Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  I feel like a new woman and after three shots, I’m shoving my wide hips into the dress that surprisingly stretches to cover my bottom.

  “I told your fine ass,” Miley says when I come out of the bathroom. “Now hurry up. Our section awaits us.”

  I haven’t counted the amount of shots Miley’s taken, but I’d say between five and ten would be accurate.

  Homegirl could knock ‘em back.

  A car is waiting for us outside her building and as we pass the doorman, I smile. Sure, these heels scare the shit out of me, and I endured a painful Brazilian that I wasn’t going to benefit from, but I feel a lot stronger than I did when I showed up with my hurt ass feelings. Hiding from the man who’d done the hurting.

  It’s a slow ride to the club but the drinking doesn’t stop for Miley. By the time we get there, I have to hold her hand to make sure she doesn’t walk off somewhere.

  We pass the line of people outside and are escorted to our section.

  There are masses of people around, all dancing while the lights shimmer over their bodies.

  I wish so badly that I could dance my worries away.

  “Where the hell is the bathroom?” Miley yells. I shrug as she stands, determination in her eyes. “Time to go break the seal.”

  The security guard at the entrance of our section shakes his head with a laugh and I shrug my shoulders again.

  I’m just here for the ride.

  This is my life. I’m running and hiding and healing and…watching things fall apart. Things I used to bet my life on.

  If anyone had asked me after prom what my future looked like, Elijah would be in it. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew I wanted him with me.

  But things don’t always work out the way we plan them.

  Have you ever had to stand by and watch a person fumble with their own blessings?

  As they close their third eye and set their world to flames?

  Hands behind your back, you had to watch as someone you love completely rejects their path and denies what the universe has gifted them.

  Even if one of those gifts is you.

  These are the things I’m mulling over in the VIP section at a club in New York City.

  “Well, well! Would you look at who I found?” Miley says, breaking my trance.

  She’s pulling someone’s arm and when he catches up, turning to face us, my mouth opens just as my brows pinch together in confusion.

  “What is this? A fucking high school reunion?” I ask.

  Terrence is standing in our VIP section, smiling at me with that confidence this asshole has always had.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he leans in to tell me.

  “And you’re making my eyes sore,” I shout back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He laughs at my statement before answering my question. “Just handling some business. I heard Miley was out here. Didn’t realize you were too.”

  I almost tell him I’m not, but I stop myself. Because it’s really none of his damn business.

  And no one wants to tell someone they grew up with who’s flying to New York on business that they still live at home. There’s a touch of shame in it that I never realized existed before this moment.

  He’s staring at my lips that are painted red, my mane that’s wild and free, and the skirt that rides up as I cross my legs.

  It feels nice to be wanted and heard and looked at the way a man can look at a woman. Even if I borderline hate that man.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

  “Can I buy you one?” I wonder if he finds my defensiveness sexy, because he keeps laughing and licking his lips.

  “I think I’m okay,” he answers, and I nod, looking for Miley.

  The crowd of people dancing has parted and there’s a formation outside our section. Miley is speaking to the security guard, gesturing with hands that point toward someone.

  And I see the word “no” being repeated.

  “Looks like we got a special guest in the building,” the DJ says. “Make some noise for Eliiiiiijahhhhh.”

  My ears are ringing as I catch sight of him. Our eyes lock and I stand, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

  I’m too weak to say no.

  I can’t…

  I remember saying those words before.

  And I remember him feeding me pills.

  He has ruined me just as much as I’ve ruined myself.

  Before I have to fight, I run in the direction Miley went to use the bathroom.

  There are three doors and I choose the one that doesn’t have a male or female sign on it.

  A broom closet. I duck inside and hide in a fucking closet, just so I won’t have to face him.

  I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I can’t bring myself to calm down enough to feel anything. My hands brace against one of the shelves, and my breaths are coming out in shaky little huffs.

  I can’t hear anything over the thumping of the bass in the club and I convince myself that if I slow my breathing down, he won’t find me. I got on a plane and came to a different state. I slept on a couch and argued with my best friend. I dodged calls from my parents and fought with myself.

  And when he opens the closet door and I glance sideways, making momentary eye contact, I realize I’m too tired to run anymore.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, my words quiet, my body so tired.

  “Why are you running from me?” He closes the door behind him, and I turn away, walking as far away as I can before I face him again.

  “Because I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

  “What can’t you do, T?”

  He’s coming closer and I hold my hands out. I can hardly look at him; at those eyes, those lips, that face I’ve loved more than my own self-preservation.

  It frustrates me and pisses me off. But it makes me cry, too.

  The words drip with sadness, like the tears down my face.

  “I can’t be your safe place anymore, Elijah.”

  “Don’t…” I can see him shake his head from the corner of my eye. “Don’t walk away from me. I need you.”

  That four-letter word holds so much more power than any other. Even more than love.

  Tell me you love me, and I’ll find holes in it every time.

