Wave

by Jennifer Foor

  I want to believe she didn’t visit me out of guilt. I wish I could put faith in all the times she comforted me and promised she’d stick around. I’d like to assume all of her kind words came from the heart, but I don’t know what’s real and what’s pity anymore. I may never know.

  I’m so flipping furious I wish I had the ability to punch something. I’m a fool. Having spent weeks upon weeks getting to know someone, developing feelings I never knew I could have. It makes me so damn mad.

  I could tell she was hurt when I ordered her to leave. She needs to understand I can’t just let her actions slide and forget they happened. The damage has been done, and I’m bad at holding grudges even when my room feels extra lonely, and I miss her being around.

  I think when this all started I was surprised someone like her would want to be around me. I was miserable. I felt like my life was over, but she never let me down. She was positive and caring. Of course, now I know it was all because she felt guilty. It makes this existentially difficult. I know I developed real feeling for Miley, while I was just some mess she felt obligated to fix.

  This is probably why I never got serious with someone. I’ve always been afraid of getting hurt, so I put up walls and stuck to my instincts. Unfortunately, Miley came into my life when those walls were down, and now it feels like I’m suffocating in betrayal and emotions I wish I could force away. I’m not only broken on the outside, but now inside. I ache for resolution, for her and the joy she brought to my days.

  I told her to stay away. I made sure she knew I hated her for what she’d done to me. She’s a liar. I shouldn’t want to see her again, but I do. I can’t help it. I long for our connection, and feel empty because it’s broken.

  The first day is the easiest for me. I’m pissed off and resentful, but I’m not ready to see her pretty face and accept what can’t be changed. The second day becomes more difficult. I find myself watching the clock as if she’s going to show up when she normally does. After a while I know it’s not happening, and it’s because of me. The third day I’m restless. In the morning I’m put in a wheelchair so I can get around on my own within the confines of this hospital wing. I work out my arms by pushing myself around, but find it boring and useless. By noon I’m falling asleep in the chair. A visit from Max wakes me. He’s chipper and full of energy. “What’s up dude? You’re really getting around aren’t ya?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Where’s Miley? Isn’t she normally here by now?”

  “She’s not coming.” I don’t feel like admitting I made a mistake, so I leave it at that?

  “Lover’s quarrel?”

  “More like it’s over. I’m done with that.”

  “Damn. Did she ever say anything about your accident?”

  His question leaves me curious. “What do you mean?”

  “You sure you two are through?”

  I nod. It’s evident she won’t be coming back, and honestly I’m not sure I can get past the deception.

  “Dude, she was the chick on the beach that day. I called her out on it and she wouldn’t say anything. She’s the one who resuscitated you and called for help. When I told Dad he said she was hanging around because she was probably the reason you got hurt in the first place.”

  “She was,” I mumble, still reeling in the fact that Miley had to resuscitate me, which up to this moment no one had mentioned. It makes sense since I can’t remember how I got from the water to the helicopter. I must have been unconscious.

  “You remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sits in a chair across from me and leans forward. “That’s why she’s not here?”

  I nod again. “It’s pretty hard to look her in the eye and remember it all happening.”

  “You know how you got hurt?”

  “I was out in the lull, hoping for a good set of waves to come in for my final ride. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that chick, Miley, she was headed out into the deeper water. She must have hit a low spot and couldn’t touch. I watched her go down and not come back up, so I panicked. Whether she could swim or not wasn’t my concern. I knew she needed help and I was the only person there to give it. I no sooner got her ass on the board when a set of waves, probably the ones I was waiting for, started coming at us. I saw the first one begin to curl, put her on my board and sent her into shore. What I didn’t anticipate was the force of the following waves to take me down. Every time I tried to get free, I was plummeted some more until I blacked out.”

  “Damn. You don’t know how you got to shore?”

  “I guess I washed in.”

  “Or she ran in and grabbed you.”

  “Probably.” I think for a second. “How do you know I was resuscitated?”

  “We were able to talk to the doctor the day of your accident, even though we couldn’t get back to see you. You wouldn’t have remembered anyway. He said you’d be out of it for a while. Anyway, he relayed what the paramedics reported when they first arrived. He said the person on the beach worked on you until the paramedics arrived. Told us she had a concussion and was taken by ambulance. They even asked if we wanted to see her.”

  “Did you?”

  “I started to. I figured it was someone we knew that showed up after I left. When I went to go into the room I recognized Miley and turned back around. I didn’t know her, but it was weird for her to be there like some stalker.”

  “You knew this whole time?” I grind my teeth together and clench my jaw. This is infuriating me. Is there anyone out there who can be honest with me?

  “I wasn’t sure what went down, but I had my suspicions.”

  “You should have told me sooner, bro. Before I started feeling something for her. Now I’m all fucked in the head. I hate her, but then I don’t.”

  “Look, man, you’re stuck in this hospital and it makes sense that you’d cling to a person who visited so much, but she’s just some chick. Let it go.”

