He smiles down at me thankfully. “It makes the story even better now.”
“Um, Kerri-” the ice cream is dripping down his hand. We both scurry to try to wipe away the sticky mess.
“I guess it needs to be colder than twelve degrees out for it not to melt,” I joke as I crumple up the gummy paper napkin.
He brushes away a smudge of ice cream I missed while our hands are still intertwined. His cold thumb sweeps across my skin causing his heart beat to skip faster, mine mimicking its speed. He stares down at me, and I know exactly what he wants, but he’s apprehensive to go after it. I’m thankful for that. I don’t know if I can counteract his advances. I find myself drawn to him more than to my liking. I already have a flimsy heart; I don’t know how much more stress it can take.
“Kerri? You’re staring.” I say as his gaze gets lost in mine.
“I’m sorry,” he says with our hands still folded. “It’s just I never met anyone with purple eyes before, their kinda…bewitching.”
“A genetic mutation I can thank my mother for.” I say dryly.
I don’t really know if it is Kerri’s compliment or my complete lack of judgment, but I welcome his cold lips against mine. I hear the ice cream cone crack against the sidewalk as he wraps his arms around me. His kiss feels exactly the way his smile does, and I let myself melt into him. I know it’s wrong. Kerri would be easy to love, but this isn’t fair, not to him. My heart isn’t mine to give; it already belongs to someone far away in the world. Lost, like him.
I start to feel the regret pour over me as our embrace gets hotter. My emotions running wild, trampling all over me. I begin to think of Justice; I see his eyes inside mine, pained because of me. I push myself away from Kerri, his attraction still radiating towards me. I can’t take. I don’t want this, not with him. I want Justice. I hate to hurt him, he doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved to meet me. I should still be that stranger from his childhood. I don’t want to inflict the same heartache I have onto another human being.
“Liv? Are you ok?”
I look at his sweet face, but all I can see is heartbreak. “Kerri, I’m so sorry; I can’t do this; I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I run into the stairwell of my apartment building and up to the third floor. I barrel through the front door, tears streaming down my face as I lock it behind me. I wish for a deadbolt to keep out the emotions, but I don’t even think that would be strong enough to shut out the pain; I’m not even sure who’s pain it is. My ability, my disease- whatever the hell you want to call it- blurs the line of what’s mine and what is someone else’s. Is it mine? Is it Kerri’s? Or Justice’s? Right now, I don’t know.
I slide down to the floor and wrap myself into a feathered ball. I can’t believe what I just let happen. I’m going to kill Nikkee, why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? Why couldn’t she just leave me alone?
Just Like a Pill
The watery mascara burns my eyes after a while. I try to fight the urge to move, but my eyeballs can only take so much torture. I drop my coat right there at the front door and storm into the bathroom. I slide open my medicine cabinet and forcefully grab some eye makeup remover pads. The overabundance of pill bottles shake briskly, like a mini earthquake erupting. I watch as one lonely amber bottle trembles vigorously right off the glass shelf. When it hits the white sink, it explodes, catapulting small blue tablets in every direction. They bounce endlessly.
I feel like I’m watching my life splatter before me. Every pill representing an aspect of me; pain, loss, loneliness, depression, longing, hunger, lust, oppression. I am absent of happiness, love or joy.
It disgusts me. I am an abomination of a person. Pushing away anyone who tries to get in, anyone who tries to penetrate the guarded cement wall I built around life. I hate the ironic isolation.
I look up at the half of face staring back at me. That is what I have become, one-half of a person; one-half of a person searching for its counterpart. I stare at the buffet of medications gawking back at me. I see a way out of my misery; it’s a coward’s way, but a way none the less.
My heart beats nervously from the deliberation.
I’m so tired….so tired of fighting myself and fighting the endless emotions that diffuse me. I don’t even recognize myself; someone with big puffy eyes and a red face.
