The house is unusually dark, and with the shades drawn, it’s hard for me to see much of anything. I slip my backpack off and set it on the couch, making note of the geometry homework that I know is inside and still needs to be finished. A house this dark when I get home from school usually means Mom is out for the night, but her car is in the driveway and I can hear rustling sounds and muffled conversation coming from her room in the back of the house.
I flip the light on and I’m stopped dead in my tracks, eyes wide, as I take in my surroundings. The glass coffee table is shattered to pieces, her favorite sculpture—a stone representation of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals—sits just inside the metal frame of the table with bits of glass sprayed out around it in every direction. The bookshelf is toppled over with books scattered all across the hardwood floor.
If I hadn’t seen this a time or two before, I’d be three blocks away by now and yelling for the neighbors to call the cops … but this is no home invasion. It hasn’t happened in a long time, but my mom has been known to destroy shit when she either couldn’t get any blow or prescription pills, or when she’s had entirely too much. As I creep down the hall, I’m debating which of those scenarios I’d rather deal with.
Just feet from her bedroom door, her rail-thin body bolts from the room, but she stops immediately when she sees me. Her hair is matted and drenched in sweat. Her eyes are wide with dark circles settled beneath them, and the size of her pupils tells me she’s clearly high as a kite.
I can’t move. In this moment, I am terribly afraid and my brain tells me to run as fast as I possibly can, but my legs won’t cooperate. When she first stepped into the hall, she looked confused and full of despair, but now, as she inches toward me, the evil in her eyes sends chills down my back. Her jaw is clenched and she grinds her teeth so hard I can hear it. She lifts a thin finger and jabs it in my direction.
“You!” Her voice is ragged, her breathing heavy, and the veins in her neck are thick and pulsing. At this point, she likely doesn’t even know who I am, though the way she scowls at me right now makes everything seem uncomfortably personal.
“You little fuck…” she growls, taking two more steps toward me, so close I can smell the bourbon on her breath. I back up a few steps, knowing full well when she mixes alcohol with pills or coke, she becomes someone else entirely. Not a human, but an animal, desperate for prey, that wants nothing more than to cause harm. She wants someone else to hurt as much as she does. And unfortunately, that someone is probably going to be me.
“Mom, wha-what’s wrong?” I stammer, reaching for the knob to my bedroom door as I back up. My hand comes in contact with the cool metal and I cling to it, ready to yank myself inside if need be.
“What’s wrong?” She stops moving and stands up straight. The angry, evil look on her face looks almost comical, like she’s remembering a joke she heard a few hours earlier. “What’s wrong?” She laughs as though that same joke was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “What’s wrong is you … what’s wrong is that I had a perfect marriage until you. What’s wrong is I fucking hate you,” she hisses, and though I’ve heard these words before, this is the first time I actually believe them. “You’re a fucking tumor.”
I fight it with all my might, but a tear makes its way down my cheek. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of her, but since the first once has fallen, it’s as if the floodgates have opened. This is my mother, the woman who is supposed to love me.
The tears fall faster than I can dry them. I dab my shirt against my eyes, hoping that when I pull it away, she will be back in her room. But instead, she’s even closer. My back is flush against the door and she brings her finger to my face, causing me to flinch and draw back. I smack my head against the wall, but that doesn’t stop her. Instead, she slides her pointer from my chin to my eye, collecting some of the tears, and then she pulls her hand back to examine it. She looks down at me and then back at her finger with disgust before wiping it on my shirt as if she could catch something from it.
“Fuck your tears. Do you know how many tears I’ve cried over you stealing my life from me? How many tears I’ve cried because I didn’t listen to your father and get rid of you like he told me to do?” The last part cuts through me like a knife, my heart exposed to the cold, hard world and forever changed because of it.
But I’m not sad anymore, though the tears still pour. No, now I hate her. In fact, right now, I could kill her. I want to erase her from my memory and pretend my mother died a long, long time ago.
