I woke up to my alarm two hours later.
* * *
Despite my desire to write Reese back posthaste, I waited two days. First to hear back from Megan, and second to collect my thoughts—a near impossibility because they were scattered far and wide. I wrote him back in my head constantly, discussing every thought that popped into my mind in detail, replying to every point in his letter as I always had. And he listened. His listening brought me peace. Not total peace, but enough to comfort me in my unequaled time of need. Megan replied immediately:
Dear Camryn,
You poor thing. I wish I was there to give you a hug. What a shocker! I’m still in shock, so it must be a thousandfold for you. It’s like Reese came back from the dead. I know how much you loved him. You just need to hang in there and work through this confusion.
Keep me posted. I’ll support you no matter what.
XO
Megan
She didn’t have any magic answers. I knew she wouldn’t, but her empathetic message was a hug in and of itself. I wasn’t alone.
* * *
Dear Reese,
Wow. It was so great to hear from you, you just don’t know how much. I’m sorry things have not gone well for you and I’m stunned to hear of Ryan’s passing. I can imagine how hard that must have been on your father, and for you and your mother too. How is your mother, by the way? You have really gone above and beyond, helping your dad out like that. I hope he appreciates it. I don’t think I could have done it.
I forgive you for letting me go way back then. We were young, inexperienced, and dumb. I wished I could have helped you with your problems. I wish I knew you had problems. Difficulties don’t drag the other person down, but give the other person a chance to build you up. I wish I had taken the chance. I wish I would have known to dig deeper and find out what was wrong rather than give up and assume you didn’t want me for some unknown reason. It wasn’t all your fault. I was at fault too. I forgive us.
I have been doing well. We’ve moved around a lot—Glenn’s job. People think we are in the military, moving around so much. Each relocation has been an amazing move up in our careers—very exciting. At one point I even had my own office with a locking door! I’ve enjoyed each and every move and new experience, especially the Seattle area. I felt so much at home there. It is the geographic equivalent of how I feel about you. I love everything about Seattle, the mountains, the trees, the water, the people, even the rain. It has so much to offer. I miss it so much. I feel out of place when I’m not there, but other places are good too, just not my first choice.
I’ve been married going on eight years now. It has had its ups and downs. Glenn holds me in high regard, but . . . . He is your opposite in many ways—impatient and yells a lot, amongst other things. He’s got a suspicious nature and doesn’t trust most people, but he trusts me. That’s why he married me. But he’s a good worker, energetic, and generally means well. When I got married, I wanted to get invitations that read, ‘Today is the day I marry my best friend, the one I laugh with, live for, dream with, love,’ but I couldn’t. Best friends isn’t how I would characterize us—and Glenn’s sense of humor is next to nil. We have more of a symbiotic relationship. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Okay, enough of that.
Yes, I have a beautiful 3½ year old daughter, Sydney. Like the name? Gee, I wonder where that came from? I never thought I wanted kids. I was terrified that I would have a brat, but motherhood has been a blessing I could not have imagined. Sydney is an angel and a delight. I get compliments on her all the time.
I hope you do go back and get your degree and get your life on track. You need to get yourself in shape. Get healthy. I want you around for a long time.
Sorry to hear your girlfriends haven’t worked out. The right one will come along someday.
I have thought of you over the years. Endearing thoughts. I too, will always love you and cherish the times we had. I have not gotten over you and I don’t think I want to. You have been a special gift in my life and I love you for it.
Write back soon. Love always,
Camryn
I held my breath, then hit the send button on my computer. It was gone with all the uncertainty of sending a message in a bottle. Rekindled mailbox obsession surfaced. This time it was not for snail mail, but the electronic variety. Would our paths have been different if we had e-mail back then? Could we have saved us? I couldn’t help but wonder about the multitude of possibilities.