I look long and hard for the person that I am, the person I want to be, the person I’m supposed to be. I feel so lost from the misplacement; aggravated with my life.
The burn in my esophagus returns. I hunt harder and harder through the half face in the mirror, until; I finally see what I’m looking for.
Jurisdiction.
Control.
Empowerment outlined on my face.
I direct my anger towards the mocking bottles of crazy pills settled in the cabinet. I attack them; clearing all the glass shelves in one angered fit. Tiny orange bottles fly all around my white tiled bathroom, exploding an array of colored pills against the walls and floor. It feels like I am bombing my past; liberating my future and releasing myself from whatever binds me. I want to be free, and if that means destroying my whole apartment in the process to get there, I am willing to do that.
I can feel the rage course through my veins; my head throbs and my throat burns as I thrash at my tiny bathroom. All I can hear are the voices of people who mean the most to me, those who encourage me, those who support me. To my surprise, the loudest voice is the one who is farthest away. Justice’s words echo against the tiled surface, telling me to let go, to accept my fate, to be magical and not mental. It makes me miss him all the more, but what he said finally makes sense.
My breaths pulse quickly in my lungs, as if the air is thinning. I have worked myself up into a crazed frenzy to expel my true self. My enraged fit has resulted in a bathroom bloodbath, me versus myself.
And I won.
I look down to find my skin has a faint golden glow around it, not like a Seraph’s glow, bronze and luminous; this is an actual light. It hugs me for one short second, and then it’s gone. I wonder if that was the Silver Shield Cross had mentioned. Why do they call it silver if it’s actually gold? It doesn’t matter. I just know something is different, that I am different.
I lean against the sink tired and panting. I try to collect my thoughts as I survey the damage to the room. It looks like the Tasmanian devil has been my weekend house guest. My shower curtain is ripped down; bottles of shampoo are oozing all over, and my makeshift makeup counter is destroyed. The pummeled eye shadows, bronzers, and blushes that are smashed into the floor have created a splattered shimmery canvas.
My bathroom is a mess. And it feels phenomenal.
I look back into the mirror glad I didn’t shatter it, my face still only half, but it’s the half I was searching for. My tantrum has liberated me. I have to admit; I feel lighter, like the weight of the world’s emotion has been lifted off me for the first time ever. I take a closer look at my divided face; it’s like looking at a familiar stranger you’re trying to place.
It will be the face I will see from now on. The face I will hunt for. The face I will fight for. It will be me. New. Fresh. And baptized.
Accepting to Let Go
I scrutinize the damage from last night. And I don’t only mean the beating my bathroom took. I feel like a new person today, as if my soul has just been polished. I don’t even bother cleaning up. I’m on a mission, and it doesn’t involve dishpan hands. I am a little upset I destroyed all my makeup. The Dior, MAC and Lancôme products that are smashed dead on the floor equal up to a little more than a week’s worth of pay. It’s going to take a while to upsurge that stash.
I pick up my coat from the floor and hurry out the door. I stop just as I get to the bottom of the stairwell. I look through the glass at the bustling street, busy with Christmas shoppers. It all seems brand new, as if I am entering the physical world for the first time ever. I have to admit I’m hesitant. What if I didn’t have a breakthrough? What if I walk o
ut there, and nothing’s changed? What if all that rage was for nothing?
I lay my hand on the cold metal handle. A light reflection of my face stares back at me. I remember my pact. I take a deep breath and push the door open into the world.
It is vivacious.
Shoppers line the streets admiring store fronts fully decorated in Christmas cheer. It’s mind blowing. And I don’t mean because of the wondrous Christmas beauty that surrounds me. It’s mind blowing because for the first time ever, I am standing in a crowded place and don’t want to retreat into the first dark hole I see.
I hurry down Center Street towards Les Mis. Just my luck Eunique is outside smoking a cigarette talking to Honey. I can hear his flamboyant voice a block away.
