Briggs had said, “He hopes you understand.” What the hell did I need to understand?
I’d waited a half of a year, an eternity to the impatient, and a lifetime to a kid. In a blink of an eye, a mere six months and my world could be destroyed by what he had written on these pages. I unfolded the letter, fear pecked at my heart.
Complicated Captivating Rose,
I keep writing and rewriting this letter. I know I promised you I’d give you space. I just need to know if you’re okay? Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you being alone and trying to find yourself. God knows, I look for you in the faces of people every day. I keep searching for you in the words I hear, in the memories I have, even the broken sidewalks where you’ve left your past. I cling to small pieces of you while I walk past the restaurants where we’ve made memories, hoping to find anything that would bring you back to me, but it never does.
I want you to know that you’ve ruined my appetite for Cajun food. I can’t even go near a Cajun restaurant anymore. I’m not starving myself, I’m just not enjoying the foods that remind me of you.
Anyway, after you left I went and found Briggs downtown, hoping he might have answers. Every time I’d ask about you, he’d say he didn’t have anything. Five months and Briggs’ answers stayed the same, he wouldn’t crack, (I think he’s getting pissed at me for asking, so I’ve backed off a little). Instead of finding him every night, I ask him twice a week, now just once every couple of weeks. He’s the only connection I have to you, and if there’s the slightest chance he’d be willing to tell me you’re okay, I’m going to jump on it. He’s the only Key I have to you, (funny, to find out that you call him Key).
Rose, I know I pushed you in a corner that day and it wasn’t fair of me. I let my own past and fear rule over me. I’m sorry if I caused you more problems, it was never my intention. I just felt like I couldn’t breathe without knowing you were breathing the same air. I wanted to be that someone who meant the world to you, the one person who broke through the walls you put up to protect yourself. It’s so damn hard to admit I was scared to lose what little part of you I had.
Now that I’ve spent some time thinking about it, I can admit, you were right. Yes, I struggled with your profession. Every egotistical part of me wrestled with the thought of any other man touching you without concern for your well-being. I guess I was jealous as fuck, because I wanted you. But I knew that if I tried to push you or control you, you’d resist and I’d lose you forever. And I don’t want a forever where you aren’t in it.
All I’ve ever wanted to do was to protect you, save you from a life that continued to break you, be the one you’d run to when your life was crumbling. I understand now, that that’s not what you were asking me to be. I’ve had almost six months to become the type of man I should be for you. I realize how hard it is for you to need someone, to put your trust in a person who has the power to hurt you. But I need you to know, I won’t hurt you, Rose.
When you told me that day you loved me, it gave me hope. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you, to come find you, and be the man you deserve. But, finding you when you don’t want to be found is harder than I thought. So I convinced Briggs to take this letter, God I hope he gives it to you. I’m not asking you to stop finding yourself for my sake, I would never ask you to do that. I just want to know that I’m still on your radar. That you think about a future with me.
I’ve left my past in the city. Every single piece of my past, including Martie. She was never going to be a part of my future, even before I met you. I’m sorry she hurt you, that she made you believe she had any part of my heart. She never did. I’m starting new, just like you! Everything I’m doing now is all about our future, I sold the laundromat. I just couldn’t keep it knowing that it was attached to a past you’re working so hard to get away from. I want a future with you, Rose. I want to be the man you come home to for the rest of your life. I want to hold you when you have those days you want to give up and celebrate with you on the days you recognize how strong you really are.
I bought a small two-bedroom fixer-upper on the edge of Joaquin Miller Park in the Oakland Hills. The real estate agent said I got a million-dollar view for pennies. The view took a lot of pennies, but I’d spend every last one I had if it meant I’d get to share it with you. I started remodeling, I had to do something to keep myself busy, that way the days don’t seem so long without you.
I would really like to hear from you. I hope you’ve found the peace you’re looking for.
So if you decide to make it to my side of the bay, here’s my new address.
