Living With Regret

by Lisa De Jong

  “That’ll work!” I brace my hands against the wall, silently begging her to go, to give me the time I need.

  “Are you doing okay in there?”

  “I’m fine! I just want to finish my shower. Please!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m running to town. I’ll see you a little later.”

  With newly gained silence, I go back to my place under the hot water, letting it run off my skin until my fingers look like wrinkled prunes. I turn it off and wrap a towel around my body, taking a moment to stop in front of the mirror and look at my deep pink skin. It doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it looks.

  After toweling myself off, I pull on a pair of black yoga pants and a tank top, and run a comb through my hair. Then, out of pure exhaustion, I fall onto my bed and drift to sleep, knowing no better way to let it all go.

  WHEN I FINALLY WAKE up, it feels as if I only slept for a few minutes, but, looking at the clock, I realize it’s been hours. I panic, thinking I’m late for work, then I remember it’s Sunday; the shop isn’t open on Sunday.

  Stretching my arms above my head, I feel a little better than I did before. My heart still aches, but it’s more of a dull ache. A minor annoyance. It’s usually my own thoughts that puncture it, but when I’m able to turn them off, the bleeding slows. If only there were a permanent Band-Aid.

  As I roll out of bed, I hear my phone vibrating from on top of my dresser. I pick it up, noticing I have one missed call from Kate, six from Sam, and fourteen unread texts, not to mention six voicemails.

  I lie back in bed, deciding to listen to the voicemails first.

  “Hey, Rachel, it’s Kate. I just want to tell you it was nice seeing you yesterday and make sure you got home safely. Talk to you soon.”

  I delete it, making a mental note to give her a call later. Putting the phone back to my ear, I wait for the next one.

  “Rachel, it’s Sam. I thought you were going to answer when I called.” He laughs quietly. “Anyway, call me when you get this. I really just need to hear your voice.”

  I think I really like this guy, but hearing the sweetness in his voice reminds me that he probably belongs with someone better than me. Someone who doesn’t have all this crap going on in her life.

  “Hey, I called you over an hour ago and haven’t heard back. I’ll understand if you don’t feel like talking today, but at least text me and let me know you’re all right.”

  I hit delete again and move on to the next. “Please, call me. I think I’ve said everything else I want to say.”

  With each one, his voice is more desperate. I hate that I do this to him.

  “If I don’t hear back from you within the next thirty minutes, I’m going to call your mom. Fuck. You’re making me sound like a little kid now. Please, just call me.”

  Frustration is still there, but now anger is laced in with it. It makes my chest hurt. So much so, I don’t even want to listen to the last one, but I do. I’ve obviously become a fan of self-torture.

  “Hey, Rachel. I talked to your mom, and she said you’re sleeping. Can you give me a call when you wake up? Give me a few seconds with that voice of yours.”

  The last message is calmer, which in turn calms me, but the little voice in the back of my head starts talking again. That stupid little voice never gives me a break anymore. What if Sam talked to Mom? What did he tell her? Does she know everything that happened last night? Deep down, I know Sam wouldn’t do that to me, but rationality isn’t winning right now.

  Thumbing through my texts, I notice they carry the same tone as the voicemails Sam left. A string of increasingly more panicked messages followed by a levelheaded one.

  I think about calling him, even placing my finger over his number, but it moves away when I realize I don’t have anything to say. The fire in my heart was partially extinguished by a few hours of restful sleep, but I can already feel the flames igniting again. If the guilt would only fade away and never come back.

  Sitting up on my bed, I grab my old pink notebook from my nightstand and find the first blank page. It’s always taken me a few minutes of mindless staring before the words begin to form. I need to pull myself into the right place, the deepest place in the soul, and pull out what’s hidden within.

  When you’re lost, the only thing left to be is found.

  You can be lost in sadness and found in happiness.

  Lost in regret but found in forgiveness.

  The key to being found comes from within …

  No one is going to hand it to you.

  …Life isn’t meant to be that easy.

  When I look back up at the clock, it’s a little past five. I fold the page over and hop out of bed to find some clean clothes before I head out to visit Dr. Schultz.

  “Rachel, are you awake?”

  “Yes!” I yell back, thumbing through the sweaters that line one side of my closet. Fall has always been my favorite season because it’s perfect sweater weather. Not warm. Not cold. Just right. Even that’s been tainted. Nothing is as good as it seemed before.

  For the sake of time, I choose a thin black turtleneck that I haven’t worn in almost a year. It’s wrinkled, but that doesn’t even faze me. Black is suitable for every mood, or that’s what they say. To me, it’s just a simple choice. One that doesn’t require a thought. I pair it with faded blue jeans and run to the bathroom to splash cool water over my face to wake up. I could have easily slept through the rest of the day, but that only delays the inevitable.

  I do a quick-once over in the mirror, and I’m ready. A brush never touched my hair. My face is bare, dark circles surrounding my blue eyes. Several months ago I would have cared, but not now.

  “Rachel!” Mom must sense how much I need this because she’s not letting up. She really has nothing to worry about because even I know how much I need to talk to someone.

  “Coming!” I pick up the simple black booties that are haphazardly scattered across my floor and quickly pull them on.

