Shattered Stars

by Shari Ryan

  “Help! Let me go!” I continued to shout, over and over, like I suddenly remembered what I was supposed to do if in trouble. However, the strength of my voice was weak in comparison to the struggle being used against me.

  I didn’t know if it was the world’s way of blocking out trauma or protecting me from remembering that moment, but between the crash of my head meeting the pavement and the cold zaps that sprang through every inch of my body, a numbness crept up from my toes until it reached my head. That was the last thing I remember from that night.

  18 YEARS OLD

  “I’m so sorry to hear Aly’s dad isn’t around,” Layne says with sincerity.

  “Don’t be. He’s in prison ... probably re-living the criminal acts that put him there in the first place. He can now live out his days being the victim.”

  Layne doesn’t say anything in response, which I expect from people when I say anything remotely close to what happened that night. The divulgence of my story has made people walk away, holding their mouths as if the exorcist was about to escape from the depths of their gut.

  “I hope he got life in prison,” Layne mutters.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Layne shakes his head as if he’s trying to push away the truth of my words. It’s a lot to take in for most people. It’s a lot to accept as the victim. “You’re incredible, you know.” People say that to me a lot too, but it’s not a way in which I would describe myself. Strong, devoted, brave, all work, but the amount of times I have cried myself to sleep over the last year-and-a-half make it hard to refer to myself as any positive figure displaying strength.

  “I’m alive. I’m not living in a hospital or a facility for mentally ill patients, so for that, I’m doing okay except for my unanswered questions. My biggest demon is the fact that I haven’t found a reason to pin on what happened to me that night. I grew up hearing my mother say, ‘Everything in life happens for a reason,’ but I just don’t understand this reason.”

  Layne places his arm around my back and squeezes my shoulder. “Sometimes, we don’t know the reason until long after we’ve lived through the purpose, but I know it’s hard to have faith when something traumatic happens because when there is nothing else to blame, we feel deserving of the punishment.”

  How does he know how I feel? He just described my thoughts perfectly, and I’ve never shared them with anyone. “You’re right,” I agree.

  He pulls me into his side and tickles Aly’s shoulder, forcing her to whip a springy blonde pigtail against my face. I can’t say I don’t like this feeling, but I’m not sure that it’s okay to like this feeling. Layne feels safe, understanding, and compassionate. He isn’t judgmental or assuming, and it’s a breath of clean air after the encounters I’ve had with people since Aly was born.

  “Are you physically okay now? I mean do you have any injuries or—”

  I expel a heavy sigh because it’s another question without an exact answer. “We think so, but only time will tell. I was in a medically induced coma for a couple of days due to swelling around my brain. Long-term damage is unknown at the moment, but I’m here, talking, walking, and waking-up in the middle of the night for this little girl who doesn’t need her beauty sleep.”

  “You sound pretty perfect to me,” Layne says, reaching for Aly, snagging her out of my arms. “And you, little miss, I’m in the market for a new friend. Any takers?”

  Aly responds by slapping her hand against Layne’s nose, giggling. “I’m sure Aly can handle you, but I’m not sure you can handle her,” I say, hesitating.

  I’m grateful Layne ended the conversation about Aly’s dad. I get the feeling he has the information necessary to resist from asking any further questions. “Do you want to go on a horsey ride?” Layne asks Aly.

  She claps her hands and points to the horses, which surprises me because I didn’t think she knew what the word horsey meant yet. I keep underestimating her I guess.

  Revealing my past to Layne wasn’t as hard as it’s been with other people and I’m left wondering how he knew exactly what to say, what not to say, and when to end the conversation. It was painless, and now there’s one more person in my life who I can be myself around, or could be myself around if I could stop blushing every time he looks at me.

  I’m in awe, watching him handle Aly with ease, placing her on the pink horse she was pointing to, then carefully fastens the seat belt around her with one hand so he can hold her with his other hand. Layne positions himself beside the horse and waits for the ride to begin. “You can’t just stand there, you know.” I am standing in the middle of four horses staring at the two of them as if I’m watching a movie. I like this part.

  Twelve

  Current Day

  After a silent ride home from Sage, I can easily tell Layne and Aly are angry at me for stating that I want to give up on this shit. In truth, I gave up when I heard there isn’t an actual cure for Dementia. I’ve spent so long coming to terms with the fairness of my situation. I’m a month from turning thirty, and my mind is disintegrating. The specialists hand me new pills like they’re candy, but none of the prescriptions are fixing my condition. They’re only meant to slow the progress. However, no one knows how fast I would progress. Therefore, I’m poisoning myself for what might be no reason. Still, I will try to prolong the inevitable for Layne and Aly. It gives them hope. Everything I do is for them.

  Layne is still in denial and has been since the day I told him about my diagnosis last year. It frustrates me that he has a type of wishful thinking that I’ve had to move past, but I can’t tell him how to think.

  After our cake massacre, Layne thought it would be “helpful” to have a family meeting when we got home. No one is saying much.

