Living With Regret

by Lisa De Jong

  Being this close, running my finger over every curve, I can practically hear Cory’s voice saying my name in his low, husky way. Having something that came from him—his house—makes me feel close to him yet again. It’s a feeling that can’t last forever because time steals away the powerful emotions that arise from our memories.

  When I come back to reality, I push against the cardboard to gauge how heavy it is. Realizing I can carry it, I pick it up and bring it to my room. Once it’s there, beside my bed, I just stare at it again. From the interest I’ve taken in it, one might think it is something more than a plain box—a plain box that came from Cory’s house with my name scribbled on top.

  Maybe I should be more anxious to open it right away, but I’m too nervous about what’s inside. Is it just a bunch of Cory’s things his mom thought I should have, or is it something else?

  Feeling tired and worn out, I decide to save it for the morning.

  As I wake up, I stretch my arms up and the first thing that crosses my mind is the box. I fell asleep last night thinking about it. It only makes sense that it would be the first thing on my mind this morning.

  I wait until my mom leaves to run her daily errands in order to avoid any interruptions. No matter what’s inside, I’m going to feel it. It’s going to bring memories to the forefront that I’ve slowly begun to bury … there’s no way around that.

  Sitting on the floor, I pull the box in front of me and carefully rip the tape that holds the top together. I hesitate, knowing that what’s inside is probably going to pour salt into a wound that’s just begun to heal. Yesterday was the first time life felt like a shadow of normal, and I don’t want to lose everything I’ve gained.

  My fingers tremble as I reach inside, ready for whatever it holds for me … ready as I’m ever going to be anyway.

  The first thing I pull out is a stack of pictures carefully tied together by a rubber band. Quickly thumbing through, I notice most are copies of photos I already have. Ones I’d taken of the good times we shared in the four plus years we were together. The only one I don’t recognize is one of Madison and myself in our caps and gowns on graduation day. Cory must have taken that one when I wasn’t looking.

  Reaching in again, I come up with a stack of old notes and cards. That was the way I preferred to communicate my feelings to him when we were in high school. Immaturity can cause a person to do some stupid stuff, and we both did our fair share.

  I unfold a piece of notebook paper and read the bubbly script written in the purple pen that was my favorite.

  I remember that day like it was yesterday. Cory drank a little too much at a party, and when I begged him to let me drive him home, he refused. I was tired and pissed off, so when Sam showed up and offered to give me a lift home, I jumped at the chance. It seemed innocent enough … I trusted Sam. He’d been one of my best friends for years.

  And that was all it was. Sam took me home; it was the first and only time I’d been in Sam’s Camaro during high school. I learned quickly how big of a deal that was for Cory, that I’d taken a ride in someone else’s car—especially Sam Shea’s. I never did it again. Looking back, I should have stood my ground. It was selfish of Cory to essentially make me cut him out of my life. It was pathetic of me to let him.

  Next, I pull out a sweatshirt with our high school mascot, The Wildcat, on the front and Cory’s basketball number on the back. He had it made for me with my last name scrolled across the back. I wore it all the time but must have forgotten it at his house at some point. It still smells just like him—a mixture of faint spice and citrus cologne and fabric softener. I used to bury my head in the crook of his neck and inhale it until the scent was permanently stuck in my nose. Thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes … those moments are when I felt the calmest. He was a familiarity. He was my home.

  After wiping my eyes, I reach to the bottom of the box and find a lacy black bra that I don’t recognize as mine. It’s confirmed when I look at the size on the tag. My mind races in a bunch of different directions, but I tell myself it’s nothing. It must belong to one of his sisters, or maybe it’s his mom’s way of getting even with me for killing her son. As much as I try to convince myself, I know that not even his mom is that callous. She’s got too much going on inside her own head to do something like this. And his sisters—they’re tinier than me, so the chance of this belonging to them is slim.

  Still, I have to believe that this is some sort of mistake. I have to believe that because my sanity can’t afford to take another blow. In my mind, Cory’s always been on a pedestal … I want to keep him there. He’s earned it after what I did.

  For the second night in a row, Sam and I are spending time together out in the field. It’s relaxing and serene in the daylight, but at night, it’s even better. The cricket song is lulling, and while we can’t see the black creatures in the darkness, they provide a sense of companionship. It’s the most peaceful thing in the world if you stop to think about it.

  “Are you okay? You’re kind of quiet tonight.” Sam’s voice breaks through the beautiful song nature’s creating.

  “I just have a lot on my mind, trying to decide what’s real and what’s not. It’s exhausting.” I haven’t stopped thinking about the last item I pulled from the box this morning. It might be nothing … it’s probably nothing … but I can’t stop thinking about it.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No. This I just need to sort out on my own.”

  Everything goes still, neither of us moving. It’s good until I start to think too much … that’s when my heart turns a deep, cold shade of blue. It’s when I wonder if I really had everything I thought I did or if I was just clinging onto something I should have let go of a long time ago. It’s when a distraction is the only way to escape my thoughts.