5222 Crockett Place. Oakland, CA. 94602
If you don’t want to see me, I’ll respect your wishes.
I really miss you,
Love,
Persistent Shane
I reread his letter over and over again, read it until my eyes blurred with every guilt riddled tear that splashed against his words. Stunned by everything he wrote, I couldn’t believe he sold his laundromat for me or even left the city. My heart cracked for the steps he took to prove to me that he loved me. Actions, I’d never consider anyone ever doing for me in my wildest dreams. It was proof, Shane West was the man I was supposed to be with, but I was too torn apart, too tangled in what I said I was supposed to be. I was so close to finally being okay in my own skin. I found myself my own way. My brain swirled with his words and my thoughts, how contradictory my heart was to my head, my body to my spirit.
I wanted to go right now and find him. Inconvenient as it was to hop in a car and drive twelve hours or get on a plane, I wanted to be with him, see him before reality fucked with my head. But, my life was clear in Portland, a life I had committed to live until I was strong enough to bury my past and live in my future.
I held the letter up to my nose, inhaled every word he wrote in black ink. Every intention he placed before me was clear and to the point, and yet uncertainty still drown me. Buried deep in insecurity, I folded the letter up, slipped it back into the envelope and put it into my sock drawer. I had to decide if I was going to leave the safety I have here in Portland or take a risk for a one-of-a-kind love back in California. Was I strong enough?
Shane
IT’S BEEN FOUR weeks since I gave Briggs my letter, and I’ve heard nothing. No text, no call, no letter, no Rose showing up at my door. Every day I go to my mailbox, hoping that she’s written me back. Something, anything to indicate that she’s even read my letter . . . Nothing.
I don’t know how much longer I can take of the waiting? I feel so out of fucking control. I’ve never been so desperate in my life. Wanting someone so badly, every little shattered part of them, even when I’m not supposed to. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to wrap myself in her scent, press my lips against her tear soaked cheeks, hear her voice as she tells me she’s okay—Fuck, this isn’t good for me. My mind spins off into the moment in my office when Crystal told me what Rose did every night . . .
“Well, Crystal, you are a very beautiful woman and like I’ve said before, if I was ever interested in your type of service, you’d definitely be the first woman I’d call. But right now I’m pretty satisfied in that department of my life, and truthfully, I don’t think my girl would like this very much.” I sway my hands back and forth between us. “But, hey, just knowing you’re OK is enough for me. No disrespect, I’ve just never been into . . . this.” I slip my hands down between my legs and push her foot out from my crotch.
“You have a girl huh?” Crystal parrots me.
I smile knowing my girl, Rose is just on the other side of my office wall. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I came in here to grab something for her. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I stand up reach down into the bottom drawer of my desk and snatch a handful of Blow Pops.
“I love Blow Pops because you get a two-fer. You get to suck and then blow.”
Her words play in my head. They are familiar, they are Rose’s words.
“Who told you t
hat?” I ask pointedly.
“What?”
“A two-fer, suck and then blow? Why did you say that?”
Crystal looks at me sideways before she answers. “One of my girls on the track. Why?”
“Because, you don’t hear many people say that.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s only us girls on the stroll that talk that way.”
I try to let go of the fact that Rose says the same thing. Coincidences happen all the time. “Well, I’m sorry to ask you to leave, but my girl is waiting for me and I have to lock up the office.”
“Oh, of course, sorry. Thanks again.” She gives me a hug. I pull the door shut behind us. I look around and notice Rose isn’t anywhere to be found. I head to the front door, Crystal close behind. Scanning the entire laundromat, I can’t believe she just left.
“Where are you, Rose? Where did you go?” I say unconsciously, almost under my breath.
Crystal clears her throat, catching my attention. “Your girl’s name is Rose?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, wouldn’t that be a trip if my Rose and your Rose were the same person?” she says in an amused manner.
I’m not amused.
“No, it wouldn’t be a trip.”
