The Infinite Moment of Us

by Lauren Myracle

  “Star, c’mon,” Tyson said.

  Starrla reached for Charlie, but he stood frozen. Suddenly she sank to the floor. “Charlie,” she whispered. Wren was no longer visible, it seemed. Tyson was invisible, too. Starrla could only see Charlie. “Honey, baby, please. You loved me once, you can love me again. We’re alike. Nobody else understands us. Nobody but you. Please?”

  Charlie shook his head again, and something left Starrla’s eyes. Wren saw it.

  “Fuck you,” Starrla said, and she took a slice of glass from the floor and slashed it across her neck.

  It cut deep. Blood spurted onto Starrla’s skin, her dress, the floor.

  Then Charlie moved.

  “Starrla!” he cried, dashing toward her and catching her crumpling body. Tyson, too, was instantly at her side. He knelt beside her as Charlie pressed the heel of his palm against her wound.

  “Did you call the police?” P.G. asked Tessa.

  Tessa nodded. “I did. I did. I called 911! They said they were coming. They said they’d—”

  Sirens blared. Lights flashed through the windows of Tessa’s front rooms for the second time that night. One ambulance, two police cars.

  One EMT bandaged Starrla’s neck and took her stats.

  Another asked questions. Starrla was unconscious, so Tyson answered some and Charlie answered others. He ran his hand down his jeans, and it left a red trail.

  Wren pressed herself against the wall. She went from hot to cold to hot. Sweaty-hot. She wrapped her arms around her ribs.

  “All right,” the EMT said. To her colleague, she said, “We’ll need the gurney.”

  “Hey, what?” Tyson said. “Why? What do you need a gurney for?”

  “Standard procedure,” the EMT said.

  “What do you mean, standard procedure?” Tyson said. “She’s fine. She’s hardly bleeding, see?”

  Hardly bleeding? Her bandage was soaked through.

  “Suicide watch,” the EMT said curtly. “Someone who tries to kill herself isn’t ‘fine.’”

  She strapped Starrla to the gurney. Starrla’s skirt rode too high, and Wren, ridiculously, wanted to fix it for her. She didn’t know how to fix things, though. She didn’t know how to fix anything.

  Tyson shadowed the EMT. “Will she have to stay overnight? Will she be all right? She’ll be all right, right?”

  Tyson cared about Starrla, Wren saw from afar. And so did Charlie, who stepped forward and said tightly, “I’m her cousin. I’ll ride with her.”

  Wren sank into herself, and Charlie looked at her over his shoulder, and everything was broken. Baby. Please. No.

  “How long they keep her will depend on her evaluation,” the EMT said. To Charlie, she said, “If you’re coming, let’s go. Everyone else, out of the way.”

  “Wren, I’ll be back,” Charlie said.

  She might have shrugged, or maybe not. And then he left.

  With Starrla.

  The rest of the night was a blur. One of the police cars trailed after the ambulance; the remaining officer stayed and took statements. Tessa’s mom was called. The broken snow globe still needed to be cleaned up, but at some point Tessa had whisked away the champagne flutes, and nobody ratted anyone out. The drama with Starrla had sobered everyone up, so the officer just gave them a lecture on responsible behavior and keeping themselves and their friends safe.

  “Understood?” he said.

  “Understood,” everyone said, except for P.G., who nodded maturely and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Tyson and the other two guys took that as their cue to leave. After scribbling a few more lines in his notepad, the officer followed suit.

  “What the fuck?” Tessa said when she, Wren, and P.G. were the only ones left.

  P.G. rolled his shoulders and rotated his neck. “It’s my fault,” he said, unusually subdued. “I didn’t lock the door.”

  “What?” Tessa said. “No. You didn’t barge into my house uninvited. You didn’t shatter my snow globe. You didn’t …” She dropped onto the sofa. “Jesus. What just happened here? Did that really just happen?”

  P.G. sat beside her and pulled her close.

  “Jesus,” Tessa said again. And then, “Wren. Come sit.”

