by Elisa Ellis
Even though her one-sided banter irritated the hell out of me, I guess I’m glad she oriented me to where I am in relation to the park. Walking forward, my cane leading the way, I tread carefully first on the gravel that turns into bumpy, uneven grass, its cushion allowing my shoes to sink about an inch with each step. I’m not sure exactly where the tree is. I remember the playground was to the left of the parking lot, so Sera and I used to walk in the opposite direction along the water’s edge, the map in my mind guiding my current path. The cane reveals a difference when the ground in front of me becomes harder, like packed sand, and I can hear the gentle waves of the small lake, probably agitated by the stormy weather.
The smell of rain surrenders, overtaken by the decay of soggy vegetation and dead fish permeating the immediate air with its stench. No longer a welcome scent. Yet, I retrace my memories as I march toward my past, a place I long to revive.
Finally I feel the lumps beneath the sweeps of my cane before me. The familiar roots accept my visit, as if unaware of my pain. I fall to my knees in reverence and sadness while my tears decorate the skeleton, this web of half-buried tree that I grope, searching for its torso. I know this is our tree, but my fingers find the markings we left bringing assurance and comfort. Grief, self-pity, denial, ache. Dreams, memories, laughter, love.
Cal ~n~ Sera.
The engraving a permanent truth and reminder when memories fade.
Flashes of her smile, her eyes, the sound of her giggle come crashing into my mind, like lightening, the thunder of heartbreak not far behind. It crushes me. It fills me. The reward of torture gratifying.
I sit beneath the tree for what seems like hours before the chill becomes too much, and I remember the last bus won’t be much longer. Heading back to the gravelly lot, I wait for reality to set in once more.
Before
The note on my bike feels wrong. Like I already know what it’s going to say. Even her writing exposes the tragedy we face. A Romeo and Juliet script decided by her father.
Dear Cal,
I have to sneak this note to you. My dad grounded me. I haven’t been grounded in forever. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me! He said he saw my grades online and that I’m apparently too focused on you instead of doing well in school. He took my phone and is picking me up from school every day so now I won’t be able to see you as much. I hate this, but I will try really hard to bring my grades up so he won’t have any reason to keep us apart. Miss you already…
Love,
Sera
“Dammit!” I hear myself yell while crumpling the paper in my hands. I knew this would happen. I’m not good enough for her, but God, I don’t know how to be without her anymore. Smoothing out the paper, I fold it neatly and put it in my back jeans pocket. Once on my bike, I kick the peg back and rev the engine before going to the shop. I can’t even haul ass like I want to because it’s only a five-minute drive, mostly through residential neighborhoods. But I’m pissed. Hopefully, the old engine I’ve got on the block will stop these floating images of fear and worry that bombard my mind. Dammit!
Chapter 12
Now
“I thought I’d find you in here.” Mr. Kenan is talking as he approaches me.
“Yes, sir. Just finishing up my last project.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your projects,” he begins.
“Yeah?” I’ve gotten good feedback from everyone, including Mr. Kenan, on all of my sculptures, but I haven’t really discussed them with anyone. I’m struggling to let them go, to allow them to be seen, because it feels more like I’m revealing everything inside of me. The transparency is so hard. I wanted to create intimate sculptures that reflect emotion. Obviously. But I didn’t think about how raw my own emotions still are and how any reflection of me feels like it’s through shattered glass. Like my deepest feelings are visible through cracked pieces of a window into my soul, and it’s not pretty. My sculptures, band aids, healing the surface of my deepest pain, provide others with the sense of the beauty I have lost. A beauty so profound and rare that it seems unbelievable. Something that can’t really be attained. Out of reach. Something taken violently from my desperate grasp.
“You know, Cal, your work is really astounding. To say I’m impressed is an understatement. The whole collection depicts a story, a journey, and I really believe it needs to be shared. This is something real, Cal. Have you considered entering your pieces into the city competition I was telling you about?”
I shake my head, “Nah. I appreciate everything, Mr. Kenan, and I’m glad you like my work, but I don’t think it’s ready to be put out there like that, or that I’m ready.”
“Cal, you’ve been very tight-lipped about your creations. I know each piece means something more to you than you are willing to tell everyone, but that’s the thing about art. You create it, and others not only see the beauty intended, but can find their own feelings associated with it. Your work evokes emotion, meaning that can be transferred, and it’s not fair to keep it to yourself. It’s not about winning the show. It’s more significant than that, Cal.”
“Mr. Kenan, do you know what happened to me to cause the loss of my vision?”
“I know you were in an accident. I know you’ve lost your sight, but what if there was a reason for it? What if it somehow allowed you to create something so compelling and magical that it can be a good thing?”
“Yeah…I lost my sight. It sucks. It does. But my sight is nothing, Mr. Kenan. I lost much more than my sight that day. I lost my light, and that’s something I can never get back. My projects obviously can never replace what I’ve lost, but they are an extension of me. Maybe they are an artificial light, but they are mine, and I can’t lose it again.”
I hear his sigh of defeat, and of pity.
