Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

Megan, bent over the hood of a car, pointing out parts to Nate and the rest of the shop class. Our own version of Megan Fox. I remembered Luke, leaning casually at the back of the class with me. ‘She’s not my type, Cross’, he had said.

  I had to keep reminding myself that he was just a fabrication. How was I ever going to function without thinking of him?

  “I’m good. Really,” I lied. “Let me just put on some makeup and fix my hair. I’ll be out in a second.”

  She didn’t look very convinced, but agreed, returning to the living room with the others.

  I looked into the mirror once again. My reflection wasn’t as red, wasn’t as puffy as it had been a few minutes ago, but it was still incredibly sad. Taking a deep breath, I told myself that I just needed to make it through an hour or so at the reunion. It shouldn’t be that bad. Hell, on some subconscious level, I had been going to school with these people for the last month. It should be second nature to me. After an hour, I could come home, crawl into bed and sleep away this nightmare.

  After fixing my hair and makeup, I gave myself a quick nod and headed to the living room. The lively conversation stopped as everyone stared at me like I was off to the firing squad.

  “Oh God, please don’t stare at the crazy girl. It’s not polite,” I whined, grabbing my jacket from the coat tree. “Are we ready?”

  “Jillian…”

  “Josh, please,” I interrupted. “Can we just go?”

  He nodded grimly as they all followed me out the door.

  I drove with Danielle and Josh. Nate and Megan followed us in Meg’s car. I didn’t say much on the ride over. The upside of having this nervous breakdown occur when it did was that I wasn’t the least bit anxious about the reunion.

  We pulled into a parking lot packed with cars. It was in a part of town we didn’t usually frequent. There was a restaurant a few streets over that we liked, but we had never really ventured this far over.

  “Is this the place?” I asked, pointing to the sign above the door that said The Big Leap.

  “Um…yeah,” Danielle replied. “I hope you can relax and have a little fun tonight.”

  That was a new one. Usually this was the part where she told me not to throw up on her.

  Once Josh pulled the large door open, we were able to get a better look at the place. The dark wood bar ran the length of the room. All of the deep, maroon-upholstered barstools were occupied by customers. Black and white photographs were dispersed along the wall. They were reminiscent of Ansel Adams, with shots of the night sky, rocky ledges and crashing waves. It made for a striking contrast with the dark paneling.

  “There’s Sarah,” Megan groaned. “Hurry, slide into a booth. I need alcohol before I talk to her.”

  I ended up sandwiched between Danielle and Megan. At least I could hide behind Meg if someone came along that I didn’t feel like talking to.

  An attractive waiter came over to the booth just in time. Megan was getting anxious.

  “Evening, folks. You here with the reunion?” he asked. His smile was wide and inviting. It made me want to smile back.

  “That’s right,” Nate replied. “So we’ll need you to keep sending pitchers over to keep these lushes satisfied.”

  “All right,” he laughed. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll have a water, too,” Nate added.

  “Sounds good, folks. My name’s Peter. Just give me a shout if you need anything else.”

  “Water tonight?” Josh asked Nate.

  “Yeah, I have to report at—”

  “Megan Dunn!” we heard a nasally voice squeal.

  “Hey…Sarah,” she replied, forced into a conversation sans beer.

  “I have been dying to talk to you. Let me see it!” She reached her hand out towards Meg. I watched the exchange completely confused. Megan brought her left hand out from under the table and placed it in Sarah’s. The glint coming from her ring finger nearly blinded me. But as my blurry eyes focused on the engagement ring my best friend was wearing, I suddenly saw in my mind a scene play out.

  Megan, running into the apartment, squealing that she had news. Nate following sheepishly behind her as we hurry out into the living room.

  “Who wants to be a bridesmaid?!” she yells, lifting up her hand much like she was doing now. We grab each other, jumping up and down, laughing and crying.

  “Megan, I have to tell you,” Danielle begins dramatically, wiping away her tears. “I look awful in yellow.”

