by J. L. Rizzo
“Only I haven’t played for a month.” That made him turn his head to look at me. We lock eyes for a few seconds, but he doesn’t furrow his eyebrows. He doesn’t tilt his chin. He simply waits for me to speak. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” I say. “I have played this past month. But I didn’t play for the month of December.” I look away again, finding my words.
“Believe it or not, I’ve had a crazy, exciting year. I mean, I know I’m not a big celebrity or anything,” Crew’s composure cracks with the stifle of a smirk. “But this year is one to remember.” I see his face fall as I speak. I know he’s thinking that I had a great year because he wasn’t in it. So I continue, hoping he’ll hear me out.
Looking forward again, I continue, “In the spring, I went to my mother’s wedding,” I say, which makes his head tilt slightly. “It was a small wedding in the New York City. But it was perfect for her and Chance. They’re really great together.” I look into his green eyes for a moment so that I can keep on course. Otherwise, I have no idea what I’ll say, seeing as my mouth tends to take over my brain when I’m around him.
Knowing he’s with me, I look away again. “I went on a silent retreat this fall.” That sentence makes his face turn forward, and when I look at him, I see his eyebrows shoot up. “For 14 days, I unplugged — no talking, no reading, no writing, not even eye contact. And obviously, no piano playing.” I give a hard smile remembering my eagerness to go leading up to it then the reluctance taking over while I was at the airport. I didn’t know if I could go through with it. “Turns out, I had a lot of distractions to clear away.” Crew smiles for the first time since I sat down. “It was really incredible. I discovered not only a sense of calm and peace but a clarity so strong that I actually felt it grow from within. In the silence, I learned to be present. And I found a wonderful sense of freedom.” I breath deeply, trying to convey my next thought. “It’s like my mind was playing a series of arias on constant repeat, and the retreat turned off the music so that I could finally hear myself. I could finally focus on me. And you know where it led me?”
Crew doesn’t say anything, but something in his eyes makes me hurt for him.
“Here,” I say, looking back to him. “It led me here, back to Austin.” I see Crew’s eyes begin to well with tears, but I keep going, saying what I need to say.
“It’s hard to play the piano when it’s being moved across the country,” I smile because I’m full of gratitude for all of my decisions lately.
“I came back here not because I needed something I was lacking in my life,” I smile, knowing that’s probably what he’s thinking. “I came back to Austin because I wanted to be in the place where I felt most like home. This place, this town — I can play whatever music I want to play, I can travel easily, and I can still hear the silence away from the city.” I shrug. “I’m a Southern girl. You can take the girl out of the South. But the South will always be home.”
I turn and face Crew, pulling one knee onto the bench and resting my elbow on the back. “This last year, I learned to be my own hero, Crew. I learned to forgive myself for lacking the courage to change my life. I learned to forgive you for actually changing it. But I also learned to be grateful.”
Picking at a leaf on the bench for a moment, I buy myself time. “I feel a stronger love and compassion than I’ve ever felt before. Especially toward myself. And I never want my last breaths to be ones full of resentment or anger.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to confess.
I pin Crew with my eyes and say what I came to say. “These past few years have changed me in so many wonderful ways, Crew. They haven’t been easy. But you’ve made them a lot easier just by being you and loving me the way that you did.” Feeling the tears start to well, I keep them at bay and continue. “You made me fall in love with you these last 5 years, Crew. But more importantly, you made me fall in love with myself.”
I want to touch him so badly. “I know I walked away from you last year, leaving you in that jail. I’m sorry that I did because it crushed me to do it. Absolutely gutted me to leave you again.” Taking a deep breath to keep the tears from gushing, I say, “But it was one of the best things I ever did for myself. I couldn’t possibly give myself to you until I had something to give. So I went and learned how to be the best version of myself. And I did it. I became my own hero. I fought for myself.” I smile. “Now I just need to know one thing.”
I watch the tears drip down his face, and I resist the urge to wipe them away. “Is it our time right now? Or is it just me in the end?”
Crew’s Final February
You are my tragedy.
I am your pain.
Time can not heal old wounds.
Time makes them bleed.
~Crew Evans
28.
How are you?
I think about you every second of every day.
Can we please talk?
I need to hear your voice.
Do you miss me?
I miss you.
I love you.
Nothing sounded right. With every tick of the clock, with every setting of the sun, with every turn of the calendar page, I wanted to reach out to Summer…to hear her voice, to smell her hair, to comfort her sadness. But no message could ever convey what I wanted it to say….
Please come back to me.
I needed Summer like I needed my next breath. There was never any doubt about my feelings for her. They weren’t just something I lived with every day; they were like a guiding beacon, anchoring me to my purpose no matter where life took me. Summer was always in the back of my mind if not right in front of me. I always felt the pull to her, the energy pulling us together like the strongest of magnets. I’ve known for almost my entire life that I belonged with her.
And I had her. For about one solid day.