He sees me coming with urgency in my eyes. “Liv? To what do I owe this misappointmented surprise?”
“Can you squeeze me in? I need a change, today. Now. Can you take me?” I ramble.
He looks at me with puzzled brown eyes. “I’ll need to look at my book, but I think you can don the chair today.”
Eunique doesn’t usually take walk-in’s, he says it’s beneath his salon status quo, but I’ve been one of his clients for over five years; I know he’d make an exception. Besides, as much as he rags on me for having a pathetic social life, I’m one of his favorite clients. He would have no problem ‘accidentally’ scheduling two appointments at the same time and then rescheduling the other person no matter how bad their roots looked.
I sit nervously on the black leather sofa fidgeting with a magazine in my lap. The salon is busy with emotion, but that’s not what’s irritating me today. I watch nervously as women change their fall highlighted hair into winter colored strands, fingering a piece of my own honey dyed locks. Soon, my strands would be pulled together by one single color, instead of by a multitude of blonde, making it a uniformed front, strong and empowered. Exactly, what I strive to be, strong and empowered. Strong. Empowered. And in Control.
I thumb through the magazine, tapping my foot impatiently as I try to align my thoughts. Kerri’s face flashes across my mind and the sweetness of his soul lingers in my chest. His wanting lips leaving a tingle on mine. I feel tremendous shame for abandoning him the way I did.
Guilt pains my stomach, but I fight it. It’s for his own good that I nipped any spark in the bud. Like ripping off a band aid, my rejection will only sting for a second, and then the memory of the pain will fade away. Kerri deserves more; he deserves more than a flimsy heart unwilling to surrender its maker. He deserves more than to be someone’s vacant fill to the beloved who abandoned her. He deserves way more than me.
I jump as I feel my Marc Jacobs vibrate against my hip. I rummage through the black hole until I finally find the light. It’s a number I don’t recognize. My heart flutters a bit. The last time I had a text from an unknown number I fell in love with the sender.
I open the message; it’s short:
‘Wish you didn’t have to run, maybe we can catch up soon? Kerri’
I stare at the words on the screen. I am torn between what’s right here and what’s out there.
I look out the large picture window behind me almost wishing Justice would be there, quietly watching, the way he once did.
“Oh Liv, darling,” Eunique motions to me. “Come sit,” he pats his bedazzled chair.
“So what is the big emergency that I needed to rearrange several clients today to get you planted in this seat?” He asks as he unlaces my braid and runs his fingers through my hair. “You just had a touch up last week; it still looks fab, so what gives?”
“I want to go back to my natural color; I need a change, and I need it now.”
Eunique’s jaw nearly hits the ground. “Why would you want to do that?! Do you know what clients say when they see you leave the salon, your one of my most prized blondes!”
“Well I’m just going to have to become one of your most prized brunettes,” I tell him directly. I want the change and there’s no talking me out of it.
Eunique stares me down through the mirror for several long appalled seconds; he makes it obviously clear he’s not happy with my request, but I’m not conceding to defeat.
“Fine.” He huffs. “You better get comfortable; this is going to take a while.”
I smile as I watch him walk into the back room annoyed. I feel his aggravation as he vents to Honey, he thinks I’m making a horrific mistake, and he won’t dye me back even if I lend him my Mark Jacobs for a year.
I don’t care if he’s upset; I know I need to do this, even if I haven’t seen my natural hair color in five years.
As he paints my hair with dark black dye, I watch as the old me fades away with anticipation of a new me on its way.
“Can I ask what sparked this sudden change?” Eunique queries as he carefully coats every strand of blonde.
I look at him through the mirror, “let’s just say I’m accepting to let go.”
His eyes narrow as he gazes back at me. The corners of his thin mouth turn down slightly as he studies me. “Do I like, have to call Nikkee while you’re under the dryer and have you put on suicide watch?”
I look at him incredulity.
“Of course not! I just mean that I’m coming to terms with certain things in my life.”