  I hurry, because if she yells my name one more time, I swear I’m going to lose it. My nerves are already about to explode.

  It’s not a big surprise that she waits at the bottom of the staircase. “Do you want me to take you?”

  “No,” I reply, walking right past her.

  “I wish you would tell me what’s bothering you. I haven’t seen you like this since…”

  I stop, my hand pressed against the cold windowpane that’s set in the center of the front door. “Don’t say it, okay? I’m not dealing with it very well right now.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

  I shake my head. Maybe in some way, I’m hoping it will shake the pain away. “It’s okay. I remembered something when Sam and I were riding last night, and I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  When she’s quiet for longer than I expect, I glance over my shoulder. She looks sad, her eyes glossy. She’s not my usual confident and bright-eyed mother. “I hate that you’re going through this.”

  “At least it can’t get much worse,” I say, smiling sadly.

  She tries to match my expression but fails. “Things will get better. I promise.”

  I nod. I’m not convinced of that, especially right now. “I need to get going, or I’m going to be late.”

  “Call me if you need anything.” She waves, and I head out the door, breathing in the cool autumn air. It must have rained earlier because the ground is wet, and it smells of musky leaves. Days like these, I wish I lived in town so I could walk to clear my head, but I’ll have to settle for the short car ride with the radio on blast.

  Once I’m heading down the deserted blacktop, I roll down my window a crack to get more of that rain smell. I inhale it while listening to “You” by Keaton Henson. I try to focus just on the lyrics, but every simple word and phrase leads to a deeper thought. Everything is much clearer than it has been the last twenty-four hours. The accident didn’t happen because I’d been drinking. I didn’t take a moment of pure innocence and turn it into
the worst type of tragedy. We both had a hand in it. Cory and I battled over something that night … neither of us should have been in that car, at least not in the shape we were in.

  As my car slows at the first stop sign in town, I see a motorcycle in the distance. My car could have made it across the street with plenty of time to spare, but I wait, watching Sam pass by. I never did call or text him and, up until now, when his eyes connect with mine, he probably assumed I was still sleeping. There’s no way I’m going to be able to hide now.

  I expect him to turn back around, but he cruises down the street without another glance back. His figure becomes smaller and smaller until he disappears altogether.

  I know I need to call him later to work this out. To tell him the reason behind my silence. I think he’ll understand, or I hope he will.

  A horn sounds from behind my car, startling me. I carefully look in each direction then put my foot on the gas. A few seconds later, I’m parking on the vacant downtown street. If it were dark, this would be eerie. No people. No cars. The rainy weather.

  I push my bangs from my face and run my fingertips below my tired eyes. God, I hope the doctor can make me feel better. I can’t keep doing this.

  With one foot out the door, my cell rings. Looking down at the display, I see Sam’s name. My stomach rolls when I think about what must be going through his head, but I’m already a few minutes late for my appointment, so I hit ignore and toss it back in my purse. Dr. Schultz isn’t going to wait for me forever, especially when he took time out of his Sunday to meet me.

  Walking into his small office building, I’m surprised to see the doctor sitting behind the reception desk. “Hi Rachel, I didn’t know if you were still coming.”

  “Sorry, I got a little distracted along the way.”

  He smiles warmly. “It’s okay. I’m glad you came. Should we head back to my office?”

  I’m about to say yes, but then I remember how dark and drab his office is. Black leather furniture, a dark wood desk, and a small window to the alleyway. It’s professional, but I’d rather stay out here, with the rain hitting against the large window.

  “Can we sit in here? I like watching the rain.”

  “Normally, no, but since it’s just you and me, I’ll make an exception,” he answers, steepling his hands in front of him. “Take a seat and tell me what brings you in today.”

  I glance around the empty waiting room, ultimately choosing a chair across from the window. Sitting back, I cross my legs then uncross them. Nothing makes me feel comfortable enough.

  “I had a flashback last night. At least I think that’s what it was.”

  He comes around the desk, taking a seat kitty corner from me. “Do you want to talk about what happened in your flashback?”

  My eyes well with tears. “I remembered what led up to the accident. Cory and I were fighting, and his hand ended up on my steering wheel.” Tears slip from my eyes. “If the memory is correct, I said some things I wish I hadn’t.”

  He makes a quick note on his notepad. “Do you remember what you were fighting about?”

  “Not really,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, I mentioned something, he mentioned something, but there wasn’t enough to it for me to draw a clear conclusion.”

  “Did how it happened make you feel worse about the accident?”

  “I learned that it wasn’t all my fault. If he hadn’t grabbed the steering wheel, I think we would have been okay. But on the other hand, I can’t believe the things I said to him. I basically told him I wished he didn’t exist.”

  A lump forms in my throat as I stare down at my folded hands. When I glance back up, he’s watching me carefully. “You didn’t really mean it, though, did you?”

  “No!” I shout, blinking back tears as I look up at the ceiling tiles. “I can’t think of a single person in this world I think that of.”

  “So why do you think you said it?” His tone is lower than it had been. It’s what he always does when he thinks I’m close to some sort of revelation. He’s brought me to quite a few.