Until her life fell apart right in front of her eyes.
Last year, she chose herself over me. And I’ve spent the year wallowing in self-pity, loneliness, and heartbreak.
But I was also proud. Of her. She took a stance to fight for herself instead of me. It killed me. But I know it was the right thing.
A big part of me, though, wished that her life was dull and colorless without me in it. I wanted her to reach out to tell me that she made a mistake and beg for my forgiveness. I wanted her to realize how empty her life is without me, how her heart beats for nothing if I’m not in it, how her body grew numb without my touch to reawaken it.
I wanted her to miss me. A part of me wished that, when I saw her, she’d look a little unsteady and disheveled — lost without me.
But looking at her standing over her father’s grave — content, peaceful, stunningly beautiful — I know that she’s had a phenomenal year, probably the best year of her life.
This year, she tore me apart and left me broken. I had trouble moving through each day, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. I clung to my work, struggling to find any ounce of gratitude in the photos I took and the words I wrote. I reached for every lifeline only to find no one who could understand the pain I felt; the part of me that is Summer felt like it died. I was hollow, desperate, shattered. But in the wreckage of my life, she’s found her life. She’s glowingly beautiful tonight. Her strawberry hair shines in the dusk, little flecks of gold bathing the light around her. Her white dress moves easily in the breeze. She looks like an angel.
And I’m the devil.
She has no idea what I’ve gone through this year. I wanted to talk with her every day, but she asked for more time. It’s been 19 years since I first saw her. One more day may or may not change it all.
Making my way to the bench, I can’t bring myself to go to the diner. The anticipation of talking to Summer sucks out all my courage to sit at the table where it all started. So I sit down on the bench before I talk myself out of staying. The voice in my head has never won. My heart has always taken the reigns when it comes to Summer Perry. So I sit and wait, a fool on the edge of despera
tion. I keep telling myself that Summer will see the envelope and meet me at the diner. But honestly, I have no idea what to expect. Not one.
It’s slowly fucking killing me.
Time strangles me to death.
After what seems like an eternity, I hear Summer’s soft steps walking up to the bench. Expecting her to speak first, I remain quiet, not having a clue what to say…or where to even begin. But when she stands at the other side of the bench, I take a quick glance toward her feet, making absolutely sure it was her. I can’t take another letdown.
It’s her.
Breathe, Evans.
Summer is the only person who makes my words choke my breath. I feel like I’m constantly caught off-guard, and she’s not always patient enough for my brain to start working, often leaving before I can organize my thoughts and rescue myself. So when she sits down on the other side of the bench, I feel all of the things she doesn’t want to say.
I’m over you.
I’m with someone else.
I’m better off without you.
Thanks for the memories. I never want to see you again.
But she remains there, silent, as if in a meditative state. The swirling words never seem to land in my mind. There’s so much to say and no courage for me to say it.
“Autumn,” she says. Her voice. It travels into my body like a gust of wind that fills my lungs. Breathing deeply, I use her voice to calm my raging pulse.
“That was supposed to be my name. Autumn. But I was an early baby, a preemie. So my parents decided that naming a daughter ‘Autumn’ who was born in July might be too confusing. So they changed my name…to Summer.”
I don’t understand. Why is she telling me this?
“My favorite movie is The Matrix. I hate shopping, I love the beach, and recently I’ve discovered that I love banana waffles with blueberry syrup.” Finally, she’s learning. “Oh, I also like to play the piano.”
It’s like she’s introducing herself to me as if we’re on our first date. Why is she doing this? Perhaps the is her way of softening the blow, the inevitable torture that’s coming. She doesn’t want to be with me. I’m faced with a long, silent, colorless life without her.
“Only I haven’t played for a month.”
What?
I look to Summer to encourage an explanation. Locking eyes with her is a mistake because I can’t seem to do anything else at all. No breathing. No blinking. No speaking.
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” she continues, looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. “I have played this past month. But I didn’t play for the month of December.”
I’m grateful that she looks away so that I can control the nervous energy flowing through my veins. I feel it swell in my stomach, paralyzing me. Calm down, Evans.
“Believe it or not, I’ve had a crazy, exciting year.” Damn. “I mean, I know I’m not a big celebrity or anything.” No, you’re mine. “But this year is one to remember.”
She’s had a great year. Without me. No crying her heart out. No pining for me. No regrets. She walked out on me. And she never looked back.
Fuck.
“In the spring, I went to my mother’s wedding,” she continues. How did she feel about that? “It was a small wedding in the City. But it was perfect for her and Chance,” she explains, somehow reading my mind. “They’re really great together.”
So are we, Summer.
“I went on a silent retreat this fall.”
Oh, no. I don’t want to feel any torment hearing that, but I’ve learned that silent retreats tend to encourage people to clear the clutter and prioritize their lives. If Summer went on a retreat, she most likely learned that I’m low on the must-have list, if I’m on it at all.