  “I love that sound,” I whisper, scooting closer until our shoulders touch, just barely. It’s how I know he’s still here when we’re lying quietly, listening to the sounds that surround us in the darkness.

  “Me too,” Sam says, resting the side of his head along the top of mine. “Do you see the fireflies up there?”

  “Yeah.” A few of them glow up above us. It makes me think back to when I was a little girl. I used to try to catch them in my hands to see them glow up close. Now, I’m content just to look from afar. They’re amazing little creatures.

  “The light they shine is supposed to bring us back to life, to give us hope.”

  Wrapping my fingers around his, I ask, “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s just something I read once. Their light illuminates from the inside out. It takes a lot of strength on their part.”

  “I’m trying to find the strength. I really am.” All I’ve been thinking about since this morning are the contents of that box. For the most part, it contained what I expected, but it also reminded me that things weren’t always perfect. Our relationship was filled with so many moments that made me smile, but there were also struggles. Ones I tried to bury under a big, heavy rug so no one would see them … so I wouldn’t see them. What if those struggles were bigger than I even realized?

  “If anyone can do it, you can. I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to make sure you find it, even if I have to give it to you. I’d give you the whole fucking world if I could.”

  His words steal my breath away because I think he might be the only person left on Earth who wants to give me the world. “Thank you for being here. Everyone else treats me like I have a contagious disease or something. Madison doesn’t even come around anymore.”

  Sam is surprisingly quiet. I expected him to tell me she’ll come around, but he doesn’t. Maybe he knows I’m fighting a battle with my old friends that I’ll never be able to win. Maybe he knows some of the friendships I had in high school were as real as the many silk flowers that decorate the cemetery.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he finally asks, sitting up next to the small cooler he’d brought out with him.


  “What do you have?”

  “Water and Bud Light.”

  “I’ll take a water. Thank you.” A couple months ago I would have enjoyed a cold beer on a warm summer night like tonight. I don’t know if I’ll ever touch alcohol again for as long as I live.

  He hands me a cold water and holds up a can of beer. “You don’t care if I have one of these, do you?”

  “You’re twenty-three years old. You can do whatever you want.”

  “I just don’t want to upset you.”

  “As long as you don’t drive home, you’re fine.”

  He pops the tab off his beer, then everything goes quiet again. For some reason, his silence bothers me tonight.

  “Sam, what did you do after high school? I mean … we lost touch, and I feel like there’s a part of you I know nothing about.” I hate myself for letting it happen, but it was either him or Cory. Neither of them was going to let me have the other.

  He lies back beside me, one hand wrapped around his beer can and the other resting on his flat stomach. “I’ve been running the shop full-time, and when the opportunity comes, I meet up with a couple of guys at the bar.” His warm breath tickles my cheek, sending a prickle down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve missed the closeness of someone else so much or if it’s him. “Honestly, it fucking sucks. Everyone should have a purpose … I don’t know what mine is yet.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

  His finger brushes my cheekbone, his eyes lifting to get a better look into mine. “I’m glad you’re here, too. I just wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “Me too,” I whisper, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. The way he stares at me makes me uneasy. It’s too much—too intimate for the place I’m at in life. If it weren’t for the accident, Sam and I would still be living like strangers. It’s sad to think about it.

  Pushing up to a sitting position, I twist the cap off my water and take a long drink. Most girls would dream about this kind of night with a guy like Sam, but I don’t deserve to be that girl. I wouldn’t be ready to be that girl even if I felt like I deserved it. I’m too closed off inside to let anyone in, especially in the way Sam deserves.

  “I should probably walk back home.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see me well in the darkness. “I need some time to clear my head.”

  “Rachel—”

  “I’ll text you when I get home ... I promise.”

  He sighs deeply, running his fingers through his mussed-up blond hair. “If I don’t hear from you in the next twenty minutes, I’m coming to check on you.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I say, standing and stretching my arms up above my head. It was over ninety degrees today, but since the sun has gone down, it’s been tolerable.

  “Am I going to see you tomorrow?” he asks, standing beside me. His hand comes to rest on my hip, lightly brushing the exposed skin between my shorts and shirt. My skin is warm, but his touch still feels hot against it. It would be so easy for him to pull me to him. So easy.

  “I’ll call you,” I reply, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear.

  Under the faint moonlight, I see a half-smile touch his lips. Relief … I’ve seen it a few times before. “You better,” he says, letting go of me.

  Without another word, I turn and walk down the path that leads back to my house. The corn is getting higher by the day, but I’m still able to see over the top. I still hear the crickets, but other than that, the night is quiet.

  It gives me time to think, to reflect on the last couple months … tonight especially. Sam is literally everything I need, and everything I shouldn’t have. The way he always finds a way to touch me—the way my body reacts to it—is confusing the hell out of me. It doesn’t feel right, but it’s not conscious. I don’t want to like Sam in that way. Maybe it’s just my loneliness begging me to let him in. Whatever it is, it’s making me crazy.

