Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance

by Lindsay Detwiler

  “Please don’t say his name,” I responded while mindlessly stirring the cream in my coffee at the table.

  “Emma, I know it’s hard. I do. But you can’t just stop your life. You have to pick it up and find something to do. You can’t mope around this house forever. I love you, but you need to get your own life. Dad and I can’t baby you forever. You can’t keep lying around doing nothing.”

  I paused from my stirring and looked up at her. “Are you saying that you’re throwing me out?” I defiantly implored. Just what I needed.

  “Emma, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not throwing you out. I’m just saying I’m sick of watching you throw your life away.”

  “Mom, what am I supposed to do? Just pretend he didn’t exist? Pretend my life is awesome?” I protested with anger slipping into my voice.

  “Well, yeah, Emma, if that’s what it takes. Corbin would want you to do something. I don’t think he broke up with you so you could sit around here looking like that!” she noted forcefully, shriveling her nose up at my outfit.

  “What the hell, Mom? Now you’re bashing my outfit? If you haven’t noticed, my life freaking sucks right now. Everything was ripped away from me. Everything. I’m not just going to carry on like it doesn’t matter. I don’t even want to go to college. What’s the point?” I contend, leaping from my chair. I was getting ready to storm upstairs to my room like an insolent teenager when my mother grabbed my arm.

  “Emma, stop. I’m on your side. I’m not going to deal with this flippant attitude, though. Yes, what happened sucked. It still sucks. I’m just as mad and sad and pissed and confused as you. But you are my concern now. I can’t do anything for Corbin, but I can make sure that your life starts to pull back together. I love you. I don’t want you to look back with regrets, okay? I’m not throwing you out. You don’t have to go to college if you don’t want to, that’s your choice. But I am making a new rule. You have thirty days to find yourself a job. I don’t care if it’s making sandwiches at Big Bob’s Deli or working as a tattoo artist, but you have to find it in thirty days. Within thirty days, I want you to have somewhere you have to be and somewhere you have to look decent to go to. No more sitting in your room weeping in your saggy sweatpants. Let’s get you back out into the world.”

  “Mom, really? You’re giving me an ultimatum now?” I groaned.

  “Well, Miss Intelligent, an ultimatum requires some sort of consequence if you don’t follow through. Have I given you a consequence?”

  “Well, not yet, but I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Well, you should be afraid. For now, the consequence is my little secret. But I don’t think you want to find out what it is.”

  I rolled my eyes but leaned in to give my mom a hug. Although a part of me hated her for her hovering nature, I also loved that she was trying to get me motivated again. In a way, a piece of me knew she was right. I couldn’t curl up in my room and wait to die. I had to do something with my life. I didn’t have to love it. Hell, I didn’t even have to smile. But I had to do something.

  That night, I perused the classifieds in the newspaper. It was then that I saw an ad for a local trucking company. They were hiring an office assistant. The pay was half decent, the job seemed easy, and I was qualified with my high school degree. I knew one of Mom’s friends even worked there, so it would probably be an easy in. It wasn’t a life-changing revelation, but it was at least a step in the right direction, and it would get Mom off of my back.

  So that night, I took a major step toward my new life. I sent in an application.

  That was also the night I took a few steps away from Corbin Jones, whether I liked it or not.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Wings and Words

  Corbin

  Undressing, I bask in a luxury that hasn’t been all my own for decade—a hot shower. As the water ricochets off my body against the shower door and the steam cleanses my lungs, I revel in the simple pleasures that would have been overlooked by my teenage self. What once seemed like a chore is now a piece of paradise.

  The gravity of what I’m preparing for hasn’t slipped away from my mind. A part of me thinks I must be crazy, the air of the free world intoxicating me and cracking my rationale. No sane man, let alone one let out of prison, would think to do this. There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea.

  Yet there is one reason I can’t get the prospect of seeing her tonight out of my mind.

  I still love her.

  I had never stopped loving her, not for a second. Some would assume it was just the emotional ramblings of a broken man, beaten down by the dismal days of prison. True, I had little to fill my life except the memories of what had once been. But despite all of that, I feel like it was something more. Emma and I had something special, something I believed was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. We would have been so happy if that night hadn’t happened. The feelings that still linger, decade after decade, aren’t just the residue of a love lost. They are as real as the first day I told her I loved her. That love hadn’t died when I chopped her out of my life, when that cell door swung shut. I had never stopped loving her. Not when I uttered that final goodbye or got up from the prison table that final day we saw each other. Not that night as I agonized over whether or not I had done the right thing. Not for the next several months as letter upon letter poured in from her, all of which still lie in that wooden box, my prized possessions in prison. For the next twenty-eight years, those letters would be my sole link to a girl I had left go. They had been reminders of what I did to her and of how much pain I had caused. They were daggers in my shield of resolve to let her go. Tonight, they are questions of whether or not I had done the right thing.

  I had labeled those letters as they came to my cell, keeping a rigid time line for myself, allowing me to retrace our relationship as it fell to shambles. Meanwhile, I sat back in silence, hoping the girl I wanted nothing more than to hold would get over me. Yet, I silently hoped she never would.