  Tell me you need me, and I’ll move mountains to stay.

  “You don’t,” I say, finally looking at him. “You need help.”

  “Don’t you fucking…” He slams the palm of his hand against the door. “I don’t need help.”

  “You do!” I shout. “You couldn’t even stay clean for a week. What’d you do for that drug test? Steal some piss? I should’ve known when weed didn’t come up that it was a farce.”

  The things he does to deceive me.

  “I’ve been a fool. But I’m not anymore. And it breaks my heart to tell you this. That’s why I’ve been running from you,” I tell him.

  “I’m sorry,” he sobs, his face distorted in emotion.

  And I believe that he is. But that’s all I believe.

  I move to walk past him, ready to say goodbye, but he reaches out and pulls me into his body.

  I allow it, the hug I didn’t know we both needed.

  I don’t know what goodbyes look like, but in this closet, I’m finally ready to let go of the love I thought I couldn’t exist without.

  “Okay,” I start, “I have to go. Please make sure you get the help you need.”

  But he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lifts his head and attempts to kiss me.

  “Elijah.” I struggle against his hold. “Stop!” I finally push him away and step back.

  “What, are you really here with that clown?”

  He saw Terrence?

  “Yes! Yes the hell I am,” I lie. I’m this little angry person and all my anger is like a force that I wish I could expel from my body and have it crash into him. Hard, so hard he goes flying through the wall so I can have a little more of the spac
e he so eagerly granted me on a day-to-day basis.

  “When…”

  “You don’t get to ask me any fucking questions! Not when you kiss me and we fuck and then I see you on the cover of gossip magazines with another woman not even a week later, with no word from you. Not when you disappear and reappear at your will, when you need someone to make you feel good. And I mean feel good. Not just on the outside like the rest of those girls. On the inside, where I know you.” I step back again. “At least, where I thought I did.”

  I am not his toy, I am not his toy.

  I chant this to myself as I push past him, through the door, and into the pulsing club. These flashing lights make it harder to see where I’m going as I look for Miley.

  I am done.

  I am done.

  42

  THIS IS WITHDRAWAL

  I ’ve been adventurous on my birthday.

  I’ve been bored on my birthday. I’ve been forgotten on my birthday. I’ve been sad on my birthday.

  I’ve also been too high to do anything other than remember it was my birthday. And I was lonely on my last birthday.

  But not this birthday.

  Tomorrow, I will be taking my first solo trip. I’ll bring my special day in at home, where I’ll board a flight, and end it in Spain, where I’ll stay for two weeks.

  My bags are packed, and my flight itinerary is printed and folded neatly into my satchel. I double check my hotel booking and Miley keeps texting me to make sure I don’t need a last-minute partner.

  Me: I’m fine.

  Miley: Okay. HBD BABY!

  Who would’ve thought that I’d be getting ready to travel somewhere I’ve always wanted to go, by myself?

  Paid for by the earnings I made from publishing my own work.

  The sun is shining, and my plants are thriving. I’ll have to remind my neighbor to water them while I’m away.

  My phone vibrates and I pick it up, frowning at the unknown number.

  “Hello?”

  “T? It’s Florence. Elijah’s mom. How are you?”

  Her voice sounds unsure, distraught even.

  “I’m doing okay. How are…”

  She’s crying before I can get the question out.

  “Listen, have you seen my son?”

  How do I tell this woman that the last time I saw her son, I was pushing him away from me? That this was nearly a year ago?

  I’d checked his social media from time to time, even did Google searches to see any news on him potentially going to rehab. But the media ran with the bad boy image and Elijah gave them plenty of material. Between the women, the booze, and the rumors from sources who remained unnamed, they painted the perfect picture of disaster.

  And according to them, Elijah was using hard drugs now.

  The kind people don’t come back from.

  “No, I haven’t, ma’am,” I answer as simply as I can. “Is everything okay?”

  “No one can find him. His label is going to let him go if he doesn’t go to rehab.” She sniffles and I hold my breath as I wait for her to finish. “And he left. He’s gone.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.” But I won’t. I’ve changed my number.

  I’m sure she got it from my parents, but I’ve given them strict instructions not to give it to Elijah.

  After our last run in, I doubt he would think of me as someone who’d offer him a safe haven.

  But…

  After all this time…

  I would.

  I still would.

  Some love just sticks too well, too deep. You can try to dig it out, but it lives in your marrow. I’ll die with it before I manage to get rid of it.

  I’m always thinking back on permanence. On how the ink in my skin will be here until they bury me.

  And about how Elijah decided to trade in the needle of ink for one of a much different kind.

  And that would stay with him forever, too.

  His mother tells me she’s going to try a few other people and wishes me well before hanging up.

  I used to be afraid of this woman. But she’s just a mom trying to provide for her son in a society that’s made it a hard and sometimes shitty thing to do.

  It’s so crazy how our roles reform and reshape in time.