“For 14 days, I unplugged — no talking, no reading, no writing, not even eye contact. And obviously, no piano playing.” Why did she do it?
“Turns out, I had a lot of distractions to clear away.” Including me. Shit, this is my send-off. Take it like a man, Evans. Smile away your silent death.
“It was really incredible,” she continues, with a twinkle in her beautiful eyes. “I discovered not only a sense of calm and peace but a clarity so strong that I actually felt it grow from within. In the silence, I learned to be present. And I found a wonderful sense of freedom.”
Jesus, this is hard. She looks so damn pleased with herself, but it fucking stabs me right in my heart. She thinks she’s letting me down gently, but I feel like I’ve been thrown off a bridge, and I’m in that empty space where I’m free falling and waiting to hit the water to fucking end my agony.
“It’s like my mind was playing a series of arias on constant repeat, and the retreat turned off the music so that I could finally hear myself. I could finally focus on me. You know where it led me?”
Please, God. Make it stop.
“Here,” she says, looking straight into my eyes.
It led you to the end of me.
“It led me here, back to Austin.” Summer smiles.
She.
Smiles.
And I’m just now understanding what she has said.
She lives here.
In Austin.
She’s close to me.
She moved here for me.
I try to fight them, but I can’t hold back the tears forming in my eyes. Tears for the one thing I’ve ever wanted for my entire life — hope, for us.
“It’s hard to play the piano when it’s being moved across the country,” Summer smiles while the tears sting my eyes. “I came back here not because I needed something I was lacking in my life.” Please say it’s me. “I came back to Austin because I wanted to be in the place where I felt most like home. This place, this town — I can play whatever music I want to play, I can travel easily, and I can still hear the silence away from the city.”
Home. This is your home. I’m your home.
“I’m a Southern girl. You can take the girl out of the South. But the South will always be home.”
I wish I could scream, jump off this bench, sprint down the street — anything to release all of this pent up energy that’s stuck inside my gut. Summer lives in Austin. She’s near me. There are so many things that I want to say to her, but I don’t dare interrupt her heartfelt monologue.
“This last year, I learned to be my own hero, Crew. I learned to forgive myself for lacking the courage to change my life. I learned to forgive you for actually changing it. But I also learned to be grateful.” She’s forgiven me?
“I feel a stronger love and compassion than I’ve ever felt before. Especially toward myself. And I never want my last breaths to be ones full of resentment or anger.” Oh Summer, Summer. Neither do I.
“These past few years have changed me in so many wonderful ways, Crew. They haven’t been easy. But you’ve made them a lot easier just by being you and loving me the way that you did.”
I’d do anything in the world for you.
“You made me fall in love with you these last 5 years, Crew. But more importantly, you made me fall in love with myself.”
Christ. It takes everything inside of me not to grab her and crush her to me. The electricity between us is like like a live wire snapping back and forth, jolting us. I know she feels it, too.
“I know I walked away from you last year, leaving you in that jail.” And killed me. “I’m sorry that I did because it crushed me to do it. Absolutely gutted me to leave you again. But it was one of the best things I ever did for myself. I couldn’t possibly give myself to you until I had something to give. So I went and learned how to be the best version of myself. And I did it. I became my own hero. I fought for myself.”
Her words are intoxicating. I feel like I’m caught within a whirlwind of foolish hope and crushing disappointment.
“Now I just need to know one thing.”
Oh, no.
“Is it our time right now? Or is it just me in the end?”
29.
Time.
Tim
e is more than this moment.
Time can’t take away what I feel right now.
Time can’t erase the words she’s just said.
I can’t speak. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.
Summer is saying every word that I’ve longed to hear for 19 years. While I want to scream and shout and jump off this bench, I’m paralyzed. With hope.
Because I love her so much, I need to make sure she’s making the right decision for herself by including me in her life. She seems clear, like she’s speaking her mind with clarity. And I’m so damn proud of her.
Taking a breath to answer her question, I start, but the words don’t come.
Do I want to be with her? Or be without her?
The answer has always been clear.
Reaching around Summer’s lap to the bench, I pick up the photo album.
“I’ve already looked at it, Crew. You’re so incredibly talented.” I smile at her warmly, thanking her for the compliment while I search for my goal. Behind one of the photos is another photo that I slip out of the sleeve. It’s Summer playing a concert in Dusseldorf, years ago. She is 8 years old. She looks so small playing with an orchestra. A beautiful small pearl wearing a bright white dress in the middle of the dark orchestra, the light shining on her. I remember when my mother developed this picture.
“Is this her, Crew?” she asks with warm eyes.
I nod my head. Yes.
“This is the girl from the Miss Leslie’s school?”
I nod again. Yes.
My mother takes the picture back and examines it, wearing a mother’s smile. The smile meant for me. “Well, yes. I see it now. She is very pretty.”
I nod again. Yes, she is.