  “No thanks,” Wren said. She was inside herself and outside of herself at the same time, and all she knew was that she had to leave this place, this world, this unwanted dimension of honey-baby-please. She didn’t like Starrla, and yet she felt horrible for her. So, so sad for her, and for Charlie … Toss it in the garage and throw away the key.

  Wren shivered. Feeling sad for herself, on top of everything that had just happened, was so wrong.

  “I think I’ll … I’m just … I’m going home.”

  Tessa raised her head from P.G’s shoulder. “Wren. Stay.”

  Everything buzzed. “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “Is this because of Charlie? Because he …?”

  Wren walked to the kitchen, grabbed her keys and overnight bag, and headed back through the den. “Sorry about your snow globe,” she told Tessa.

  She left, because Charlie was already gone.

  For Wren, that was it. The cold set in. She knew she was wrong to refuse Charlie’s calls and ignore his texts, but she couldn’t figure out how else to be, because she despaired of ever crossing the chasm between them.

  Starrla knew Charlie better than she did. She knew about his past, all the terrible things he’d never told Wren because he thought Wren wouldn’t understand.

  She’d been so sheltered growing up.

  She was trying to change that. She was trying to live more, experience more, be more, but it all felt hopeless. She would never catch up with him. She would never understand all he had been through. She would never be able to absorb his pain, to make things better, to fix him. He didn’t need fixing, not in Wren’s mind, but if he thought he did, and yet he couldn’t come to her, or thought he couldn’t …

  How could she be his everything if she, herself, wasn’t enough?

  Anyway, what was the point? She was leaving for Guatemala on Monday. It felt unreal, and she’d long ago forgotten why Project Unity had seemed like a good idea, but there it was. She had her ticket. She had people waiting for her, eager to meet her and put her to work. She’d have a purpose. At least she’d be useful to someone in some small way.

  Was it good of Charlie, and right, to ride with Starrla to the hospital?

  Of course. Charlie helped Starrla even though Starrla was Starrla, even though she tried to hurt him. He didn’t say, “Look at me, I’m off to save the world!” He just did what needed doing, even when the world was so unfair.

  (Charlie, as a boy, locked in a garage. Her heart broke.)

  He was more of a hero than Wren would ever be. He was good and noble. Wren loved him for it, but she hated herself for being so small.

  I didn’t choose Starrla over you, he texted late Saturday night. You know that, right?

  Yes, she knew that. It killed her that he felt the need to say so.

  She’s going to be fine, and she says she’s sorry, he texted on Sunday morning.

  That’s good, Wren thought. Her heart still hurt and hurt.

  I love you, Wren. So much. Plz don’t shut me out again.

  Can I come over?

  Can we talk?

  Plz?

  On Sunday, after a painful lunch with her parents, she curled up in the fetal position on her bed. 14 TEXT MESSAGES, 4 MISSED CALLS, her phone said. She was such a baby.

  Her dad rapped on her door. She knew the sound of his knuckles hitting wood. She’d know it anywhere.

  “Wren?” he said.

  She shut her eyes and pushed hard on her eyelids. She didn’t want to; she didn’t want to.

  She had to, or there’d be more questions. More fuss. More worry, especially after she hadn’t been appropriately appreciative of her parents’ gift during lunch. They’d given her a tote bag packed with textbooks recommended by one of the Emory pro
fessors Wren’s mom worked with. They’d said that if she was going to go through with her Project Unity plan, then she could at least get a head start on her college curriculum in her downtime.

  Her dad knocked again, and Wren sat up. “Come in.”

  He came, holding something behind his back. Another book? “Wren, are you all right?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah. I guess.” She made herself smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Is it the flight? Are you worried about flying? You always get worried about flying.”

  “Dad, I’m fine with flying.”

  “You’re being very brave. I thought, maybe because it’s an international flight …” He cleared his throat. “You’ve got your passport? You know how to fill out the customs form?”

  She nodded.

  Her dad exhaled. “Is this about your mother and me?”

  “What? No.”

  “I think it is. I think we—I—owe you an apology.”