  Someday, I’m going to wake up with a clearer vision and conscience. It’s just not happening today or tomorrow, but it has to happen sometime, or the rest of my life will be pointless. A life without hope is a life without purpose. I need hope.

  As I approach the spot where my yard meets the cornfield, my eyes are drawn to the tall light next to the old red barn. It’s been there all my life, but something about it stops me in my tracks tonight. A strange, yet terrifying scene plays out, almost like it’s happening right in front of me.

  Glancing around the unfamiliar field, I see the light of the fire up ahead. Instead of running to it, I run away. Fast, like I’m trying to get away from something or someone. My body is filled—no, more like consumed—with panic and sadness. I have no idea why, but I feel it deep within my bones. A painful ache.

  I hear my name. I recognize the voice as Cory’s, but instead of stopping, I run faster. My cheeks are wet, and my hands are shaking. My feet are scratched up from stepping on the short cornstalks with only flip-flops on my feet, but I want to get away.

  What I don’t understand is why I’m intent on getting away from Cory. Why would I run from the one person I want to run to?

  Shaking my head, I try to chase the scene from my mind. I want to think it was nothing but a terrifying daydream, but I was wearing the same outfit I remember wearing the last day of school. And it felt so real, like I was reliving a memory. I just wish I knew what it all meant. I wish to God that I knew why I’d run from Cory.

  I hope it’s not real. I hope it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

  August 3, 2013

  THERE ARE TIMES IN life where I've felt like I'm standing above everything, watching it all go by, but then there are times when life has completely run me over. It's come at me too fast, not giving me time to think. Sometimes great things come from it, but sometimes, it comes through like a tornado, leaving a pile of rubble in its wake.

  That's where I'm standing now, in the midst of the rubble that the accident has left behind. I need to figure out how I’m going to pick up the pieces, and where my life goes from here. All I know is I don't have the energy to rebuild just yet. It's something only time can put back together.

  Until I get to that point, I'm going to do my best to step over anything that gets in my way. And it never hurts to have someone holding your hand when you have obstacles to cross ... that’s what Sam’s done for me. He’s been there for me while others I thought I was close to left me behind. I guess the only way to know if you have a true friendship is to see if it still exists after it’s been tested.

  Sam has this idea that I should join him in his woodworking shop for a few hours to relax. My first thought was no way, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that just being with him would make me feel better. He makes life somewhat normal for me.

  When I woke up this morning, I felt excitement that I hadn't felt in days. Life's nothing but a dark hole when you don't have anything to look forward to, but today I see a little bit of light for the first time in a few weeks. Since the last night Sam and I spent in the fields, I’ve been feeling out of sorts. Mostly because of the vision I had on the way back to my house. Was it a piece of the truth I’d been working so hard to remember? Whatever it was, I haven’t been able to let it go. I think about it first thing every morning and again every night before bed … I hate it.

  I crawl out of bed and make my way to the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a navy blue tank top. I wash my face and layer on some moisturizer, deciding there's no point in putting on make-up, and tie my hair into a knot.

  I quietly make my way down the stairs, hoping to make it out the door without a barrage of questions from my mom. I love the woman and everything she does for me, but her constant inquisition in regards to Sam pisses me off. I don't need anything to tarnish my lighter mood today. I carefully make my way into the kitchen to grab the muffins I made last night and slip onto
the back porch to put on my shoes.

  “Where are you off to so early?” It's not Mom this time. It's after eight, and for the first time since I can remember, Dad’s still home, wearing jeans and a Southern Iowa T-shirt. Something is very wrong with this picture.

  “I'm going to help a friend,” I say, looking down at my tattered shoelaces. I just want to get outside … to Sam.

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  This is going to be worse than Mom's interrogations. My dad has a hard time remembering when he's not in the courtroom. He forgets that we're not all part of a case he's trying in front of a judge and jury. “I need to get out of the house, so a friend offered to take me to work with him today, to help out.”

  Looking up, I plead with my eyes for him to just walk away. Dad never does anything other than what he wants to do, though, so it's not a surprise when he crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step toward me. “I'm moving things around in the office today so my new intern has room. Why don't you help?”

  “Daddy, I can't. I've already committed to something else.”

  He nods and smiles softly. It's a rare occasion. “You've always been one to keep your word. I guess I have to respect that.”

  Just as he's about to walk away, a familiar, extremely loud engine starts up the driveway. Dad steps to the kitchen window and then looks back at me, his cheeks bright red. “What the hell are you doing, Rachel?”

  I flinch, wondering why things can't be easy for just a day. Why couldn't they allow me a day tucked away without a worry in the world? I guess I'm not meant to make it anywhere without a struggle. “He's just a friend.”

  “I'm sure you can find someone better to hang out with than the Shea boy.”

  “There's nothing wrong with Sam. In fact, he's the only person who's not treating me like a virus.”