by Gabrielle G.
28
Chris
When I was a kid, I thought death was like an ocean.
We were living on the beach, waiting for the waves to come, taking us and dragging us into the sea’s deep entrails where all the loved ones who died were waiting for us. It was a beautiful image I had in my head of what death should look like, what reunion would feel like, what life should be about.
Now, I believe death is like the Dead Sea.
A place where bodies are carried because of the tears from the ones left behind, a border between feelings at war, a lake of despair surrounded by the history you lived alongside the one who went, and an oasis you need to survive with the one who stayed alive.
By walking out on Sal, I destroyed the sanctuary she had built for me, and I’m left walking through a desert of sorrow and remorse.
I thought I was healed.
I thought I was over my grief.
I thought I was strong enough to be her rock, to love her and raise our child.
I’m nothing more than a fraud, crumbling into dust at the thought Jordan died because of me.
What happens when I can’t love her and the peanut enough, and I make life unbearable for them as well?
I am a good time, I know I’m great when life is easy, but what about when life gets tough?
Jordan certainly didn’t turn to me.
Nobody ever does.
I continue walking in the streets of New York.
I hate this place.
I hate that people could see a man about to jump off a bridge and do nothing about it.
I hate that I came here for him and stayed for her.
I hate that I fell in love twice in this city but can’t be with either of them the way I want to.
I made so many sacrifices for Jordan, and I was ready to make so many more for her, but New York is a delusion eating me alive.
My phone rings again, and I don’t need to look at it to know it’s her.
I’m sure she’s hurt, worried, confused even, but I can’t go on with the charade our life could be.
I’m not healed, and she can’t cure me.
Loving her is not enough to be the man she needs.
Love is never enough.
Jordan said he loved me and died.
Sal says she loves me but isn’t ready to let go of anything for me.
I’m just an afterthought in her plan to thrive, a box checked in her proposal, a guy around whose sperm she needed to become a mother, but not someone she’s ready to change anything in her life for.
No, that’s not true.
Or maybe it is.
I don’t know anymore.
I don’t know who I am and who I’m meant to be.
I’m just an asshole with a broken heart and a destroyed soul.
I can’t be loved enough to have anyone stay.
I’m not enough for anyone to want to be fully with me.
Fate has a way to laugh at you the same way death does.
They might be best friends.
My feet brought me to the bridge where the coroner and police believe Jordan jumped from.
The ‘Suicidal Magnet’ as the media calls it.
I’ve been walking for hours to end up here, but it’s not the reason my knees are weak, and I can barely walk.
I try hard to set foot on it.
I need to see where he jumped, to understand the mechanics of it.
I’ve avoided it the most I could for weeks. I didn’t want to see the place or think about it.
I’ve blocked it out of my mind.
But the same night I learn there is a letter waiting for me in Nevada, I end up here.
I want it all, and I want it now.
I’m a freaking Queen song. But I can’t pass the threshold of the bridge.
Something snaps in me, and I fall on the ground, having no strength left in me and nobody to hold me tight.
“Come on, boy, it can’t be that bad.” An old man in rags pats my head. He might be around eighty and living on the street. I say nothing and continue crying on the asphalt.
“What’s your name?” he asks me, his breath smelling like old wine and his clothes dirtier than mud. What a fucking jerk I am to cry on the shoulder of a man who lost everything when I’m the one walking away from a comfortable life.
“Chris,” I whisper, drying my tears.
“Now, Chris, I’ve seen a lot of people walking off that bridge. You’re not one about to jump. You’re one a jumper left behind. Am I right?” I frown, confused by his knowledge.
“When you live on a bridge, you see it all,” he explains. “The jumpers don’t cry, they don’t hesitate. If they’re here, it’s already too late. You can try to talk to them, you can try to stop them, but they don’t hear you, they don’t want to hear from you anymore. The ones that commit, they’ve already made their minds up before setting foot on that bridge; otherwise, they don’t do it. They say they will, it’s their cry for help, and hopefully, they find it. I always try to help them if I’m around, but generally, I mind my own business. I don’t come too close. But tonight, with you, I knew you were the lost one who wouldn’t jump; you were the one left behind. Those ones, they break my heart, they come here for answers they don’t have. They come here to understand. They come here to be closer. I know. I was one of them. I came every day for ten years. I avoided the place at first, but one day I came. I needed to know. I needed to be close to her. I needed to die, maybe. I thought of jumping like my love did. But I couldn’t. I’m a coward. After ten years, I came one day, and I never left. It’s the only way I can be closer to her. It’s the only way I know how to die, or maybe that’s the only way I know how to live. You won’t find answers here, boy. You will only feel pain. Do you know why your person jumped?”
I shake my head as a dismissal to his question, still not able to speak to this man.
Grief pushed him to leave everything behind.
It ate him alive.
It took it all.
This man could be me, and I could become him.
I feel closer to an unknown homeless man than I have to anybody around me for years, even Sal.
He speaks to my pain.
He speaks my language.
He understands what I’m going through without me having to tell him.
