by Trisha Leigh
“Chris? Why do I need a car?”
He forces his face into a smile, then he grabs my waist and pulls me against him. “I considered getting myself a car so I could go back and forth from the dorm during the rain and snow without freezing my ass off. But then I thought I’d just buy the car for you and I’ll keep using my bike.”
He buries his face in my neck and I get lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin. I don’t question his response.
Chris builds a fire and we eat some roasted hot dogs for a late-night dinner. Then we unzip one of the sleeping bags and lie down in the middle of the campsite to watch the stars. Though Chris says all the right things and he holds me when I get a little emotional about my mom, something feels different. I can’t seem to get rid of this knot of pain in the pit of my stomach. This feeling that our opportunity to be Chris and Claire, the way we were before I went to UNC, has passed.
The next morning, we go for a quick swim in the lake. But, by the time we get back to the campsite, my backpack with all our clothes is gone. Luckily, Chris brought his wallet with us to the lake, but now we don’t have any clothes to change into for the ride home.
Chris knows how much I hate getting on the bike without jeans. If he takes a turn too fast, and I’m wearing shorts or a skirt, sometimes I’ll burn my leg on the muffler. Nothing serious, but enough for me to be leery of climbing on his bike in a red bikini.
He smiles as he nods over his shoulder and I climb on behind him. “I’ll go extra slow and I’ll be extra careful,” he assures me.
Something about his words, and the feeling of my half-naked breasts pressed against his wet skin….
After the hottest sex we’ve ever had, he holds me tightly in his arms so I don’t collapse over the side of the bike. Kissing my shoulders and neck, taking his time to dote on me despite the fact that anyone could walk onto our campsite at any moment. He kisses the corner of my lips, then he begins kissing me again, tenderly this time.
I chuckle as I push his shoulders back. “I think once is enough. We should head home.”
He looks disappointed. “I ….” He lets out a long sigh. “Claire, I got offered a deal.”
For a moment, I’m confused, until I realize he’s referring to a record deal. Goosebumps sprout all over my body as I’m filled with euphoria.
“That’s so amazing! Oh, my God. I’m so happy for you!”
I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. But he doesn’t return my embrace with as much enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Yeah. It’s great.”
I release him so I can see his face, but he doesn’t look at all excited. “Chris, what’s wrong?”
He looks me in the eye for a moment, then he drops his gaze and hangs his head. “They want me to go to L.A. for a few months to record the album.”
Though the mention of a few months apart sends a shock of pain through my insides, I still don’t understand why he looks so upset.
“It’s just a few months,” I say, lifting his chin so I can see his face. “It will hurt, but we’ll get through it. Maybe I can even go with you. It’s the summer!”
He flashes me the weakest, most phony smile I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I know something is very wrong.
“It’s not just a few months. I’d be leaving on tour pretty soon after that … for eight months.”
My limbs get weak and my hands fall from his neck, landing between us. He grabs both my hands and we stay like this for a while, not speaking or looking at each other.
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m thinking about Chris on tour, by himself, with thousands of girls screaming his name, throwing their bras onto the stage, offering themselves to him. While I’m bored out of my mind in a lecture hall or toiling away on a term paper in the dorm. And that’s when I know.
This is the end of us.
Forever Broken
July 14, 2012
Somewhere around eight-thirty, I gather the courage to wake Chris. We’ve been lying in his bed all night, his arms wrapped around my waist and his head resting on my chest. He dozed off around five a.m., but I’ve been up all night.
He lifts his head from my chest and squints at me through the hazy morning light. Reaching up, he brushes my hair away from my face then tucks it behind my ear.
“Good morning, babe.”
I close my eyes and try to burn the sound of him saying good morning into my memory. When I open my eyes, his eyes are closed. Then he lays his head on my chest again and lets out a soft sigh.
“I don’t want to get up.”
“You have to,” I whisper, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Your mom wants to say goodbye to you.”
My voice comes out strangled on the last few words, and Chris notices. He lifts his chin off my chest to look at me, shaking his head when he sees me trying to blink back the tears. He sits up suddenly and leaves the room. He’s been doing that a lot lately.
I wipe my face clean and pull my messy bed hair into a ponytail. Then I head out of Chris’s room. I wait in the corridor for a moment until he comes out of the restroom. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of ragged pajama pants and his hair is sticking out in all directions, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He presses his lips to my cheekbone then whispers in my ear. “You’ve broken me.”
I turn on my heel and disappear into my room, closing the door quietly behind me so Jackie doesn’t know I’m upset. Then I lie in bed and cry for the millionth time in the last six days, since Chris and I — mostly I — decided we should break up. I don’t think I could have imagined a worse way to spend this summer.
When I head downstairs twenty minutes later, I see Jackie has made Chris’s favorite breakfast: Denver omelet, bacon, and hash browns. Chris looks up from his plate when I enter the kitchen.
