by Megan Rivers
I went back to my dorm room and brought out the suitcase from under my bed and searched for the letter. The letter. That letter from Galvin I couldn't let go of, nor could I open it. It sat on my dresser in Camden until I moved to New York.
Anger and rage fueled me. I could feel strands of my hair beginning to stick to the sweat gathering on my temples. Where the hell was that letter? I tore apart my entire room, emptying drawers, shaking books, emptying the trash can. Where in the hell was that damn letter?
I hadn’t known I was crying until I heard the phone ring. I looked at it, sitting on the bookshelf next to Ally’s dresser. It wasn’t too far away, but my vision was blurred. I put my hands up to my face, feeling how hot my skin was, and wiped away the tears as I walked to the phone. “Hello?” I sounded more forceful than I should have.
“Christie? It’s Meadow, have you seen?” her voice was paranoid and I could imagine her grasping the phone and glancing behind her back.
“How can I not have seen it?” My tone was rude, but I couldn’t shut it off.
“How did it happen? Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I just found out, Mead.” My tone cooled down but the fires of rage weren’t put out yet. “I can’t find that damn letter anywhere!”
“What letter?” she asked.
Had I not told anyone? Surely I had told Meadow, of all people, didn’t I? “The letter! The letter!” I said agitatedly. I told myself to calm down again and took a deep breath. “The damn letter Galvin sent me after we broke up.”
Meadow was silent. Obviously I had neglected to mention the letter to her.
“I never opened it, I couldn’t open it, not after what had happened. I wanted a clean break from him… I couldn’t open that letter.” Tears began to fall again.
I heard the door open behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see Ally shuffle in, throwing her book bag on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t have the letter?” Meadow asked.
“I’m sure. I’ve torn this place apart trying to find it.” I glanced at Ally who sat down at her desk and turned on her laptop.
“When was the last time you had it? Did you bring it to New York?” The worry and determination in Meadow’s voice made my stomach quiver.
“I’m positive I packed it. I didn’t leave a thing in Maine.” I bit my bottom lip and thought hard to remember where exactly I packed it. “I remember packing it, Meadow, every time I picked the damn thing up it felt like it weighed more than the time before. I put it in my suitcase with my books and—” An epiphany hit me, nearly knocking me to the floor as I glanced at Ally typing at her desk. “Can I call you back?” I didn’t wait for Meadow to answer and I hung up.
My eyes were on the back of Ally’s head. I squeezed the cordless phone in my hand so hard I began to hear the plastic moan. Step-by-step, slowly the wooden floorboards under me creaked as I walked to the phone’s base.
Standing next to Ally, I reached up and put the phone in its cradle, hearing a metallic beep as it sunk in. I turned to look at Ally. A million thoughts dashed through my head and I didn’t know how to process them all. The light from her screen slightly illuminated her face and then she turned to meet my fiery gaze.
“Hey Chris,” she said with a forced smile. I hated it when people called me Chris.
I stared at her a few seconds longer than I had to. “What are you up to today?” she asked, immediately removing her eyes from mine and reaching for her algebra book, opening it to a random page and placing her finger in the middle of it.
My arms moved slowly up to cross tightly across my chest and I remained silent. It was all making sense now. I did pack that letter, I was sure of it. I hadn’t taken it out to shake it or run my finger across it like I used to do. No, I didn’t have as much time on my hands or as many memories of him here in New York to do that. I had packed it on top of my old notebooks, right before I packed my Neoclassicism art book.
Yes, I did see it in New York. I had emptied that suitcase out onto my bed, didn’t I? I didn’t bother to clean it up until I had gone to bed that night. “You’re really beginning to freak me out, Chris,” Ally said after she stole a glance from her algebra book to me and saw me trembling with anger. Who else could have done it?
“Did I get any mail today?” I asked, my voice pleasant and surprisingly light, despite my demeanor. I noticed Ally’s eyes fly off the book and to the corner of her desk. She shook her head curtly without looking up.
