by Amber Garza
A man came around the corner, and I figured it was Lennie’s dad. He leaned down and kissed the woman on the forehead. She glanced up at him lovingly and I got a clear view of her face. It felt like a sucker punch. When he turned around it only added insult to injury.
Rob reached down and picked up a portion of the paper. It looked like it was the ads or the comics by how colorful it was. And I wasn’t surprised. I doubted he had much substance. Lennie’s gaze fell on him, love and affection filling her face.
It made me sick.
But, despite what I’d seen, she came over later. And then she didn’t leave my side for weeks. The headache was worsening. I alternated between feeling dizzy and nauseous. “W-w-where do you live? You have your own apartment here or something?”
“No. I’m staying at Lennie’s house. Well, with her and her parents…for now.” His face flushed a little like he was embarrassed.
But that’s not right. She’d been at my place. The dizziness was worsening. I breathed deeply, fighting against it.
Rob’s hand clamped down on my back. “Look, man, it might be awhile before Lennie’s mom comes out. You don’t have to stick around. I’m sure you have other stuff to do. I can tell Lennie you came by. I know it’ll mean a lot to her.” He smiled gratefully. “You know, she was really glad she ran into you again. She enjoyed your talks at the coffee shop. And she liked reading the books you left her. You’ve been a good friend.”
Friend? Books? The coffee shop? Was that all she told him? But there was so much more to our relationship than that.
Wasn’t there?
The Lennie I spent time with wasn’t sick. She wasn’t dying. She was getting better. And she didn’t look the same as the girl I carried into the emergency room. Closing my eyes, I envisioned Lennie’s face the last time I saw her. Right before she passed out. And my breath caught in my throat. That was not the same Lennie.
Not my Lennie.
Blinking rapidly, I tried to catch my breath. Gathering my bearings. I glanced down at the manuscript I clutched in my hand.
Ray’s words filled my mind: I know exactly what happened with that girl in college.
I pictured Sarah’s pale skin, her blond hair. She was so beautiful.
Until she wasn’t anymore.
I shook my head. “A good friend,” I spoke slowly. “Right.” My mind traveled back to the times I saw her in the coffee shop, and I latched onto them, needing something concrete. Something real.
“Seriously. You okay, man?”
I nodded, remembering the initial reason for coming here. “I-I- brought Lennie this.” Lifting my arm, I held up the manuscript.
“Ah, that’s right. Lennie told me you were writing a book.”
It seemed that Lennie had told him a lot about me.
“I finished, and I wanted her to read it.” I thrust it into Rob’s arms. “Is she well enough to do that?” The question was valid. My Lennie was well. I had no idea how flesh and blood Lennie was.
“I’ll make sure she reads it, even if I have to read it to her myself,” Rob promised.
I nodded, the walls bending and swelling around me. My headache progressed. I winced. “I-I have to go.”
“Sure.” Rob stepped around me. “See ya around, man.”
Without responding, I ducked my head and hurried down the hall, leaving flesh and blood Lennie behind.
I told myself I would be all right. I didn’t need her anyway.
Imaginary Lennie was waiting for me at home. She was tucked away in my laptop, in the words of my book where I could keep her safe. Where I could keep her with me forever.
30
The first thing I saw when I returned to my apartment was the picture of Lennie staring at me from where it sat on the kitchen table. I snatched it up, and traced her smiling face with the pads of my fingers. This Lennie looked nothing like the girl who passed out in the coffee shop. This Lennie was vibrant and alive, healthy. I wondered how I had confused the two.
However, at this point I wasn’t sure I truly knew the difference. When I thought back over the last couple of months, it was hard to know what was truth. What was reality.
I remembered printing this picture from Facebook. It had been her profile picture, and I could see why. She was gorgeous in it. Her skin smooth, her hair shiny, her eyes bright. It was the way I would think of her from now on. And hopefully it would erase the image of the sickly girl I’d held in my arms today.
Dropping the picture, it fluttered through the air and landed upside down on the table. Weary, I sank into a nearby chair. My laptop was still open. Reaching out, I touched the mouse causing the screen saver to disappear. My manuscript came up, the cursor blinking next to the words THE END.
It made me want to pinch myself. I could hardly believe it. I’d finished my first novel. There was a part of me that thought this day would never come. The last time I tried to pen a novel it ended in disaster. But this time I did it. I suppose I had a better muse this time.
The last muse had failed me.
Miserably.
Scrolling up the page, I read back over the last scene. It was my favorite, second only to the one where she confessed her love.
It read as follows:
“I’m convinced that I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. And the last few months have been the happiest of my life.” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ring box. Then I dropped to one knee. Her hand flew to her mouth. She gasped. Flipping open the ring box, and holding it in the palm of my hand, I continued, “Will you marry me?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I want to.”
It wasn’t a yes, and I knew why. “Don’t do this. Not now. This isn’t about your illness. It’s about you and me and how much we love each other. I’ve told you before so many times that it doesn’t matter to me how much time we have left on this earth. I want to spend it with you. Every second. And I want you to be my wife.”
