by Sarah Buhl
“Your biker friend, the guy with the tattoos, what's his story.” I asked as I leaned on the bar next to him.
He was toying with his beer bottle with a raised eyebrow to watch me and gage the proper response, “What do you mean his story?” he asked as he leaned his arm on the bar and watched me with knowing eyes.
“I mean, I have seen him twice today, in different locations and I found him interesting and I don’t find many people interesting,” I said as I rested my head on my hand.
He smiled at me. “I see that,” Blake said as he looked toward Twenty-Six, who was now talking to a group of girls on the dance floor.
I tilted a fake hat at him in response. “But in seriousness, he holds something in his eyes that makes me wonder where that depth formed.” I regretted saying it as soon as the words left my lips. The alcohol was making me drop my guard. I told myself two years ago the emotions I deserved to live with were guilt, numbness, and emptiness. I could not become a dreamy eyed vixen waiting for Mr. Right. I tried to make light of my statement, “Damn, dude, I am drunk.” I let out a loud laugh to drive the idea home to the room around me.
He laughed, and traced my back with his fingers before he rubbed up to the base of my neck. He gave my neck a tender squeeze and leaned in to speak in my ear, “No you’re right, Wynn is different. But he shares your lack of interest in people too,” he said as he let go of me and leaned back in his spot, looking at me with an understanding I hadn’t realized he possessed. “He’s my best friend, but he’s the most broken guy I have ever met.”
Then that was the last of what Blake said on it as he turned toward Toby and they started discussing a MMA fight they both watched last weekend. Wynn. His name is Wynn. I kept hearing his unique name in my mind and it kept interweaving with those eyes that watched me in the alley. I should be uncomfortable by his voyeurism, but it left me with a rush of emotions I should dismiss.
Blake labeled him as broken. I understood broken. To people who hadn’t experienced sorrow in their lives brokenness was a vast wasteland they could never understand. They saw brokenness as if it were an animal at the zoo. They could see it, hear it, but never experience it in its natural habitat. It wasn’t tangible to them. They didn’t understand what life meant for those in that cage. Wynn experienced it and he was brokenness. I did more than understand that, I lived it.
“Last call!” The bartender yelled, causing me to jump. I looked over at Maggie sleeping on Gabe’s shoulder as he tried to pay attention to Toby and Blake’s conversation. I took my cell from my pocket and saw the time was three-fifty in the morning.
“Oh shit, I have to work in eight hours. I need to get home,” I said to the guys. I stood from the stool and realized how much the stone sours had affected me. I always loved the contradicting effect the vitamin C from the orange juice had to the amaretto. Those drinks were evil little fuckers. They annihilate you if you don’t pay attention.
Blake and Toby both jumped up to balance me. I looked between the two of them and smiled at Gabe with Maggie lying on his shoulder.
“Gabe will you escort me home, please?”
He smiled as he lifted Maggie from his shoulder and passed her over to Toby. He stood and took my arm. “Thank you,” I said and appreciated his smile in response.
“I can drive you guys home if you want,” Blake suggested.
“No, you aren’t driving anywhere,” Gabe said as he flung his hand in the air in dismissal, and patted Blake’s cheek. I noticed as the night went on he started playing a role. In my drunken state I wondered if that was another likeness we shared. Maggie saw that I was more open with men now, but I didn’t think she knew how much. Gabe and I both had parts we chose to play.
“Okay, okay. Everyone's walking,” Toby declared. He carried a passed out Maggie on his back and I wondered how he managed to get her on there. He was the least drunk one of the bunch, I figured.
“I want to get home.” Blake gave a crooked smile.
“No,” I responded in haste, remembering what Gabe had said. “There is no way you can drive. I don't care where you want to go. You’re either walking the two blocks to our place, or you’re going to call yourself a friend or a cab.”
“Okay, we will go to your place,” Blake agreed. He gave me a flirtatious smile.
“Not for that, Blake,” I said, pointing at him and started to tip over, falling into him. Gabe held onto my arm to steady me as we began our walk toward my apartment.
The half an hour walk home consisted of me singing Bohemian Rhapsody, while Blake and Gabe took turns balancing me and keeping me from taking my song and dance into the middle of the street. The walk became twice as long due to my Broadway revival. I invited Blake and Gabe in as Toby and Maggie made their way to her room and shut the door.
“That was fun,” I said walking into the kitchen. I looked in the fridge and it wasn’t that I was hungry. It was a mindless habit that I used to fill the awkward void. The two men took their seats on the couch and watched me as I paced around the kitchen trying to decide what to do with myself. I was in complete exhaustion, but still running on the high of partying. Drinking was not something I did often. I always liked to keep my head on straight, so that only added to my confusion in the moment. My lack of control was disconcerting.
The drinking made my decision to sleep with a random guy feel rational though. It was two years since I started this and no matter how much time passes, nothing will keep me from my path. Time is interesting. It resists our wish to stand still and traps us in continual motion. One event defines our future. Through the filter of our past mistakes, future choices form. It moves forward without caring and takes pleasure in replaying memories that it won’t allow to change. But I was tricking time because I found a way to make the pain more bearable.