Just as I’m about to lose it, she turns and charges back to her room, slamming the door so hard I can hear every picture in her room tumble to the floor. Pushing my door open, I quickly slip inside, shut it behind me and burrow into bed. I bury my face in my hands, and for longer than I’d like to admit, I cry.
The tears begin to dry and I pull a picture from my nightstand, the only one I have of my mother and father together—the only one I have of my father at all. I’m eight years old and seated in both of their laps, all of us with Mickey Mouse ears on. It’s my favorite picture, probably because it’s the last time I remember us being happy. I managed to swipe it from my mother before she burned every picture with my father in it, everything he ever bought or touched or looked at … my childhood literally went up in flames.
I stare at the picture for an eternity, and for the millionth time, I coat it with a fresh layer of tears. Once I’ve cried my last tear, I make my way to the kitchen and pick up the phone, because right now there’s only one person I want to see—the only one that can take this pain away. And she’s the only family I’ll ever need.
“Katie?” A voice tugs at my consciousness, pulling my eyes open, and for a second, I have no idea where I am or who could be talking to me. I rub my palms into my eyes and try to wipe away the fogginess.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Your eyes were open just a few moments ago and you seemed alert.” Really? Alert? My coherence finally returns and I recognize the woman, who sort of looks like my mother, looking very motherly at me. My mother. I’m on a flight. My mother died. I’m heading home.
“How long have we been flying?” I ask.
“A little over six hours. Do you not remember speaking with me a few times along the way?” she asks, sounding concerned.
I scan my brain but come up empty. Then, as if making sure my limbs are still intact, I scan each sleeve of my uniform and both pant legs, and then I look around the plane, taking everything in. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I…” She puts a hand up to stop me.
“Don’t worry about it. I can only imagine what little sleep you all get over there. Thank you for what you do, by the way. I have a lot of family that served and continue to serve. I was actually over in Germany visiting my son and his wife. He’s in the Army and they had their first baby, so I got to see him. Now I’m making my way back to Memphis via JFK.” She pauses briefly, putting a hand to her mouth to capture a yawn, then continues. “Of course, we’ve discussed all that, so sorry if I’m repeating myself.”
I shake my head. She’s not repeating anything, to my knowledge. I’m a little embarrassed and shocked that I had conversations with this woman and don’t even recall them.
“Wait, so what about Katie?” Did I talk to her about Katie? “You sure do talk about her in your sleep … a lot.” She giggles a little and then catches herself.
“Really? What was I saying?”
“Well, you weren’t making a whole lot of sense. It seems you are desperate to get to her though, and judging by the way you were calling out to her, I’d say that you love her very much. I guess that’s why I asked. I’m hoping for a good love story to pass the time. Oh, how I love a good love story!” She smiles at me, squeezing her hands to her chest. I’d rather just settle my head and arms on top of the tray table and go back to sleep, but she’s too damn sweet. I can’t be an ass to her.
“An old flame, I guess you could say.” It’s the only thing that comes to mind.
I search for more, but there’s nothing. Nothing my clouded brain can come up with, and nothing I want to share with this complete stranger.
“And are you on your way to see this old flame?” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Gosh, I’m so sorry! Look at me being all nosy and obnoxious!” She shakes her head from side to side, scolding herself under her breath.
“No, you’re fine, ma’am. I know how these long flights can be. I’m sorry I’ve been a rude neighbor.” I force a smile. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure if I’ll see her or not. I hope to, but it’s been a long time and a lot has happened.” Yeah, Wyatt has happened.
“Oh dear, you don’t know if you’ll see her? Tell me she knows you’re on your way home.”
“She does.” I’d love nothing more than for this conversation to end, and if this were one of my guys, I would’ve told him to shut the hell up already. But I try my best to remember where I am and who I’m talking to. “I sent her my itinerary. The rest is up to her.”