I thought I had it with Sal, but I didn’t. I never had her, or maybe she never had me.
“It’s better that way, believe me. Whatever he would have written wouldn’t help. Mine said she was hurting too much to live, that she couldn’t continue pretending who she was. It’s always what they say. In different words, but that’s what it says. Worst case they blame you, dragging you down and making your life about guilt. Best case, they tell you it’s not you but them, but you’ll never believe them. All you need to know is that they hurt, and their actions are obvious. They hurt, and you hurt, but in a way, you have to continue without them. It’s easier said than done. Look at me. Don’t fuck up your life. I lost my wife to suicide, but I lost my kids to pride, and I lost myself to guilt. If that’s where your loved one jumped, leave New York, start over, be the man who that person would have liked you to be. Doesn’t matter who that person was to you, a dead loved one is a dead loved one. Live for them. Love for them. Carry him or her in your heart and don’t second guess yourself.” He sniffs hard and spits on the ground.
“Can I get you something, a coffee, a meal, a night in a hotel, a life back?” I ask, wanting to help him the way he’s helping me. If I can’t find the words to soothe him, I can put my money where my mouth is.
Finally, use it for good.
“Oh, son, you think you’re the first one I talk to and the first one to propose. You’re a fine man, Chris. I’m more the kind of, do what I say not what I do. I found food in the garbage at the restaurant earlier, I’m fine. I’ve got clothes on, a place for the night. Living one day at a time. I lost it a long time ago.”
I sit straight next to him, trying to find
a way for him to accept my help. “I could call your family, drive you somewhere, or find you a place to live, maybe help you get a job? What did you do before? Could I help in any way?”
“Chris, you’re not here to help me. You need to help yourself. You need to mend your heart and feed your soul. Don’t become me. I’m too far gone.” He stands slowly and starts walking away. I follow him, desperately wanting more of his time, of his words, of his company.
“Please, take some money,” I shout, hurrying my step to catch up to him.
“Go give it to the young guy there. He came back a couple of years ago from the Middle East; he’s a vet, and he’s got nothing. He needs it more than I do.” He points to a young guy missing an arm, sleeping on a bench that we’re passing.
I stop and slip him a twenty, hoping he’ll use it for breakfast when he wakes up. When I look around, the old man is far. I know he doesn’t want me to follow him, and if I'm honest, I’m tired of being rejected and being left behind. So I let him go.
“What’s your name?” I scream before he disappears from my view.
“Whatever you want it to be, boy!”
“Shut up!” the young guy shouts at me. “Just because you gave me a twenty doesn’t mean that you can disturb my fucking sleep!” He turns on his bench and offers me his back. When I look up, the old man is gone. I continue down the street, knowing what I need to do, leaving behind the shadow of the bridge and the memory of my life in New York with Jordan and Sal.
If she doesn’t want to come with me, I’ll leave alone.
I’ll support her financially, I’ll come to see our child the most I can, but I won’t make a life here. New York is a synonym of transience and loss for me.
I won’t let Jordan’s death swallow me, and for the same reason, I won’t read his letter.
The old man is right; I don’t need to know why he did it.
Him telling me his reasons, putting guilt on me, or asking for forgiveness, won’t help me to move on.
It will only drag me back into the depth of the ocean where grief is.
Even if I still am hit by waves of sorrow or anger, I can take it as long as I’m not in New York.
I need to find a peace within me where I’m not blinded either by pain or love.
I prefer to walk away and give them a chance for the life they deserve rather than staying and resenting them for it.
I’m not sure if that’s what anybody in my situation would do, but I know that’s the best for me.
29
Salomé
I hear the door, but I don’t move.
I have no fight left in me for us, and I know Chris is here just to go again.
That’s what he does.
I almost made his life lighter and packed for him, but I can’t give him any more than I already have.
I need to focus on our baby, well my baby, because as far as I’m concerned, I’m sailing that ship alone.
He’s been a father for less than two weeks, and he already reneged on promises and walked out on us. It’s not looking good for father of the year.
“Sal?” I pretend to be asleep.
It’s not that I’m not ready to face him, but I don’t want to.
I don’t want to hear a half-ass apology and words that are supposed to appease me when he says he can’t live without me, but he needs to leave.
I agree he does.
I thought we were past this, but he came back because I was pregnant.
He can say he didn’t, we’ll never know how long it would have taken him to come back to me if he hadn’t received Dex’s text.
I hate my brother-in-law for having taken the choice away from him.
I hate Chris for succumbing to the lure, and I hate myself for being dumb enough to think I matter.
I never did.
You don’t romantically love someone after knowing her for thirty years.
I’m just a comfort like some would have macaroni and cheese when they feel down.
I’m his security blanket, his comfort food, his nightlight.
I never was the love of his life and never will be.
I’m someone he used to feel better, someone he was going to discard once he didn’t need me anymore, and someone he’s throwing away faster because my comfort doesn’t help him any longer.
He’ll find other arms, another pussy or another dick.