What I did was unforgivable. But I chose to use my remaining time on Earth seeking absolution. I would show my sister what I was doing for her. Her pain was now mine.
I took a seat at the kitchen table and stared at the pale plum color of our walls. In my drunken state the memories were no longer held inside my walls. They were dragging me with them and my mind was dropping the curtains and the feelings I locked away were surfacing.
I looked toward the living room and knew that if I didn’t keep it together the guys in the other room might find me crazy or come in here to try to comfort me. I hoped it wasn’t the latter. Crazy looks were better than helpless ones. I didn’t want their pity.
I tried to push thoughts of that night away. I didn’t want to remember how the sky looked or how the wet grass clippings sticking to my bare feet felt. The harder I fought, the faster flashes came to mind. Grass clippings now haunt me. They reflect the endless clinging of memories that I cannot brush off me.
I closed my eyes and saw the full moon and eerie gray blue sky over the fields. Life was a shadow of reality when the sky held that color and light. I tried to convince myself while I sat in my kitchen that those memories were that—a shadow. They weren’t real, they never happened.
I dug my palms into my eyes and tried to forget. It was a pointless act as the tears began to form in my chest. They were the hardest tears to bear. They willed their way up to my eyes and I tried to push them back, but they were too strong. Not even the moan held in by my clenched lips contained them.
I didn’t want to remember the feel of my bare feet running across wet grass in the evening. I didn’t want to remember yelling for her to come back, without a response. I didn’t want to remember the truth of it and as I laid my head on the table, the last vision I had was the memory of her empty eyes as the curtain pulled back and showed me the memories I hid.
I woke the next morning in my bed and flashes of the night before came to me, but the details lost to brain fog. I rolled onto my stomach and the result of last night pounded through my head. I blinked my eyes to adjust to the sunlight, they were sandpaper and I groaned in pain. After rubbing them enough to create moisture, I realized someone wa
s lying on my bed behind me. I was afraid to see who it was. Had Blake and Gabe stayed the night? In a slow turn I started to roll to my back. My head throbbed at the movement, but I was thankful to find Gabe sleeping behind me. A smile formed on his face and with eyes still closed he said, “Morning, dear heart.”
“Morning?” I said with a hoarse voice as if I had been crying. Crying. Sandpaper eyes, hoarse throat. Shit. I pulled my hands into my chest as I lay on my side and watched the thoughts dance across Gabe’s face.
“How are you today?” he asked with a sad look.
Oh shit. Shit. Shit. What did I say last night? “Okay… what happened?” I asked as I pulled my lips in tight.
“Well, without getting into details. I learned last night that you don’t want to talk, though you told me your story. You and I are good friends as well, because you said it last night. A lot.” He gave me a smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more though. I care about you Hannah and I understand guilt. But remember,” he said as he pushed the hair behind my ear and leaning in, kissed my forehead, “I am here for you.”
Those five words kept echoing in my mind and tears began to form again. I am here for you. He can’t be here for me. I must do this on my own. He can’t understand why I am doing what I am doing. I looked into his eyes and realized he did understand. I had to get away.
“I have to get ready for work,” I said and tried to hold tight to my emotions. I climbed from bed and started to gather my clothes for the day.
“Yeah, I have to get going too, so no worries,” he said as he stood from the bed and gave me a hug before leaving the room. He found Maggie in the kitchen and their voices drifted down the hall as I walked into the bathroom.
I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw my broken expression. Eyes that were once bright now dulled with haunted shadows. “You disgust me,” I said aloud to my reflection.
An hour and an icy shower later, I exited the bathroom. I avoided the mirror as I shivered. The apartment was empty except for the sound of Maggie in the kitchen. I was thankful I at least had enough brain power last night to speak to Gabe and not Blake.
I walked into the kitchen for coffee and Maggie was sitting at the table. I didn’t look at her at first as I pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet. When I turned and met her eyes, she gave me a knowing look. She sighed and pulled her lips in as she stepped toward me.
She knew how much I hated pity. Seeing my face, she wrapped her arms around me and without a word held tight. Her hugs always grounded me and they reminded me of the ones my mom used to give me years ago, when she still cared. Maggie ran her hand up my back and pulled me in tighter for our hug.
The tears screamed to escape and even though my eyes still hurt from crying last night, they welcomed more of them. The new tears spilled from me as Maggie pulled me to the floor.
I rested my head on her lap, as she ran her fingers through my hair and let me cry. She knew there were no easy words to help. I didn’t want words from people that they thought they should say. I needed silence or I needed truth and sometimes they were the same.
When Lily died, words were pointless. God needed another angel… it was her time… she is in a better place… it gets easier with time. As if I were going to wake up one day and the emptiness she left in her wake could fill with their hollow words. Someone even compared the loss of their dog to the pain my sister’s death brought. Bullshit. Why can't people understand that words are not necessary?
My sister—the one person in this world who knew me because of our shared history, took her own life and the fault lay at my feet. I did not slide the knife across her arms, but I might as well have given it to her with a smile. She took her own life. She... took… her… own… life. Those words repeated in my mind. They were a constant white noise that never faded. I was incapable of understanding why she did it. But I knew my family and I played our parts.