  “It’s not that easy. We had something. It wasn’t just out of guilt.”

  “You sound like you need some pussy. Want me to send someone over?”

  “The last thing I need or want is your sloppy seconds. I’ll pass.”

  “You need to pass on Miley. She’s been trouble since she showed up on our beach. Let. Her. Go.”

  I shake my head, refusing to respond. He can’t understand the bond we’ve formed. Unless someone sat with us every single day, for all of those conversations, there’s no way they can appreciate and comprehend what she means to me. Even I’m a little taken back by the realization. It’s just hard knowing it’s over. She was my lifeline and now she’s gone. I’ve never needed her more than I do now, and she’s the reason. Does that even make sense?

  Chapter 26

  Miley

  There’s been a lot of tears, and an increase in my medication since everything fell apart with Baz. After spending a month together, never going a day without seeing one another, I’m falling apart from the separation.

  Yesterday was a bit easier because I was busy transitioning to the residence I’ll be living for the next month. For the next thirty days I’ll have to start a new appointed job, and save enough for a down payment on my own apartment. According to one of my three roommates, I’m probably going to be able to only afford a room to rent.

  Every time I think of suicide my mind goes to Baz. He may not care about me anymore, but my feelings haven’t changed. I don’t know if they will. I’ve been given a second chance at life and I owe it all to him. Killing myself would be like saying his life didn’t matter. For me, it’s everything.

  Sharing a room with three people is going to take some getting used to. Even in the trailer I had my own space.

  It's hard for me to live with people and not want to get to know them. For the longest time I've been alone and I'm okay with that. Dr. Lucas seems to think it would help me by making new friends. I'm reluctant to do that because of my past, and the people I've hurt along the way.

 
The place I've moved to isn't really a house. It used to be a dormitory for a private boarding school that shut down in the eighties. It was closed for twenty years before the government decided they could use it for this new program. The top floor is for people that can't live on their own. There is twenty four hour staff and you need security clearance to come and go. The second floor is for those that have been classified as unstable. It's for people who have suffered breakdowns or have developed mental Illnesses that can be treated with daily sessions. Eventually those patients can transition to the first floor, where I'm assigned. Everyone on my floor has either been through the hospital state funded program like me, or come from upstairs. This is where we have thirty days to get our shit together so that we may be able to enter back into society with some form of stability

  The job program isn't vast. Everything to choose from is minimum wage, but each position does offer advancement.

  It's ironic how I came to Hawaii to end things when it felt like there was no reason to go on. Now I can't leave because I'm holding onto too much.

  I think about Baz almost every second of the day. I know I should've told him the truth along time ago, but I was afraid, afraid that he wouldn't forgive me enough to give me a chance for redemption. I've always liked to think I'm a forgiving person, yet I've never been the victim.

  There's always been some kind of fear that a future would never come for me, because of the Huntington's disease. I've gone through every emotion possible. My heart hurts, literally it aches. He wants me to stay away. He told me never to come near him again, but all I want to do is be close to him, to comfort him and promise he's so much more than a regret.

  A week goes by, where I've settled in and started my new job. Dr. Lucas thought it would be a good idea if I were close to Baz, unknowing we had a falling out that has resulted in us not being friends anymore. I hate that we’re in the same building and I can't see him. Several times this week I've finished training in the cafeteria and out of habit taken the elevator to the floor he's staying on. Each instance I'm left having a panic attack and a bout of tears I try so hard to hold back.

  I told him things I never shared with another person. By now he's had plenty of opportunities to think about our time together and know I was genuine with my feelings.

  In the beginning, when he was unable to use his hands, I would read him the messages off of his phone, and even call people so that he was able to talk to them on speaker phone. I have a way to reach out to him now. My memory holds his phone number close, but I've yet to dial it. I can't bring myself to reach out and know there's a possibility he still hates me.

  I've thought about being petty and telling him I'm the reason he lived that day. Had it not been for my CPR knowledge or the fact that I was able to drain his lungs of the sea water he may not have made it until the ambulance arrived. It may be my fault he was injured, but I did everything in my power to save him.

  Dr. Lucas suggested that since I'm unable to see him, or call him on the phone, maybe I could write him a letter. At first I think it's a stupid idea. People don't write letters anymore. They text or snap. He’d probably think I was ridiculous if I hand delivered a letter instead of just saying what was on my mind. Nevertheless, I'm out of options. Despite being overwhelmed, I make the decision to at least start a letter and see where my feelings lead me. I don't have to send it, but at least I'll get the words on paper. This could be the closest I ever get to talk to Baz again.

  Chapter 27

  Baz

  One would think that each day life would get a little easier, but for me it's the opposite. I'm physically drained from the amount of therapy they have me doing. The pain I'm experiencing is excruciating, but I'm determined to wean myself off of the drugs. On top of everything else, I don't need to fight an addiction again. It’s bad enough to know I'm probably going to have to be in debt for the rest of my life with the never ending hospital bills I've accrued. There's no end to the damage my injuries have caused.

