Chapter Twenty Four :: Counting Numbered Days
It’s strange the way life pans out sometimes. Most times, really. The twists and turns you find yourself on. The roads you never imagined, driving you to destinations you never even knew existed. But they do exist, and maybe you always knew it. Maybe you never saw them coming. Maybe they completely sidelined you, tackling your hopeless body to the ground.
It doesn’t really matter how you found them, because all that matters is that one day, you will find them. No matter what. And one day those very places will become your very own existence. They will dwell themselves inside you. So far, and so deep. Those twists and turns, they will change you. Wringing, bending, and possibly breaking you into a person you never imagined.
And maybe that’s the real destination. Maybe it’s not about how you got there. Or where you're going.
But about the person you became along the way.
These are the things I’m slowly learning. In a twisted, sometimes cruel but mostly beautiful, life, these are the things I’ve come to know. These are the things I’ve come to learn, sometimes kicking and screaming. Sometimes not.
Life is not always what you make it. What you think it is. It’s not what it always seems. Things don’t always go the way you think. The way you want. The way you desperately need them to. And maybe...just maybe, that’s the blessing. Maybe that’s what makes life...life. The moments that surprise you.
That one morning when you wake up and everything's ok. When things aren’t as bad as they once were.
That one day where your best friend says something so random and so not funny, and suddenly you find yourself laughing. You find yourself laughing in the least manufactured and most genuine way. And it makes that best friend smile their surprised eyes toward you, looking at you so warmly, as if they’re finally seeing you again. Finally seeing you for the first time in years. Their eyes actually shouting Thank God, you’re back.
And you feel the relief pouring from them. You feel that same relief spilling inside yourself.
Because that’s the moment you realize you are back. You’re finally really back. And you're so damn thankful for it. After sleeping for months, you’re finally awake and you’re finally alive.
And suddenly, life isn’t so bad anymore. Suddenly life is just like it always was. Just how you always thought it should be.
It's taken months for me to get to this place. Six months later, this is where I've ended up.
After twisting and turning and bending and sometimes breaking, this is the person I've become...
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“Go, Go, Go!! Keep on running, Linds! You got it!” Leaping from my seat like lightening, I forcefully pump my fist into the air, continuing to scream like an idiot. Screaming until a stern hand tries to pull me back down.
“Get down here, Spence, you’re starting to embarrass me...” Aiden stops shortly to survey the rest of the bleachers, “...And them. And that creepy guy over there..." Aiden points to a random guy beneath a tree, indeed looking kind of creepy, "...and your entire family. I swear third cousins are starting to phone in with their complaints.”
Looking down on a smirking Aiden, I can’t help but laugh. Staring at him with some form of fascination. Because really, when did Aiden become the least bit funny?
“Whatever, loser, you just don’t have any kind of spirit.” Smiling in what I know is my typical laid back fashion, I fall back down to my seat. Looking back on the Tee Ball game before me. Watching my favorite and one and only niece ruling the field.
“You say that as if it's a bad thing. And I think Kyla’s lost.” Aiden's amused voice laughs beside me, but I keep my eyes trained on the field. Far more concerned with the game than where his new girlfriend is. Don't get me wrong, I like her. I like her a lot actually. She’s a good fit for him. She can hold her own.
But sometimes, just sometimes, her brown eyes and her brown hair remind me of another life. Of another brown that she could never come close to painting.
"Where'd she go again?" I mumble mindlessly, vaguely interested, and like that, I flash back to this life. I live inside this world, where the brown isn’t as bright. Where the brown no longer reminds. And that’s alright.
Because finally I'm not remembering. Not really, anyway.
“To get a hot dog.” I catch his eyes crawling all over this little league park, scanning for his faded brunette.
“Are you serious?? She’s actually getting another one?” Having caught my full fledged attention, I turn my wide laughing eyes toward him, continuing to exclaim through disbelieving giggles, “Does that girl ever stop eating?”
“Nope, and I love her for it!” Through a smile, Aiden answers with so much pride I almost want to hug him for his adorable sincerity. For his lack of pervyness.
For the new life he lives.
“Hey, sweetie.” My fathers comforting hand rests on my shoulder, drawing me from Aiden and his food obsessed girlfriend, and I don't mind the distraction, “How’s the exhibit coming along?”
Smiling shyly, I take a minute to process the question. To process the reality of my photos actually being put on display at the biggest art gallery in town. And as I practically whisper an answer, I can't stop my small smile from growing.