I thought of my father’s reaction. He didn’t shed a tear, and only said, “I hope in her last moments she asked God for forgiveness for taking her own life,” he said without caring as to what brought his daughter to that point or the possibility he may have played a part in it.
I looked at my tattoo and I started to calm. That word on my wrist kept me going. It reminded me of what I needed to do to right wrongs. I had been a selfish bitch. My punishment was to exist and to no longer live. I had momentary snapshots of time that placed together resembled a life lived. This was now my reality. I existed, passing each day with moments portraying joy to those around me.
We sat for several minutes until my tears slowed. Maggie knew when I fell back into this place of darkness and memories. The anniversary of Lily’s death was approaching and even my false normalcy was becoming difficult. My plan had been working, but the alcohol last night fucked it up royally. I had a few weeks until the anniversary and I needed to make sure every moment showed her that I was sorry.
“I know it's the last thing you want to hear, but your dad called when you were in the shower. I didn’t answer it; I let your phone go to voicemail,” Maggie said as she ran her hand through my hair. I listened to her breathing and heard the sounds of hunger coming from her as I kept my ear pressed against her abdomen. I didn’t want to leave the kitchen floor. I wanted to stay there forever and not face my trials. But I knew I needed to for Lily.
I took a deep breath and sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. I gave Maggie a sideways smile and I knew I looked a mess, but she had seen me in far worse states than this. I was so thankful that she was my best friend as well as my cousin.
“Thanks,” I said as I pulled a loose string off my yoga pants. “I have to confess something to you, Maggie.” She tilted her head in question at me, “I am madly and desperately in friend love with you,” I said with a sarcastic smile as I took her face in my hands and kissed her nose.
The smile that formed on her face lightened my mood for a moment. “You are such a dork,” She said as she pulled my hands from her face. The interaction brought forth memories of earlier, better times. She, Lily, and I played a game where we shared our “somedays” as we called them. “Someday I want to have a family with lots of little ones running around my ankles,” Lily said. “Someday, I want to be the head of my own company,” Maggie declared. “Someday, I want to travel the world and rendezvous with men in France,” I said in response. We were three very different people, but the same in our capacity to dream.
I sat on my knees and put my hands together as if I were praying, “I am serious Maggie Agatha Presley. You are the epitome of friend love in this world and I cherish you for it.”
We both knew I was using humor to hide from the pain. The pain lived in my chest. It existed as numbness at times and other times it burned me. It was as a hot iron rolling through my insides. As it never went away, I wore a mask pretending I was fine in hopes that someday I might be. That was my new someday, to just get through each day.
“Are you going to call him back?” she asked, giving me a sympathetic look. She knew my father and what havoc he could create with his words. Part of me wanted to blame him for what happened, but I knew the fault was my own. But I could blame him for what he said to her the night she took her life. “You little slut, how do you think this looks for me?”
Those were the last words she heard from our father. He didn’t worry for her. He worried for how he appeared to his friends. I picked up my cell phone and pressed to listen to the voicemail. After entering my code, his voice started to echo through my phone and it made me ill. He always brought out the scared little girl in me. I never let him know that though. I never let him see the affect he had on me. I never showed him my fear, but he saw my anger. Anger was something I was not afraid to share with him.
“Hannah, it’s your father. Your mother was wondering if you made it to your apartment and if you needed help. If you do, you can give her a call. She thought me calling you will make you want to answer or something. It looks as though she was wrong. But you know your mother.
Her being right is about as right as a three dollar bill. So yeah, give her a call if you need something.”
I deleted the message. I wasn’t going to call my mother and I wasn’t going to call him either. Both turned away when she needed their unconditional love most. I didn’t want their help and it pissed me off that I was now on the receiving end of guilt laced support from them.
Maggie lifted her eyebrow at me in question. “Same old bullshit?”
I nodded as I put the phone back on the counter. “You want eggs?”
She nodded in response and we didn’t speak any further of bullshit.
7
Wynn
I woke the next morning and powered up my phone. I found a text from Blake.
I’m hanging out with that chick.
My first reaction was annoyance in his need to send me the text and a stronger, more potent emotion was jealousy. What did they talk about? Better yet what will the answer to that question cause? More annoyance? More jealousy? I decided to push my thoughts behind my wall and focus on my plan for today.
After finishing a painting, I took my coffee out to my loft’s balcony. The morning silence of the city made me feel at peace. I could sit out here, looking over the skyline and wonder about the lighted windows of apartments and houses in the distance. I was the ghost sitting on the edge of life. They went about their lives, not seeing or hearing me and that was how I liked it. I could just observe.
I thought of the girl from yesterday and why she did what she did. What happened in the alley? Why couldn’t my thoughts stop drifting to her? When I saw her, an odd protective zeal filled me. The thoughts occupied most of my night and left me with three hours of sleep. I couldn’t get the contrasting images of her in the bookstore and the alley out of my mind. She wasn’t consistent in who she was. Instead of my usual dismissal, a need formed to understand and figure out that inconsistency filled me. The more I tried to block her from my thoughts, the more I failed.