by Lisa De Jong
I become my own therapist, going through the reasons why and why not. In the end, there are more reasons why I should. Most of them revolve around Sam. He makes me feel like there’s still something worth living for. He’s my firefly, my ray of hope.
At exactly 8:35, I slide out of my bed and grab a sweatshirt from my closet. Something tells me tonight’s going to be a long night. I have a lot of things to explain, bridges to mend.
I manage to slip through the living room without alerting my mom who’s curled up with a book. I half expect her to come running out the door after me to ask where I’m off to, but I make it through my yard without question.
I venture through the path I have carved in the cornfields, not stopping until I’m standing at the edge of the grassy area that Sam and I frequented as kids. The sun is just starting to set so it’s not hard to spot him sitting along the edge of the creek. A vision of a Midwestern boy in a red and blue flannel and faded blue jeans. My heart lurches at the sight of him, and while part of me wishes I hadn’t come out here tonight, the other screams because I didn’t come sooner.
Most see him as a tough, hard-nosed guy who will never go anywhere in life, but I see something else. He’s broken, withdrawn from most of the world. He’s afraid of letting others see his weaknesses so he tucks them away. I’m a master at hide and seek … I see them and most of the time; he doesn’t even try to hide them from me.
He sits on the bank of the water, one arm wrapped around his folded knees and the other by his side, a beer bottle resting firmly between his fingers.
Seeing him like this is pure agony, but I know it’s thoughts of me he’s running from tonight. I want to catch him, to assure him that everything is going to be all right, that I’m going to try my best not to let him down again.
I take quick steps toward him, waiting for him to hear my footsteps. He either doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t care. When I’m standing right next to him, I get my answer. His eyes don’t leave the water, and I know I’ve poked holes in the foundation of the relationship we’d just started to build. He’s had enough pain to last the rest of his life so I hate that I did this. I hate that my own selfish need to deal with my feelings alone brought him here.
“Sam,” I whisper, sliding down next to him. His silence is deafening, saying more than his words ever could. I glance over at him, but he looks in the opposite direction, doing everything he can to avoid my eyes.
Without any choice, I continue to do all the talking. “I’m sorry I’m late. Something happened today, and it didn’t feel right to come out here, not before working through the stuff in my head first.”
“Was your cell phone broken?” he asks, still not looking at me.
“Don’t push me away,” I plead, hesitantly placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t waste a second before shoving it away like an insect. I feel the rejection deep down in the pit of my stomach, a pain and sickness mixed into one.
“I’m not,” he answers, his head snapping to face me.
“What is this then?” My voice is timid, a mirror of the uncertainty I feel inside.
“This is you pushing me away. This is you trying to convince yourself that you never deserve another good thing in your life. You’ve punished yourself enough, don’t you think?”
I nod, wrapping the long, green grass around my fingers to keep them entertained … to keep them off him. “I went to the cemetery today.”
“I know.” He swallows hard. I easily follow the path of his Adam’s apple, up and down, giving me somewhere to focus besides his disappointed eyes.
“How?” I ask, unconsciously narrowing my eyes at him. He’s not the stalking type, not that I know of anyway. That’s the thing about small towns. Things travel like the telephone game from one neighbor to another. Eventually, it would get to him.
“I called the shop to see if you wanted to meet me for dinner before coming out here. Ms. Peters told me she’d sent you on a delivery to the cemetery.” He watches me, but I remain still, terrified about where this is going, not so much because of where I was or what I was doing but because I don’t know why this is such a big deal to him. I was late getting out here, and I’ll admit to my doubts, but now that I’m here, he’s it. He’s my whole reason for being here.
He shakes his head, momentarily breaking eye contact, before finding me again. “I thought you were ready to put your feet in the water. I feel like you’re pulling back on me again.”
I can’t look away. His eyes translate so much of what’s going on inside him—sadness and hopefulness wrapped in a heavy coating of fear. The latter is something I’ve never really seen in him.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice a hair above a whisper.
He closes the space between us until only inches separate our mouths, his brown eyes all I see. “You. I’m only going to get one chance to make you mine, and I want it to count. I need your heart to be in it so I can make it count. I need to know I have all of you.”
“I thought we already agreed to this. Slow, right?”
“I’m going slow, but I need to know you’re moving right along with me.”
“That’s what I was doing at the cemetery today … moving. I took a part of myself back because I want to be able to give it to you. I want you to be the next phase of my life. You have to remember, even if the past is behind me, I’m still going to think about it from time to time. People will trigger it. Places will trigger it … he was a big part of my life. He’ll always be a part of who I am.”
“I want to be who you’re with. I’m not a guy who needs a lot of reassurance, but I need to know that I’m not pushing you. I don’t want this to end because of a stupid mistake.” His words trail off at the end, his hand reaching to cup the side of my face.
Tears well in my eyes, taking mere seconds to fall over the edge. “I’m with you now, aren’t I? If you push me, I’ll push back, and for the record, nothing about you has ever been a mistake.”