  Even though the doctors say my full recovery is promising, I have my doubts. It's hard to be optimistic when you're still incapable of knowing the full extent of my abilities. My tests continue to show improvement, but who's to say if I'll ever be able to surf or if that part of my future is permanently over.

  It's unfathomable to be completely consumed by one goal and have it ripped from within reach. I've had a ton of time to consider what this means for my future. I know holding onto hope of making it in the pros is slim to none.

  I'm bitter. The doctor says it's to be expected. Even though I don't necessarily care for the hospital appointed shrink, I understand her purpose. People who suffer injuries such as mine are more likely to become depressed. I can attest to the feeling. It's even more apparent now that I don't have my daily visits from Miley. Then I find out there was no volunteer assigned to my room. She'd lied about that, probably out of guilt too.

  Two weeks have now passed since my revelation lead me to kick Miley out of my life. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't miserable. I used to look forward to her visits, and more importantly the relationship we were slowly building. My broken neck made me take my time, which in turn taught me to appreciate qualities I never paid much attention to. I used to be shallow prick. Now I have more feelings than I'd like, and an emptiness that I can't seem to shake.

  Everyday I expect her to walk through the door. I stare at my phone and wonder if she'll ever reach out to me. Would she even want to after the things I said? Is she still alive, or did I send her right back to that beach to end things once and for all?

  Through all of this there's one thing I know for sure. If given the opportunity I would have saved her again. I can be a real asshole, but I'll be damned if I sit back and let someone end their life. The fact that I'm worried about this tells me I'm not over it. If anything, I want to know she's okay. I wish I could determine what was real and how much was fabricated from her own guilt?

  Throughout my stay I've gotten deliveries. My table is usually covered in flowers or some kind of edible basket. I don't really get mail though, so when a letter arrives I'm a little confused. The envelope has my name, but it's not on a label or typed out like a bill would be. This one is hand written.

  As soon as I open the envelope I know who it's from. Overwhelmed with unanswered questions, I take a deep breath and begin to read, all while hoping this isn't her suicide note that's blaming me.

  Dear Baz,

  There's so many ways a person can apologize, although I think none of my apologies will do any bit of good where you and I are concerned. For a very long time I've assumed I didn't belong in this world. Even before Momma died I was prepared for it to be the end. She was too weak to fight me on my decision, and even though I knew it wasn't what she wanted for me, I wanted to be able to see her again. I didn't have much to my name. I'd lost my job and the trailer that we lived in for many years. After I found out about Michael's indiscretions, even he wasn't able to give me the stability I've been praying for.

  To say my heart was broken would've been an understatement. It wasn't just broken, it was shattered, shattered into a zillion pieces that I thought could never be put back together.

  I used my life savings to pay for a one-way ticket to the island. Usually people that are ready to end their life have a few moments where they reconsider the decision. They go over the possibilities and if there's any way to change the things that they've screwed up. In my case I didn't have those thoughts, because I hadn't done anything wrong. I was the one who had given my all to the people I care for. I've given so much that I had nothing left when it was all said and done. I don't fear being alone. I’m used to the quiet. That's not what brought me to this point.

  My momma died of a genetic disease that I can't run away from. Her dying wish was for me to find out if I inherited that same gene. I couldn’t do it. The fear of being tested would seal my fate forever. I've gone through the most extreme bouts of depression. I’ve faced demons. I've been hurt and
lied to, but nothing compares to the anguish of watching the person you love suffer. I wouldn't wish it on my own worst enemy, if I had one.

  I'm not writing this letter for you to feel sorry for me. I know the decisions I made led us to this point. I know I've made mistakes, and I'm apologizing for them. Sorry isn't going to get me what I want. It won't give me a clean slate with you. In fact, you'll never be able to forget what I did and how it left you. Every single time you think of me it will be because I caused this.

  You probably regret all the time we spent together, all the moments and secrets that we shared between the two of us. Those moments are so precious and dear to me. You don't know what it's like to have nothing at all, only to turn around and find that someone depends on you, that their happiness is surrounded around yours.

  You were the reason everything changed for me. The accident may have torn your life apart, but in some twisted way it helped mine. You not only rescued me that day in the water, you saved my soul. You healed the heart I didn't think could ever be mended. You gave me a reason to wake up every day and appreciate what I had, which wasn't a lot, but it was enough.

  You were enough.

  I wanted to tell you the truth from the beginning, yet as the days went by our connection grew, and I couldn't bear to lose it. Selfishly, I chose to live with the lie. I hoped you would never regain those memories, because all I wanted to do was have new ones, a fresh start, with a person that I had come to care about so much.

  The accident may have brought us together, but it had nothing to do with the feelings that were growing between us. You used to say I was your angel, when in fact, you were mine. You still are.

  You're the reason I'm able to write this letter today. You're the reason I'm able to wake up every morning and smile. We spent one month together and everything changed.