When I Think of You

by Rosa Sophia

  “So soon? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just have to. I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be.”

  Wes’s face flashes through my mind, but I quickly shake the image away. I don’t want to think this decision has anything to do with seeing him at the book festival, even though a part of me wants to believe a substantial connection tethers us together. In a dream, I had seen our past life, and it made me think there might be something real between us.

  But was it all just a fantasy? Was it only sex, just a moment of passion wherein he helped me learn to be intimate again? I was sure I’d felt something more than that, but my mind is always so clouded by chaos that I never trust my own emotions. I can’t be sure if I’m telling the truth—or lying to myself.

  “Nina, did you hear me?” My mother’s voice draws me back, and I realize she’d asked me something.

  “I’m sorry, Mom, what was it you said?”

  “What was it that spurred you to make this decision, what was it really?” Her voice is heavy with grief, and I know she’s thinking a lot of things she isn’t saying.

  “I was running. I was running from everything, and I’m tired of it. There are some things I need to face up to.” I think of the conversation I had with Jenny. “I can’t hide from it anymore.”

  I think of Dad, the man I barely knew who died when I was little. Have I faced up to that grief, or have I run from it? I need to go back, step into that whirlwind of fear and unshed tears, face it before it overcomes me. If there is one thing I’ll always remember from Program, as an adult child I can’t let myself be swallowed by that darkness. I have to accept the things that have happened, grieve, and move on. I can’t keep pretending there is nothing wrong. I have already hit bottom. Now I need to climb back up.

  “I also wanted to tell you something, Mom.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  “I forgive you. I know you’ve been through hell.” I never met my grandfather before he died, but the way he touched her, the way he abused her, had almost destroyed her. She is like me, broken. “I can’t blame you for things anymore, Mom. I love you, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. You were dealing with horrors, you…”

  She sobs into the phone, deep gasping sobs, and as the tears begin to well in my own eyes, I am relieved I’m wearing sunglasses to hide it from anyone who might wander by. “I’m sorry to make you cry, Mom,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

  “No, sweetie, don’t apologize. It’s…it’s all right, I just…I’m so sorry, Nina.”

  I wish we were having this conversation in person. I would hold her close, run my fingers through her hair, rub her back like she did for me when I was sick as a child. Even though I’ve taken care of her in so many instances, she’s also done her best to care for me. When I was little and I caught the flu, she made me soup and brought me breakfast in bed. She stayed home from work to make sure I wasn’t lonely, and always made sure I had books to read.

  Even though things have been rough, and her alcoholism turns her into a different person at times, she is still my mother, and she is the best mom in the world. I tell her as much, and she cries harder.

  “Mom…Mom, I’m sorry.”

  “No, Nina, it’s okay.” She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath, and I hear her blow her nose. “It’s okay, I promise. Just…just come home. Be safe, and come home. I love you, and I can’t wait to see you again.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Chapter 16

  Ten years ago

  Cold days in spring are unusual here, but today it’s chilly and there’s a strong breeze coming off the ocean, blowing my hair around my face. I’m wearing a tan sweater—the only one I own—while I walk up the short path to the front door of his parents’ house.

  Shame wiggles inside me like a creature seeking escape from a cage, and once again I wonder if this is a good idea. But he said it was okay. He told me to come over. I need to do this.

  When Brett answers the door, he doesn’t look pleased to see me. He looks exhausted, and I wonder if he’s thinking of that night. I wonder if he’s seeing it all over again, the moment he walked in on Allen and me. Disgusted with myself, I push the thought away as I step into the house.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask.

  “They went out for the evening.” He shuts the door behind me, and we step into the living room. “They went to a movie.” His voice is even, his tone flat, as if he’s trying not to show any emotion. Or maybe he’s lost all those sensations toward me; maybe there’s nothing left.

  Like I had many times before, I sit down on the plush navy blue couch and run my fingers across the soft fabric.

  We kissed here once. His parents had been home, both of them out in the back yard, and Brett had tugged me close to him, running his hands along my body as his lips brushed against mine. I shiver, the memory a special one, something I’ll never forget.

  I startle when I hear a crash, then glance toward Brett, who shakes his head and walks into the other room. “That was nothing,” he calls out. “Just a chair on the porch falling over. It’s getting windier.”

  I hear the door open and shut as he goes out to right the lawn furniture. It reminds me of how his parents had walked into the kitchen from the back porch, and he’d immediately let go of me, our passion set aside for the moment.

  I hear the door again, and he steps back through the kitchen and into the living room, plopping down into an armchair across from me. “It’s supposed to rain sometime tonight,” he comments, and I sink against the cushion, disappointed we’ve been reduced to awkward small-talk after the end of our romance.

  “Thanks for having me over,” I mumble, tucking my hands beneath my legs. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the room, the softness of the cushions beneath me, and Brett’s stare as he watches me.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  I freeze where I sit, and not because it’s especially chilly today. While I’d practiced all the things I was going to say, I hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to say it front of Brett.

