“It’s not polite to steal a lady’s sunglasses,” She informed me primly.
“And what part of etiquette is tackling someone to the ground to get them back?” I retaliated, starting to sit up. She shoved me back down playfully. Raising an eyebrow, I glanced down at her hand. “I’m still super sweaty, I hope you know that.”
She contemplated this for a few seconds and removed her hand. I shook my head, chuckling, and sat up. Rachel sat back on her heels across from me, seemingly lost in thought. I was just about to ask what was on her mind when I heard her mutter “Aw, hell” under her breath.
Before I could piece together that was supposed to mean, she darted forward and kissed me.
My head spun. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure what was happening. Her lips were soft, and I had a foreign impulse to kiss her back, but as my eyes opened again and it was Rachel instead Tara pressing her lips against mine, I knew I couldn’t do it.
She pulled back, a soft smile on her face, unaware of my inner turmoil.
“I’d say that was long overdue.”
She leaned back in, but I moved out of the way and stood slowly. I could feel the hurt in her eyes without even looking at her. God, how could I not have seen this before today? Now I was in danger of losing my friend, all because I couldn’t let go of the girl I’d lost.
“You know, I didn’t think she was real,” Rachel said bitterly. Surprised, I turned back to her. She was clearly torn between anger and sorrow, tears of both emotions running down her face. I felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut, knowing those tear were because of me and the only way to make them go away was not an option for me.
“Who?” I asked softly.
“The girl in your journal,” she stated flatly, her voice devoid of the emotion in her face. “I read over your shoulder a few of those days. I figured she was just another part of that story you were writing, like a character or something.”
Every muscle I had tensed like a taut bowstring. She’d been reading over my shoulder?? What’d had she seen?
“Story?” I queried, careful to block any emotion that might give me away.
“Yeah, you ass, the story you’re always writing,” she spat. I sensed that anger wasn’t wholly directed at me. Rachel was kicking herself for not piecing this together sooner. “The sci-fi stuff, with time-travel and that girl Tammy or whatever.”
“Tara,” I corrected automatically, barely audible.
She put her hands on her hips in a traditional Rachel defensive stance. She paced agitatedly; it was obvious she didn’t want to speak, but she couldn’t help it.
“I should have figured it out, you know?” her voice shook in contradiction to the display of angry nonchalance she was trying to maintain. “No one writes that way about a character they just made up. I should have known!”
She was like a wild animal trapped in a cage, and it hurt to see her in pain like this.
“Rachel-“
She held up both hands in warning.
“No! I don’t need your sympathy. Just……just….-“ She struggled to find words as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Our eyes met once more. Green eyes locked with hazel ones in a conflict of sentiment; Anger, sorrow, betrayal, and self-disgust were returned with love, grief, apology, and regret. She never finished that sentence. With an angry sob, she wheeled around and vanished into the woods faster than I’d ever seen her run.
A minute passed. Five. Fifteen. Silently, I pounded my fist against the closest tree, ripping the skin from my knuckles. I didn’t care; I could sense something precious slipping from my grasp and that mental tingle was the only sensation that I could concentrate on. Tired beyond words, I slid down the rough bark and rubbed my forehead like it was Aladdin’s magic lamp.
It wasn’t that I had the same feelings for Rachel that she had for me; I loved her, sure, but in the way I imagined having a sister would feel like. No, this disturbing trickle down my spine was that of happiness coming to a close. I had hurt my friend. Again. It was all too nostalgic, reminiscent of an Ohio backroad. Tara, Rachel……was I really that callous that every friend I had would eventually be forced to leave? My gnawing thoughts burned my conscience like acid, threatening to consume my self-restraint. I could already hear the dragon whispering:. Do it, he hissed. We can fix this. It’s just a simple fix. Keep this precious happiness intact. After all, this is what your talents are for.
My heart stopped at the sound of the dragon’s voice. Addiction never goes away completely, but if you’re not careful, you can confuse a temporary victory over its voice with total control. Then, in your weakest moments, it grips your soul in its icy claws and whispers “Come to me.”
I staggered to my feet, my eyes burning with dry tears. I haltingly made my way back toward the cabin, wrestling with the beast over every step. Chaplain would help me.
He always helped to keep the demons at bay.
Chapter 22
Like I said, expectations are troublesome. What I failed to mention was that your personal expectations are not the only ones that affect you as an individual. Your co-workers, your friends, your lovers, and your family, all have expectations of you. Some are harmless, like assuming you’ll arrive on time. Others carry more responsibility. The ones whose hearts you hold trust that you will not betray their love. We all do what we can to be upheld to this image created in the collective minds of the people we know and love. But sometimes we fail.
Sometimes we fail.
****
I barged through the rustic door with bloodshot eyes and a tortured soul. Chaplain looked up in alarm and almost dropped his teacup.
“What on-…son, are you alright? Sit.” I crumpled nervelessly into his wicker rocking chair, numb to the world. He hurriedly brought me a cup of tea and settled into the chair across from me, worry written across his features.