  “I was angry,” I say, focusing back on him. “I was so angry.”

  The tip of his pen rolls along his lip. “Why were you angry?”

  “I don’t know … that’s what’s so frustrating.” And the fact that I may never remember is eating away at me.

  He nods, pulling his glasses from his eyes. “Is that what’s bothering you most about this?”

  Is it? I don’t freaking know. It hit me too hard and fast last night to even really think about it. The anger bothers me. The things I remember saying bother me. But they aren’t the worst part … not to me.

  “That things weren’t as perfect as I’d thought them to be. I always had my blinders on with Cory, and I think if I’d taken them off a long time ago, he might still be here.” I swipe the back of my hands across my cheeks, wiping away saltwater streams. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never remembered anything at all. I was doing so well … with Sam.

  Dr. Schultz leans forward, placing his glasses back on his nose. “What do you need to move past this?”

  That’s what I came here for. “I guess I need to accept what I cannot change. I was actually doing pretty good until yesterday … it’s something new to process.”

  He nods again. “And how are you going to do that?”

  I glance down at the coffee table in front of me. Right on top is one of those celebrity magazines, the ones filled with half-truths. On the cover is a young couple: he’s the nation’s pop super star, and she’s an up-and-coming actress. They look so disgustingly happy with her hoisted up in his arms. That’s not even the thing that gets me most … it’s the squint of his eyes when he looks at her. The way his lips turn up. The way his hands splay against her lower back.

  Love can’t be faked.

  “Sam’s been helping me,” I say, taking one more look at the happy couple. “He makes my worries fade away.”

  “Is he going to be able to help you through this?”

  I shrug. “If I let him.”

  He stands from his chair and walks to the picture window, hands resting on his chino-covered hips. “The sun’s out now,” he says simply.

  Since I’ve been in here, the rain has stopped and a rainbow has formed toward the edge of town. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time. “That it is.”

  “Sometimes the only thing that’s going to make the rain go away is time, but look what can happen afterward.” He turns back around. “Life is much the same.”

  I hope he’s right.

  THE WORLD IS A beautiful place if you open your eyes to it. Sometimes ugliness steps in front of you, though, and you have to walk around it for the color and light to come into view again. Those who say it doesn’t exist simply don’t believe enough to go after it. It’s there. Even I see it.

  Tonight, beauty sits across from the fire with a flannel blanket pulled over his shoulders. I’ve ignored him all day. Convinced myself that I didn’t need him, that he didn’t want me. It didn’t work … all signs pointed me back to him. When I try not to think about him, I do anyway. He’s buried deep within my skin, into my heart and soul. He’s the constant in my life … the one who has been there for me no matter what. The more times he saves me, the more I believe he’ll always be here.

  For a long while, I stand back and simply stare at his still figure in the distance. The whole time I’ve been out here, his eyes have been fixed on the high flames of the fire. His lack of movement says a lot about his emotions. He’s broken up, so much so that he looks like he doesn’t care anymore. Like he’s been left at a point where staring at a raging fire is the only way to burn away the agony inside him.

  Taking slow, hesitant steps in his direction, I get a better glimpse at the scene around him. There’s a small dark tent, a cooler, and the single lawn chair he occupies.

  As I approach, my stomach flutters. With every step, my boots make a crumpling sound in the long grass. It’s
so quiet out here, I’d hear a whisper from feet away. He has to hear me coming, even with the gray stocking hat covering his ears. What if he doesn’t want me out here? What if I burned the last bit of trust he had in me?

  “Sam,” I say softly, afraid that if I speak too loudly, he’ll reply back in the same way.

  For the briefest of moments, he looks up at me with no emotion written on his face, but just as quickly as he looked, he looks away.

  “If you don’t want me out here, just say it. Please.” I can’t hide anything anymore. The veil that covered my face is gone. My emotions don’t show only on my sleeve; they’re written all over my stupid designer sweater. My lip quivers. My voice shakes. I need him so freaking bad, and all I can do is silently pray that he hasn’t given up on me.

  His full face comes into my view again, but he doesn’t say a single word. His mouth opens, but as his eyes take in the distraught expression I wear, he closes it. He’s fighting a battle—one that’s probably similar to the one raging between my heart and my head.

  “I only have one chair,” he finally says, looking down at the beer bottle in his fingers.

  “If you’ll listen to me, I can stand.”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve always been stubborn.”

  I quietly wait for him to say something else, to let me know that being here is okay. He’s still struggling, but I can feel the power shifting to my side. Please let it stay there.

  I watch him take a long swig of his beer, moving it around in his mouth a couple times before swallowing. “Talk. I’m listening.”

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t answer your calls.”

  He takes another long swig before locking his eyes with mine. “I was worried about you.”

  “I should have texted you, but I didn’t know what to say.”

  “All I wanted to know was that you were okay. I’m not asking for the world here, Rachel.”

  Anger boils inside my chest. I wanted to disappear for one day. One freaking day to work through my guilt and resentment, and this is where it got me. The worst part is I feel like no one ever understands. Sam might be the closest to getting it, but even he doesn’t get it all the time. It puts me in a different world—a lonely world. I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.