The days of crazy are over.
He gives me a bemused look. “What did that boy do to you last night?”
“How do you know about a boy?”
“Nikkee told me about her little plan last week, I have to admit that girl has got some cojones,” he snaps his fingers over his head.
“I have to agree,” I say sourly. “He didn’t do anything; he was a perfect gentleman.” I assure him trying not to think about the lip plant, and even more so trying not to admit he was just all around perfect.
“I love it when they’re perfect gentleman,” he sighs as he drops the brush into the empty dye cup. “So what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem.” I look down at my fingers and play with the black smock. “It’s just, there are other things I need to put first in my life right now.”
“That’s too bad,” Eunique shakes his head disappointed. “I heard he was like a total McSteamy.”
I giggle to myself. “He was more like McDreamy.”
***
I’m nervous about the unveiling as Serena washes out the dark dye from my head. When Eunique pulls off the towel, I stare profoundly at my espresso colored hair. It hangs lifeless, sopping wet, but somehow I can see myself through it.
As Eunique dries my drenched locks the excitement begins to build. There is this strange calm inside me and with every stroke of the round brush, I anticipate the result more and more.
“Wa La!” He says as he spins me around. “One brown bombshell at your service.”
I stare at myself in the mirror as I run my fingers through my freshly straightened hair. I get off the chair and move closer to my reflection. My eyes pierce out of my head, and my skin has the utmost healthy glow, although it’s nothing compared to the lustrous beauty of a Seraph’s.
A face stares back at me that I have never seen before.
Mine.
Even more so than last night, yesterday it was only half a face, today it is whole.
“Well, I’ll be honest,” Eunique says in an unsure tone, “It looks FAB! I’m a genius.” He means every word, especially the genius part, but even I can’t deny he’s done a great job.
I tip Eunique a little bit more than usual before I leave, I don’t know if it is the generous mood I’m in or the fact he was able to help me, find me. Either way it was worth it.
As I walk down the busy street, I take it all in, everything, every emotion and every sensation I can. I let it absorb into me; I study it, dissect it, and then let it go. It’s a glorious kind of feeling. I compare it to what Nikkee must feel every time she chases after another adrenaline rush. Except, I don’t need to strap on a parachute or hook on a bungee cord to feel the thrill. All I hav
e to do is accept the energy and then let it go. Simple as that. The control is almost as intoxicating as Justice’s fresh linen scent that lives inside my nose.
I am ready to take on the world. And for me, that means Christmas shopping. I walk into a crowded store prepared to divide and conquer. This year I will physically pick out each and every present, instead of having them be a despondent point and click’s distance away.
Merry Christmas Eve
I hurry and set the buffet plates next to the chafing dishes. It is almost seven in the evening, and the family will be here soon. I rush around placing serving spoons in all the hot dishes and fix the red cloth napkins into a perfect triangular pile.
Our house is filled with Christmas, and my favorite time of year has been rekindled inside me. I’m wearing my new cashmere sweater I bought while Christmas shopping. It makes me proud and plaintive all at the same time. Proud, because I bought it during the mayhem that is Christmas shopping and didn’t retreat screaming into the confines of my apartment. Sad because every time I brush my hand against the fabric, it reminds me of the absence in my life.
I have come so far the last few weeks, but I still have even further to go. At least now I can walk down a crowded street without the fear of going mad. The reframing in my mind is allowing me to take one small step at a time towards the person I was meant to be. I’m different now, and I think it is apparent to more than just me.
“Mom, will you stop staring already?” I say sternly as I toss the seafood salad.
“I’m sorry! I just can’t help it,” she gives me a gushy smile. “You look so beautiful. It’s like I am seeing you for the first time. I can’t believe how dark hair becomes you.” She holds her full wine glass close to her chest as small tears form in her eyes. Now I know where I get it from.
“Mom, I think you are getting a little over worked. It’s just a dye job.”
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