The Milestone Tapes

by Ashley Mackler-Paternostro

  Right now, you probably feel like you’re dying. You probably feel like the world has ended and you’re the sole survivor; alone and scared and confused … and most of all, worst of all, hurt.

  When I started recording these tapes for you, sweetheart, there were some I hoped you would never listen too ... this was just one of them. But a broken heart, that’s part of life. It’s one of the cruel, unfair parts of being sensitive and giving and emotional.

  When you fall in love with someone, you always go in with the best of intentions. You go in believing this could be the one—that the way you feel will last forever, but often times, that’s not how it ends—especially when you’re young. And you know what? What you’re feeling right now, that’s just another part of being in love ... the end of it. You’re not crying for all the things you had, the memories you made, the way you felt...you’re crying for all the things you’ll never have, the memories you won’t make, the way you won’t feel—about that person—anymore.

  I wish I had the words to take away your pain ... but I don’t. Truthfully, honey, no one does. Time is the only thing that will heal what you’re feeling, ease the hurt. It won’t happen overnight, unfortunately, and it may get worse before it gets better. But, someday you’ll wake up and feel better, marginally at first, and then over time you’ll notice that the tears and ache have faded, and one day you’re just okay again—not the same as before, your heart will have a small scar, but it does get better. Broken hearts do heal, but not with words or a magic pill or a Band- Aid, only with time—and that’s what you’ll find out. This pain, it’s not forever.

  Do you remember when I told you about David Greene? Well, the story, as you may have guessed, didn’t end simply—we didn’t drive off in his blue mustang to live our happily ever after. And, by the way, thank goodness we didn’t ... otherwise I would have missed out your Daddy and most of all, I would have missed out on you.

  David left for boot camp at the start of August, as planned. And in the beginning, we wrote each other often. I was the girl who sprayed the notebook paper with perfume, and wrote the word love with a heart instead of a “v.” At first, it was great. When the mailman came, I could almost count on a letter in David’s block handwriting to be waiting for me. I went off to Seattle for school and things changed then, the letters trickled off and eventually completely stopped. I made excuses and figured he was busy, but the truth was, he was ending our relationship the only way he knew how, which was, to stop being an active participant in it.

  I spent the first half of my freshman year, the time I should have been making friends and studying and living it up, mourning the loss of my relationship. Do I regret that? Now that I’ve had you, and your father and our life together ... yes. But at the time, I was so hurt and confused, there was no other way for me to feel—I didn’t know that all wonderful things that lay ahead for me, so I let the pain hold me in one place.

  And just like I told you, I hurt over that for a long time ... but it got better. I met new people and surrounded myself by the things I enjoyed and one day I woke up and I was okay—I was changed, definitely not the same, but I’d like to think David Greene made me a better person. I learned from him and our relationship. I learned to treat people with respect, to own my decisions and be accountable for my choices. That’s how you make the most of this, you take the good you can learn from it, and you leave the rest behind.

  So Mia, I know right now you’re feeling like this just the end of everything that matters. But it’s not, I promise you. You have to pick yourself up and put yourself back together—whatever that means to you. You’ll cry your tears, and that’s okay ... but you pick yourself up and put yourself back together. When you’re dating someone, when you’re in love with someone, and even when you’re married to someone, heartbreak is a risk you take. Not everyone you meet is the one you’re meant to be with forever and always. It doesn’t matter how many times you’re wrong about someone or how many times you fall in and out of love, it only matters that, just once, you’re right—and that one time, that’s the time that really counts.

  I’m sorry you’re hurting honey, and I wish I could undo your pain ... but be strong and be brave. I love you.

  Mia listened for the familiar recorder click off, and pressed the rewind button. Her throat ached around her empty sobs, she felt exhausted and wired all at the same time, and her chest hurt like someone ran through her. Someone did. She wanted her mom, not some recording on a tape, but her real flesh and blood mother with warm arms and a soft touch and the patience to weather this devastation with her.

