Arms Wide Open: a Novella

by Juli Caldwell

  “I did what I thought I had to do, Lauren. You were sick.” I can tell I’ve made his guard shoot up. He pulls away, looking agitated, and I don’t want him on the defensive.

  I laugh, not quite sure what else to do. “I know! Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for what you did. I spent a few weeks in the psych ward there, and then moved to residential rehab for some more intensive treatment. I lived there about a year. But the staff was so amazing...they inspired me to help others. I’m still looking for work, but I’d like to help troubled teens, especially homeless girls and foster kids, help them before they have a psychotic break like I did. Not every girl has an amazing boyfriend like you to rescue them. Well...when I had you.” I look down. “So many of them just have pimps, you know? If I can save just one girl from a life on the streets, it’ll be worth it to me.”

  “I lied,” he says quietly, looking away and shaking his head. “You’ve changed quite a bit.”

  “I hope so. Crazy girls are only fun at parties.”

  Silence falls between us and the air feels heavy with the weight of what could have been. I guess sometimes things really are better left unsaid. It’s comfortable and awful all at the same time, being with him again. After so much time apart, I shouldn’t expect that feeling of belonging to stay. Tears start to well up in my eyes and I’m mad at myself for letting them form. He’ll think I’m still psycho girl if I let them fall.

  He slides another picture across the table to me. I snigger and wipe my eyes, hoping he thinks it’s because I’m laughing at the memory. It’s our prom picture—we went together as a joke. He’s wearing his grandpa’s vintage 1970’s polyester tux, in the single most wretched shade of powder blue ever invented, with ruffles down the front of the revolting long-collared shirt. I stole his black and white checkered fedora for the picture, and it’s perched at a jaunty angle on my head.

  I have on a ridiculous black dress with a skirt cut so high I wouldn’t need to change into a gown at the gynecologist, but the strapless, sequined gown is covered with a long-sleeved, lacy black bolero hanging off my too-thin frame. I’m holding the ends of it in my hands as he holds mine in the picture. I had already started cutting myself by then and stupidly thought wearing long sleeves would keep people from seeing the angry red slashes all over my arms. I hadn’t started putting matches out on the backs of my hands when this pic was taken, but it wasn’t long after. I told everyone I was allergic to bug bites when they called me on it. Everyone bought my lies except Grant. He never said anything, but I knew he could see through my words.

  “Look at us, grinning like dorks,” I say, passing it back.

  “We had fun, right? I can’t believe we didn’t end up in jail for some of our stunts.”

  “That’s where we belonged, really,” I agree. “Whose bright idea was it to go shopping cart bombing, anyway?”

  “I do believe that was Oliver’s brilliant scheme.” He sighs with a grin, the one I remember so well. The one that made me fall hard for him. “Vandalism at its finest.”

  “Oliver,” I sigh. “I miss that little troll. Whatever happened to him?”

  “He’s here tonight,” Grant says, turning in his chair to point at a table on the side, next to the brick wall near the ladies room.

  “Seriously?” I squeal, spinning around to look for him. “I have to talk to him!”

  “We’re roomies. Have been since I moved back for law school.”

  “Oh man,” I say as I catch Oliver’s eye and wink at him. He gives me a confused look and keeps chatting up his date. I realize he probably has no idea who I am, since I have short dyed hair, a nose stud, and something resembling a chest now. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

  “We did.”

  It gets quiet again, and we spend a few moments saying nothing before the bell rings and we’re done. My heart breaks a little as Grant stands up and offers me a quick, back-patting hug before hurrying to the men’s room. Despite everything left unsaid, he still feels right. Good. Comfortable. Seeing him feels like putting on a pair of my favorite jeans. It’s always been the perfect fit for me.

  I’m flustered and can’t think straight as I watch him vanish into the restroom. I reach for my purse but knock it to the ground instead. Change rolls everywhere and I have to crawl on the floor to collect it while people are walking around or milling about at tables. I’m gonna get trampled if I don’t hurry...plus, I just want to evaporate.