“I just can’t Mr. Kenan,” I say again, hoping the conversation is over.
“You have until the end of the week to decide, Cal. Please just think about it a little more. I believe your work needs to be seen. You never know how it might affect others. Don’t take from them just because of your own loss. You are stronger than that.” His retreating steps, followed by the opening and closing of the lab door, leave me in silence.
Alone, in my darkness. Suspended, rooted in fear. How can I escape? Do I even deserve a reprieve?
Oh God, I need it.
Before
It’s been three weeks since I’ve been able to spend time with Sera, and I’m having withdrawal. I’m on edge. Angry, frustrated, disappointed. Mostly at her dad, but I worry about her feelings being strong enough to outlast the restrictions. She’s afraid to disappoint him, but what about me? I want to rescue her, but I’m not sure she wants to be rescued. Secure in the shelter her father veils upon her, she betrays her own emotions, doubting what we have.
The newest note, gingerly placed on my bike, tucked under the edge of the seat, tells me what I don’t want to know.
Babe,
My father is right. I need to focus on my grades if I’m going to do well in college. I’ve been accepted into Baylor, so I will have to leave soon anyway.
I do still care about you, and I hope we can be friends. You make me smile, and I don’t want to lose that.
Love,
Sera
You have to be fucking kidding me! What the hell? I can’t believe she would just give up on this, on us. I head to the shop even though I don’t work today, hoping to forget, to drown out the pain with good ol’ alcohol. My go-to in time of need.
Before I take off though, I catch a flicker of light in my peripheral vision and notice Sera watching me from where she is standing next to Chasity’s car. She looks solemn, raising her hand to motion good-bye. I can’t return the sentiment, though. I refuse to give up, so I shake my head and take off as fast as I can, attempting to leave my emotions behind me, just for a minute. Deferring what I know is true.
Another week of missed opportunities, and only brief moments of acknowledgment when certainty s
lips through the filter of indifference, I continually search her eyes for something. Anything. Confirmation of my own feelings reciprocated. But with each small flash of hope comes a blanket of hesitation and doubt, heavy and overcoming any sense of encouragement, stifling my faith and my courage to make things right.
Little moments in passing where our eyes hold each other for a second longer than they should, spur belief, only to be doused each time she withdraws, her eyes first to yield. People surround us in the halls, the cafeteria, oblivious to the battle between us. A contest between love and fear.
Chapter 13
Now
“So Mr. Kenan wants you to enter your work?” Ray asks me. I already know what he’s thinking. Ray has been telling me I should make something of my art. He thinks I could turn it into a career.
“How did you find out?” I ask him.
“Everyone in class has been talking about it, Cal. You know your work is good. I don’t understand why you want to keep it hidden. I mean, there are a few other projects in class that are pretty good, but yours is different. It’s raw. Pure. You’ve got to do this Cal. Maybe it could lead to more exposure.”
“Dude. I don’t care about exposure. That’s probably the last thing I want, actually. I only do this for me.” It’s healing. A way to release the pain, the feelings and memories of love and loss. But it’s personal, not something to share.
“Come on, man. What’s your problem? What are you so afraid of?”
“Shit. Why is everyone so damn insistent? Why do you care? Huh? What is it to you? It’s just a few sculptures. Enter yours if you want to, but don’t try to force me to do anything with mine,” I say, raising my voice.
“Cal, you need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and freakin’ grow some balls. Quit living in your stupid little pity party. You are only hurting yourself,” he says, the truth stinging. A hint of repressed tears of anger burn my nose.
“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about what I’ve gone through. I can’t lose anything because there is nothing left to lose. These sculptures remind me, comfort me, reveal what I had. Reveal something that doesn’t need to be understood by anyone but me.” I try to rationalize my fear. I created something that surprises me. Even though I can only feel them, my projects exude something so beautiful that I don’t want to give it up. It’s the closest I can get to feeling even a sliver of what I felt for her.
“Whatever, man. I’m done arguing with you, but I am your friend, and as a friend, you need to know right now that you are being selfish. You are a pretty cool guy, Cal, but you sure can be a dick sometimes.”
“Good thing your mom likes dick then, huh?”
I hear him mutter “douchebag” as he walks away, but I know we are still good.
Running on a treadmill can’t compare to being outside, but it would be pretty ridiculous at this stage to attempt running outdoors, especially without help. However, running helps me blow off some steam and I need to get back in shape, so I’m at the gym listening to a playlist Sera put together on my iPhone. I was able to retrieve it from the cloud after the accident when I got my new phone. I wish the cloud held more tangible things.
I’m guessing I’m at around a level 7, pushing myself pretty hard when the treadmill slowly stops. Too tired to figure out why it stopped, I carefully step down and bend over putting my hands on my knees after pulling the earbuds from my ears.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt you.” Her voice is familiar, and I recognize her as the girl who showed me to the locker room the first time I came. “You’ve just been on that thing for over an hour, and I wanted to make sure you don’t kill yourself; you know, death by running would be a pretty torturous death.” I can hear the smile behind her words, so I smile in kind, hoping she doesn’t notice the grimace at the word “death.” I don’t want to taint everyone I meet just because I’m jaded.