She almost speaks but catches herself, then looks to be deep in thought before she continues. “Take it from a mother, though I’m sure you have your own to give you advice”—if she only knew—“but stop being such a guy!” She laughs and pats my shoulder softly. If this conversation goes on any longer…
“If you love this girl, which it sounds like you do, you need to make sure it happens. You need to do everything in your power to see her, to show her that you love her.” She waits a moment, settling back into her seat, and bowing her head. “Gosh, I’m sorry. Terry—that’s my boy—he tells me all the time I talk way too much to strangers. I just can’t help it.”
“You’re fine, ma’am. I appreciate it. I really do.” I check my watch and let out a groan as I realize only twenty minutes have passed. “I’m sorry, I hate to cut the conversation short, but I’m exhausted. I might try and get some more sleep.” I fake a yawn, though I don’t really need to … I could sleep for days. But even if I couldn’t, I don’t want to talk about Katie. And I certainly don’t want to think about the possibility of not seeing her.
“Of course! Please do, sweetie. You deserve to get some rest.”
“See you in New York, though I’m sure we’ll be having more sleep conversations before we get there, for which I apologize ahead of time.” I force a laugh and one last smile, then nuzzle my head into my arms, folded over the tray table. As I drift off to sleep, there’s only one person on my mind … Katie.
“Can I come over?” I ask, my voice trembling over the phone.
“Of course. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” It’s amazing how, almost instantly, Katie’s voice can soothe the worst of pains. I desperately want her in my arms.
“I’ll tell you about it when I get there. I just gotta get out of here.”
“Come over, please. I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” I hang up the phone and head out the door. If my mom had given me two more damn months before she had her meltdown, I’d be sixteen and able to drive to Katie’s house. Instead, I curse her under my breath as I grab my bike from the side of the house and quickly pedal away.
The ride goes quickly, and before I know it, I’m pulling onto the gravel road that leads to Katie’s property. The porch light is on, casting a dull glow over her body, and just seeing her brings me relief. Skidding to a stop, I jump off the bike, drop it to the ground, and Katie instantly propels herself at me. She envelops me in her arms, holding me tighter than she ever has before. The warmth of her touch and the soft reassurances she’s whispering against the side of my neck make my heart throb inside my chest. I squeeze her back, nuzzling my nose into her shoulder and letting a few tears pass from my eyes to her skin. My heart is home.
“Come inside,” she whispers, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door. In this moment, I am at her complete mercy. She has my heart, and she always will.
“Devin, I don’t even know what to say.” She runs her hand softly down my cheek and I lean into it, taking in every bit of her touch. “I knew things were bad and we’ve talked about it before, but this…” She trails off and she bows her head, letting a few tears run down her cheek. I brush the tears lightly from her face and pull her against me, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“You don’t have to say anything, you know that. Just being here with you is enough.” She looks up, her gorgeous brown eyes sparkling with fresh tears, and it takes everything I have not to kiss her.
We have always just been friends, and although we’ve had many moments like this, we’ve never let anything go further. I’ve wanted to for so long, and not kissing her has been like a slow, painful death, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I’d rather have her in my life as a friend than not have her at all.
She slips her bottom lip between her teeth and drops her head to my shoulder. “You promise this is enough?”
The first thing I want to blurt out is ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ But I haven’t watched all those romantic comedies for nothing. I know I need to play it cool. “You’re my best friend, Katie. The person I trust more than anyone in this world. You’re the only one on this earth that could make it better. This…” I pull her even closer to me and plant my lips on the top of her head. I let them linger there a bit, breathing her in before pulling away. “This is everything.”
I can see the tears welling in her eyes, and she’s trying her hardest to keep them off of me. I place two fingers gently against her chin and turn her head toward mine. Her eyes still look down and her eyelids do the best they can to blink away the tears. “Katie,” I say, sweet but firm. She bats her eyelids several more times before looking at me. “Why are you crying?”