  Kris opened the door slowly, crossing the room and slunk onto the floor where Mia had crawled into a tight ball. Kris gently pulled Mia into her arms, onto her lap, rocking her softly as though Mia were just a little girl.

  “He ... he ... he,” Mia hiccupped, trying to put the words in the right order, trying to force them out, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t say the words out loud or to herself. The pain reeled, licking against her like flames.

  “Shh,” Kris cooed softly in her ear, hugging her closer, holding her broken pieces together. “Everything is going to be okay, everything is going to be okay.”

  Mia’s eyes slid shut without effort and that was the last thing she remembered.

  ~ * * * ~

  Mia felt tired, her eyes burned and her throat felt like sandpaper. Someone had put her in bed, pulled her sodden sweater and ruined jeans off and replaced it with a soft night shirt It crashed down on her: she remembered everything, the blissful moment of disillusionment swept away when she remembered. It hadn’t been a dream, she was broken, nothing had changed while she slept.

  “Oh, you’re awake,” Kris said as she pushed the door open into Mia’s room. She was still dressed in her moving clothes from yesterday and looked tattered. Her hair was knotted in a low, messy ponytail, her eyes red rimmed and bleary with exhaustion. Mia wondered if she had slept that night.

  “I’m up.” Mia rolled over, pulling her knees to her chest and tucking the quilt under her chin.

  “Can I get you anything? Tea or juice, water?” Kris offered, her hand still on the knob of the door hesitantly.

  “No, thanks though.” Mia just wanted to fall asleep again, a peaceful sleep where there were no broken hearts or empty promises.

  “Okay, honey, well, I’m just outside the door—if you need anything.” Kris nodded slowly, starting to pull back.

  “He dumped me,” Mia blurted out, feeling a fresh wash of tears spring to her eyes.

  Kris crossed the room and sat carefully on the edge of the bed beside Mia, lightly stroking her back and her hair.

  “He said that he—” Mia couldn’t finish, her words and thoughts pinned down by tears. “I just want it to stop hurting,” she managed to force out between heavy sobs.

  “And it will, honey, in time,” Kris lulled.

  “I love him,” Mia simpered into her pillow.

  “And you’ll feel like that for a while, but just like the pain, that feeling doesn’t go on indefinitely either.”

  “When does it stop?”

  “When you realize that this wasn’t your great love. When you realize that there is someone else out there, someone who is better for you.”

  Mia imagined feeling that way, putting Bryan behind her and moving on, but she couldn’t. “I don’t think there is anyone else.”

  Kris gave a short laugh, “Everyone feels that way. But there is someone else, someone amazing—I’m sure of that, you’re still so young, Mia.”

  “It just hurts so bad,” Mia gasped.

  “Hurt, hurts,” Kris reasoned, still brushing her fingers down Mia’s spine comfortingly.

  “I don’t understand ... what did I do wrong?”

  “Probably nothing. That’s the kicker. You probably had absolutely nothing to do with his decision.”

  “He told me he still loved me still ... so how could he do this? Why would he want this if he loved me?”

&
nbsp; “That’s something very hard to understand ... believe me, I know. When I asked my ex-husband for a divorce, it wasn’t because I didn’t love him anymore—I did, we’d spent more than half our lives together, that’s a very, very deep love, a companionship.

  “And, I felt like a huge failure, I wanted to just crawl under my covers and die. Truthfully, I was terrified that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life, and I hated myself by inches for what I’d done to him and our marriage because I was being selfish, putting myself first.

  “I wished that I had been able to push my own wants aside and meet his expectations. But the real issue was that we had to realize that we were in different places now, even after being on exactly the same page for so long. Our relationship had changed, and accepting that, while hard, was the best thing for us both.”

  “But you left him,” Mia reasoned, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

  “Those are the semantics. When a relationship ends, no one gets out with regret and pain.”

  “Do you think Bryan is sad?” Mia asked, sitting up, hugging her knees to her chest.

  Kris nodded slowly. “I’m sure he’s feeling very bad about this—mostly about having hurt you.”