  “I’m just going to bed,” Aly says, standing up from the sofa in our family room.

  “It’s only seven,” I tell her, double checking the house clock’s time against my iWatch.

  “Yeah, I have homework.”

  “Aly, I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about, Mom. It isn’t your fault.”

  It isn’t my fault, but lately, I feel blame for everything, even if it’s just inside my head. “Do you need help with your homework?” I offer.

  Aly raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I’m behind in the times. “Mom, I haven’t needed help with my homework since fifth grade. I’m fine.”

  “That’s not true,” Layne says. “I helped you just a week ago on your statistics homework.”

  “Whatever,” Aly snarls, brushing off Layne’s comment. “Good night, old people.” With her last stabbing comment, she walks out of the room, grabbing her backpack from the back of front door, and heads upstairs.

  “Did she just call us old?” I ask Layne.

  “She did. What the hell? We’re not old,” he argues.

  Layne unfolds his arm and wraps it around the back of the love seat, just behind the back of my neck. I lean back and curl into his chest, needing to feel his embrace. As if instinct, he lowers his arm, wrapping it around me, and places a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m scared, Dani.”

  The one-word makes me sit up to look at him. “You don’t believe in fears,” I remind him.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “You can’t just change your mind. You convinced the world that fears are just artificial thoughts that offer an excuse to avoid what’s scary and uncomfortable.”

  “You remember that?”

  “The world was listening to the man I love. Of course, I remember.” I remember a lot more than he thinks. I’ve basically only forgotten his name.

  “That was a long time ago,” he adds.

  “Yes, but your words inspired me. You inspire me every day. You always have.”

  “Well, I guess I’m just in a different place right now.”

  “Then you need your music back,” I tell him. I make it sound simple like he can just pick up his guitar and start singing and playing again, but he won’t. />
  “That part of my life is over and in the past.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” I remind him. “Lexi said Johnny has started playing the drums again, so maybe—“ I’ve said this to him many times over the years, but when Layne makes up his mind, there is no turning back. I wish he’d make an exception with his music, though.

  “Dani,” he warns. I know this discussion has led us to arguments, but I hold the blame and guilt for the end of his music career. “I practice every day at school.”

  “You’re teaching little kids how to play the cowbell and sing nursery rhymes. I know it’s not your dream.” I instantly regret what I said.

  “Ouch,” he says, pulling away from me. “That was kind of cold.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you don’t do anything for yourself.”

  “I have a family to care for, Dani. That’s what I want.”

  I get this feeling like we’re falling apart, drifting away, not seeing eye to eye. It hurts. Layne is my best friend and has been for twelve years, but we were always in sync. Now, we’re bickering, offending each other, and trying to make things work, which feels like work. Is this it? The end.

  “Do you still love me?” I ask him. My question is soft, hesitant, and full of fear. I place my hands down onto the gray microfiber fabric of our sofa and trace my fingers in small circles, wanting to yank the fabric and tear it open.

  The pause between my question and Layne’s answer feels like I’m awaiting an execution. I stare through the TV hanging on the wall in front of us, wishing it was on so I could distract my focus, but it’s black, like a black hole, waiting to expand my thoughts into irrational fears of what Layne is thinking.

  “How in the world could you ask me that question?” Layne finally responds. “Have I done something to show you anything other than love? Ever?”

  “No, but I feel like a burden—a heavy burden, and it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Stop being so negative, Dani. Your attitude is what’s making things hard. I get it—you’re terrified, as am I, but what if we only have a certain amount of time left to enjoy our lives together. Do you want to use all those days feeling sorry for yourself—for us? Or do you want to live with me? With Aly? Do you want to create memories for our daughter to live by? I know this sounds mean and one-sided, but this affects more than just you and if I don’t say this, no one will. You can be mad at me. You can hate me if you want, but I need my Dani back, even if it’s temporary. We need to find a way to live again. We need to live like tomorrow is the end. We could all be gone tomorrow, and we don’t want our last day to be like this.”

  As always, Layne’s words strike me hard. They knock sense into me, but I’m stubborn. I’m as stubborn as I’ve always been, but Layne is the only one who can bypass that part of me.

  “What can I do, Layne? Tell me, and I’ll do it.” It’s the most giving I’ve been in the last ten months. If I don’t care for myself anymore, I’ll give everything I have left to them.

  “I found a clinical trial looking for volunteers. They’re specifically looking for patients with a diagnosis of early onset Dementia. They might have found a treatment for damage reversal.”

  “I’m not leaving home, Layne. We’ve talked about this. Plus, what if whatever drugs they used hurt me even more?”

  Layne hops up from the couch, running his hands through his short, shaggy hair, and paces back and forth for a moment before stopping in front of me. His face is red, and his eyes are glossy. “Jesus, Dani, you just asked me what you could do. This is what you can do. The side-effects are not life-threatening or dangerous. If there is even a small chance to help you, I want to help you. Why is this so hard for you to understand?”