“Hey.” I reply, still breathing pretty heavily. “Yeah, that would be a pretty sucky way to go. I guess I let the time get away from me – didn’t realize I had been on that long.”
“Looked like you were running away from something. I promise nobody was chasing you.” I like her feistiness.
“Hmm. You sure about that?” I ask, thinking to myself, what the hell? Might as well open myself up a little.
“Umm, I don’t see anyone, so…”
“What about you?” I ask her.
“What about me?” she asks, a little attitude reflected in her tone.
“You’re here. Are you chasing me?” I say, smiling more broadly now.
“Oooh, aren’t you movin’ right along? And you aren’t even running anymore.” She chuckles as she continues our little analogy.
“Maybe I’m caught.” As soon as it comes out, I feel the guilt trample my senses, and immediately add, “I’m sorry. Never mind. I’m going to go shower. It was good talking to you again,” hesitating before I clarify, “I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.”
“Emily.” Hearing her loss of confidence in her voice, I feel even worse, but I can’t do this. I don’t think I’m ready. Nobody can replace my light.
Before
I’m hungover as hell. Mom’s pissed, says she didn’t raise me this way. This isn’t learned behavior though. This is my way out. Of my mind. I’ve been drinking after work every night, but last night the guys and I went to a bar, one where age is overlooked. I had been staying away from this life, from drinking and partying, but anger leads me back. Anger and defiance, against what I can’t have, who I can’t be. I may as well act the part. If Sera’s dad thinks she’s too good for me, then why not? I’ll be who I can be. I don’t give a shit.
It’s Friday and there is no chance I’m going to school, even after Mom yelled at me and tried to drag me out of bed.
“Get. Up!” she yells at me. I assume she’s already tried to wake me several times. I continue to ignore her. Preferring quiet.
“Damn it, Cal! Get your ass up for school! You know I don’t like you drinking and staying out late, but if you quit going to school, what will you do? Work in a gas station forever? Oh, that’s great. You want to be like me? Huh? Wanna take after your old mom? Working ‘til you can’t keep your eyes open just to make ends meet? Answer me!”
I don’t think she took a breath the whole time she was yelling at me. I hold my pillow over my head and just grunt a muffled response, “Ok. Ok, just chill. I’m just staying home one day. It’ll be fine.”
“One day too many, Cal. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself before it’s too late. Ugh. I’m so tired of this. I try to do my best by you but this…this is just a waste. A waste, Cal. You better be up when I get home. If you can’t go to school, then you should at least be able to clean yourself up and get some work done around the house. Your room smells disgusting.”
At that, she leaves. I don’t even care that she got in the last word, as long as it was the last word. I could do without hearing any loud noises of any kind for the rest of the day. Closing my eyes, I drift back to a heavy sleep, eluding school, Mom, life.
And I won’t even allow myself to think about Sera.
Chapter 14
Now
With the Fall semester winding down, and a couple more days until Mr. Kenan is taking the various projects to the city show, I decide to have Mom help me to pick up my work.
I’ve gotten pretty good at getting around the parts of campus I use without help, so it bothers me to need help, especially from my mom. I love her and I appreciate her, but it’s still embarrassing. Nobody will say anything because they probably feel sorry for me, which sucks even more.
“Mom, you don’t need to lead me right now. I know my way.”
“I’m sorry, hon. I was just trying to help.” I can hear the hurt in her voice. Her sensitivity frustrates me because obviously I’m not just going to be an asshole to her, but God, I’m 19 now, having had the most joyful birthday ever back in the summer when I was in rehab.
I remember the nurses sang to me. It
was bleak, really. I insisted they keep it minimal, not feeling a desire to celebrate anything at all.
Mom can’t stand a moment without conversation. “So, I can’t wait to see the projects you have been working on. You haven’t mentioned much about them until now, but you obviously did a lot of work since I need to help you to get them home.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Mom,” I reply sarcastically. Maybe I can’t help being an asshole.
“Cal, you know I don’t mean anything by that. I’m just happy to get to see your school and what all you have been doing.”
“Mom, seriously, this is college. Please don’t embarrass me in there.”
“Fine. You are so sensitive. Can’t I just be a proud Momma for a little while? Gosh,” she says, talking more to herself as she continues to rattle on. And she thinks I’m sensitive? I give up.
I always relished the cool breeze as I entered the double doors to the art department during the hotter months, but today it’s pretty cold, so the warmth of the building felt as soon as we enter is nice and soothing. The cold weather is a changed concept for me. I’ve heard people say it makes old injuries hurt, but I always thought they were full of crap, or just old or something. But my legs and arms are aching more and more lately, and the cold seems to make it much worse.
The accident didn’t just take my sight. Along with several skull fractures, a broken right leg and arm, as well as a hairline fracture to my hip, I was actually placed in an induced coma for a week. I don’t remember that part of course, but I guess it all contributes to the difficulties I deal with now, and will probably have to manage for the rest of my life. I was so focused on losing Sera that my physical pain was, in a weird way, a welcome distraction.