  “He said …” Mia gathered her words. “That we were going to be in different worlds, and that was why it wasn’t going to work.”

  Kris pursed her lips thoughtfully before continuing. “A year from now Mia, I’m going to ask you how you’re feeling about your future. And you’re probably going to tell me you’re excited, nervous, scared, apprehensive—because, all of those feelings, that’s absurdly normal, exactly how you’re supposed to feel. College will mean big life changes. I’m betting that’s how Bryan feels. Like he’s standing on the edge of everything and he just needs to jump in. Sometimes that leap is easier to take alone. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love you, or regrets the time he spent with you ... it only means that he’s on his own journey.”

  “I’m going to miss him,” Mia sniffed.

  “You could always consider being friends,” Kris suggested lightly.

  “I couldn’t! What if he gets a new girlfriend—”

  “And what if you have a new boyfriend? Listen, the last time your Dad and I were in the city, we had dinner with my ex-husband ... and his new wife ... and we looked at pictures of his children. You don’t get to that place, where you can do that overnight—but don’t count it out entirely.”

  “Thanks, Kris. I’m going to get up now, get moving, the truck will be here any minute.” Mia leaned over, hugging her close.

  “Honey, anytime you want talk, I’m here and I promise, I’ll listen.”

  “You would have been a good mom,” Mia thought out loud, knowing the words were true. Whatever it was she had felt Kris was taking away from her, she was giving her more in exchange.

  “I hope I can be a good mom, to you.” Kris kissed the top of Mia’s head lightly, walking back towards the door.

  ~ * * * ~

  Mia held the tape recorder open, and slipped the tape into the slot.

  The moving truck had just pulled away from the drive, full of her life and her things, off to her future in the big city, her new home. Kris had convinced Gabe to let Mia linger. She needed time, just her and the house.

  Mia, I’m sure today is a very scary and probably exciting, day for you. Leaving home always is. I don’t know if you’re ten or eighteen, I don’t know if your moving for a change of scenery or simply moving on with your life. But that doesn’t so much matter. Change is scary. It’s the realization that everything comfortable and familiar is gone, and that you have to adjust to the new and learn to be happy with where you land. It’s a big thing, and yes, a tremendous milestone.

  I loved the city, but I wanted Port Angeles for you. I wanted you to grow up with grass under your feet and the sound of the ocean in your ears. I wanted you to appreciate the majesty of the natural world—not just the things man can create. I wanted you to live in a neighborhood, with sidewalks safe for riding bikes, and friends no matter which way you rode. The city offers you a sort of life that is fast and exciting and full, it gives you culture and education and brilliance, and I always knew someday you’d chase those things all on your own. But childhood is short, and I wanted you to take those years—to really live a simpler sort of life where time was measured by the tides, not by rush hour.

  I left home at eighteen. I was going to college. Moving across the country where I didn’t know a soul. I going to have a roommate for the first time in my life, I was going to have a bank account and responsibility and what I did with my life from that moment on—it all mattered. The night before I left for Seattle I sat outside with my mother. We talked about all sorts of things, serious and silly, all of it important—things I still remember to this day. That was the last time I saw my mom healthy. The next time I was with her, over the holiday’s, she was sick, and everything was different. But, now, when I close my eyes and think of your grandmother, I don’t remember her that way—I remember her as the vibrant, funny, smart lady sitting beside me on a summer night in Chicago, sipping long island ice tea, reminding me to wash my sheets at least twice a week.

  I don’t know how to prepare you to leave our home. I don’t know how much or how little to tell you, and I wish I did. So, instead, I’ve left you something. It’s in the hall closet, wrapped in burlap. I figured if I wrapped it in fancy paper, you’d discover it and open it before this moment. You can go get it now, read it, we’ll talk about it when you get back. This book, it’s important, not simply because the message is wise and meaningful and will become more so over time—but because it’s the truth.

  Mia clicked the tape off, and wandered through the nearly empty kitchen to hall coat closet.

  There on the high shelf, rested a thick wrapped book, just as her mother promised. A sprig of dried lavender was woven into the raffia bow.