  I gather everything in one big sweep of the arm and shove it all back into my bag before I hurry away. I can’t do the last round, no matter what I told myself. I’m gonna tap out and let the universe have this one. Ten crazy guys would wreak less emotional havoc on me than one moment looking into the vivid green of Grant Fierro’s gorgeous eyes.

  Worth the Risk

  I reach into my purse for my phone as I head toward the front door. I pick it up to see a text from Harlow glowing on the screen. I’m sorry you’re having a bad time, but this guy so far is worth every bad date I’ve ever had. *sigh* I’m a little gone on this one!

  I can’t help but smile. She’s dated way too many guys who were only using her for her power and connections. I pull up my on-screen keyboard and text back. I’m thrilled for you, but you might want to sleep with the lights on tonight. You’ve been warned.

  There’s a sleek silver trash can just by the exit. I stop to drop in the feedback card I was given when I walked in and registered for the 5 in 5 fiasco. I don’t care who wants my number, and I don’t want anyone to call. I don’t even want the free coffee. I just want to go home and shower this night off.

  “Excuse me, please. Pardon!”

  I turn around to see the eyeball guy heading out, holding hands with someone. I stop to take her in. If I saw this woman on the street, in her sensible shoes, denim jumper, cardigan, and out of control red curls pulled back into a low, long braid down her back, I’d probably look at her just long enough to realize someone else was there. I’d judge her on her appearance, call her mousy, feel a moment of pity for her inferior DNA, and then forget she exists as I go about my day. When I see her and the eyeball guy together, though, she looks completely radiant.

  I stare at them as they move past me, and I cock my head to the side as I try to figure out how that happened. They’re both glowing as they inch toward the door, trying to sneak out as people get settled for the last round, and I can’t help but notice how attractive they suddenly both seem. Maybe attractive isn’t the right word, not in the magazine cover sense of the word...but the happiness they exude makes me not care how they look at all. I’m sort of stunned by this revelation.

  “Kevin!” I call as they reach the front door.

  He turns around, suddenly looking embarrassed when he recognizes me. “Oh, hello, Lauren.” His companion looks at him expectantly. “Tessa, I’d like you to meet Lauren. She was my first date tonight.”

  I extend a hand and shake hers. “It looks like you two are trying to sneak out of the last round.”

  “Well...uh...” He looks at the card still in his other hand, where I see my number along with three others with a dark X next to our names. He tosses it into the trash, too. “Tessa, why don’t you wait for me at the bus stop? I’d like to say goodbye to my friend Lauren.”

  She nods and ducks out, and I have to wonder how he got her to speak enough to feel like they made a connection. “Kevin, I have a question.”

  He holds up a hand. He’s dangerously close to shushing me with that devil finger of his again, but I step back just in time. “Lauren, I’ll always cherish our time together. You’re the nicest person I met here tonight, other than Tessa, and you know you can never have too many friends!”

  My eyes open wide in shock. Does he think I’m jealous? “Oh, no, no! I just wanted to—”

  Kevin offers me a sad little shake of his head. “I think you and I will always be just friends. But when I met Tessa, something about her just felt right. I think she just might be—”

  �
��The one?” I finish. I have to smile at his eager and happy grin. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about, Kevin.” I look down. “I used to believe in the one, but now I don’t know. How do you...know? And what if you think you have it and you throw it away? What then?”

  I’m asking the weirdest person I’ve ever met if he knows the mysteries of the universe. What’s wrong with me?

  He takes my question seriously, however, if his drawn eyebrows and bemused expression mean anything. “Here’s what I think. I think just about anyone can be the one, but the one for what? That’s the question, isn’t it? Maybe Tessa is the one, or the girl to help me prepare for the one, and maybe she’s just the one for coffee and conversation tonight. I think I’ll know more later. You can’t find anyone if you don’t try. It’s always worth it to try, don’t you think?”

  “So you’re saying it’s always worth the risk?”

  “I am.”

  “And you’re not worried about getting hurt?”