“You’d think I was on death row,” he remarks as he stabs his fork into a piece of omelet, but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth.
Jackie has her back to us as she washes dishes at the sink. I go to her and tap her shoulder. “I’ll do those.” She shakes her head, but she doesn’t speak. “Jackie, are you okay?”
That’s when she sniffs loudly and I know she’s crying. I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my cheek against her shoulder blade. Her shoulders slump as she stops pretending to be strong.
Finally, she turns around and kisses my forehead. “I have to get going. I know you two want to be alone today.”
I nod and try not to cry as I think of the implications behind her words. Jackie’s leaving to spend the day at Carolina Beach. She’s staying the night at an inn on the coast, then returning tomorrow afternoon. Chris will be gone by then. She’s leaving so Chris and I can spend our last day together alone. At home.
Jackie and Chris say their goodbyes outside. When he comes back inside, the sober look on his face is something I’ll never get used to. I’m used to seeing Chris with that charming crooked smile. The mischief in his eyes. This dark, dull look is not the Chris I’m used to. Maybe I have broken him.
We shower separately and he lies on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, while I brush and blow-dry my hair. When I’m done, we take Mr. Miyagi for a long walk around the neighborhood. I have to stop myself from wondering if this is the kind of thing we’d still be doing when we’re in our seventies.
We spend the first five or six hours of our last day together in silence. There’s really nothing more to say. We’ve spent the last month talking, screaming, crying, cursing. There’s only one thing left to say, and I’m not sure either of us has the courage to say it.
I sit on the sofa for a while, watching Chris as he tries to play with the dog on the rug. But Mr. Miyagi is either too tired from the long walk or he can sense that Chris is trying to say goodbye. He’s not interested. This is too much for Chris.
He stares at the dog for a while, lost in thought. “Why are you making this so hard?”
“Say something, Claire. Anything. Just fucking say something.”
I cover my face with my hands and gulp large breaths, trying not to completely fall apart. The sofa cushion tilts as he sits next to me and gravity pulls me into his arms. He holds me so tight it hurts. But it’s not enough to drown out the pain in my heart.
I don’t know how long we sit like this, but sometime just before sundown we head upstairs to my room. This is it.
“You know we’re both going to regret this,” he says as he cradles my face in his hands.
“I know, but I don’t care.”
He kisses me and my entire body relaxes as I lie back on my bed. This is what Chris and I are meant for and I need it just one more time before it’s over. I need to feel him moving inside me. I need to feel the weight of him on top of me. I need to feel safe with him one last time.
He takes his time, sinking in and out of me with the ease of a boat bobbing on a calm sea. That’s what I am right now. I am a calm sea because the storm hasn’t arrived yet. I know everything will be different when Chris leaves, but right now I want to enjoy this small sliver of peace.
He kisses the tears as they slide down my temples. I tighten my arms around his shoulders and crush my lips against his as we both let go … forever?
Forever Lost
“Are you calling me from a pay phone?”
Claire’s voice sounds like a beautiful symphony on the other end of this staticky pay phone.
“I lost my phone at the airport, but I had to call you as soon as I got here.” I look around my new L.A. neighborhood. A hot, simmering concrete jungle; lifeless and loveless. “I miss you so fucking much.”
“You've been gone ten hours.”
“Worst ten hours of my life.”
She’s silent for a while, then she lets out a soft, forced chuckle. “Hey, want to hear a funny story? Your mom came home this morning with a sunburn. A bad sunburn. So I went to the drugstore to get her some aloe vera and the clerk — ”
“Claire, I don't think I can do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be without you.”
Silence again. I’m getting so fucking tired of silence.
“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” she says, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I think you need to give yourself some time to adjust first. Then we can talk about it. You can’t throw away all those years of hard work.”
It’s hard to argue with Claire when she’s right. But I still fucking hate that she’s right. I want to throw it all away.
“I love you.”
“I should go. I have to take the dog for a walk.”
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still wearing your ring?”
She lets out a soft sigh. “I can’t do this, Chris. It hurts too much. Goodbye.”
Forever Torn
August 20, 2012
My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I know it’s going to be him. I haven’t heard from Chris since the semester began last week. He’s been spending fourteen hours a day in the studio. Or so he says.
I slide the phone off the nightstand and stare at Chris’s name flashing on the screen. Then I take a deep breath and touch the green button.
“Chris.”
“Were you asleep?”
“No, I’m just studying.” Lie number one.
“Do you have time to talk?”
“Not really. I’m trying to finish a paper.” Lie number two.
“You don’t have ten minutes to talk? I want to hear about your week.”
I pause for a moment, trying to gather the courage to say what needs to be said. Then I realize I will probably never have the courage. So I might as well just say it.