I logged into HighSchool.com, a website I was aware of, but never before thought to visit. Kate and Sarah and Kurt all had entries. So did Reese. I read each section of Reese’s entry over and over, marveling at his profile as if it were the most prized archaeological find ever. I felt like I was living a dream. Reading Reese’s profile became even more surreal when his free-form words flashed on the screen in the biography section where he could have written his whole life story, but instead, he wrote this for the world to see:
I know it’s hard to believe I’m back living in Hell North. I mean Harvard. This wasn’t my plan after being in the Air Force, but shit happens, and someday I’ll get out of here. Looking over this website brings back a lot of memories. I hope to hear from some of you. I had a lot of great friends back in high school and think of them often, especially the one I let get away. If she reads this, she will know who she is.
I knew. The understatement of the millennium. It brought me right down to my knees. What if I had stumbled here on my own, with no prompting from Reese? Would it have brought me down, shredding my heart from the inside out, or merely knocked the wind out of me? The public declaration of love, hidden in plain sight, hit me where it hurt the most, the place where I could do nothing about it. My hands were tied. Bound by a marriage contract.
It was Nagasaki.
CHAPTER 26
“. . . Are you sure you want to suffer the tortures of the memory of a lost love? Do you know the tortures of the memory of a lost love? IT’S AWFUL! IT WILL HAUNT YOU NIGHT AND DAY! YOU’LL WAKE UP AT NIGHT SCREAMING! YOU CAN’T EAT! YOU CAN’T SLEEP! YOU’LL WANT TO SMASH THINGS! YOU’LL HATE YOURSELF AND THE WORLD AND EVERYBODY IN IT! . . . ”
—Lucy van Pelt
“Is it time?” Glenn asked, snuggling in bed next to me, pressing himself into my rear cheek.
“No.” Even if I was ovulating right then, it wouldn’t have been the right time. At that moment, never seemed to be the right time.
“We could practice,” Glenn said, hopefully.
“Not tonight,” I said, trying not to cry.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just don’t want to,” I said, choking up. The moonlight shone through the window, lighting up my face just enough that Glenn saw the tear I’d fought so hard, dribble down my face.
“Can’t I help?” he asked.
“No,” I answered in a whimper. I rolled over, isolated on my side of the bed, but I did need help, more help than I’d ever needed in my entire life.
“Why don’t you ever let me in? I never know what is going on with you. I want to know who Camryn is and I don’t.” He sounded mad.
No you don’t. I kept thinking the words in my head. I was sure he did not want to hear that my ex had infiltrated my life, turning it upside down; causing me to question every move I had made for the past thirteen years, causing me to question my life and my love. I had only begun to mourn, having lived in denial for over a decade, unaware I had a grief to process. Lost, with no answers, I asked God, why me?
“Let’s just get some sleep,” I said, leaving Glenn in the dark.
“I love you,” he said, insecurely, like he wondered if I would say it back.
“I love you too,” I quipped, knowing it was what I was supposed to say, yet feeling badly that the words came out hollow. This time, as many times before, I wrestled with the conflicting advice of ‘Never say I love you unless you mean it’ and the visualization advice of declaring something as so, in order for it to become a self-fulfilling p
rophesy. This time I didn’t even know what love was. Before, I didn’t even know that I didn’t even know. Reese had complicated my standing struggle.
Reese had been sitting on the back burner, turned off, and largely unnoticed for years. At class reunion time, I knew he was still on the stove. Hurricane threatening North Carolina, he came into focus. Even in the occasional dream, he appeared, always sweet, though always distant and never mine. And, in my thoughts, I told him these things.
Ever since he returned up front and to full boil, he was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing at night. Always on my mind. I was an elephant mourning the most beloved of the herd, going over cherished memories with my trunk. Mrs. Dahlgren’s elephant collection took on new meaning: she had been an elephant too. I longed for my diaries of adolescent history, our shared times together; my emotional backside was bruised, thrashing myself for throwing them out, an act which had been excited by the glaring beacon of insecurity; but at the time, I thought it was the glow of a bygone flame. I spoke to Reese in my head as though he were with me, filling him in on all the goings-on in my life. He was my best friend all over again. I talked to him the same way people talk to loved ones passed, but I mourned the living. This was not a grief I could get over; it was a grief I could only hope to get through. Many people had skeletons in their closet. My skeleton was alive.