  He snorts at my question, even though his gentle eyes show no malice. “Sure, I am. Aren’t we all? But a wise person once said that the greatest blessings come from taking the biggest risks. ‘The person who risks nothing, does nothing, is nothing and becomes nothing.’”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise, and one corner of my mouth turns up in an appreciative smile. I used that very quote in one of my papers. “Leo Buscaglia,” I say.

  Kevin nods. “He also said something like if you close your arms to love, you’ll be left only holding yourself. And what kind of life would that be?” He glances out the window and grins at the woman waving anxiously at him as a bus appears around the corner and pulls toward the stop. “Most people don’t get me, but my arms are wide open. Open your arms, Lauren. You might be surprised.”

  I watch him hurry toward her and place his hand protectively on the small of her back as she climbs up the steps. He follows her onto the idling bus. The door jerks shut behind them and the bus lurches forward before it disappears around the corner in a puff of black exhaust. Kevin could be the poster boy for that old saying ‘there’s a fine line between genius and madness,’ but his words resonate with me in an unexpected way.

  He’s right.

  I’ve been spending too much time since it all happened with my arms folded tight to my chest. I’ve closed myself off to life. I thought I was living again, but now it’s starting to feel like I’m only taking up space. I don’t want to just be a waste of oxygen anymore.

  The Little Guy

  As I reach the front door and again start to push it open, the phone vibrates in my hand. I pause long enough to check out the message, nothing more than an LOL from Harlow in reply to my earlier text. I shove it back into its pocket deep inside my abyss of a handbag when I hear a sound that can only be described as bizarre...but familiar.

  I freeze when I hear a manly voice in falsetto screeching, “Eee-er! Eee-er! Eee-er!” from somewhere near the back of the coffee shop, and I have no choice but to burst out laughing. I turn around, shaking because I’m laughing so hard, and I see my old friend Oliver standing on a chair. His hands are cupped around his mouth and he’s shrieking out the call we used to find each other in our high school’s overcrowded halls.

  “Eeeeee-errrrr!” I squawk back. I could never do it as well as he could, so I sound ridiculous. The people around us are looking confused and a little annoyed at the hideous sound, but at the moment I care as much about their opinions as I would’ve back in high school.

  Oliver jumps off the chair and shoves his way through the crowd to give me his famous tackling bear hug. He’s super short, just 5’, making me feel like a giant at my completely average 5’5”. He grabs me around the waist and rocks me back and forth.

  “You’re such a perv, Oliver. I know you’re just hugging me to get closer to the ladies.”

  “Psh,” he scoffs. “You don’t have any ladies.” He stands back to look me over, and then laughs and hugs me again. “Oh, look! The boob fairy finally waved her magic wand over you. Congratulations!” I slap him and he laughs, hugging me again. “Laur, you look amazing! What are you doing here?”

  “Right now I’m trying to escape.”

  “Aw, don’t leave now! The fun’s just starting! I’ve convinced four women that I’m a circus midget and asked them to come on the road with me as the bearded lady. I promised them fame, adventure, and a litter of small, hairy children. Oddly, I have no takers.”

  I burst out laughing again. “Oh, man! How did we ever lose touch?”

  “Don’t leave!” he begs, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the door.

  “I think I’m done,” I say with a shrug. “You should’ve caught me two rounds ago, when I was still making an effort to be in the moment at this psychotic meat market.”

  He’s pretty insistent, however, and he drags me to the table where I sat just moments before with Grant. “No, you can’t leave until we catch up and I have your digits. I’m not losing my tout-puissante again. Ever.”

  “Well, secundum ver-bumtum to you,” I say, finishing the line. My ribs ache and I have a stitch in my side from laughing so hard. I forgot how amazing it feels to laugh so freely, to laugh and mean it. He’s quoting old choir songs, something we did to pretend we spoke another language as we walked from class to class. We thought we were uber cool and different, but I suddenly realize we were more ridiculous than I ever imagined. “We were idiots, you know that?”

  He wags his eyebrows at me. “Still are, I hope. Nothing like a little nonconformity to keep it real.”

  “How are you?” I ask.

  Oliver pulls a face and smacks his forehead. “How am I? Cheese and rice, woman, that’s the kind of question you ask people you hardly know at a twenty year reunion,” he says. “Try again.”