  I don’t have a different answer than the one I’ve given him over and over again. A clinical trial scares me because the outcome is unknown. It could have a worse-effect on me than my slow growing symptoms. I shake my head, feeling my stubbornness speak before I have the chance to say how I feel.

  “Stop saying no. Do this for Aly—if anything, do this for her. The trial is in Boston. It’s here at home. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

  “It’s in Boston?” I repeat. Most of the other ones Layne has found were in other parts of the country, which would mean I’d have to go alone or take Aly out of school. Neither seemed like a good solution.

  “Yes, it’s in Boston,” he says, pleading with his eyes.

  “Fine.” I’ve made it clear that I’ve basically given up on myself, so I will do this for him and Aly. “I have no other reason to fight at this point. I hadn’t felt much of any symptom until this week, but if this is how it’s going to be, I know I can’t wait much longer.”

  “Fine?” He repeats my answer because he’s surprised I’m agreeing.

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  Layne takes my hands, pulls me up to my feet, and wraps his arms around me so tightly it’s hard to breathe. “You’ll do this for me?”

  “For all of us,” I tell him.

  “Thank you. Thank you, Dani.”

  “Under one condition,” I say.

  He pushes me away just a little, so he can look down into my eyes. “What?”

  “Play again. I need your music.”

  “Deal,” he says without thinking. “I’ll play for you.”

  * * *

  “For all of us,” I repeat.

  Thirteen

  Twelve Years Ago

  I WAS 18 YEARS OLD

  Obsessive, undying unnatural

  love is what I want

  I’m so close I can look down the street

  and see a hazy shadow

  Of you

  * * *

  Beautiful, alluring, sublime

  It’s all imagined

  I’m still feeling it inside,

  the distance closing in is a glimmering hint

  Of you

  * * *

  Searching, seeking, and investigating

  toward the rising sun

  I’m still moving through the emptiness,

  trailing my heart, wishing I already knew

  Of you.

  A week has passed since my dinner with Layne. Other than learning more about him through all his song’s lyrics that I’ve found on iTunes, we’ve been chatting by text message, possibly more than I’ve chatted with Lexi this week. When I ask him a question about his life, he points me to another song. His soulful voice and words lead to a full autobiography, split into verses and symbolism. I’ve come to wonder if all music is a window into an artist's life.

  What I’ve learned and love is that Layne isn’t a typical guy looking for a random date or fling to fill his time. I’m not sure he is looking for a date or a fling at all. It feels more like what he said to Aly—that he’s in the market for a new friend. It feels like the beginning of a story that’s unfolding slowly, a little at a time, which is comforting at the moment. I’m not sure I can handle the pressure of anything more.

  I should be dressed and ready to leave for my support group therapy, but it’s always a struggle to motivate myself on Tuesday mornings. I know the group is supposed to be helpful, but I feel worse when I leave, and I’m not sure that’s part of healing or if it’s abnormal.

  “Dani,” Mom calls out from the hallway before opening my door. “I figured you hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Why is it that every Tuesday I feel like you’re that pesky little middle-school child who needs to be pushed out of bed? Sweetie, are you sick of the support group?”

  I push myself up, lifting Aly with me as she’s been watching Mickey Mouse on my TV for the last half an hour. “I was comfortable.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Mom responds.

  “Yeah, I’m tired of going to the support group meetings.” Between the interactions with my attorney and her millions of questions that force me to hang on to every memory of the night I was defiled, and Lexi’s guilt for not finding me fast enough that night, the support group feel
s like overkill. I need a break.

  My phone, resting on the comforter in front of my knees, buzzes and lights up the surrounding space. It’s Layne, and of course, Mom looks over my shoulder at the words displayed on my open phone. Thankfully, it’s nothing I would have wanted to hide from her.

  Layne: You have to go. I’ll drag you there myself if you don’t get out of bed.

  “One point for Layne,” Mom says. “I like this boy. When do I get to meet him?”

  “Never,” I tell her, smirking to tease. Being a mom myself, I understand more of Mom’s worries, wants, and needs more now than I did before I had Aly. She has been very understanding of my transition into being an adult and a parent after just being her young high school daughter. She trusts me and puts her faith into my decisions, but it doesn’t go without stress and worry that she tries to hide. Therefore, I have done my best to be honest, and transparent with my life to ease the burden. That doesn’t mean I don’t like to have fun sometimes though.

  “Oh, come on, Dani. You know you want to introduce him to me. You’re dying to bring him home. I’m sure of it.” I’m not sure I’d go that far, but Mom’s approval does mean a lot to me, and I do want her to meet him, but what is there to approve of right this second? A friendship. I don’t want to add a layer of weirdness to whatever it is that’s going on between Layne and me.

  “I do. Just give me a little more time to see where things are going between us. It’s still too new.”

  “Fine, you have a week to figure out what you want. Then I’m stealing his phone number from your phone and texting him myself.” She would never, but I appreciate the threat as it puts a smile on my face.