by Jessica Park
Chris and I are parked in the same area, so we all walk together with us up front. Sabin has positioned himself behind the others, and I suppose that’s for the best. I put my arm around Chris’s waist and try to regain my sense of stability, to remind myself what the boundaries and dynamics are.
The sidewalks are filled with people leaving bars now, and traffic is tight. We maneuver around groups talking outside of clubs, and we’re only a block away from our cars when we pass two guys leaning against a signpost.
“Fucking homos,” one of them says loudly.
Chris slows to give them the benefit of his attention, but he keeps walking.
“Like this town doesn’t have enough faggots already,” the other says.
Chris comes to a halt and then moves in front of me as he faces the two. Eric and Zach don’t appear to have heard what was said because they are still talking with James and Estelle, but Sabin clearly has because he lowers his guitar to the ground and steps forward.
“Sabin, don’t,” Chris says sharply. “Don’t. Let it go.”
He’s not going to let it go though, which seems pretty obvious as he approaches the duo. “What the fuck did you say?”
“Shit,” Chris mutters under his breath.
The others have just bypassed Chris when Sabin lunges forward and grabs the guy with a baseball hat by the collar. “Tell me what you fucking said,” he demands through clenched teeth.
The guy smirks. “I said, ‘Fucking homos.’”
“I’m gonna rip your fucking face off, you goddamn piece of shit!” Sabin’s rage builds quickly, too quickly.
“So, you’re one of them, too? Bet you’re getting off from just touching me.”
Chris moves toward them and tries to intervene.
After seeing this, the thug turns his head back toward Sabin. “What’s the matter, little pussy? Can’t fight your own battles? Need him to come save you?”
My chest tightens as those words leave his mouth. That was precisely the wrong thing to say.
Before Chris can reach them, Sabin explodes.
He sinks a brutal kick dead center in the guy’s chest, forcing him to fly back. The victim knocks over several trash cans before he makes his landing, and I hear the hollow thud of his body as it slams mercilessly into the unforgiving concrete.
“Sabin!” I scream.
Blood pours from the victim’s nose as Sabin stands over him. His eyes are wide with fury as he pulls his arm back, poised to continue his attack.
Chris tries to launch himself into the mix, but the second guy grabs him and swings a punch. Chris is too fast though, and he manages to duck while reaching for Sabin, who is now repeatedly pummeling a fist into his partner’s face.
I wince when I see bare knuckles sinking into Sabin’s cheekbone, and I scream his name again. James pushes past me and goes after Sabin, but I don’t see what happens because Chris goes flying back against the wall. The crack from his head slamming against brick scares me to the core, and for a brief second on impact, we make eye contact.
I am too terrified to make a sound, but I get to him as he drops onto the sidewalk. “Oh God, Chris.”
The hit he took is serious enough to jolt everyone apart, and the guy in the hat signals his friend to make fast tracks out of here. Sabin manages to take a parting shot at his victim, driving a fist into his stomach, before they run off.
“Christopher, look at me! Look at me!” I might be crying. I can’t tell. I can’t tell what’s happening, where anyone else is.
The only thing I see is that Chris has lost consciousness, and Sabin is now kneeling beside us.
“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck!” he hollers. “He always gets the brunt of it. He always does. Fuck, make it stop. He always takes everything. Oh God, oh God…” Sabin is panting and nearly drowning on his words.
I have never heard this kind of mayhem and chaos from him, and it rips my heart in half.
“Chrissy, please wake up. Please wake up. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Why can’t you just let me take the hit for you? Please. Just once? Just once.” He is pounding his fists on the pavement now, slamming his skin into concrete, as he begs for redemption that I cannot give him.
I roll back on my knees and look before me. Two people I love are before me, and both are in substantial agony.
I don’t know who needs me more or who to help first.
There were sirens. Police cars and an ambulance. There was the emergency room and a very nice doctor. I don’t remember all of it because I was in a panic for most of the time. In the end, the only thing that matters is that Christopher woke up when the EMTs arrived and that he was discharged from the hospital with a concussion.
That was five days ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to Sabin since. He won’t take my calls.
Chris drove down to the ranch the other day and tried to talk to him, but Sabin kicked him out.
The kids left with Zach for their ski trip, so Chris and I are alone in the house.
The kids. I have to laugh that I’ve started calling them this, as though Chris and I have somehow become parents to the brood. I suppose in some ways we have.
I’m trying to be respectful that Sabin wants space right now because I believe in privacy and one’s need to be alone during certain times. It’s not easy though. Among other things, his mood fluctuations are concerning, but I’m hoping that he’s sorting some of this shit out. Maybe I need space from him, too. It hurts to acknowledge that, but he and I are in an upheaval that I don’t know what to do with.
I’m trying to focus on Chris—on Chris and me—but I’m feeling guilty while doing so, like I’m somehow abandoning Sabin…or betraying him. It doesn’t feel right to talk to Chris about this, whatever this even is, because…it’s fucked up.