“Good.” Nodding affirmatively, my pride overrides any bashfulness and I finally find my voice, “...Really good. I’m basically all set up. I still can’t believe they actually want to show my work. I’m still kinda waiting for them to change their minds.”
My eyes squint towards him, as if it were because of the sun, but he knows me better than that. And as I laugh nervously, with some insecurity, he smiles in a way that always makes me feel better. In a way that’s gotten me through many hard months. That's pulled me through these past forever months.
“Are you kidding me, Spence? They’re lucky to have you!” Through aging laughter, his twinkling eyes look to the field for a moment, “...And we're so proud of you, Spence, your mother and I, we can't wait to see it. The opening’s next week, right?”
Looking there with him, I only nod in agreement.
“Well we will be there front and center. We can't wait. Isn’t that right, Paula?”
Immediately, my body stiffens all on its own. Instinctively, my uptight body sits completely upright, despite my greatest efforts to remain calm.
Because her relaxed body, sitting right in front of mine, doesn’t even turn around. Her eyes make no moves to meet mine. And as she breezes a “Sure, sweetie” without even a second glance, I wonder if she even knows what we’re talking about. I wonder if she even cares enough to know. I wonder when she stopped listening.
I wonder if she was ever really listening to begin with.
And I wonder why I still care.
It’s been months since my mother’s looked at me, and I'm still getting used to it. It’s still a long road to recovery. Especially when I don’t even know if I want to keep walking along this road. If I want to keep trudging along this hot black pavement. With a sun on my back that never lets up. With cars that whiz past me, hardly offering any kind of help.
Because I don’t know if my mother’s really upset about my relationship with another girl. I’m not sure if my mother’s even upset about what I did to my brother.
No. I think my mother’s upset about what I did to her. To her perfect yacht club life. Because of that fateful birthday party I ruined and destroyed so long ago. The ripples and repercussions of it still causing countless snobby mouths to whisper behind her back. Resulting in worthless people to shut her out from their meaningless lives.
And I think my mother only cares about those people. I think she only worries over what they think instead of worrying about the pain living inside her very own baby girl’s strengthening heart. And that’s what makes looking into her eyes so hard.
That’s something that makes life not quite what it once was.
Because that little girl’s worked through her pain all on her own. Without her mother. Without the woman who used to kiss away every cut and bruise. Taking away any hurt.
“When’s Glen coming home again?”
Clay asks into the peaceful air, looking towards our mother beside him, and I can’t help but cringe. I can’t help but feel the air that was once so light turn into thick bricks inside my chest. Because six months later, I finally feel the guilt I should have felt years ago. Because today my brother lives hours away in New York City, playing for a new basketball team while playing with a new girlfriend. And whether it’s because of my stubborn pride, or his, we still haven’t talked. We haven't uttered a single word.
And surprisingly, I'm ok with that. Somehow, I know we both are. Somehow, I know that the day we see each other again we'll be able to look into each others eyes. We'll look and not turn away. And we'll be ok.
“Two weeks.” My mother smiles towards Clay, blatantly proving how far she’s pulled herself from me. Proving what side she’s pretending to be on, because I know the truth. I know the only side she believes in is her own. And it's so sad to realize that. Because it feels like I'm finally seeing her. The person she actually is, instead of the mother she's been.
And it's surreal when you see just how human your parents actually are. It’s both freeing and frightening, when you realize you never want to become one of them.
And maybe that’s why I kind of don't care if she ever forgives me or not.
Maybe that’s why I don’t need to see her eyes ever again.
Six months later, and maybe I’m the one still pretending.
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Friends plays comfortingly in the background of the living room, as I scribble away at the Times crossword puzzle. Like I do every Sunday. Filling in practically every answer but those regarding music. Which I'm not used to. Which is still something to get used to. It wasn't so long ago that I filled in these puzzles, these squares, with another pair of dark eyes. With another beautiful mind made up of so much music.
But, really, it was that long ago. And today, months later, these empty music boxes don't look so empty.
Taking a bite from my sandwich, my eyes go back to the TV. Immediately laughing at something Phoebe said, because even though I've heard it a thousand times before, it'll always make me laugh. The night's growing darker and darker, and I can feel the daylight sun settling into my skin. Wondering why the park always seems to deepen the burn.