  * * * *

  Letter 1:

  Corbin,

  I can’t stop crying over what you said last night. I can’t stop thinking of the way you walked away from me, claiming that it was for my own good. I can’t bear the thought of it being true.

  I know that things are hard—hopeless, even. I sit awake at night, fretting over the possibility that this nightmare might never end. I wonder how I am going to live a life loving you so much yet being forced apart from you. More than that, though, I wonder how I am going to live knowing that you can’t. Knowing that your world consists of those four walls. I wish that I could trade places with you. Better yet, I wish that they could lock me up with you, too. I’ve spent a lot of time enraged over the past few months, pissed at the situation and how unfair life is. Things were great for us, perfect even. We had so much to look forward to, but it was all shattered by one stupid night that wasn’t even our fault. I can’t stop asking myself why. Why us? Why this? I’m sure that this is just redundant rambling to you, because I know that as hard as this is for me, it is worse for you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your shoes. But I want to try. I want to be there for you. Please Corbin, let me do this.

  I love you. I love you so much that I can’t, no I won’t, face a life without you. I know you are trying to do the right thing, the noble thing. I love you for that. I appreciate that. That’s the kind of guy you are. But I won’t let you. I won’t let you try to push me away for your own good. Here’s the thing, Corbin: It won’t be good for me. Having to be physically apart from you is awful. But being emotionally away from you would be even worse. I can tolerate the physical distance because I know that someday this nightmare will end. It just has to. And when it does, we will be together again. I know it.

  So please, Corbin, don’t do this. I know you’re hurting and confused. I know that you think this is best. It’s not. Please don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on yourself. It’s going to be okay. Just let me stand by you, let me be there for you. If the tables were
turned, what would you want?

  I love you. Forever. I’m not giving up. I’ll be by to see you next visiting hours.

  Love always,

  Emma

  * * * *

  Letter 4:

  Corbin,

  It’s been two weeks now. I tried to visit you again yesterday, but you wouldn’t see me. I try not to be mad at you, to remind myself that you’re hurting. But Corbin, you’re hurting me by refusing to see me. I need to see you, even if it’s just in that dismal room with guards watching. I need to hear your voice, to see with my own eyes that you’re hanging in there. It’s not ideal, I know that. I would rather be in your arms than sitting arms-length away from you. I would rather be taking a walk or sitting at my mom’s table eating breakfast. I would do anything to just go back to the way things used to be.

  But we can’t, Corbin. Not yet. I don’t know where this is all going, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. But I do know one thing. I can’t just walk away from this. No matter how much you want me to, no matter how much easier it would be, I can’t. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone in this.

  I know you still love me. I know that you don’t really want this.

  Corbin, I miss you. Yes, it’s not the same with you behind bars. We can’t hug and kiss. We can’t walk to our tree or spend time in the barn. I would give anything to have that time back. I would give anything just to hold hands with you. I miss you.

  But what’s even worse is not even being able to talk to you. I haven’t even heard back from you in a letter. Corbin, I need you. I need to hear from you, to talk to you. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, and I need my best friend beside me. Please don’t shut me out like this.

  I’m still not giving up. I love you. Stay strong.

  I love you. Forever.

  Emma

  * * * *

  Letter 48:

  Corbin,

  This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Even harder than watching you walk away from me that day in the prison cell.

  I know this is what you want. I don’t claim to understand it. I don’t agree with it. I’m not even sure if I’ve accepted it. But I know that you think it’s best. For a while, I hated you for it. I hated you for the way you’ve shut me out, how you’ve forced silence onto me to push me away. I denied it, writing to you even though I knew I’d be met with silence. I guess that even if I didn’t hear from you, just knowing that I was still connected to you, even if just by writing to you, comforted me. It made me feel like it wasn’t over. I still don’t know if it is.

  But I know this can’t go on. I find myself foolishly checking the mailbox every day, hoping against all odds that you’ve responded. I still run every time the phone rings, thinking that maybe you’ve changed your mind. But your silence these past months has convinced me otherwise.

  Mom and I had a talk a few weeks ago. She convinced me that I can’t keep this up, that I have to rejoin the land of the living. She said it’s what you want, so I should honor that. For the past few months, I didn’t know if I was ready to agree with her. I halfheartedly committed to the notion, putting one foot into the land of the living and keeping one foot behind. I’ve kept writing to you as I slowly rejoined the world, not ready to completely let go. I still don’t think I am completely ready. I know this isn’t what I want. But I also know that I have to do something. I can’t just wait to die. I have to do something.

  So I’ve decided that this is it. This will be my last letter. Even as I write this, I don’t know if I can bring myself to believe it, but I know that I have to. I have to step back, for both of us. I have to let go.

  I still love you, Corbin. I still haven’t lost faith. The truth will come out. You will get your life back. I just don’t know when.

  I want you to know that I’ll keep praying for you. I’ll keep hoping against hope that the truth prevails. Corbin, you’re a good man. I know that it will work out.