I told him the story brokenly, start-stopping my sentences as I went. Every ounce of emotion, both Rachel’s and mine, washed over me again, but I was beyond them now. The only feeling that ate away at me now was the dragon, fully awake and clawing to be unchained.
Chaplain placed a weathered hand on my wrist, his touch quieting my internal battle. His expression was distant.
“My poor lass,” he murmured. “You’ve fallen for the one you can’t have, much like us.” He came back to reality and looked me in the eye. “That girl has no idea of the truth?”
My throat was inexplicably raw.
“No.”
“You need to keep it that way, lad. She’s hurting now, and painful it is, too. She’ll heal, but if you tell her everything, she’ll think she can save you, and love thrives on sacrifice.”
I nodded dully. I never intended to tell Rachel everything. It was simply too much to ask of a friend who hoped to be something more. The only option that I was considering at all was jumping. Chaplain read my thoughts.
“What would you do, son?” he probed gently. “Would you live your lie again, knowing what it has cost you over and over?”
“What can I do?” I rasped. “I can’t just leave her like this.”
His grip tightened on my wrist.
“You can. You have to. Rachel’s strong, lad. Takes after her mother. This is the way the world turns in love, son,” he met my tortured gaze steadily. “There are those who are unlucky. We know this better than most. For all your gifts, you’re still human, and sometimes that’s a hard thing to accept. But if you go running about ‘fixing’ things every time someone you love is in pain, there won’t be much left to define you as human at all.”
The dragon roared in fury, but I knew that Chaplain was right. Every single time I’d used my talents to fix what was “broken”, it had made the situation worse in some way. Guilt always rode on the heels of any selfish jump I’d made. Rachel would heal without me; she’d just made the mistake of loving a man who couldn’t possibly return it. I was starting to wonder if I’d ever be able to love that way again.
Chaplain wrapped hi
s arms around me as the levee broke and my pent-up misery escaped in dry sobs. When the tide receded, he ordered me to sleep. As I drifted off, I felt a lightness despite the persistent sense of loss. While I had lost a dear friend, I still had another who helped me to tame the urge of addiction. He helped, I realized before sleep consumed me, to keep me human.
****
Morning greeted me with a burst of sunshine that forced my mood to rise whether I wanted it to or not. As I weeded with an unfamiliar ferocity, I had an incredible urge to whistle. May was around the corner, and despite everything that had happened in May during the past few “year”, it was still one of my favorite months.
I didn’t see Rachel around the cabin anymore, and my last trip into town had been to tell Jon Michael that I had to leave the training program. I hadn’t informed him why, and he hadn’t asked. I suppose it was better that way.
I missed her. Misguided in love or not, Rachel was a great person, and someone who I’d shared a remarkable connection with. Outside of Tara, I rarely had friends who I actually bonded with. Rachel was blessed with an energy that I admired, and as the sun rose and set on the garden, I found myself wishing I could just tell her I was sorry. Chaplain was right, though; she would heal better if I wasn’t there.
Two weeks slipped by and I barely noticed. I’d been shuffling about my tasks and my journaling like some kind of manikin. May arrived in force, and the garden (along with its fair share of weeds) sprang into full bloom. It filled my days with work and I was grateful for the distraction. As usual, the closer the anniversary date approached, the more Tara consumed my thoughts. I was ready for May 16th to come and go. Once it had past, I was convinced I’d be ready to move on with my life.
The day finally came. The sun still graced the world with its rays, the garden still sprouted with its green stalks and shoots, and Chaplain still limped around the cabin, setting his house in order. There was a stillness that I couldn’t quite identify. I don’t want to call it peace, because it wasn’t peaceful. Maybe just a sense of anticipation. I had come to an important decision, and I planned to tell Chaplain over our usual afternoon lunch.
As the time rolled closer, my hands started sweating. I wasn’t nervous about talking to Chaplain; I don’t think anyone could talk to him and remain uncomfortable. I had a suspicion that it wasn’t the conversation that caused my moist palms. It was what would follow.
We sat down to a hearty meal. May had provided us with more than enough to get by, and Chaplain had mastered the “waste not, want not” mantra of cooking years ago. As our spoons started to click more and more against the bottom of our soup bowls, I decided it was time.
“I’m leaving today.”
“I know, lad.” Chaplain smiled at my shock. “I see more than you think. I’m younger than you know, and that restlessness hasn’t left me yet. I recognize the signs.”
I nodded automatically. Of course he knew. He was Chaplain.
“Come with me,” I blurted. “See the world, meet new people, open a haberdashery for all I care. I think you should get out of Michigan.”
Chaplain looked at me with surprise, but I could tell that it wasn’t the first time that he had thought about packing in his hermit lifestyle. For all his wisdom and early grey hair, he really wasn’t that old. At first, I had wrongfully pegged him as being in his sixties, but the longer I had lived there, the more it became obvious he was probably closer to his late-forties, early fifties. I didn’t even want to think about this marvelous individual wasting away out here any longer than he already had.
“Don’t you want to live now?” I asked urgently. “I mean, I know why you needed solitude, but isn’t fifteen years enough?”
Chaplain’s eyes gleamed, their emerald light flashing at the prospect of stepping back into the world. Without warning, however, the light dimmed and retreated, replaced by a peaceful acceptance.