"Peanut Butter and Jelly's again? You're kind of freaking me out with those, Spencer."
Karen surprises me as she walks over, never hearing her enter the apartment in the first place, as she plops herself down beside me on the couch. And for a little girl, she must carry a lot of baggage, because I swear I feel like I'm sinking to the floor with her weight.
"Ugh. Friends. This show is so overrated." Karen's voice sounds more shrilly than it probably is. And as she grabs the remote, flicking through the channels, I realize that maybe it has nothing to do with her non existent weight, or her perfect voice. Maybe I just don't like her.
Maybe I wish it were Madison who still lived with me, instead of this stranger disguised as a roommate disguised as a friend.
"I was watching that, you know." I ask with pointlessness, because this is how it always goes. Life inside this apartment is so different. Ever since Madison made a move I always knew she'd make. Ever since Madison sadly left our comfortable life between these walls to share a life with Jack between his walls, my life inside my walls hasn't been as comfortable.
"Yeah, but Seinfeld is so much better." Karen says with not an ounce of attention meant for me, and I miss Madison more than ever -- naively missing so much more than just Madison -- and as that inane theme music plays, I can't take it any more, snatching the remote from her grubby perfect hands.
"Well, too bad. I was here first." I say with a smile, hoping my lack of like for her doesn't show too much. Hoping I can pull off playfulness.
But as Karen leaves me, with a grunt, I realize I don't really care. Finally, I have the room all to myself again. Finally, I'm all by my lonesome again. Left to munch away on my PB&J and watch my shows in peaceful silence. And as I fumble hopelessly through channel after channel, looking for my Friends, I can't help but deeply sigh. Knowing I'll never find it, and knowing that much hasn't changed. Knowing the person who always used to help me find it has changed. That person is in another life time. And that much has changed.
And maybe it's not really Karen that gets me so worked up.
Maybe it's not Madison I'm utterly missing.
Maybe it's another shade of brown that leaves my world a little darker. Maybe those empty boxes are emptier than they look.
Maybe I'm pretending more than I realize.
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Getting ready for bed, drying my face, strolling back into my peaceful room, I suddenly jump ten feet into the air as an obnoxious ring tone blares from my phone. Settling the instant I hear it further, knowing exactly who it is, I answer with a smile and a roll of the eyes.
“Ok, Maddie, you really need to get over me, because this obsessive calling thing you’ve got going on is getting out of hand.” Snorting lightly with laughter, I smile warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I got your message earlier. Wednesday night at Water Street sounds perfect to me, I’ll be there with my most dashing smile.” Shuffling towards my dresser, I move around objects for no reason, never able to stand still, antsy for no reason (antsy for so many reasons), “Yeah, the game was alright. Lindsay's team won, so that was great...” Biting my lip, I twirl around my perfume bottle, before scrunching my face in confusion, “Huh? What do you mean what did I wear?" Pulling open my drawer, I continue dribbling with laughter, "...Seriously, what is your obsession with asking me that? What are you? A 900 number? If this continues I’m gonna start having serious doubts about your platonic interest in me...” My light hearted chuckling dies down as I slowly stare into my open drawer, “...Yeah, yeah, listen I gotta go. Early bird gets the worm and all that...” My eyes glaze and fade as they focus deep into the dark confines of my dresser, as I mumble some goodbye to Madison. Shutting my phone absentmindedly, not even sure she's finished talking.
Because I'm already far away from that breathing world. Staring down into my drawer, seeing the same sight I see every night, I'm flashing back. I'm dropping behind. And it causes the same reaction inside me as every other time. It starts the same breaking of my reality. Dawning the same realization that there's more than just one long road to recovery for me and my life. And this road is so much more twisted and dark than the one named after my mother.
This street wears a bigger name, and it carries a sense of memory that I could never forget.
No matter how much I pretend.
Frightened fingers practically tremble their way beneath socks and other top drawer items. So scared to find what they search for. Desperately longing for what they long to hold once again. Sighing the minute I find it. The minute I see my hidden black and white world. The only world that lives outside of color in my life. This world, this road, lives inside a 8x10 print. A fading, somewhat crumbled, beautiful photo of her.
My bright and shining brunette.
The memory that just won't fade.
No matter how much I want it to.
No matter how much I pretend I want it to.
It was taken the morning of Lindsay's birthday party. The morning of disaster. The morning that spiraled me into messy months. The morning that brought me here, into a life that is starting to fill inonce again. But will never fully fill the way it was beginning to on that very morning.
