy should be allowed.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Um, no. Well, kind of.” Courtney said, “Actually, a complaint.”

  “I hope not from you?” Another smile.

  “Nope.” She smiled back.

  “That’s good.” He grinned.

  Courtney felt her cheeks burning and her smile widen.

  “Come in?”

  She did.

  His room was one of the smaller dorm rooms, and his guitar was on the chair by the desk. He sat on the bed, and since there was nowhere else for her to sit, she sat next to him, awkwardly.

  “Wait? No roommate?” Courtney asked.

  He laughed, “You’re the RA, aren’t you supposed to know these things? I’ve got a single. I transferred here from State. I’m a junior. Man, you don’t do your homework, do you?”

  “I guess not. It hasn’t been a very good year for me so far. But anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Someone did complain about the music,” she said.

  “But not you?” he asked.

  “Not me,” she said. "And only because it was too loud. Not because it wasn't good."

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “So, you’re a junior?” she asked. “What are you doing living in the dorms?”

  “Since I transferred here and didn’t know anyone, I chose the dorms. Plus, I didn’t want to have to cook. I like dorm food.”

  “Why’d you transfer here?”

  “The music program.”

  Courtney nodded. “Obviously, that’s what you’re studying?”

  “Well, that… ”

  “And what else?”

  “You. Right now.”

  Chapter 8

  She cried when she opened the door and saw Darren. She told herself she wouldn’t, had pinched her face, and slapped her cheeks when the doorbell rang but it was no use. He was there, and she hadn’t seen him in five months. He was at her doorstep.

  “Come on, don’t do that.”

  He took her in her arms, held her as she cried. She cried for a long, long while, and he was so good, he just let her cry. He led her to the couch, and held her to him while she cried. It was the couch where they used to watch episode after episode of The Office, where he lay hungover some Saturday mornings watching old Scooby Doo reruns, where they ate cartons and cartons of Pad Thai and drank bottles of wine, and where they had spent Sundays watching the Eagles. The couch where they had made love and memories.

  And now, she was bawling her head off and her eyes were red and puffy and she planned on being strong and stoic and getting right to the point and didn’t want to cry but when he showed up, all handsome and gray-eyed, tall and beautiful, and she looked at him and realized that she was a complete fool for doing what she had done, well, she just lost it, and that’s what happened.

  After holding her calmly and quietly, letting her cry for twenty minutes, he pulled her away and said, “I’m going to get you a cloth and some water.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then, you’re going to stop crying, and we’ll talk. No more tears, okay?” Darren said.

  “Yes,” Jenna sniffed.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He knew where everything was. She hadn’t moved anything in the kitchen since h
e’d last been there. He grabbed a cloth, ran it under the faucet, got two glasses, filled them with ice and water, and came back to her on the couch.

  “Here, wipe your face,” Darren handed her the cloth. Jenna pulled her long hair away from her cheeks and grabbed the hair band around her wrist, glanced at her tattoo, and quickly twisted her hair into a sloppy bun. She wiped her eyes, then her nose and cheeks, finally her lips. Darren handed her the water and she drank.

  “Thanks. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to do that. I told myself not to do that. I even slapped myself in the face and gave myself a pep talk so that I wouldn’t do that before I opened the door.”

  Darren laughed. “Sounds like you. Do you feel better though?”

  “A little. A good cry helps. You know, I think I used all my tears for my mom. I don’t know if I ever cried for us.”

  “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Yeah.” Jenna really didn’t know what to say. So she told him about the autopsy report, and the possibility she might carry the gene for a weird disease called hemochromatosis. “I have to get checked, and so does Courtney. It’s pretty scary. I mean, I don’t think it’s going to be life-threatening, but it could mean some serious preventative measures for the rest of our lives.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like something called ‘bloodletting.’”

  “Vampires?”

  A small smile spread across Jenna’s lips. It felt good to smile with Darren, even though her head pounded from all the crying. “Not that extreme, but maybe an Edward Cullen look-a-like might help me forget about you for a while.”

  “Come on, don’t do that. Tell me more about this hemochrome disease.”

  “Well, if we have it, we may have to start taking daily medication, watching our iron intake, we might need biopsies. I have been on the Internet for days reading about it but it’s all so confusing. With the bloodletting thing, if there’s too much iron in our systems, it means weekly visits to have blood removed. They remove it just like how when people go and donate blood. But to keep the iron regulated.”

  Darren nodded.