“Have you seen any of my mail lying around?” My voice was still horrifyingly pleasant.
Her eyes didn’t move—her whole body froze. Slowly, her eyes climbed to meet mine; they were pleading, begging for something, her eyebrows pulled together.
For those few brief moments our eyes had an entire conversation.
“I thought so.” I said, nodding. I turned around, flew open the door, and marched to the end of the hall, determined to see my RA.
Needless to say, my attitude plummeted from that incident. My RA had Ally and I go through a series of remediation and conflict management talks, but I was still too upset to communicate. Ally repeatedly apologized, “I saw the return address and was dying to know if it was from thee Galvin Kismet,” she would retort. “I never meant to hurt you. One thing led to another and the whole envelope grew too big for me to handle. I’m so sorry, Christie.”
I sat tight-lipped with my leg shaking furiously as Ally repeatedly apologized in front of our RA, but I couldn't forgive and forget. The second I realized she had betrayed me, I had built a wall and was adamant about not installing a door or window for communication. Eventually, Ally ended up moving out of our dorm room, which left me with Candacie, and I felt shut out from the world.
My secret was out across campus; I was no longer Christie Kelly, I was Galvin Kismet’s Christie Kelly. Students stared at me when I walked down the corridors and gossiping hands flew up to their friends' ears as they watched me walk to and from class. The worst part was eating alone in the cafeteria and knowing I was being watched; judged. In many people's eyes I was either The Problem or The Kinda Famous Girl that people would rather talk about then get to know.
I entered a horrible depression that lasted until the end of my summer classes. When I wasn’t in class or at my campus job, I spent hours in bed sleeping, or compiling study guides under my blankets or in a dark, empty corner of the library. Nothing seemed to occupy my thoughts but the dark, hopeless facts which clouded my mind. I had been assaulted, raped of my confidence. I would never get out from under Galvin's life.
I was done with caring and trying so hard to stay out of the clouded stupor that had haunted me since Mom died. I always kept it just out of reach, but now I gave up and let it surround me, feeling it pressing down into my chest and suffocating my lungs.
During the summer Meadow came to visit me for a week, but even her loving, peppy personality could not kick this mood out from under me. I was only a half Frister. Nothing seemed to matter. I let myself get lost in books and studying.
Prey for Chance’s single, When Rome Fell had a short life and died in popularity within two weeks of its release. When God’s Alarm Clock was released in August, it was an instant flop. Then Galvin started dating reality TV star Kendra Hopkins and the whole world witnessed his drunken escapades and idiotic schemes. Was Galvin really doing these things, having such bad luck, because of me? Can’t he imagine what I’ve been feeling and having to deal with? But I didn’t get arrested or get a mugshot, nor did I start doing drugs. No. At least I had that on him. At least I was a little bit stronger.
I started to truly resent Galvin now. When I heard that Prey for Chance broke up long after the release of Sins of a Tangled Tango, I glowed. Good, I thought, maybe now he will suffer.
Sometimes, I would dream of our nights in Melbourne and wake up in a cold sweat. Those memories were just romanticized; that stuff never happened in real life. There is no true love or Prince Charming when you grow up, only lost hope and settling
for some things you have your heart set on changing anyway.
When classes started again in the fall, I was determined to fill my schedule to the brim. When I was busy with schoolwork I rarely had time to think about myself, or about him.
I took an early morning job on campus as a secretary and two part time afternoon jobs: at the pizza parlor three blocks from school and at the student gallery. I spent many nights staying up until sunrise doing my homework and I was so exhausted that when I did get sleep, I didn’t dream about anything.
Meadow came to New York for my eighteenth birthday. I was exuberant because it meant that I never had to deal with my father again. Instead of staying on campus all summer, I went to Chicago to spend time with Kevin and Meadow. We both worked at a summer camp near the Wisconsin border. It was the first time in a long time I found myself laughing. Spending time with Meadow will always be good for my soul.