“I hope you always think that way.”
“Ball’s in your court, Shea.”
The sun is setting, but I see a smile forming on his face under the orange glow. “I like having some control.”
“I’ve known you long enough. You don’t have to tell me … just don’t let me down.”
“Never,” he says, right before his lips brush across mine. “But I think I should get one kiss for every minute you left me waiting. That’s not pushing it, is it?”
“No,” I whisper, biting down on my lower lip. “I’ll even let you add one for good measure.”
“This is already the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”
I laugh, quickly brushing the last of my tears away. “That’s not saying much.”
His fingers clasp my chin, his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “It’s says everything.”
“Show me,” I mouth, my eyes zeroed in on his lips. And he does … once for every minute I left him waiting out in the fields. By the time he pressed his lips to mine for the bonus, I never wanted to leave … not him anyway.
September 23, 2013
THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS EASY when a Clark dates a Shea, but it was never easy when I was just friends with Sam either. We agreed to give this thing between us a shot, and I’m hoping that my parents give him one, too. I’ve lived on this earth for too many years to have to hide something that isn’t wrong. Sam isn’t wrong … he’s just something they don’t like—or understand.
Last night, I saw his vulnerability. I saw the side of him that he doesn’t really let other people see … the one that shows the size of his heart, a window to his beautiful soul. It wasn’t guilt that made me want throw out my misgivings and give us a chance … the burn was in my heart, a small concentrated part of my chest where I only feel him.
I’m scared—scared because this is a whole new arena for me. When Cory and I started dating, I didn’t have a friendship with him. There wasn’t anything to ruin if things didn’t work out between us.
With Sam, there’s so much to lose. For many years, he was my only—the only person who I could tell everything to and escape judgment. The only person who really listened to what I had to say and asked me questions to try to dissect my words. He was the only person I felt genuinely cared.
Now, I’m back in that same place … he’s my only.
My phone buzzes on my dresser, forcing me to finally get out of my warm, comfy bed. Pulling my pink cami down to cover my bare stomach, I stumble across the room and grab my phone from the dresser.
“Hello,” I yawn, tucking it under my chin to stretch my arms up in the air.
“Just waking up?” It’s Sam. I should have known since he and Kate are the only ones who ever call me anymore.
“I’ve been up for a while … just been laying in bed thinking.” I smile, brushing my thumb against my lips as memories of last night flood my mind.
“About me, I hope.” The amusement is evident in his voice. I wish he were here so I could kiss the grin off his face.
“Hmm. It could have been you. Things are a little foggy at,” I stop, looking over at my digital alarm clock. “Ten in the morning.”
“I’ll give you a pass since it’s Saturday. Don’t you work today?”
“No, there was only one wedding, and it was out of town so Ms. Peters is going to take care of it.” I offered, but she said everything had to be perfect with this one. High maintenance customer, I guess.
“Sounds like you’re mine today. Get dressed. I’m picking you up in thirty minutes.” He sounds like a little kid who can’t wait to show me some big surprise. Like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Besides that, he has a newfound hold on me, and I kind of like it.
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing so I know what to wear?”
“Jeans, boots, and preferably a jacket. Might get a little cold.”
“We’re not going fishing, are we?” Sam loves fishing. It’s the one thing his dad did with him when he was a kid, besides feeding him and putting a roof over his head. I’ll go, if I’m with him, but it’s not my favorite thing in the world.
“No, I’ve got something better than that.”
“I didn’t know there was anything better, in your eyes.”
There’s a long pause, then he clears his throat. “I can name two things better than fishing.” His voice is not teasing like it was before. He’s nervous; this can’t be good.
“Yeah? You know you have to tell me what they are now.”
“Well, there’s that thing I’m going to show you as soon as your ass gets dressed.”
“And?”
Another pause. This one punctuated by a deep breath. Sam’s not shy when he has something to say. Ever. “You.”
Now it’s my turn to stay silent for longer than is normally acceptable over the phone. It suddenly feels like I jumped on a train that is moving just a little too fast. I want to go where it’s taking me, but I’m hesitant about the ride.
“I’m going to get ready. I’ll be ready in a half hour.”
“Hey,” he says, “That wasn’t meant to scare you. I was just being honest.”
“I know. Slow, right?”
“Snail’s pace,” he whispers.
I close my eyes tightly, inhaling a deep breath to keep my racing heart under control. “I’ll see you in a little bit then.”
“Bye, Rachel.”
As soon as the phone clicks off, I jump into action, pulling a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt from my dresser drawer. The whole time I’m doing it, the way he says my name plays over and over in my head. I love the way he says it, like he’s not just saying it but feeling it, too. I don’t think I really even liked my name until just a couple minutes ago.
I tie my hair up in a ponytail and take a quick shower, letting the hot water warm my goose-bumped skin. The mornings are much cooler now than they were just weeks ago, but not to the point where it makes sense to turn on the furnace. Hot water and a cup of coffee work just as well.