  I raise my eyebrows and do my best. “Hey, wazzup?”

  He nods approvingly. “That’s what I’m talking about! So, you won’t believe this, but...I’m the choir teacher now.”

  My jaw drops. “At Lincoln High? No way! That’s so funny...you always swore once we got out of there you’d never, ever step foot in that cement death-trap of a school again. And now you’re a teacher? What parallel universe am I trapped in? You’ve become the arch nemesis! You’re the new Miss Benson!”

  “I have better cleavage, though.”

  I snicker. I missed this guy.

  He glances back toward the men’s room. I follow his gaze and realize Grant is now the one hiding in the bathroom, which pleases me in a very weird way. “So, Grant says you’re a shrink now. We might have openings for a school counselor if you’re interested, if you’re looking for work.”

  “I don’t have the right endorsement, but thanks. I’m thinking I’m a halfway house kind of girl, anyway.”

  “Gotta save those lost souls since you used to be one yourself?”

  I look down. “Was it that obvious? I thought I hid it so well.”

  “You did. Looking back, it should have been apparent. I guess we all have 20/20 hindsight.”

  I sit back and fold my arms, looking into the distance as my eyes glaze over and my vision blurs just a bit. It’s my defense mechanism, my way of detaching from whatever scares me. Zone out and ignore reality. I have to shake my head to pull out of it. “Go ahead and ask, Ollsie. I have no more secrets.”

  He leans forward earnestly. He’s all about laying it on the table, like I am, so I prepare myself mentally for the onslaught. I can’t help but smile at him, though. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and we always stood up for each other. He had my back; I had his. He got teased for being short, and I got mocked for being too skinny. All legs, no boobs. We were each others’ fiercest defenders.

  When Grant joined us in middle school a few years later, we had another misfit to defend. We were all so gawky and awkward, but I’m looking at Oliver and thinking I don’t care how short he is. He’s hot. He has thick blond hair, blue eyes so light they’re almost white, the pupils ringed with a
circle of black, and a ruddy complexion. He has eyelashes girls like me would kill for, and a perfect smile with gleaming teeth. He’s stocky and muscular without an ounce of fat on him. I smile at him. “How did an annoying little troll like you get to be so devastatingly handsome?” I ask.

  “I work out under my troll bridge,” he says, those eyes cutting through me. “Now talk. Here’s what I know: I’m away at school, everything seems fine, all is cool, and suddenly Grant calls me out of the blue to say your sister was killed, you tried to commit suicide, and he just left you in the emergency room and thought they would be admitting you to the psych ward for awhile.”

  I pinch my lips together and take a deep breath. “Sounds about right,” I say with a shake of the head, wrenching my neck too far and too fast but I mask it as a hair flip, pretending I don’t want my hair to fall in my eyes. Anything to look away.

  He watches me expectantly. When I don’t elaborate, his cheeks flush. “I need the dirt, Laur.”

  I’ve hashed this all out with my therapist, and I’ve accepted it. I’m not sure who the old Lauren was, because she was so sick that she really had no way to know herself. The person I am, the woman sitting in front of an old friend, is sort of a creation. She didn’t exist last time this this guy saw her. Tears pool in my eyes. They want to fall, and it will feel so good to let them go, but I grit my teeth and bite them back. Talking to my therapist seems easy compared with facing the truth of who I was and what happened with people I knew best.

  I look down and swallow hard. I shake my head, mad at myself. Mad that I have to tell anyone else. Mad that I’m still mad at myself. Mad that I’ve accepted what happened and made a life for myself without my sister.

  “Coral was killed in a motorcycle accident. She went to this party and met a guy who was way too old and driving way too fast on his bullet bike, showing off for the girls. He decides my sweet and innocent baby sister is worthy of his affection, and he talks her into going for a little ride around the neighborhood. She was only fifteen, Oliver. Her life hadn’t even started. She meets this bonehead loser who’s hot-dogging to impress the girls...and they crash. The police figured he was going around 130 when he hit the curve and lost control. She was dead and it was all my fault.”