She drew her hand away from her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her quivering lips pushed up into a smile. “Yes,” she croaked. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
My heart swelled. It was everything I’d ever wanted. And I knew it was what she wanted as well. Grabbing her hand, I gently placed the ring on her finger. It glistened in the dim lighting of my apartment. I loved seeing it on her finger, knowing what it represented. Knowing that it meant she belonged to me.
Pushing up off the ground, I took her in my arms, planting a kiss on her mouth.
“I promise to love you in sickness and in health, for better or worse, til death do us part,” I whispered against her lips.
“Let’s hope that’s not for a very long time,” she responded with a smile.
“If I had my way, I’d keep you here with me forever,” I told her.
“I feel like that’s what you’ve given me,” she responded. “I’ve lived more in the last few months than I had in the last year. You’ve given me a new lease on life. Sometimes I think it’s not the treatments that are working, it’s you that’s keeping me healthy.” She peered up at me. “Do you think that’s possible? Do you think that love can heal?”
“I think love is the most powerful thing on earth,” I told her. “And I love you with everything I have.”
“I love you too.”
Leaning forward, I sealed her words with a kiss.
Within weeks we were married. My love gave her strength, revived her, healed her. And we lived happily ever after.
After reading the last line, I sat back in my chair, my eyes filling with moisture. If only life wrapped up as easily as a book did. Then maybe flesh and blood Lennie wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life. And Rob wouldn’t be the one by her side.
She may have chosen him, but I immortalized her, gave her the one thing she wanted – a happy ending.
Ray told me I didn’t know what love was. But that wasn’t true. I knew exactly what love was. I loved Lennie, and I’d loved Sarah. Love didn’t ha
ve to be reciprocated to be real. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I blew out a ragged breath. I was glad to be done with the book, but I was also sad. There was a sense of mourning, a sense of loss. A hollow ache in my chest. I think it’s the reason I took so long to complete the novel, because I knew it would be the end of Lennie and me.
Closing my laptop, I plucked up the picture of Lennie and I carried it over to my dresser. On top was a small wooden box. My mom had given it to me when I was a kid. Back then I used to put odds and ends in it, pencils, erasers, rocks I’d collected. Now it held something different.
Opening it, I dipped my hand inside, felt around until I had what I was looking for. I yanked them out, spread them over the top of my dresser. My stomach tightened. It had been years since I looked at these. Before now I wasn’t ready to see Sarah’s face again. To remember what had happened.
But now it was time.
Time to let go of her.
Time to let go of Lennie.
Time to move on.
The first time I saw Sarah, I thought she was Lennie. I was walking to class with my roommate, and I spotted her across the grass. Her back was to me, but her long hair and the way she walked reminded me of Lennie.
I nudged my roommate in the side. “I think that’s a girl I went to high school with.”
“Which one?” he asked, his gaze scouring the area.
“The one right there.” I pointed. “With the blond hair.”
He whistled appreciatively. “Mmm….mm…you should definitely go talk to her.”
“You think?” Already a swarm of butterflies was taking residence in my stomach.
“Yeah.” He shoved me. “Go.”
Following his advice, I scurried across the grass. She was walking a little fast, and I was worried I wouldn’t catch up to her, so I picked up the pace. Finally, I caught her.
“Hey.” I tapped her on the shoulder.
She spun around.
My stomach dropped. It wasn’t Lennie.
“Can I help you?”
I was going to admit that I’d thought she was someone else, apologize and walk away. But I changed my mind. She may not have been Lennie, but she was someone I wanted to get to know. She was pretty with her long blond hair, pale skin and blue eyes.
It was actually her eyes that drew me to her the most. Even though I was sure that most people were repelled by them. At least I know my roommate was. When I first introduced her to him, he teased me, asking me if the only reason she was dating me was because she couldn’t see me. But he was an idiot. Having a lazy eye didn’t mean you were blind.
But he didn’t let up, saying that it creeped him out how one eye looked at him while the other eye did its own thing.
Honestly, I liked that Sarah wasn’t perfect, because God knows I wasn’t either. Whenever I dated a girl, she always pointed out my flaws, my quirks. And eventually she’d break up with me because of them. With Sarah, I felt like we were on a level playing field. We both had our imperfections, but together we worked. And, besides, I thought she was pretty. Stunning, even.
When we first started dating things went well. In fact, it was during this time that I tried to write my first book. Sarah became my first muse. The first person to inspire me to put words on paper.
But then one night changed everything.
We’d been dating about a month when she invited me to come up to her dorm room after I’d taken her to dinner. Her roommate was staying at her boyfriend’s that night so she had her dorm to herself. We made out for awhile, rolling around on her bed, even experimenting a little. We both shed our clothes, allowed our hands to explore one another’s bodies, but then she took it too far.
At least too far for me.
Most guys would’ve welcomed what happened.
But I’m not most guys.
I panicked, memories of that night in the strange man’s truck flooding my mind. The problem was that Sarah wasn’t understanding. She didn’t console me or whisper that everything would be okay. She demanded that I leave, called me a freak. Said she never wanted to see me again.