I start to think about Rose and how impossible it has to be with what she does for a living and going to school. Doubt is such a motherfucker.
“Well, my Rose hasn’t had the easiest life, fucked up parents, those Newtons.”
I do a double take looking at Crystal. Did I just hear her right? There is no fucking way we’re talking about the same Rose.
“What is her last name?” My question comes out harshly.
“Newton. Rose Newton. Why?”
My flesh ripples cold before the air rips and burns across my skin. Heat sears through every cell of my body. I feel sick, the bile in my stomach flicks at my urge to throw up. How long? When did she start? Why would she? A barrage of questions floods my mind.
“I guess by the look on your face, we’re talking about the same girl. Long black hair, gorgeous green eyes, warm-toned skin?”
I’m completely devastated and pissed. I don’t even give her a response. I push out the front door and hustle out of the laundromat. The only thing I hear is Crystal shouting words I could give two flying fucks about.
“Don’t tell her I told you.”
My body and mind swirl with the idea that there are other motherfucking men touching her. She’s letting them fu—. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut, pissing blood and bleeding out. What. The. Fuck?
I push those memories from my mind, work hard to let them go. It's pretty painful to say the least. I collect my tool belt and head out to the front porch. When I get in my head too much, I find work that keeps my hands busy and my mind off of her. Today, I’m struggling to keep my mind busy, I can’t stop thinking about those last couple of days, no matter what I do.
I keep trying to call Rose, find out her side of the story. Two days and nothing. I’m not leaving a voicemail, not about this. I need to hear it from her mouth. I need to know the truth. No more fucking lies. I start to call Rose for the umpteenth time when my phone buzzes with a call from Martie.
“Hello?” I answer.
Martie’s voice is calm but I can hear the hurry pushing her words. “Shane! Listen, I don't have much time. I’m on my way to SF General. I guess my sister finally met her fate with her lifestyle and her pimp beat the shit out of her and her piece of shit, hooker roommate.”
“Wait, what?”
“Shane, I just told you I don’t have a lot of time. The hospital is asking for my sister’s ID, you know, identification. Anyway, I’m almost here and it’s too much to track back. Since you’re probably at the laundromat, and it’s literally a couple of blocks from her apartment, would you swing by and get it? I already called the manager and he said he’d let you in. I need you here with me, Shane. Hurry.”
I don’t hesitate to do it. Even though I’ve already told her a while ago we were done, and we weren’t seeing each other anymore, I wasn’t going to be a prick. She texts me the address and I recognize that it’s only a handful of blocks away from my laundromat.
The manager of the apartment complex is shaken up, he’s mumbling about Mandy and her roommate and the trouble this whole ordeal creates for him. He pushes the door open and gives me a couple of minutes in Martie’s sister’s place.
I step in and immediately I feel just how tiny the apartment is. Two beds, a kitchen area with a small two-person table and a small couch in the center of it all make up the place. Looking around I notice a collage of pictures taped on the mirror mounted on the inside of the front door. It feels invasive to look at them, but I can’t help myself. I didn’t have the opportunity to meet Mandy. So, looking at the pictures, I’m not prepared to see Rose, my girl next to Martie’s sister. My mind tumbles back to Martie’s call. “A pimp beat the shit out of her and her piece of shit, hooker roommate.” My body flushes with a chill as I look back up at the pictures and see one with Rose and me. Suddenly, the idea that she can be seriously hurt matters more than what she does at night. The fear of never seeing her again spikes through my veins, piercing my heart. I have to get to the hospital, I need to make sure Rose isn’t badly hurt. I forget about Mandy’s ID and I hightail it to the hospital.
I pull out my claw hammer and begin to demolish the rotting porch railing. A job I’ve been doing for the last several weeks, it helps me channel the spastic energy when it has nowhere else to go. It feels good to rip apart something I’ll eventually replace. With every swing, and every point of contact, I feel myself letting go, even if it’s for a fleeting moment.