  I wanted to apologize, but I wasn’t quite sure what I was apologizing for.

  “Brett, I…things haven’t worked out with Allen.” I look up, and our gazes lock.

  “I know. I heard.” His tone is stony, edged with disgust, and I don’t blame him. I should be glad he even agreed to meet me.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you. That’s what I wanted to say. Please don’t think I didn’t love you, because—”

  “After the way you treated me, you expect me to believe you actually loved me?”

  “Brett.” My focus is gone, the words I’d rehearsed slipping away from me. “I did love you. I do love you. I will always love you.”

  He glares at me as if he doesn’t know what to say, then leans back, releasing a heavy breath.

  “Allen’s crazy,” I mumble, thinking of how I had to walk home from the beach last week. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, so clingy…but at the same time he insulted me and treated me like dirt.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  The way Brett speaks causes me to falter. “What do you mean?”

  “As soon as you felt like I wasn’t giving you what you needed, you let him get to you.”

  “I didn’t let him…Brett, what are you…” I begin to wish I’d never come here. “I fell in love with him,” I mutter, glancing down toward my feet. “I just came to apologize, can’t you accept that?”

  “This isn’t the time, Nina.” He crosses his arms over his chest. After a long silence, he leans forward and climbs to his feet. His expression changes, and for the briefest of moments he looks almost as if he’s pitying me. “Quit looking for somebody to rescue you. Don’t you see that’s what you’re doing?”

  Fury boils inside me. “I don’t need anyone to rescue me, damn it.” I stand and stalk toward the door.

  “Then quit acting like it.” He grabs me by the arm,
tugging me close. “One day, you’ll see.” He lets go. He could’ve shoved me, could’ve tried to hurt me. But he doesn’t. Instead he just turns around and walks toward the back of the house. “Goodbye, Nina.”

  I stand there for what seems like forever, listening to the silence around me. The ache in my chest worsens, but I don’t know how I am feeling. I cannot define it. “Goodbye, Brett,” I whisper.

  Then I turn, and I leave, stepping out into the evening which grows windier and more foreboding with each passing moment.

  Chapter 17

  I never needed to be rescued. I just needed to be loved.

  Everything is packed and I am ready to let go again. Roberta and I meet at the beach for a walk. I tell her how Jenny and I ran here recently, while in the back of my mind I’m thinking about Brett, the email I sent, and that long ago day when I walked out of his house and didn’t see him again for several years.

  So many words are still floating around me, and I’d put them all in the letter I’d written.

  “What letter?”

  Roberta’s voice startles me; I look up from the sand to find her watching me as the sun rises higher in the sky behind us.

  “Hmm? Letter?” I mumble.

  “You’re talking to yourself again.” Roberta giggled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I picked up that habit after I moved here. I’m glad I have you to talk to, because for a while I didn’t have many friends, so I talked to the sand like I’m doing now.”

  “You were telling the sand about a letter.” Roberta bends down and scoops up a flat purple shell, examining it before slipping into the pocket of her jeans.

  “Oh, yeah.” I sigh, then stop walking. I turn and look at the waves as they roil and crash against the shore. “I wrote a letter to my high school sweetheart, who I haven’t talked to in a while, telling him I’m sorry for all I did to hurt him. I mentioned ACA to him, told him what I’ve been doing in the Program.”

  “But you’re not on Step Nine yet, are you? I mean, where you make amends to others.”

  “Nope, not there yet.” I shrug, slipping my hands into my pockets. “I don’t even have a sponsor.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But I’m working the Program the best I can without one.” I turn to look at her. “You know how hard it can be to find an ACA sponsor. We’re not as widespread as Alcoholics Anonymous or Al-Anon.”

  “That’s true.” She picks up another shell and slips that one into her pocket too. “Did you get a reply to your letter yet?”

  “No, not yet. Who knows, maybe he’ll ignore it. Shit, I’m starting to feel sorry for myself.”

  Roberta runs her hand along my arm, squeezes my fingers gently. “We’re not perfect, remember? Just don’t get lost in the bad things. You’ll get to where you need to be, and so will I. One day at a time.”

  “I hope when I find an ACA group in Florida, they have a girl there who’s as nice as you.”

  “Impossible,” Roberta teases, grinning. She lets go of my hand, and walks on, then tugs her knit hat over her ears. I follow alongside her; we just listen to the waves, not saying a word.

  When I return to my apartment, I check my email and discover the message I’ve been waiting for. I hold my breath as I open the email.

  Hi, Nina,

  Don’t worry. It was a long time ago. Anyway, we both hurt each other. I was emotionally distant. We were just kids.

  I forgive you. I would like to see you.

  Give me a call sometime soon.

  Brett

  For the rest of the day, his email is all I can think about. To have his forgiveness means more to me than anything. I call the number he left in the email; we have a quick conversation and set a date to meet.

  Soon, I’m going home. I think back to that day when I went to Brett’s house, seeking something, not really knowing what it was.