A leopard doesn’t change his spots. He was a manwhore for years before Jordan, he certainly will go back to being one again.
“Sal, I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I stay still.
Here is the stupid apology.
I don’t need to look at him to know his eyes are grey right now, full of remorse, but they’ll turn blue soon, once he explains why he decided to leave.
He thinks he needs to justify his actions, but he doesn’t.
I know him.
I’ve studied him for thirty years.
I know everything there is to know about Chris Harbor.
“I know you’re not asleep, Snot.” I shrug.
We’re back at Snot.
He’s putting distance again.
We’re done, and I won’t cry for him.
“Listen, I can’t live in New York. I need to take care of myself, and that can’t be here. I know I’m fucking up. I know I’m breaking your heart, but you made it clear your life is here, and I can’t. I can’t live where he died. The guilt is too big. I wish you would come with me, but I know you don’t want to. I won’t force you. I understand your reasons. I hope I can be here for the peanut and that you’ll let me be a father to him or to her, but I’m leaving. It certainly makes me an asshole in your books, and I take full responsibility. You won’t be lacking anything you need, I promise. Anything that is mine is yours and peanut’s, Sal. I want you to promise me you’ll slow down, and you’ll call your family if you need to. I’m going to worry about you. I always do, but I can’t give you only half of me, you deserve better than a broken man, and staying in New York will only break me further. I hope one day you’ll forgive me, and I truly hope you understand I’m not walking away from you. I wish you’d come with me. I pray you’d love me enough to follow me. I’m not asking you to wait for me this time, Sal, but know I will. Just not here. Never here. I’m sorry.”
The bed dips, and he kisses the top of my head before leaving again.
I don’t know where he’s spending the night, but I know it’s not with me, and never will be again. I close my eyes and battle the tears. I fall asleep, silently crying into the night, not because Chris is leaving me, not because of the promise he reneged on, but because I know I will never be able to keep my child away from him. I will never be able to have him out of my life, which means I will never be able to stop loving him and move on. I tried too many times before and failed.
“Where is Chris?” Luke asks me, taking the last spot around the table and stealing a piece of bacon from my plate. Oliver and Lee arrived together, followed by Dex, who was already in the neighborhood. Luke was running an errand or whatever, I wasn’t listening. I was focusing on work, on what I need to ask Dex, and what needs to be done.
“Oh my God, it’s such an honor to meet you,” Lee says, totally fangirling over Luke.
As predicted, he does blush under his beard, and I would find it amusing if I cared. “I’m sorry to sound so ridiculous, but I’m such a fan of your work and of what you do. It’s amazing to meet you.”
“How do you know about him?” Dex lifts an eyebrow and shoots her a coy smile.
“Well… hmm… I used to be a model for Tat & Glory magazine before, and I… Well, Luke is a big deal in that world.” I know I’m missing something there, why would a model in LA become a barmaid in New York, but I don’t want to ask. I don’t want my nose in her business. She’s a cool girl, and I hope we can become friends.
“You were a model?” Oliver smiles, more to annoy me than anything.
I take my tea and ignore him.
Dex peers at me before asking for more coffee. The waitress comes and hands him a mug, allowing Luke to order a smoothie. So West Coast of him. I roll my eyes, annoyed by everything and everyone but try to hide it as best I can.
“Who inked you?” Luke asks very seriously as if he was discussing hunger in the world. Lee gives some names I never heard off, but it seems to please Luke as he whistles in admiration. They continue speaking about tattoos and people they know, and I’m thankful Lee is here, so I never had to answer Luke’s question about Chris. But I‘m well aware that Dex is watching me. He knows something is off. I think Barn is right. The guy is part of whatever intelligence agency and has implanted chips in our brains to know what we’re thinking, what we’re doing at any moment. I’ve never met someone in such symbiosis with other people’s energies.
“Sal? Are you okay?” Oliver brings me back to the teashop where we decided to have breakfast. Everybody is looking at me. Maybe I wasn’t hiding my emotions the way I thought I was.
“Yes, I’m fine, I was just thinking about the event, sorry.” I see Dex squinting at me from the corner of my eye, but I ignore his glare.
“Sal, you worked so hard. I never thought you could pull it off in such little time, but you did. I mean, we’re almost there, right? And I’m sorry I’ve been calling you nonstop. I hope Chris doesn’t hate me too much.” It’s always when you want people to shut up about something that they bring it up. The same way that it’s THE day you don’t want to run into someone that you smash into him or her.
I simply nod.
“Speaking of Chris,” Luke insists. “Where is he?”
“Can we work?” I avoid answering. “Dex, I need you to call these people and ask them if they are coming or not,” I tell my brother-in-law, sliding a list of names across the table. “Luke, I need a final number of who’s coming from your staff, the ones in LA and the ones here. Dan loves you guys and wants everybody there. Ol, is it only going to be you and Lee at the bar, or can we have a third one? If you don’t have anybody, I know this barman upstate, he’s pretty great, and I’m sure he won’t mind coming to help for a weekend.”