  We all break into a fit of laughter.

  I can smell the brownies I had been making in the kitchen. I can feel the tears on my face.

  It doesn’t feel like a dream.

  “The girls and I are going dress shopping in the morning. Nate has practice tomorrow because the game’s on Monday night this week,” she added casually. “You’re playing the Chargers, right, baby?”

  For the second time in the same night, I felt the bile rise up into my mouth.

  “I need to get out,” I panted, pushing Megan aside to move.

  “Are you okay?” Danielle asked.

  “I just…bathroom…” I stammered.

  The minute Megan stood, I took off.

  Megan and Nate were engaged. Engaged. They weren’t engaged before I hit my head. They were engaged now. As I walked briskly through the bar, another image played in my mind.

  We’re huddled in a crowded living room. Nate, his parents and his granddaddy, Megan and her mom, Danielle, Josh and me. We’re watching the television nervously. The phone rings and we jump, listening as Nate answers it. Megan grabs one of my hands and one of Danielle’s. She looks up at the ceiling, her lips are moving in a silent prayer.

  “Thank you, Coach,” he says into the phone, wiping at his eye. He hangs up, pauses for a second and grabs Megan, spinning her around.

  “Seahawks, baby,” he exclaims. “Seahawks.”

  I slammed into a wall, not really paying attention to where I was going. I could still feel how tightly she held onto my hand. Stumbling into the bathroom, I backed myself up against the wall as I was assaulted by a flood of images.

  Weekends at home in college, crying myself to sleep. Being forced to accompany the girls on their outings. Agreeing grudgingly. Helping Danielle write her business plan. Encouraging her to open the business on her own. Her first small office in Seattle. How nervous she was when she landed her first client. Going with her as an “associate”. Attending Nate’s first game as a Seahawk, decked out in dark blue, cheering wildly in the stands.

  Danielle and Josh cuddling on the couch, barely acknowledging anyone around them. Happy, content. Megan and Nate celebrating their engagement. Happy, content. Me, in my bedroom. Alone.

  Inside the safety of the ladies’ room, I did the only thing I could think to do. Slowly, I pulled down the corner of my ridiculous skinny jeans, exposing my hipbone. There on my pale skin, in all its glory, was a Celtic cross.

  I flew into a stall, retching, as I fell to the floor.

  It was real.

  My new “memories” confirmed that everything was different, everything except me. I was trying desperately to hold it together, but the more I began to see how I had affected the past, the faster my heart began to race. I didn’t have the luxury of being able to hang out in the bathroom all night, though. Plus, I just threw up there and it was really gross. I needed to pull myself together, go back to the table and try to act like I was fine—that I wasn’t having a complete nervous breakdown.

  I pulled myself up off the cold floor and walked unsteadily towards the door. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door open and stepped back into the dark hallway, but once I was there, I couldn’t get myself to move toward the table. I didn’t even know how to talk to these people anymore. How could I keep track of what was real anymore?

  I closed my eyes, attempting to gather up my courage. I took deep breaths. I counted to ten. When that didn’t work, I tried counting higher, breathing deeper. I finally focused on one of the black and white pho
tos in front of me. This one was of a constellation that looked like the Big Dipper. The small, gold plaque at the bottom of the frame confirmed it was Ursa Major. There was another similar picture of Orion a little further down the hallway in the same kind of frame with the same gold plaque. Walking further along, I stopped at the entryway to the bar where two framed shots hung high above the doorway side by side. Deep down, I knew what words I’d see on the gold plaque, but I craned my neck to get a closer look. My heart beat wildly in my chest as I saw “The Phoenix” and “The Northern Cross” engraved underneath.

  Suddenly, I felt like I was underwater. I couldn’t hear the chatter coming from the other room. I couldn’t see anything, but the names at the bottom of the pictures. I couldn’t think of anything but Luke. Staggering back against the wall, panting, I stared up at the frames again in abject horror.