Devastated, I made the trek back to my dorm, shoulders slumped, head hanging low. When I got back to my dorm, my roommate said he’d heard I’d been spotted in Sarah’s dorm. He fist-bumped me, congratulating me, clearly assuming I’d had sex with Sarah. I was going to correct him, but then I thought better of it. The truth would only make me look like an idiot. Skewing it a little wouldn’t hurt. And when he wanted more details, I gave him them. I constructed a story with just enough truth to make it believable.
So believable that by the end of the night I believed it too.
And that’s when I realized the power of words, of a story.
So I kept writing. Kept using Sarah as my inspiration. I wrote what should have happened between us. Not just that night, but every night after that. And the more I wrote, the more distorted reality became. My story took on a life of its own.
In my own mind anyway.
When people asked me about Sarah, I told them she was my girlfriend. But not because I was lying. To me she was.
But when Sarah found out, she got angry, and she started spreading rumors about me. She told people about that night. About how I couldn’t perform. The teasing was endless, whispers circling me night and day. No matter how vehemently I denied her claims, people believed her version of events over mine.
Even my roommate did. However, he still sided with me, saying that it must have been her bad eye that kept me from being able to do it. He said that he understood. But I got angry, shouting at him, and telling him it was all lies. Everything she said was a lie. And I would prove it.
That night I followed her when she went out with friends. Staying at a safe distance, I watched her eat dinner, go out dancing and then head back to her dorm alone. I waited until her lights went out, until I was sure her roommate wasn’t coming home. Then I snuck inside. I crawled into her bed, climbed on top of her.
When she awoke, she screamed, but I placed my palm over her mouth. I was determined to do the one thing I hadn’t been able to last time. To show everyone that I could. I tried to think of anything other than the man in the truck. I thought about the playboys my stepdad used to hide in his sock drawer, and the girls who used to lay out in bikinis at the public pool when I was a teenager. I even thought of Lennie. But nothing worked.
Sarah was right. I was a freak. I couldn’t do it.
In the end, his face was all I could see.
Frustrated, I released my hand and slid off of her. And that was when the accusations started. She screamed and hollered, called the cops. Told them I had assaulted her.
The truth is that I didn’t rape her. I couldn’t. I’m too broken. But in order to share that I would have had to tell everyone about that eight-year-old boy. And there was no way I was doing that. So I stayed silent. Let her accuse me.
When they found the book I was writing, it was even more damning.
However, I knew the truth, and so did Sarah, and eventually she dropped the charges. At the time I thought it was because she felt bad. Because she didn’t want to hurt me. I found out later that my parents had paid her off. I had told them that Sarah and I were in a relationship. That she’d asked me to be with her that night. And that everything between us was consensual. Mom believed me. Ray didn’t. Still, he bailed me out. Now I knew it was at Mom’s request.
Afterward, I had to drop out of college, enroll in an online university. I took classes sitting in my parents’ house.
Sarah destroyed my life, and I’d hated her for it ever since.
But tonight, I was ending it. Ending it all.
I grabbed one more item out of the box on my dresser. Glancing down at it, I wondered why I’d kept it all these years. Then I closed my fist around it, unable to look any longer. Snatching up the picture of Sarah, I put it with Lennie’s. Then I grabbed my keys and coat and headed outside. It was bitterly cold, the air stinging my fingers. I cinched my coat tighter
and held onto the items in my hand, not allowing them to get swept away by the breeze. My car sat near the curb waiting for me like a loyal friend. I hopped inside, tossing the pictures and one extra item on the passenger seat.
They skittered over the leather as I drove through the San Francisco streets. I stopped at the store to get the supplies. When I paid, the cashier gave me a funny look as if wondering what I was doing with the items I’d bought. I simply smiled. She could think what she wanted. Everyone did anyway.
I knew exactly where I was going, and I made it there quickly. After turning off my car, I snatched the items and my bag from the store and opened the door. Stepping outside, I inhaled the salty, crisp air. It smelled clean, and I savored it before it changed.
Before it was gone.
Then I moved forward, gathering courage to do what I came here to do.
31
Smoke rose in the sky, fire painting the inky black canvas in red splashes resembling blood. The flames danced in my eyes, swallowed me whole. Heat radiated against my flesh, melted my face. Closing my eyes, I succumbed to it. Welcomed it even. It was necessary. I’d lived with the pain too long. Held onto it, coddled it, ushered it into my life and babied it. And now I had no idea how to cut it from my life.
And I couldn’t live with it anymore.
Plumes of smoke circled around me. Glancing down, I opened my hand. Sarah’s and Lennie’s face mingled, smiling up at me. I’d loved them both, and they’d both broken my heart. Sarah when she betrayed me, and Lennie when she chose Rob. I was still having trouble separating flesh and blood Lennie from imaginary Lennie, but there were moments that the distinction was clear. Our talks in the coffee shop, the time we went dancing, our one perfect kiss. I was almost certain those were real.
The pictures slid from my palm, fell into the fire. I listened to the crackle as they were singed, incinerated. I watched as their faces morphed, the photos curling over until they were nothing but ash and soot.