The media had stayed quiet about me and only mentioned Galvin when the police were involved. I still held my breath as I tip-toed past tabloids, butterflies buzzing in my stomach, as I constantly waited for the media to drop another bomb in my life. When checking out at a grocery store I crept past the magazine racks like they were sleeping monsters I didn't want to wake.
Luckily, my name stayed out of the tabloids throughout the rest of my time at Sarah Lawrence. In time, the rumors died out and people stopped staring at me when I walked to class. When my heart started to heal, I began opening up to people in class who knew me simply as That Girl in My Class Named Christie.
In the end, I made my choice to stay in school and fight through fate until graduation. It might had been my mother's spirit urging me on, but staying in school was the only choice I had for a better future and I was not going to blow it.
I was not going to give up.
III.
Adulting Broken Dreams
“Hold On” – B*Witched
Three years later, I graduated from Sarah Lawrence, magnum cum laude, all smiles. Meadow attended New York University for graduate school and took a train to Bronxville, after Kevin flew in. I still had them, I thought. They still knew the original Christie. They knew what drove me, my ambitions, my life, my history. They understood me.
I didn't know what I would have done without them.
When I crossed the stage to get my diploma, I knew deep down that I was on the right track. I had finally crossed something off my list of things to do in life, and I did it successfully. The only problem now was that I was a grown up with a college degree. I couldn’t go back to Kevin’s house, though he would have welcomed me with open arms. I had to make it on my own, alone in the world.
I was scared to death.
I hadn’t received any job offers and I needed to find a place to live, those were the first two things I had to tackle. After an endless, desperate search I finally found a tiny hole in the wall for $1200 a month in a bad part of New York City. It was all I could (barely) afford and I still couldn’t find a job. I applied to museums, art galleries, schools, and anything else I could think of, from Maine down to North Carolina but I never got a call back.
There were days where I spent my time rethinking the choices I had made. Why did I major in Art History? What can you do with that? I kept kicking myself for not majoring in business or education; I really could have gone somewhere with that!
During these long, laborious months I also had an eight month relationship with a man I met outside the grocery store named Matt. He was the first man I trusted after I broke up with Galvin. I hadn’t had time for a boyfriend in college, nor did I want one, but Matt was different and I clung to him like a lifejacket.
It was a muggy, overcast day when I met him. I was stuffing my meager pile of groceries into my book bag when a bag of apples I had just purchased broke open and scattered about; it was one of those days where you keep telling yourself that things have to get better because they couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Then Matt came up to me and handed me a few of my runaway apples. There wasn’t anything spectacular or memorable about his appearance except that he was enveloped in an alluring charm that only comes with age. Matt was ten years older than me, but he was carefree and impulsive.
He was a salesman and was always traveling. I leaned on him for support and guidance throughout those months. I made him my everything; my every hope, my only life, my only audience, my everlasting pillar of strength. I depended on him so much that it was killing me. My mom taught me how to be independent, not someone who needed a man on her arm. The thought of what my mother would say gave me nightmares at night, but I couldn't stop. He was all I had.
After seven and a half months with Matt, I got a phone call from his wife. He had five children and a wife in Yonkers. With every ounce of strength and independence I had left in me, I broke it off with him immediately, and the following day I was evicted from my apartment. Like Mom used to say: when it rains, it pours.
I was devastated. I was severely depressed, homeless, jobless and penniless. I couldn’t bear the thought of calling Kevin in tears, telling him I failed when he held me on a pedestal. I wandered through the streets of New York in my early adult life and didn’t starve to death or spend those cold nights out on the streets mainly thanks to Meadow who let me stay in her tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn while she attended NYU to get her MBA. At U of C she majored in music and after graduate school was hoping to work business in the music industry.