  “Mom,” Mia whispered, pushing the package to face, breathing in deeply, trying to capture a whiff of perfume that lingered on the natural fibers.

  Mia carried the package into her room, sitting softly on the edge of her bed. She undid the wrapping slowly, pulling the edges of the bow and slipping her fingers beneath the thick material and setting it all beside her. A card was taped lightly on the cover of the colorful book and she brushed a tear away as she read it.

  Dear Mia,

  The lavender flower was what I carried down the aisle when I married your father. We stopped at a you-pick lavender farm in Sequim and gathered a bouquet. This stem is one that I carried, one that saved. The lavender flower is one of devotion. It was perfect for my wedding, and it’s perfect for you now. We’ve always been a family of devotion. Nothing changes that.

  Love you.

  Love,

  Mom

  Mia flipped the cover of the book open and began to read, Oh, the Places You’ll Go.

  She absorbed the rhythmical flow of the words and message, blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes and dribbled down to her cheeks. Her hands shook with emotion as turned the thin pages. Closing the cover she reached for the recorder and pressed played. Her mother’s voice filled the room.

  Mia—Dr. Seuss is a genius and he said it better than I ever could. This life you’ve had here, the security of this home, the comfortable spaces and familiar rooms—that’s only part of your journey. It’s the facing of new experiences—new challenges and even the let downs that sometimes come along with them—hat is part of the adventure. Have an adventure.

  Oh, the places you go Mia, I’ll be with you. It may feel different somewhere else, somewhere new, but still, I’m there with you. Don’t be afraid or worried that when you leave this place, you’re leaving me... because that isn’t true, I’m always, always with you—no matter where your adventure takes you. I built this house to give you the start; I left these tapes so you can design the rest.

  I love you.

  It would never be the same Mia realized. She might
come back someday to start her own life, her own family, have her own things and children, but maybe she wouldn’t. She might even come back often, but things would always be different. This would always be the place where she had her mother, the place where they baked and colored and laughed and celebrated and kissed goodbye, the place where she was real. It would be her forever home, no matter where she landed. Her mother wasn’t drywall and nails and furniture and things; she was alive in her stories and lessons and love and memories, things easily carried and never put down no matter how far away she traveled. All the places she’d go, her mother would be there with her.

  Epilogue

  She stood on the edge of the cliff, her long dress brushing against her ankles, moved by the strong summer wind. She ran her fingers thoughtfully over her wide, fully belly, the light butterfly kicks inside making her heart skip.

  Walking back towards the expansive house, she delicately pondered on all the ways her life had been blessed. Her husband waved, flashing a devastatingly handsome smile, from the patio, hanging a string of Chinese lanterns. She raised her hand in return, smiling brightly, taking in the way the morning sun danced off his bare chest while he worked. Her life was good, she mused, thinking it had become something that was full and beautiful and meaningful. She had more than she ever dared to hope for.

  The nursery was perfect now. The last room they changed when they moved back here, to this home high above the Sound, nestled in the clearing, surrounded on either side by the same aged, mossy trees she’d played amongst as a child.

  Walking into the space just off the kitchen, the onslaught of feelings she’d had still caught in her chest. The room was enchanting. The walls were painted a soft pearl lavender, complimented by shades of grey, dove and charcoal and silver, a complete, distinctly feminine feel. The windows are draped with heavy raw silk panels in a smoky shade, and lighter linen sheers cascaded to the floor behind them. The dark plank floor dotted with thick, shag area rugs that felt like clouds under her feet. A tiny crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room, and the glass globes glinted in the late morning sun. Stuffed animals and books, a spring of dried lavender in a vintage glass bud vase, a single Japanese glass float adorn the built in book cases, freshly painted a happy shade of bright white. A mobile hang over her old crib, a collection of tiny silver rabbits suspended mid-leap hung in the air by thin slices of wire. It was perfect, exactly what she wanted, a nest for her baby girl. Somewhere safe, inviting and exclusively hers.