“Nay, lad. I need to stay. There’s something that I’m here for, and that may take me the rest of my days.”
I wasn’t ready to give up.
“But why?? What is it that’s so important it means your life is wasted?” I realized I was yelling, and I quickly lowered my tone. I didn’t want to part ways with Chaplain on bad terms. Luckily, I had forgotten how easy I was to read.
Chaplain stepped up to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I fought the rising urge of grief as he spoke.
“Son, whenever I pray for you, I ask that you learn this: that life isn’t just about what we do. It’s about who we invest in, and how we love. I’m not here in exile, I’m here to keep watch. There are some things more precious than oneself.”
He squeezed my shoulder. I could see tears of his own gathering in his deep green eyes; I wasn’t the only one broken up about parting ways. I’d miss this man more than I could say. He had been like a fath-
A lightning bolt of intuition struck me. With mounting shock, I stared at those familiar green eyes. Memory after memory crashed over me.
Chaplain had started his solitude in 1999, 15 years ago. He’d told me he had arrived 5 years earlier in ’94. The dates made sense. My head spun as I recalled bits of our conversations.
“Chaplain, do you know Rachel’s family?”
“Know of them, rather……..Her mother passed on to the Lord’s kingdom the year I started my solitude.”
His sobbing confession rang out as well.
“I can’t face her after what I did, God help me, I can’t do it.”
“My poor lass……..”
Another pair of green eyes, so similar to his, flashed through the chaos in my mind, but the last item clicked into place as I remembered his most recent words to me.
“There’s something that I’m here for and that may take me the rest of my days.
There are some things more precious than oneself.”
Chaplain shook me, concerned. I stared at him as if I’d never truly seen him, which I was realizing now, I hadn’t.
“You’re Rachel’s real father.”
The instant that ridiculous sentence passed my lips, I knew it was true. Chaplain’s face drained of color, but those emerald eyes that so nearly matched Rachel’s remained bright. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. I was doing all of the talking.
“You said you came to Michigan in 1994 on business and had an affair. You didn’t say anything about the woman, but she was married too, wasn’t she?” I asked, but my tone wasn’t judgmental. “It was Jon Michael’s wife. I don’t know how, but when you found out she was pregnant, you couldn’t go back to Ireland knowing that your only child was here. But you weren’t the type to break apart a happy family either. You stayed here in the States, and when her mother died, you came to live out here, occasionally going into town to make sure that your daughter was being taken care of.”
I felt giddy with knowledge. Everything about Chaplain’s lifestyle made sense now. Even though he would never tell Rachel that she was his daughter, he stayed near her in case she ever needed him. When he’d said he couldn’t face her, he had meant Rachel, and he hadn’t been saying he didn’t have the strength to tell her the truth. Instead, he literally meant he wouldn’t uproot his daughter’s life out of a selfish desire to claim her as his own. He watched and protected, and was content. I was astounded.
Chaplain recovered and smiled weakly.
“You’re something else, lad, to put that all together.” His hand shook. “I hope that this…information can stay between us.”
I crushed him in a hug. All of his words to me about finding what was precious and finding my anchor hadn’t been just advice; Chaplain had made his peace of the consequences of his mistakes and sacrificed a normal life to be near the person that mattered most to him. I’d take his secret to the grave before betraying the man who’d given me back my sense of purpose.
“I’ll miss you so much,” I whispered through gritted teeth, fighting to keep my emotions in check.
His voice shook.
“You’v
e helped me more than you know. Take care, son.”
Somehow, that word meant everything from him. I shut my eyes tightly and savored that last embrace. As soon as I let go, I turned and walked out, knowing that if I looked back, I’d never leave. The further away I got, the faster I ran, until the woods swallowed me and I could no longer see the cabin. His last words echoed in my head one final time.
Take care. Son.
The timestream consumed me without warning and I was flung backwards as the darkness fell.
August 19th, 2012
Year 173
Chapter 23
The world puts a lot of pressure on the individual, don’t you think? “What do you want to do? What do you want to be? How much money are you worth?” If you’re not two steps forward, you’re eight steps behind. If you fail to plan, you can plan to fail.
Bull.
The truth is, you can have a plan. Your life could be so full of schemes and dreams that it would make a day planner’s head swirl, but unless you lead a life that’s blessed beyond measure you can bet your sandy bottom that most of your plans won’t be ones that you can take to the bank. But...if you can find that one dream of yours that works, if you can latch on to that and never let go, then maybe it might all just work out in the end.
I mean, it could happen. Right?
****
Wipe that look off your face right now. Yes, you idiot, take that moronic “Wait, he went from Year 3 to 179?” expression off your mug. Did you really think I was going to give you four hundred years worth of reading material when we’re so pressed for time??
I’m sorry. I’m really stressed.
Even if this wasn’t a time-sensitive read, I still wouldn’t include everything. I can’t. Honestly, I have a hard time isolating one year from the next after Year 3. Just because I’ve lived centuries longer than I should, it doesn’t mean that I have a better memory than anybody else!!
The Jump Journal Page 11