  This wasn’t a random bar. This was Luke’s bar.

  I quickly abandoned any plan that involved going back to the table and trying to act normal. This was way more than I could possibly handle. I needed to leave—fast—and preferably without having to speak to anyone whose life I may or may not have permanently altered.

  Turning back down the hallway, I raced towards the emergency exit. The door was slightly ajar, and the cool air was filtering in. My chest felt tight and I could barely breathe. I stumbled into the alley, panting and shaking. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to face Luke.

  Pacing, I began plotting my escape, but kept running into road blocks. No matter how I looked at it, my ride home was inside the bar and my purse was still at the table with all my money. My only option, aside from begging a cab driver to accept an IOU, was to retrieve my purse and bolt out the door before anyone could stop me. It didn’t seem likely.

  I was still looking for an exit strategy when I heard the creaking of the door hinges behind me. Startled, I spun around and gasped at the figure in the doorway.

  It was him.

  He was older now, with the scruff of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. Even his features appeared sharper, more angular. But the hair was the same, a little shorter on the sides, but the same wild mess I imagined running my fingers through that first day behind the gym.

  There was no mistake. He was the man in the black and white Facebook photo. The man who caught my eye almost four weeks ago. The man with the smile that made my heart leap. For the briefest moment, he seemed frozen in place as we stared blankly at each other. The pain of leaving him was so fresh that I was unable to say or do anything. I missed him so much.

  His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and his lips pressed into a hard line. I thought I saw his nostrils flare. The hostile expression faded so quickly though, that I questioned whether or not I had seen him look angry at all. He suddenly seemed passive, unaffected by my presence.

  “Jillian,” he greeted me formally. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and blowing a stream of smoke off to the side. I cursed myself for watching his lips. Those were the lips that touched mine just two days ago. At least it was two days for me.

  “Luke, I—”

  “Are Josh and Nate here, too? I really should swing by and say hey,” he interrupted, stubbing out the cigarette he had just lit. “Good to see you.” He barely looked my way as he turned and stepped back into the bar.

  I stood there, chanting to myself that I wouldn’t cry. I couldn’t make matters worse with yet another breakdown. Not in public. Not in front of him. Especially now that he hated me.

  I stared at the door where he had stood. He wasn’t the boy I knew anymore. He wasn’t the same because of me. I broke his heart. I deserved the anger. I deserved the indifference even though I had done what I thought was right. I might never be able to explain that to him and he might never forgive me, but I did it for him.

  And now, standing outside his bar in the cold night, there was one thing I was certain of. Leaving him once nearly killed me; I wasn’t going to be able to do it again. I needed him. And I hoped, deep down, he still needed me, too.

  CHAPTER 19

  Danielle

  I was driving down the highway on my way back to Reynolds when I heard the Mariah Carey song on the radio. For the rest of my life, I swear I will never think of anything but punch and puke when I hear it. Things had been going so well on prom night until Jillian went all Courtney Love on us.

  I had this dream back then. It was silly, really. Jillian, Megan and I all living on the same street. We’d be in this cozy little neighborhood with pastel-colored cottages and white picket fences lining each side. My house would naturally be a little bit cuter than the others. The grass would be emerald green and the sky, at least in my fantasy, would always be blue. Our kids would play together on the lawn. Megan’s kid would spend most of the day in time-out because you just know she would be mouthy. We would sit on one of our porches, laughing, gossiping and talking about our husbands. It would be perfect.

  I blame the daydreaming on Luke. We hadn’t been in the limo for more than five minutes when I caught him staring at Jillian as she teased Megan and Nate about their pre-prom hook-up. It was just a look. If I’d glanced over a second later, I probably would have missed it. But I didn’t. There was something in his eyes when he watched her. I was so sure about them. Everyone had been laughing and having a great time. We all just seemed to fit together. Sure, it may have been a bit premature to envision the house, picket fence, and two-point-five kids. It had only been the first time Jillian had gone out with Luke…and what ended up being the only time she ever went out with Luke. So, as much as I was sure at the time that they had been a perfect match, I guess I was wrong.