My fingers trace over the veins in the careless cracks I'm to blame for. The cracks for my need to hide her away. As if it could keep me from looking. As if I'll forget as long as she remains below my bras and underwear. As if they're strong enough a barrier to keep me away from her. But those things never stopped our connection in the past, and they certainly don't now. They do nothing to stop anything.
I can already feel the hint of forgotten tears burning in my eyes, but I push them away. Like I always do. Settling the picture back into the black, like I'll somehow forget it was ever there.
And as I walk my suddenly very tired body with such heavy steps over to my bed, sliding beneath a dark red comforter, I find myself reaching my for my phone.
Doing what I do every Sunday.
Like always, it rings and rings, and it's strange how comforting a ringing phone is when you know no one is going to pick it up. When you know you only need to rely on yourself for the words exchanged. When you become so used to speaking to a voicemail with her voice, that some times, some nights, like tonight, you almost forget it's your voice she'll eventually hear.
"Hey Ashley. It's me...again." I breathe more heavily than I intended and I already regret calling. Just like every Sunday, I contemplate hanging up right away. And just like every Sunday, I keep talking, because I could never stop these phone calls. I could never stop talking to her. And at least I'm smart enough to know I can't pretend anything about that.
"I just wanted to check in. Tell you about the week..." My fingers fumble with my new soft comforter, as my eyes widen with a new topic, "Lindsay won her game today! If you were curious. I mean, if you even listen to these messages at all..." I whisper that last part, suddenly feeling kind of foolish and kind of left out, but it's not enough to stop me from rambling, because no matter where my life's gone in the past few months, that much hasn't changed, "...and Aiden's garbage compactor of a girlfriend was there..." I laugh lightly, before talking more freely, more comfortably, "...She's actually pretty cool. Kinda shy, but I like her. I think you would too. At least, Aiden seems to really like her and I guess that's all that matters..."
My eyes train over to the open window, a breeze blowing through that does nothing to lift the cool summer night air.
"I miss you..." Exhales from my easy lips, and it doesn't really surprise me anymore how fluidly that happens. How mindlessly those words leave my independent heart. How easily that heart speaks without informing my pretending mind. "I miss you, and I think about you all the time, and I guess that's just never gonna go away. But it's ok, cause I guess I'm just learing to live with it." I laugh, but it doesn't come out all that light or funny and it's at this moment that I'm so very thankful for the fact that this is a message, forgetting the minor detail that it's a message she'll eventually hear.
"I really don't know what you're up to out there. Last I heard you were in Cleveland, but that was a few weeks back. And I'm not so sure about the source..." I roll my eyes, thinking of my shadow of a mother, "...but maybe someday, I don't know..." Biting my lip, I close my eyes, as if it would make saying what I'm thinking easier, "...Some day maybe you could call me back, Pea-" I stop myself, maybe not in time, but just in time to not repeat a memory that should never be breathed again, at least not now, "...but yeah, anyway, I should probably go to bed. I've got a big day tomorrow..." Even I know how cheap and fleeting my runaway voice is, but it doesn't matter. I've finally woken up to the fact I'm actually leaving her a voicemail, and that's enough to make any fool like myself run as fast as they possibly can.
"I, uh, hope you're sleeping well. If you're even sleeping. And...please..." My voice drifts away into the most sincere whisper I've got, "...Please take care of yourself, Ashley..." One last deep breath, "...goodnight."
And as I slide my phone to my bed side table, alarm already set and ready, I roll back onto my back. Watching the cracks in the ceiling that the moon makes. Watching them as I feel my broken reality piecing back together. As I feel the burn of forgotten tears fading. As the night ticks on and on, sending minute after minute of this new life to pass me by.
Just like every other Sunday, life slowly returns to the way it is, instead of reaching and stretching for what it once was. With my eyes shutting, sleep tugging at my mind, I remember that there are no empty boxes. There are no dull browns. I forget everything that lives inside top drawers and black & white. Forgetting that these walls aren't as comfortable as they once were. Forgetting that my life isn't as full as it once was. Forgetting what my body used to feel like beneath these very bed sheets, barely remembering it pressed and forged to someone else.
Because just like every other night, I always find my way back to a pretending road.
But every night the road only becomes brighter.
And it only makes believing easier.
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Chapter Twenty Five :: Stacks