I can’t stand this.
I’ve kept busy with writing. My boss is having me do a few pieces on San Diego, and it’s been easy enough to pour myself into detailing the various places I’ve visited here.
So, I write. And I watch the ocean from the deck. And I try not to think.
I just wait. Because Sabin will call. I know he will.
And the image of Christopher’s head slamming into brick and the sound and the expression of pain on his face will all fade.
It’s cloudy this morning, but the gray sky makes for a dramatic visual over the ocean.
“You cold?” Chris comes outside with a blanket.
“A little.” I sit forward and let him drape the blanket around me.
“You doing all right?” He looks worried.
“Yeah. Just feels weird that everyone is gone.”
“And that Sabin is MIA?”
I nod. “It’s why you encouraged the ski trip, isn’t it? You wanted them to clear out.”
“Yeah,” he admits.
“Because Sabin is going to blow at some point, and you didn’t want them around.”
He looks into my eyes. “I think so. I think you can handle it, but I don’t want Eric and Estelle around for it. He’s…” Chris sits in the chair next to me and thinks for a minute. “He’s very angry with me, I think.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not sure. He’s trying to hide it, but…I feel a lot of anger from him. Or resentment.” He sighs. “Something. It might be why he won’t talk to me. I’m so much a part of the problem that I can’t be part of the resolution. At least not yet. Blythe…you might be the only person who can reach him.”
“How? I don’t want to push him.”
“Just be here for him. Everything will unfold when it needs to.”
In the distance, dolphins bound through the dark waters.
“Okay. I can do that.”
“So, listen, I just got an interesting call.” Chris pauses. “But I want you to tell me if you’re not okay with it.”
“All right,” I say with a bit of hesitation.
“It’s nothing bad. Don’t worry. Some guys from Death Valley National Park—I know, cheery name—want m
e to head out there for four or five days and consult on part of the software they use for the park. I guess they like what I came up with for Acadia, and it’s sort of a big deal to be asked.”
Chris is not one to brag, but if ever there were a time to do so, now would be it.
“Chris, that’s amazing! You should be really proud of yourself.”
“So, um…you don’t mind if I go?”
“You have to go,” I insist. “God, Chris, I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks. They want to fly me out today though. Is that all right? I hate the idea of leaving you alone here, but…” He lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe you can get Sabin to talk to you if I’m not here.”
“I’ll do what I can. Go pack. It’s totally fine.”
“All right. They’ll send a car to take me to the airport, and then I’ve got a two-hour drive to reach them after I land. Should be quite the experience. Kind of going into the middle of nowhere, it feels like.”
The idea of being in the middle of nowhere actually sounds good to me right now. It has to be better than this chaos with Sabin.
While Chris is packing, I scribble a note that just says, I love you, and I tuck it in his wallet. It seems old-fashioned, but it’ll give him a little something to find. Texting is fine, but I like the idea of him coming across this unexpectedly. I tuck it between credit cards, and I’m about to shut his wallet when something catches my eye.
Snooping is wrong. It’s an awful thing to do, but something about the textured paper compels me to tug on it. The ivory paper has been folded in half, and while it’s a torn section from a larger piece, I don’t need the full paper to know what this is. Because I see the names Christopher and Jennifer inked in elaborate cursive writing.
It’s his wedding invitation.
I feel sick to my stomach. And angry and resentful and betrayed. Why in the world did he save this, nonetheless carried it around?
My hands shake as I replace it.
I busy myself with cleaning the kitchen so that I don’t have to talk to Chris much before he leaves, and I time it so that my gloved hands are busy scrubbing a pot when his ride outside beeps the horn.
“It’s just a few nights,” he says as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“No problem.” I keep scrubbing.
“Blythe? You seem upset.”
There has got to be a reason he kept the invitation, and I’m not going to overreact—or I shouldn’t. So, I fight it.
I force a smile and tilt my head back to kiss him. “I’m not upset at all. Just preoccupied. I want you to have a good trip, and I’m not exactly trapped in a hovel here.”
“Okay.” He kisses me again, but I can tell he’s not convinced. “I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I spend two hours needlessly scouring the kitchen and trying not to think. It does occur to me that I’ve spent a lot of time intentionally not thinking about things.
It’s fruitless, I know, but I text Sabin again. Then, I leave him another voice message.
I go for a draining long run and try to excise the tension consuming me.
It’s been a while since I’ve been alone for more than a few hours at a time, and making dinner just for myself sharply reminds me of the year after graduation when I was alone in my parents’ house in Massachusetts. It was a year when I focused on rebuilding my world and being functional while learning to live again. It was not the happiest year of my life, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. So, I should be able to tolerate being by myself tonight.
I call James to see how the ski trip is going, but I have to leave a voice message. Then, I watch a really terrible Lifetime movie while I eat chips and salsa in bed. Chris calls, but I ignore him. This is probably the first time I’ve refused his call, so he texts me and says he assumes I’ve gone to sleep, so he’ll reach me tomorrow.