  How I never wanted to be the mean girl. How I never wanted to be the stupid girl. How I never wanted to be addicted to drugs. How I never wanted to be so angry.

  I could blame Elijah for all of this. But today, I shoulder the blame for every version of myself I ever offered the world, kind or not, brilliant or not.

  I am proudest of this version of myself.

  She came with patience and hard work.

  I jolt up, my brain trying to catch up with the banging on my apartment door. I don’t wonder who it is because Miley is still in New York. My parents are in Puerto Rico, visiting my cousins. And no one else bothers me here.

  So, when I open the door and Elijah is standing there, only two questions come to mind.

  “What are you doing here?” is what I say.

  But the real question is: How badly are you going to fuck me up this time?

  I want to smile. I want to hug him. But that isn’t what’s going on right now. Not with his eyes squeezed shut, his lips pressed together. His breathing coming in and out like he’s fighting for every inhale and subsequent exhale.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching out. “Hey, what’s up?”

  He stumbles inside, releasing his hands from their tight grip on my door’s frame.

  His body nearly hits the floor and I take the brunt of his weight. It’s a lot less than I remember, his collarbone a little more prominent than before. We half walk, and I half drag him to my bathroom after I shut my front door.

  Once I get him there, he launches himself into the shower.

  “Water,” he gasps out. “I need…”

  I spring into action when I realize what this is.

  I recognize this because a few years ago, I experienced the same thing on a much smaller scale.

  This is withdrawal.

  Only, it hadn’t just been the Molly. It had been him, too.

  He’d been my favorite drug of choice.

  I twist the knob, turning on the cold water and letting the shower head unleash its wrath on him, raining cold water as if washing everything away.

  All the hurt and the deception and the closed doors that led him to mine.

  Because I know if he showed up here, it’s because there are no other doors to knock on or windows to climb through.

  “What do you need?” I ask, watching him as his teeth chatter and he clutches his body into a ball.

  “You,” he says, rocking back and forth.

  And for the second time in my life, I climb into a running shower, fully clothed, hoping to save Elijah from drowning.

  THE APARTMENT IS quiet when I wake up. The sun pierces through the blinds, little strands of light that cause me to squint.

  Happy birthday to me.

  When I sit up, there are only wrinkled sheets next to me. As I tiptoe around my apartment, I fill with dread.

  He’s gone. My apartment shows no sign of him.

  I open my front door, swearing at my unanswered prayer because he isn’t sitting there, pensive and hopeful.

  When I look out the window, my heart shatters.

  I remember being a child and having to be quiet when there was a knock at the door. I remember not understanding why we’d have to hide our presence in our home from my own uncle.

  He was my dad’s brother.

  He was family.

  And I think back to the times we did let him in. How tired and unfocused he’d be. How he’d lock himself in the bathroom for nearly an hour. I’d watch the door, wondering if maybe he’d gotten sick.

  “Maybe Tio needs medicine?” I’d whisper to my mom, who’d whisk me away into another room, ready to task me with things to do or give me toys to play with until it was just the three of us again. And I
wouldn’t see him again for a while.

  And days after he came by, my mom would cry.

  Because something was always missing.

  I never knew what it all meant until one day…I saw him on the street.

  That was the day I knew too much.

  I never thought I’d have to turn someone I love away, and I never understood how my father could do it to his own brother.

  For every moment I ever judged my father, the universe paid me back in kind, making the man I love and my very best friend an addict.

  And that addict just stole my car.

  43

  OH, HOW HARD YOU’LL FALL

  With my car gone and Elijah off the grid, I can’t bring myself to go to Spain.

  Florence calls and I tell her to check my parents’ house and the beach.

  He isn’t at either.

  I spend my birthday crying on the phone to Miley, who hops on a flight and takes me out to dinner in an attempt to salvage the night.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks from her seat across me at the table. “He isn’t going to show up here.”

  “No, I know that. I’m just…I hope he’s okay.”

  She nods her head. “Fuck, who would’ve thought this would be our lives right now?” My eyes widen at the stray tear she wipes from her cheek. “I never thought it’d be him, you know?”

  None of us did.

  He was the boy everyone liked. The one the girls all laughed extra loud around, hoping to get his attention.

  And when he sang…

  I sit back and remember his seventeenth birthday, when I made him sing in the park. My god, the people loved him.

  And then one night changed it all.

  Pivotal moments created points of collision.

  I pray to the universe, to the moon as I rub my tattoo, that he’s okay.

  “You love him so much,” Miley whispers, watching my movements. “So much it scares me.”

  Her voice shakes with unshed tears and I worry that I don’t have any more left in me.

  “I can’t lose you.” Her hands shake as she lifts her glass of water. “I dread the day I get a call telling me you got so lost in saving him that you sacrificed yourself.”

  “I don’t know that my heart is that big.” But I’ve proven, time and again, that none of my rules apply when it comes to Elijah.