* * *
Dear Camryn,
I am so glad you wrote back and I’m proud of you that you have done so well for yourself. I never want to not talk to you again!
It’s great that your daughter is doing so well. With you for a mother, how could she not? I bet you did not know this, but even when we were in high school, I imagined us with a family. I can only wish I had done things differently. I should have known back then that you always brought out the best in me and that would never change. I should have given us a chance. I hope Glenn realizes what a lucky man he is. You deserve to be happy.
My father continues to be the self-pitying fool that he is, always complaining, yet not doing anything to improve his life. He’s on disability. I never knew you could receive disability from self-inflicted alcohol impairment. He’s an embarrassment and drives me crazy.
On the bright side, you have breathed new life into me. I took your suggestion and joined the gym. I’m glad you are interested in my longevity. I’ve started to feel more like myself again, especially now. Inside, I’m still the same person you knew, just not as trusting. Being burned a few times will do that.
I’d better go. Thank you so much for writing. It meant the world to me, as do you.
Love ya, Reese
* * *
Reading his letters brought Reese alive. I could hear his words clearly in my mind as if he were reading them to me. Anticipatory excitement caused my heart to race every day when I logged on to my computer, but a letter did not come every day, or even every week. There were other differences too. Words typed with indifferent electrons, arriving in bits and bytes didn’t hold the same charge as a letter penned with a loving touch. There was no envelope to feel or smell, or know that he had moistened it with his own tongue and kissed the seal. There were no little hearts drawn on the paper with the sum of our initials within, or X’s and O’s printed across the bottom with smiley faces drawn inside the hugs. And there was no blue-ink cursive, spelling out his deepest thoughts to me, while propped up in bed. Was e-mail a blessing, or a curse? There was nothing so intimate as handwritten thoughts, and for having experienced this archaic art form, I had been blessed beyond measure.
“Did you get my message?” Glenn asked me over the cell phone.
I had been so distraught by Reese’s reconnection—having tried to open my gym locker with my car’s key fob and driving away from Starbucks drive-thru without my drink—that his question took a moment to sink in.
“Oh . . . yeah, the one where you said you were meeting the guys at happy hour, so you couldn’t pick up Sydney?”
“Yeah.”
“I got it,” I said, waiting at a stop light.
“Good. So don’t wait dinner on me. I’ll eat something there. Love you.”
I had plenty of time to consider how often Glenn told me that he loved me—commuting to work every morning for an hour, with a stop at childcare, and every evening in the rush hour and a half, collecting Sydney along the way. Usually Glenn started work before me and was waiting for us at home in the afternoon so I could make dinner.
“This box came in the mail for you,” I said to Glenn when he walked in that night. An odor stung my nose as he passed by to retrieve the package.
“Oh! My cigar of the month club!”
“Your what?” I asked, fury boiling to the surface. “You stink, by the way.” I sniffed his shirt, choking on the smell of Opus X.
“I missed you too,” he said, dejected. He opened a beer, took a swig.
“I thought you quit. You said you wouldn’t do it anymore.”
“It’s a social thing. The guys want to have a cigar, so I have a cigar with them,” he said, gesturing with his arms, bottle in hand. “Don’t want to be the odd man out.”
“If they all jumped off a cliff, would you?”
“You’re not being fair.” Glenn was past annoyed, starting to anger.