  What? she thought. Her father, offering her an apology?

  “You will always be my little girl,” he told her. “I will always be proud of you. I’m sorry if I—”

  He choked up.

  “Dad, it’s okay,” she said.

  He straightened his shoulders. He handed her the book from behind his back and said, “Well. All right. I dug this out for you. I thought maybe the kids would like it.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. It was the picture book she loved, the one he used to read to her in a funny singsong voice. Charlie Parker Played Be Bop.

  “You used to like it,” he said gruffly. “You asked me to read it over and over. Do you remember?”

  “I do,” she whispered.

  “Charlie Parker,” he said. “That’s funny, isn’t it? Your Charlie has the same last name.”

  Her Charlie. God, it hurt. She smiled painfully.

  “Well, don’t forget to pack toothpaste,” her dad said.

  “I won’t.”

  “And fingernail clippers.”

  “Got ’em.”

  “Do you have a good English/Spanish translation guide? Because Rick Steves has a handbook that’s ranked highest on Amazon. That’s the one you want.”

  She had a translation app called Babylon. “Okay,” she said.

  He planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up. At her doorway, he turned around. “We love you, Wren,” he said, looking puzzled.

  “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

  Her flight was scheduled to depart late Monday afternoon. On Monday morning, as she was packing her shampoo and hairbrush and other last-minute items, P.G. sent her a text saying that Charlie was in bad shape. He didn’t want to interfere, but couldn’t she cut the guy a break?

  No, not if she couldn’t cut herself a break.

  It was going to happen regardless, she told herself. We were going to break up by default. It’ll be easier for him this way, because he can decide you’re not worth it, which you aren’t. And why should you get to see him one last time? You don’t deserve to.

  She kept packing.

  Five hours before her flight, she thought, Oh crap. What if Charlie comes over? What if he comes over and wants to see me? How will I turn him away?

  If she saw him in person, her soul would fly to him like a honeybee to nectar, and that would be the end of her.

  So she grabbed her keys, told her parents where she was going, and drove to Tessa’s house to say good-bye. She was supposed to, anyway. She’d told Tessa she would.

  She intended on sliding by with small talk and false cheer, but Tessa wouldn’t let her get away with it.

  “Will you please actually talk to me?” Tessa said as they sat side by side on her bed. “Not about Guatemala. Not about UGA. I want you to tell me what’s going on with you and Charlie.” She took Wren’s hands. “Please.”

  The fake Wren answered. The real Wren, small and cold, stayed trapped in ice. “Well … I guess I just realized how hopeless it all was,” she heard herself say. “Love. Relationships. Being with Charlie.”

  “Being with Charlie is hopeless?” Tessa said. “Why?”

  “It was hopeless from the beginning,” Wren said. “I just convinced myself it wasn’t. I convinced myself that because we loved each other, we should be together, when really, what is love? It’s not something you can prove, is it?”

  “Oh, okay,” Tessa said, cocking her head. “Is this because of Starrla? Because of what she said about Charlie?”

  Yes, thought Wren. Because he told her, but he didn’t tell me. Because he was afraid to tell me, because he knew it would upset me. Because it has upset me.

  “I’m not good enough for him,” she whispered. “His problems are always going to be bigger than mine.”

  “So, what, you’re cutting him off like … like a tag on a piece of clothing? Something you can just throw away?”

  Wren shrugged. It was easier not feeling things. “There’s no room for me.”

  “Wren. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re hurting him, and you’re hurting yourself.”

  “Yep.” I’m in the killing jar, she thought, flashing on a gruesome memory from her biology class. They’d caught butterflies and needed to kill them in order to study them. Their teacher told them that the easiest way was to saturate cotton balls with ethyl acetate, drop them into a glass jar with a butterfly, and watch it slowly die.

  For a startling moment, Wren both knew and felt the truth: She was killing the one true part of herself.

  Maybe Tessa knew it, too, because she said, “Wren. Who are you punishing here?”

  “No,” Wren said doggedly. “No, because I have to learn to not need people. To not need Charlie.”