She sniffs and wipes her face before answering. “God, Devin… I just wish … I wish … I wish I could take all your pain away.” She rests her head against my shirt and wipes some of her tears on it. She doesn’t know this, but I love when she does that. It feels like she’s sharing a part of herself with me.
“You do take my pain away, Katie.” Cupping her cheeks in my hands, my eyes roam her face, and before I realize it, my lips are on hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull back, instead pushing her mouth tighter against mine, effectively sealing any gaps. Her lips are softer and sweeter than I could have imagined, and when my tongue traces the seam of her lips, she opens willing. With each stroke of her tongue against mine, my heart pounds and the pain subsides just a little bit more.
I awoke to a nearly empty plane and a flight attendant poking me in my side. A Post-it note was stuck to the seat in front of me, and it read:
Tried to wake you up.
You’re quite the heavy sleeper, but don’t worry, you didn’t drool.
I have a connection flight I must make.
Nothing but the best to you, soldier.
Chase your heart. Find Katie.
Cheryl
The Post-it note remains clutched in my hand as I board my last flight, take a seat in the rear and buckle myself in. As the flight takes off and we gain altitude, I reread her note many times and can’t help but feel disappointed that I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to my sweet but chatty seatmate. It’s funny the random people you bump into and the effect they can have on you.
The violent thrashing of the plane jolts me from my thoughts and passengers start stirring in their seats. It comes and goes at first, and then a long rattle takes over that makes it feel like the plane just might break into pieces mid-air. Most of the passengers on the plane cry out, drowning out the pilot over the intercom, but I remain quiet. My pulse could beat its way through my veins, but I sit still, clutching each armrest tightly in my hands and watching the scenes of my life play like a movie in my head. I’m forced to realize the ironic and random nature of death. It is very likely that I could survive two deployments to a combat zone and die right here on the plane ride back home. What a mindfuck.
As the chaos erupts around me and the turbulence continues to make death a
ll too real for everyone aboard, I can’t help but think of Katie. I can’t believe how dumb I’m being, and what an insecure and jealous asshole I’ve been. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did on the phone. It was obvious that she wanted to see me, but I sure as hell didn’t make it clear how badly I wanted to see her. She was going to clear her schedule and then I fucked it up.
It doesn’t matter though because I’ll make it right, even if I have to go to Tennessee. I don’t care if I have to drive all night, I will see Katie Devora, and I will tell that beautiful woman that I want her—and only her—for the rest of my life. And then I’ll explain to her that every day I’ve been without her, I’ve lost a little part of myself, and I’ll work my ass off to prove to her that I can be the man she deserves. No more walking away, and certainly no more hothead moments.
The turbulence eventually stops and people do their best to calm down, some muttering prayers, and I find myself taking a deep breath. Never again will I take for granted what Katie has given me and what she brings to my life. Never again will I let my pride get the best of me.
These thoughts are what get me through the hour-long flight from New York to Pittsburgh. I’m fucking ecstatic at the possibility of seeing Katie, but I’m conflicted by the death of my mother and how it will feel to put her into the ground. I need to get through the funeral and say goodbye to Josephine, and then I can focus on the reunion I’ve waited ten long years for.
My foot bobs rapidly as my thoughts race, and even three Bloody Marys haven’t calmed me down. And then it happens … the loud ding followed by the flight attendant announcing our final descent. I flip open the window shade and take in the familiar sights of my old stomping grounds. One step closer to Katie.
Getting off the plane and walking into the airport is like getting hit by a wave of nostalgia. I haven’t been in this airport since the flight that took me to basic training. And though many things have changed since then, it still feels so familiar and comforting. Before I know it, I’m heading toward baggage claim with a toothy smile that I’m sure causes a few stares. I just don’t care. None of them would ever guess I was here for a funeral, and I know I should feel guilty for that, but going from a toxic war zone to a place I called home so long ago, a place without bullets, bombs, and death, is almost overwhelming. I want to strip myself from this uniform, throw on some jeans and a tee shirt, and just be normal again.
A Lover's Lament Page 25