Sydney, asleep in her bed, was all I could think of. What a fine example for her. I mentally rolled my eyes. I questioned his parenting skills. I questioned our decision to try for a second child, weighing the good of Sydney having a sibling versus the evil of subjecting another life to a father’s poor choices. I questioned the merit of my own choices, remembering the time when we were dating and I found an ashtray on Glenn’s shelf. “What’s this?” I had asked. “It’s for company,” he replied. I believed him, thinking if it were me, I’d make company go outside. Was it fair to make another child bear the burden of growing up with two screwed-up parents? Or would Sydney be better off with her own sibling support group?
Reese didn’t smoke.
“It’s not good for you. Do you want to die young?” I said, all worked up.
“It’s only once in a while.” Glenn pooh-poohed my argument, like always.
“What kind of example is this for Sydney?”
“I don’t smoke in front of her.”
“But she can smell it. She’s not stupid.” Like her father, scurried through my mind, but I trapped it inside. With clenched jaw, I said, “My family doesn’t smoke.”
“Look, I came home early because I thought you’d like that, but since you think I don’t do anything right, I’ll just go back,” Glenn said, heading out the door, holding his half-empty Red Hook.
“You can’t leave with that,” I said, pointing to the beer.
“Can’t waste it.”
“It’s illegal,” I said, upset and exasperated. “What’s worse, wasting half a beer, or getting caught by the cops?”
“I won’t get caught.” He let the door slam on his way out.
Reese didn’t drink.
* * *
“Sydney and I are going to visit Father and Jo today. Do you want to come?” I asked Glenn the next morning, hoping his answer would be no. I was glad Jo had talked Father into moving out west, close enough to visit, never realizing I’d need them.
“No, I’m going to watch the race.” My heart was relieved.
“Okay. We’ll be home before dinner.”
“Camryn?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.
“Me too.” I was sorry we had a fight. I was sorry he’d been a jerk.
“I won’t smoke anymore,” he said, sounding resolved.
“Good.” I wondered if he wouldn’t drive with open liquor anymore either, but I didn’t go there.
“Have a good day. Love you,” he said as if life was grand.
“Love you too.”
* * *
Father and Jo listened intently while I told my bittersweet tale over the kitchen table
. Halfway through, Jo got up, returning to my side with a box of Kleenex, her arm around me.
“Have you talked to Reese?” Father asked.
“No, we haven’t spoken, just e-mailed. I’ve only heard from him twice,” I said, a lull in my quiet sobs.
“So, he lives with his father? And where does he work?” Father asked.
“Well, his father lives with him. He’s taking care of his dad. It’s a long story.” I didn’t want to get into the ugly details. “He works in a factory.”
“Oh. So he didn’t finish college?” Father asked. I read judgment I didn’t want to hear into his reply.
“He couldn’t,” I said, in his defense. “He had to quit in order to help his dad.”
“Does Glenn know?” Father asked.
“No. He wouldn’t understand. I barely understand.” I babbled on between sobs. “I mean, I don’t understand.”
“Well, just think of how your life would be different now if you had married him,” Jo said, trying to cheer me up. “You’ve got a beautiful house and a beautiful daughter. Glenn loves you.”
“I can’t believe he wanted to marry me back in high school,” I said, largely ignoring Jo’s thoughts, “I never knew.” My eyes teared up again. Jo patted my shoulder, unable to say anything to make it better.
Sydney laid her head in my lap. “Why are you sad?” she asked.
“I just heard some sad news, honey,” I said, blowing my nose. She held my hand in hers for a moment, then pushed my hair behind my ear and kissed my cheek, just like I did to her.
“I love you, Mommy.” She scurried off then returned with her teddy bear, tucking it under my arm. Her thoughtfulness made me smile through my tears.
“He didn’t let me go because he didn’t love me, he let me go because he did. Thought I’d be better off.” They just let me talk, knew I needed it, knew I needed a good cry to get it out.
“Well, honey.” Father paused. “This may take a while to get over. May take a long while. But stay strong,” he said, squeezing my hand. His gentle squeeze wrung out more tears. I didn’t feel strong. I felt the weakest I’d ever felt in my life.
Love, Carry My Bags Page 35