  But I also know you’re right, that we can’t know when that will be. I know now that my sitting around waiting for you is hurting you more. I realize that now.

  This doesn’t mean that I don’t still love you. It doesn’t mean that I’ve given up on the idea or hope of us. I still have visions of our reunion, the idea of us being together in some distant place, in some distant time.

  Corbin, despite the hell that we’ve been through, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You brought me joy when I had all but forgotten. You woke me up to the beauties of life and the ecstasy of love. You opened my heart. The truth is, you stole it. I know that as long as I live, I will never look at another man the way I looked at you—the way I still look at you in my heart.

  I don’t know why all of this happened. I don’t know if I ever will. But I do know that I am thankful for the time we had. In those few years, we had more love and memories than some people ever have. We found each other when youth and optimism helped propel our relationship to dizzying heights and to strong connections. I know that I am better for having known you. I will never forget the way that my hand felt in yours, the way that your lips awoke a sense of vibrancy in the depths of my soul. I will never forget the joys in the simplicity of our moments together. I will never settle for anything less than what we had.

  I don’t think that love is in my cards for the future other than the love I feel for you. I know that even though I’m young, I could never find someone who completes me the way you do. I know you don’t want to hear that, I know you want me to try to move on. But Corbin, in some respects I can’t. I can try to find a career, try to experience life. But that is one line I don’t think I’ll ever cross. No one can soothe my inner being like you. No one can make me look to the future with such excitement like you did. No one can understand me, fulfill me, fit me like you did. I know that.

  So I suppose we’ve come to goodbye again. It’s such a harsh word, as harsh as the word that was proclaimed at your sentencing. It has such power, such control. It has the ability to take our lives and twist them in a new direction that we never wanted or expected.

  Corbin, I love you. I always will. If you ever need me, if you ever change your mind, don’t hesitate to contact me. Don’t hesitate to break your resolve, to reach out to me. Because no matter where I am in my life, no matter what I am doing, I will never be far from you in my heart. I may be moving on, but I’m not moving away from you. You will always be in my soul, a part of my present, and a fleeting dream for my future.

  I love you. Forever.

  Emma

  * * * *

  Water dripping onto the comforter, I sit cradled in my towel as I fold the last letter, putting it back in the box. I can’t help but feel tightness in my chest at her words. Reading the letters in order as I have so many times, it’s easy to see the despair that builds in her. I remember the despair I felt with each letter. I hadn’t wanted to read them, yet I felt the need to know. So many times I almost broke down and wrote back. So many times, I almost let her words get through to me, I almost let her pull me back in. But I couldn’t. It was this last letter that had convinced me I had done the right thing. She was moving on, she was doing what I had asked. I knew, when I received this letter, that I had done the right thing for Emma. I had given her the wings she needed to fly to a new life. She had done that.

  But now I wonder if she had flown so far away that I couldn’t reach her. I wonder if that last part of her letter still rings true.

  Could forever truly exist? Could time and circumstances tarnish even the most resolute love?

  I was about to find out, despite my wavering hesitancy. I rummage through my old dressers, hoping to find something that would still fit.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Hauntings

  Emma

  I shift on the couch, stretching out my legs as my knees crack. Pretty soon, I will develop bed sores, yet I don’t have the energy to even move. I feel like I’m nineteen again, sitting in my parents’ house waiting for
something to happen. Waiting to wake up and have a normal life again, a thought foreign to me even at this age.

  The clock ticks, reminding me of the remaining monotony of the night to come. John probably won’t be home for hours, not that I would be effective or enthralling company at this point anyway. It’s too late to go anywhere. Television is clearly not an option, and the magazine has already lost my attention. With few other options, I shake Hank awake and head upstairs. Maybe luck will be on my side and I will drown in a puddle of sleep, waking up to a new day. I am not sure how helpful a new day of these boggling thoughts will be.

  I climb into our bed under the quilt, fluffing the pillows to trick my brain into being tired. Sleep does not come to my rescue, though. Instead, the memories that have been whirling around me continue to usurp my thoughts. Images and pictures swirl together like a depressing home movie. I see his face right in front of me and my stomach still plummets. I hear his laugh, his jokes, feel his kisses on my lips. I see him in his prison jumpsuit, despondent and hardened. I imagine him sitting in that cell, day after day, all alone, cut off from the outside world. I imagine the pain he must have gone through, having lost everything and everyone that mattered to him. Certainly, my life without him hadn’t been a picnic. I had suffered in my own prison, of sorts, cut off emotionally from the world around me by the pain and hauntings of the past. In a way, I had given myself a prison sentence, not allowing myself to enjoy too much or to live too fully out of subconscious sorrow for Corbin. It was not fair that I could continue living while his life had stopped so abruptly. I had chosen, though, to live my life like this. Corbin hadn’t. Corbin had no choice but to face a ceaseless train of similar days with no true purpose or value to society. His talents, his warmth were all harnessed in the coldness of those thick walls, a hidden secret in a world that valued nothing.