I get three feet of the railing taken down and the ambush of thoughts I have about Rose keep coming at me like a freight train. As much as I try and keep myself busy, I can’t stop wondering what’s she doing? Is she thinking about me just as much as I’m thinking about her? Did she get my letter? I know she can only give me what she has available and God knows, I want to teach her, tell her, touch her, and bring her to a healing we both can embody.
A familiar relief reaches into my body as I think about that day in the hospital, knowing she was okay and wasn’t the one lying in that hospital bed. I would never have wished Sybil to die, but knowing it wasn’t the woman I love gave me a second chance at a life with her. To know I have a second chance at the possibility of nestling into her breasts, dragging my nose across her delicate skin, inhaling what my heaven smells like. I want to listen to her breathe, whimper at my touch, bathe her in my words. I want to collect her broken pieces scattered between us and create a future with her.
I’m chained to her, connected, I feel it, being away from her is killing me. I’m struggling to carry the emptiness of not knowing how she’s doing. When I think about her, it’s as if life was being poured into my soul, but her not being here with me is as if my life is slipping through my hands.
What if all I’ve done was create more pressure by sending her the letter? What if she doesn’t want the same thing anymore? I know I can't force her, heal her or save her from her thoughts. I want her, every tiring, twisted, frightening, exciting emotion that makes her who she is. The last six months I’ve been determined to get my life ready for Rose. I’m not going to be an empty shell of a person lingering in a purgatory filled with empty promises nobody wants. One thing I know for sure, I don't want her in anyone's bed, but mine.
I’m literally imploding without her.
Unseasonably hot for the fall in the bay area, I drag my arm across my brow stopping the rolling drips of sweat from getting in my eyes. I take a minute to look around the world I’m creating, hoping that if or when Rose decides to come home to me, it will be what she wants. I think I’m doing the right thing, it feels right. I pick up a couple of rotting 2x4’s, tossing them next to the porch in a semi-organized pile. Stay physical, Shane. Keep busy, move forward. Trying to keep my mind from swirling and my heart from thrashing faster in my ch
est, I head inside the house for a bottle of water. I swig the bottle dry in a couple of gulps. My eyes burning from the sweat-beads that made it past my brows, I blink and tear up to stop the pain. A physical pain I’d take any day of the week, compared to the emotional pain of not having Rose with me.
I think about what I wrote to her and how I poured my soul into that letter. Professed my love and told her that I want to work on making a life with her. My mind twisted off into visions, and just like anything else, they morphed into the reaction I dreaded from her.
“Don’t you see you were something special to me, Shane? You were something different than any other man in my life. I fought so hard trying not to give you my heart, tried so hard not to open the ironclad lock, because I knew I’d get hurt. But you found the key, you found my weakness and exploited it for your own needs. Whether you knew it or not, whether I knew it or not, I gave you my heart. And just like that, like everyone in my life, you broke it and now you’re gonna walk away never looking back.”
Doubt attacks my thoughts . . . What if she read what I wrote and interpreted it wrong? Will I ever be enough for her, or is she going to wait until my words render her numb and she stops listening? Worry flashed through my head, rippling down into my fingertips. Son-of-a-bitch, within seconds I regretted sending it. I didn’t want anything to inhibit her personal growth, or finding her way back to me. What if my words threw her over the edge, or she isn’t getting back to me because she had to go back to the streets? A pit swirled in my gut. If she’d just respond to the letter, then I’d know and I wouldn’t have to live in such fucking limbo.
As if there was some type of power that answered my biggest fears, I turn to go get another bottle of water and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of someone shuffling up my driveway. I freeze mid gulp, having to push the bottle away from my lips as the water soaks me. I don’t care, all I can do is stare, blinking excessively before I recognize who it is. Seven long months, and she’s here, now. Excitement rapidly thrashes through my body, as the most gorgeous woman in the world is walking straight to me. She cautiously lifts her hand to block out the sun setting behind me, her expression throttles me. It’s her, my one and only . . .
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