Since my graduation, Galvin rarely ran through my mind. Once in a while I would waste a few moments of my life thinking about him whenever I heard a Prey for Chance song on the radio while scanning through the radio stations or a clip mentioning them on TV. I hardly listened.
My life would have been completely different if I never met him. I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. He gave me my first taste of romantic disappointment, but he was also there to fill a hole in my life. Why did things happen the way they did? I wouldn’t have been struggling to survive, looking for that someone or something that would make life worth the numerous trips around the sun if he never gave me a taste of it first. I unfairly blamed him for everything wrong in my life and, subconsciously, I grew more and more hateful towards him, to the point where I would never—could never forgive him.
The first five weeks I spent with Meadow made me a complete, apprehensive mess. I sat around in pajama’s waiting for the phone to ring. I was running out of options and I couldn’t afford to feed myself or pay rent to Meadow (though she never asked me to). I was about to take a minimum wage, part time job at the grocery store as a cashier when I got a phone call from Marie, my old boss from the gallery in Camden, saying she was in town for a conference and wanted to meet for coffee.
Marie chose a busy coffeeshop close to the MET. She was already sitting at a table, stirring the mug in front of her when I walked in. It was just after noon so the crowd was dying down.
She looked different. She dressed professionally, in a suit, for the conference, maybe that was it. In Camden she was always well dressed, but wore plenty of colors, not plain black. Her hair was shorter and when she stopped smiling, lines appeared near her eyes. “Christie!” Her eyes lit up when she saw me and the lines around them dissolved. “How are you?”
I pulled the chair out and it scraped across the floor. “All right.” I forced a smile and sat down. “How about you? How's the gallery?”
She waved her hand and replied, “Same old, same old. I'm good. I'm dying to know, though: how was your time at Sarah Lawrence?” She sounded eager, maybe hopeful. After all, if it wasn't for her, I never would have attended.
My smile was genuine this time. “I loved it. I miss it too much.” I might have had a rocky start, but the following years were filled with happy memories.
“I know how you feel.” She nodded, understanding. “How were classes? What did you end up majoring in?”
We talked at length about the art classes. I felt passionate once again, not like a blob of n
othing who couldn't find a job.
After a quarter of an hour, our conversation on professors died down. To fill in the void, Marie asked, “How’s that boyfriend of yours, are you guys still together?”
I winced at his reference, anger briefly flashing in my eyes. “No.” I said flatly. “Not for a long time.”
My reaction, I'm sure, caused her to avoid the topic. I had to take a moment to dig myself out of that mood. “What have you been doing since graduation?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
Moving from the topic of Galvin to my pathetic life made my eyes grow moist. Yes, this woman used to be my boss, but I broke. The mention of Galvin was the tipping point. I couldn't pretend any longer. I tried to be brave and confident in front of Meadow and I tried to have hope and faith that the next time the phone rang it would be for a job interview. Things in my life were toppling over and I was left in the ruins. I let it all out.
Luckily, Marie (like most of the wonderful people in Maine) was an understanding, selfless person. She let me steal three and a half hours with her in the café, one of which I spent crying my eyes out. She listened attentively, occasionally nodding or sighing. She was encouraging at the right times, but also socked a few painful truths to me.
When we parted our separate ways, I felt much lighter; every worry that was weighing me down seemed to crumble and scatter with the wind, leaving only a light dusting behind. I kept apologizing for unloading it all on her. “Don't worry about it,” she said, waving the concern away with her hand. “And don't feel guilty. Once in a while we all need to release our burdens on someone who will listen.”
During our discussion I admitted to her, “Sometimes I feel like I'm being punished for majoring in art history, like I'm not allowed to study something I love or the world will get me.”
“That's nonsense,” she dismissed it immediately. “But I can't believe you didn't come to me. I have several contacts in the art history world. Let me put my feelers out and see if there's anything out there for you. There has to be something. You live in New York City, after all, not tiny little Camden, Maine.”