  I had always fancied myself a bit of a matchmaker. I did it with Rebecca and Paul back in middle school and then again with Maria and Kirk in ninth grade. Of course, Kirk cheated on Maria with Val, but they were really cute when he wasn’t sleeping with other people.

  When we got to New York, I launched my search for her Mr. Right Now. I scoured the student directory, canvassed the frat houses and searched the campus for that love connection Jillian had helped Megan find with Nate. It wasn’t that there weren’t viable candidates. There were tons. Jillian just shot me down after every attempt. She flat-out refused to even discuss getting fixed up. When I would ask her to come with me to Fordham when I visited Josh, she would insist on staying at the apartment, always claiming that she had an article to write for the newspaper or a paper that needed research. She would socialize when forced. She would laugh at something funny. She would listen when I needed to talk. But something was different about Jillian despite her protests to the contrary. I was just never able to figure out what it was.

  By the time spring semester ended, she hadn’t gone on one date our entire freshman year.

  The next year brought only a slight improvement. She went through the motions and went out occasionally. She never dated anyone regularly—no one I would have called a boyfriend. I even asked her carefully one night if I should be expanding my search to the …um…fairer sex. She punched my arm. Hard. I just wanted her to know that I supported any of her decisions completely. She didn’t need to resort to violence.

  By junior year, I started writing the business plan for my design company. Jillian spent a lot of her time in the library, and I…well, I usually didn’t, so I was pretty lost. I think that’s why she was so insistent about helping me write my business plan, and I wasn’t above accepting her pity. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to get through the process without her. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without her. When I would get frustrated, it was Jillian who would tell me to buck up.

  “Listen, Mona Whiner, you are going to do amazing things,” she said one Saturday night while we were buried in textbooks. “Stop complaining and check this book for population statistics so we can estimate your target market.”

  “You are unbelievable,” I replied, shaking my head. “It’s Saturday night and you’re here, cheering me on instead of doing somet
hing fun like running through the quad naked. There must be something you’d rather be doing!”

  “Not really,” she sighed sadly. “At any rate, I’m the president of the Danielle Powers Fan Club. I’ll throw down with Josh for that distinction, and I’m going to hold your hand every step of the way because I know you were born to do this. You’re so talented, Danielle,” she added. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  By senior year, Jillian knew almost as much about the design industry as I did. She even disagreed with the design for my final exam, telling me that I wasn’t maximizing the natural light in the loft I decorated. I disagreed, but I had to appreciate her gumption. I had created a monster, but at least the monster spoke my language.

  When it came time for me to go on my first client meeting, I dragged her with me. The client naturally loved us because we’re adorable and we make a fantastic team. When I showed him the plans I worked up for his remodel, he was blown away. Jillian asked if she could take a series of photographs once I finished, and ended up writing an amazing article about the evolution of Craftsman decor. Better Homes picked it up, Jillian landed a steady gig freelancing, and my phone never stopped ringing.

  That was what led me to my trip back to our alma mater, Reynolds High School. I got a call from the secretary at the school asking if I’d like to participate in Career Day.

  Me.

  Sometimes I still find it hard to believe that it was my name on the sign hanging outside of the office. Or that it was my name on the business cards. Jillian always said that I would’ve been able to do it without her, but I wasn’t so sure.

  As I passed through the familiar streets, I glanced at the clock on the dash, realizing that I had yet to eat anything all day. I had some time to kill, so I decided to zip over to the supermarket to grab a salad. The last thing I needed was for my stomach to start growling as I talked to these kids. I’m short. My stomach would be really close to the microphone.

  Heading towards the salad bar, I stopped short when I saw a familiar face. Luke Chambers. Hanging out in the baking aisle? And man, did he look confused.