“Chris, you have to stop calling me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too hard.”
“But we agreed to stay friends.”
“Friends,” I repeat this word with a level of disgust that surprises even me.
“You don’t want to be friends with me?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it’s useless. “I don’t think that’s possible for us. Friends tell each other things, Chris. And … I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”
There’s a long, heavy silence where I begin to believe he may have hung up. Then, “Claire?”
“Chris, please. I’m sorry. It just hurts too much. And I want you to do what you want. I don’t want to worry about who you’re having sex with or — ”
“ — I’m not having sex — ”
“ — Chris, stop.”
“I’m coming home.”
“Stop! Stop calling me … Please!”
“Claire.”
“Stop saying my name. I have to go.”
I end the call and throw the phone at the wall so he can’t call me back. Then I pull the covers over my head and allow myself to cry. I tell myself that this will be my last day to let myself remember Chris. My last day to revel in the memories and soak my pillow with the tears. This will be the last day.
Tomorrow, we will no longer be Chris and Claire, past, present, or future. Tomorrow, the process of forgetting begins. I don’t know how I’ll forget the most amazing years of my life. But there’s no other way.
I can’t let Chris throw away everything he’s worked so hard to achieve. Not for me … or anyone.
Forever Shattered
I stare at the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. I mean, I knew this was coming. I could hear it in her voice. She’s not the same. Neither am I. The distance has killed who we were.
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter in my shitty L.A. apartment. Then I back away from it, as if it’s a ticking time bomb. I bump against the oven behind me and that’s when I feel it. In my back pocket.
I slide my hand into my pocket and retrieve the glass heart Claire gave me last year. I’ve carried it with me every day since the day she handed it to me in Moore Square. I read the words engraved on the surface: ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.
She wants nothing more to do with me. She probably stopped wearing my ring the day I left.
Fine. If that’s the way she wants it.
I hurl the heart across the room and it hits the wall and shatters on the floor in front of the refrigerator.
I came to L.A. because I wanted to follow through on everything I’ve been working toward since I picked up my first guitar twelve years ago. I never would have quit school and worked my ass off the past three years if I thought this would never happen. But … I would have thrown it all away for her. For us.
Now I see that she won’t let me. Maybe this is easier for her than it is for me. Maybe I was just weighing her down. Taking up her time when she could have been studying or partying. Maybe she’s been wanting to breakup for a while.
Staring at the shattered heart, I get a sick thought. Would Claire and I still be together if I had given her an engagement ring instead of a promise ring?
I shake my head at this craziness.
Claire promised to love me forever. I knew forever was too good to be true.
Forever Aching
December, 2012
Senia’s three-year-old sister, Sophie, has become very good at working the TV remote. Watching her flipping through the channels, her chubby finger pressed on the “plus” button, all I can do is smile. She’ll find some cartoon show eventually. Or she’ll get tired of holding down the button and give me the remote so I can find the cartoons.
A few seconds later, my prediction comes true. In the worst way possible. She gets tired of pressing the button and she drops the remote into my lap.
“Cartoons,” Sophie pleads.
But I can’t move. My eyes are glued to the images on the screen. A celebrity gossip show.
“Rocker Chris
Knight has been spotted around town with Nicole Priestly, star of this season’s blockbuster, Alive. Rumors are flying that they were spotted making out in a booth at Triple X, a swanky new restaurant-slash-strip club in West Hollywood where all the young celebrities are hanging out these days. Knight’s publicist denies the two are anything more than friends. Hmmm… I don’t remember the last time I tasted the inside of my buddy’s mouth.”
God, I’m such an idiot!
“Cartoons!”
I’ve spent the last five months basically lying in bed feeling sorry for both of us. Feeling like we’ve both suffered with the most difficult decision I ever made; a decision I know I’ll always regret. And there he is, shoving his tongue into someone else’s mouth. Probably shoving other things in other places, as well. I wouldn’t call that suffering.
I knew Chris would move on eventually, but seeing it happen right before my eyes is something else. Now, this nameless girl I imagined him screwing has a face. A very famous face. Imagining his hands on her. His lips on her. His … Ugh! It makes me sick.
“Claire! Cartoons!”
I can’t watch TV anymore. That’s the only way to avoid this torture.
I pick up the remote and change the channel as Senia walks in with two ice cream sundaes; one for me and one for her.
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Claire, you have to eat. It’s the holidays.”
“Ice cream!” Sophie screams.
“This isn’t for you,” Senia says, and Sophie’s bottom lips juts out. Senia rolls her eyes and sets the sundae down on the coffee table in front of Sophie. “You can have a few bites.”
Sophie digs into her ice cream and I watch in complete wonderment. How could something as simple as ice cream turn a bad day into a good one for a child? What would turn my bad day into a good one?