After stepping out of the shower, I dress quickly in order to keep the chill from my skin. I skip most of my morning make-up routine, choosing only to apply moisturizer, lip gloss, and mascara. When I’m done, I throw on my brown leather bomber jacket and a pair of matching brown booties. With one last look in the full-length mirror, I smile at my reflection, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time.
Like most Saturday mornings, Mom is in the kitchen baking. She bakes so much that there’s no way our family of three could ever eat it all, but she brings it to church on Sunday. She says it relaxes her after a long week. I don’t really get what that means since she doesn’t work.
“You were out late last night,” she remarks, grabbing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
“I was in before midnight.” I breeze past her, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. When I was in high school, as long as I was with Cory, she didn’t care much about what I was doing or what time I came home. I think she just assumed there was no way I’d ever get in trouble with him. It’s like reading all the ingredients on a package and deciding something’s going to taste good without ever taking a bite. I hate when people make assumptions.
“You just haven’t been out that late in a long time.” She cracks an egg into the steel bowl, but her eyes are on me.
“I’m just trying to live my life. He would want me to be happy.”
Her head tilts as her eyes warm. “I want that for you too.”
We stare at each other, two women with souls that the other really hasn’t taken the time to see. I’ve been too stubborn to put my glasses on, and she’s been too busy running from this meeting to that one. She cares, but she shows it differently than the moms I grew up seeing on TV, or even some of the moms of my old friends. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me … she just has a hard time with the warm and fuzzies. She’s more into show-and-tell.
“I know, but I don’t want you to be disappointed in me. I’m not going to college right now. I’m running deliveries for a flower shop.”
She shakes her head, bracing her hands on the counter as she moves around it to where I stand. “What are you talking about? I’m not disappointed in you.”
“Are you sure?” My chests heaves, my emotions brewing … they’re either going to turn into anger or tears as they slide over the edge.
She grips my shoulders, forcing her eyes on mine. “I’m just glad you’re here, Rachel. I spent days in the hospital wondering if you’d even make it through, and every day I thank God that you’re in this house. Walking. Talking. Trying to get on with your life. The last thing I’m worried about right now is your education or career. You have years ahead of you to think about that stuff.”
The teeter-totter of emotions weighs heavier on the side of a weird feeling of happy sadness. A tear slips from my eye, but it’s because something I perceived for so long has been proven wrong. Sometimes, like now, it’s better to be wrong. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along.
As I wipe the tear from my eye, all I can manage is a nod because opening my eyes would be like taking the lid off an upside down container.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she says, pulling me into a tight embrace. I wonder where this version of my mom has been all my life. There’s no use in asking because we can never get those years back.
“I just didn’t want you to think I was going to live here forever and be content to make flower deliveries.”
She pulls back, quietly laughing. “As much as you don’t get along with your father, you have some of his fire inside of you. I know you’d never be happy doing that for the rest of your life.”
I can’t help but laugh right along with her. Dad’s the shark, but he passed a little bit of his bite on to me.
A loud engine sounds outside, bringing our attention to the window that faces the drive in front of our house. My mouth hangs open … Sam’s long legs are wrapped around a black bike—motorcycle to be exact.
“What on earth is
he doing?” Mom asks, her eyes trained to the same spot as mine.
“He’s picking me up.”
“On that?” Never in my life have I had a desire to get on a motorcycle. I’d pretty much tagged them as death traps, especially after a guy I went to high school with crashed one coming around a corner and banged his body up pretty good. God knows I’m not going to be able to resist getting on the back of one with Sam, though. He could tell me there’s an invisible rope from here to the clouds above, and I’d try to climb it.
“I guess so.”
Before I head out to him, I take one last look at Mom who stands with her mouth hanging wide open. “Thank you for this morning … I really needed that.”
I’m not sure if the words even registered with her, but I can’t wait much longer to find out because Sam’s walking up the front steps. As I walk to the front door, a mixture of nerves and excitement consume every part of me. I can’t believe I’m really going to get on one of those things.
In a matter of seconds, I’m standing in front of him. I don’t remember opening the door or even walking across the front porch. This sight of him in jeans that fit snugly in all the right places, a black leather jacket, and black riding boots have me in full zombie mode.
“My name’s Sam.”
I blink, my eyes scanning his body until they land on his. “What?”
He laughs; I kind of want to wipe that sexy, cocky grin off his face, but I like it too much. “You’re looking at me like you have no idea who I am. Thought I’d help you out a little.”
“I thought you were going to pick me up in your car. You know, one of those things with four wheels … I wasn’t expecting this,” I say, circling my finger in the direction where his bike is parked.
“You never asked for specifics.”
I can’t help but examine every inch of it. The seat is narrower than I’d thought it would be, heightening my anxiety. And, it’s not very long … how are we both going to fit? “That doesn’t look safe. Maybe you should go trade it out for your car … I can wait for you to come back.”