I fling the phone onto the floor. Maybe I’m being unreasonably angry, but I don’t care right now. I turn off the light and pull the sheets over my head.
What if Chris is harboring some kind of regret over his wedding day, over Jennifer?
That’s stupid. It was a long time ago. He loves me very much. He is devoted to me. He promised me that we were unbreakable.
Of course, I made him say that while I was fucking him.
He loves me. He loves me, I tell myself over and over.
I just feel like being angry right now, so I allow it.
I feel horrifically alone, and that reminds me of how alone Sabin is, how I cannot stand that for him. But I’m also reminded that I cannot deal with thinking about him too much right now.
He and I are in dangerous territory, that much is clear, and I am frightened to death that we will not emerge unharmed.
The next day feels eternal. I continue to avoid Chris. I cannot call Sabin again. I cannot do anything.
I pace around the quiet house—again. I’m midway between the kitchen and living room on my umpteenth lap circling the huge room when I hear a loud plane. Or a train. Or…
What is that?
I stop walking and listen. Then, I look down at my feet because I think they’re moving, but they don’t appear to be. The noise gets louder, and suddenly, I hear dishes rattling. Quickly, I turn to the kitchen. Yes, the dishes are indeed clinking. The rumbling sound continues to roar through the house, and a growing panic grips me because I finally understand that this must be an earthquake.
I don’t know if it’s going to get worse, if the house is going to collapse or be swallowed up in some kind of fault line.
I don’t know the first fucking thing about earthquakes.
My heart is pounding through my shirt as I stand, unmoving, in the middle of the room.
The middle of the room? Wait, that’s not right. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be in a doorway maybe.
I get my legs to work, and I move myself to stand with my back glued to the entrance of the mudroom.
Then, there is silence again, except for my breathing. I hear the sound of my panting.
My head is buzzing from the fear, and my arms are tingling. So, I just stay where I am because I’m not sure I still know how to walk, and I don’t know if this earthquake is over or if there’ll be another one.
I don’t know the first fucking thing about earthquakes!
Well, except that one should not stand in stupid places like under chandeliers and such, so I press myself harder into the molding and pray this is a support beam.
My phone rings, and I pick it up without even looking at who is calling.
“Hello?” I can tell that my voice sounds weird.
“Are you all right?”
“Sabin?”
“Yeah. Are you guys all right?”
“It’s just me,” I say robotically. “Chris is out of town for a few days. My feet feel funny.”
“Are you all right?” he asks more insistently.
“I did not like that. Is…is there going to be another one now? How does this work?”
“I’m ten minutes away. I’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else. I’m not particularly interested in getting out from under the archway, so I stay where I am and suspiciously eye the room, waiting for something else to happen.
“California sucks!” I scream out. “You are supposed to be beautiful and perfect, and this vacation kind of fucking sucks!”
Not surprisingly, California does not reply to my complaint.
I’m still holding my position when the front door flies open, causing me to jump and let out a fearful cry.
“Sorry! God, I’m sorry!” Sabin holds up his hands and stays where he is. “It’s just me. Apologizing again, it seems. Everything’s okay.”
I put my hand on my chest and try to get my breathing under control. “Everything is not fucking okay.”
The sight of him jars me back into emotion, and I am hit with how dif
ficult it is to see him—how I have been wanting nothing more and how much I’ve been dreading it.
“Everything is not fucking okay,” I say again more forcefully.
“I know,” he says. “I know it isn’t.”
“We need to talk, you and me.”
Sabin looks at me for a long time. “I know that also.” He steps toward me. He’s still got a good bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night. “Are you going to come out of that doorway?”
“Is there going to be another earthquake?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell. The world isn’t a stable place, is it?”
This is one of the only times I’ve seen him in a serious mood. No joking, no snappy quips, no deflecting.
Sabin takes off his leather jacket and sets it on the counter. Then, he walks calmly across the room and extends a hand. “The ground could give out beneath us at any time, but we can’t stop that. So, come on.”
I take his hand. It is the best feeling in the world to feel his familiar touch again, but I just look at my hand in his with sadness. “Everything feels broken,” I say.
“It does feel broken.”
I look him in the eyes now. He’s as destroyed as I am. I can see that.
“I’m scared to talk to you. I’m scared of how you’ve been acting. I don’t want to make things worse, but we have to have a conversation—about Chris because you’ve got some kind of huge issue there that I’m not getting. And…” I pause. “We need to talk about us, Sabin. And it has to be an honest talk because something is really fucked up.”
The nervous energy I have belongs to him also. I can feel it radiating from his body, and it burns through me.
He says nothing for a bit.
“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” he says.
“I wish we didn’t either.”
“But I guess we don’t have a choice anymore.”
I order myself to breathe and to focus. The ache in my heart, in my entire being, hurts like all hell. “Sabin, what is happening with us?”
It takes a long time for him to answer. “I’m not sure. I know that I feel safer and happier and better in every possible way when I’m with you. And that worries me. A lot.”