  He said I was looking for someone to rescue me, and maybe I was. I was damaged. But deep down, rescuing wasn’t what I wanted.

  I only wanted someone to love me.

  Now, all I want is for him to understand that.

  Chapter 18

  I have few friends in North Carolina. The people I met at my weekly Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings are my only support system, and we don’t even mingle outside of the group.

  While I’d become close friends with Lynn, my previous boss at the bookstore where I’d worked in Florida, I barely know my coworkers in Kill Devil Hills, and I doubt they will miss me.

  Roberta and I haven’t known each other very long, but we’ve grown close so quickly; she is the only one I will keep in touch with.

  When the car is packed and I’m ready to go, we sit on the trunk and stare across the small parking area by my apartment building. The building I lived in for a year and a half.

  Roberta glances at her watch as the sun sets. “It’s almost eight o’clock. You like driving at night, huh?”

  “I love it. Not a single car on the road, you can go as fast as you like. It’s bliss.” I shuffle closer to her. “Have you ever driven to Florida?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re missing out. It’s actually a really beautiful drive.”

  “I’ll have to try it sometime.” She swings her feet to and fro. “I wish I could come with you now, but I can’t. I already took vacation time this year. You’ll keep in touch, right?”

  “I told you I would. I promised.”

  “I know.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it.

  It’s as if we’re sisters, Roberta and I. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I’m going to miss you too,” she whispers, and I can tell she’s holding back tears. “We haven’t known each other long, but you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

  “Same to you. You and Jenny are so special to me. I know you’d love her if you met her.” I lean my head against her shoulder. “Well, you will meet her. You’ll come visit.”

  “Of course I will.”

  I hope she’s not just saying that. In all the time I’ve been living in Kill Devil Hills, I had a few of my old friends promise to visit, but they never did. I hope Roberta is different.

  I hop off the trunk, ready for my journey. “I’ll drive through the night, get there in the morning, and then I’m meeting Brett for a late lunch.”

  “Really?” Roberta’s eyes widen.

  “Yeah. He emailed me back, and I called him. I think…I don’t know…I guess I am just hoping he really forgives me.”

  “Did he say he did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he forgave you, Nina.” She wraps her arms around me, and the soft knit of her cap tickles the side of my face as we hug. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself.” She withdraws, looking into my eyes. “You were kids then. We all make mistakes. I’ve made a lot of them myself.”

  For a fleeting moment, I see the broken young woman who shared in the meeting about her father trying to kill himself. Roberta is one of the toughest people I have ever met; if she can get through that, then surely I can get through the next couple of days, face my fears, and learn to live again.

  “Thank you, Roberta.”

  “Call me when you get there, okay? And text me along the way, so I know you’re all right.” All of a sudden, she jabs her finger at me, adding, “But don’t text while you drive!”

  I laugh, opening the driver’s side door of my car. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  “Promise!”

  “I promise.” I hop into the car, rolling down my window as I slip the key in the ignition.

  “Love you, Nina.”

  “Love you, too, Roberta…take care.”

  She watches me as I turn the car around and pull to the exit of the parking lot. In my rearview mirror, I see her standing there, clad in baggy clothes, her little knit hat pulled over her ears, her hands clasped before her.

  That image of her stays in my mind as I begin my long drive, heading back toward Palm Beach Count
y, and home.

  Chapter 19

  I remember the dream so clearly, every detail filling me with sorrow as I drive farther south, losing myself in my thoughts.

  The headlights pierce the darkness as I think of Wes and the vision I had of a past life, where he was killed and I was left alone to mourn the loss.

  Was it only a dream, or was it something more?

  At the time, I was sure it had really happened, but now I question myself. I am always doubting myself, my instincts. I dreamt of Wes before we met, and he dreamt of me. But were our dreams just fanciful romps, meaningless musings in which we longed for physical touch, for lovemaking?

  I pull into a gas station parking lot late at night, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Darkness sucks me down; the tall trees surrounding this tiny segment of civilization seem intent on swallowing me whole. I check my phone for messages and see a text from Roberta.

  Hope you’re okay.

  I key in a reply and hit the send button. Sure, I’m okay, tired but alive and moving slowly toward my destination. Another text from Jenny says pretty much the same thing, and I send her a quick message as well before leaning my head back.

  An eighteen-wheeler is parked to my left, and a burly man climbs out beneath the yellow light of the pole lamp, coughing and hacking phlegm onto the asphalt. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and ambles toward the twenty-four hour convenience store, favoring one leg.

  I let myself drift into the cacophony of sounds around me—an owl hooting, traffic on nearby I-95, the large man in his long-sleeved gray shirt returning to his truck, still hacking, this time holding a cup of coffee.

  Coffee. I could use some of that.

  But before I can rouse myself to sit up and climb out of the car, I drift into a dream.

  In my subconscious, Wes and I are standing on Juno Pier when a space shuttle lowers onto the sand in the broad light of day, and perplexed looking travelers pour forth from the vehicle’s wide silver doors.