  “Why? That’s nuts.”

  “Is it? If he doesn’t need me, all of me, then I shouldn’t need him, right?”

  “He doesn’t need you? He’s dying without you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Wren scrunched her shoulders, and Tessa sighed. She sat with Wren, quietly holding Wren’s hands.

  “Sometimes, when a relationship is real … God, it hurts,” Tessa finally said. “Because it’s so raw. Everything. Right?”

  A lump formed in Wren’s throat.

  “And if you shut yourself off, you don’t have to deal with it,” Tessa went on. She was being Gentle Tessa. Wise Tessa. Wren hated it, even as she tightened her fingers around Tessa’s and held on. “I get that.”

  Long seconds passed.

  “But just because it’s easier, is it better?” Tessa said. “Because, Wren … Charlie loves you.”

  A tear sploshed onto Wren’s leg, fat enough to leave a wet spot.

  Tessa squeezed her hands. “He does. And I know it’s hard, Wren. I do. But you love him, too. Don’t you?”

  More tears, hot and salty. (I do. I do!)

  “So I guess you have to ask yourself, is he worth it?”

  Wren sniffed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said love is hopeless. That love doesn’t exist. But, Wren, you’ve also said there’s no such thing as a tesseract, haven’t you?”

  Wren let out a sob-laugh. “There is no such thing as a tesseract.”

  Tessa smiled. “And yet here I am, and I’m solid and real, and so is Charlie.”

  Wren cried harder.

  “So, you know, I’m thinking that you can either keep yourself safe and not feel anything, or you can take the risk of just loving him and letting him love you.” She paused. “Is Charlie worth the risk? And if he’s not, what is? What are you willing to take a risk for, Wren?”

  Charlie! her soul cried. I’m willing to risk everything for Charlie. Yes. It’s just scary. But yes and yes and yes.

  An infinity of yes.

  An infinity of Charlie.

  She sobbed, and Tessa held her, and when Wren’s tears ran out, she continued to hold her.

  “I miss him,” Wren confessed. She swiped the
back of her hand under her eyes.

  “Of course you do,” Tessa said.

  Wren took a shuddering breath. “Maybe … I could call him?”

  Tessa let out a small laugh, which made Wren cry all over again, but that was okay.

  “You can’t leave without making up with him, Wren. He thinks you hate him.”

  “I could never hate him! I love him!”

  Tessa nodded.

  “I’m just afraid, maybe, that I love him more than he loves me.”

  “No,” Tessa said simply. “Call him. Tell him you’re coming over. Hug him and kiss him, and then kiss him again. All right?”

  Wren almost fell apart again, but she knew there wasn’t time.

  “And you guys can Skype,” Tessa said. “They have Internet access in Guatemala, right?”

  “Yes, they have Internet access in Guatemala.”

  “And you’re going to come home for holidays. And surely he could go visit you at least once.”

  “Yes, and more than once, if he can swing it. He’s been saving his money.”

  “If anyone can make a long-distance relationship work, it’s you two,” Tessa said. “So go. Go to him. Now!”

  “Okay,” Wren said with a tremulous smile. She felt a swell of gratitude for her friend, who was indeed solid and real.

  She rose from Tessa’s bed. She was halfway across the room when Tessa cried, “Wait!”

  Tessa ran to Wren and gave her a huge, rib-breaking hug. She kissed one of Wren’s cheeks and then the other.

  When she let Wren go, Wren felt better. Lighter. She walked to her car. She thought about Charlie, about touching him and being in his arms, and her cells rearranged themselves. She let herself consider the craziest idea ever, which had been lurking within her all this time but which she hadn’t found the courage to set free.

  It wasn’t a new idea, and maybe it wasn’t crazy. But … what if she decided not to go to Guatemala? Was it possible that it wouldn’t make her weak, but strong?

  She’d have to figure out how to handle her parents. She didn’t want to slip right back into being their little girl and nothing but their little girl. She’d also have to figure out a way to give back to the world here in Atlanta, because giving back was a true need inside her.