by Lang Leav
I love you, I’m sorry
I went to put the photo back into the envelope when I noticed there was a piece of notepaper inside. It was folded up many times over, like a letter meant to be inserted into a bottle. With trembling hands, I withdrew it and pulled it open slowly, my heart thumping in my chest. I recognized Ana’s tiny writing at once, and as I read, I realized it must be a page torn from her diary.
I’m going to do it this time. My parents will be away this weekend, and I am going to seal up the garage with Dad’s beloved red Thunderbird running inside. Then I’m going to fall asleep to the sweet perfume of carbon monoxide and “Sugar Baby Love” blasting on the stereo. Seventeen seems like a good age to leave this shitball of a world . . .
I heard footsteps in the hall outside, and my heart leapt to my throat. I quickly folded up the diary entry and stuck it into the pocket of my Audrey jacket. Then I scooped the remaining items into the box and shut the lid. I got up, my chair scraping loudly against the kitchen floor, and raced over to Rad’s closet to put the box back where I found it. The key turned in the lock, and a few seconds later, he was through the door.
“Hey,” he said, dropping his keys on the kitchen table and looking around the apartment. “You tidied up.”
“Hey,” I said, a little out of breath.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Audrey?” His eyes scanned my face. “Have you been crying?”
I shook my head. “No, it was just a little dusty in here; that’s all.” I tried to muster up a smile. “Allergies.”
“Okay.” He looked unconvinced.
“I should get going. I have an interview this afternoon.” I grabbed my satchel and draped it across my shoulder.
“Hey.” He reached out and touched my arm as I walked past him toward the door. “Audrey, this is nuts. You’re obviously not okay. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”
I stopped. Tears filled my eyes. I wish I had never looked into the box. I so wish I could pretend it didn’t exist.
Rad put both hands on my shoulders and peered down at me. “Audrey, I hate seeing you like this. Please tell me what’s wrong. Was it something I did?”
“No, it’s not you.”
“What is it, then?”
“I just—” My voice caught in my throat. I looked down at my feet. “I just need to know that you want me,” I said finally.
He looked at me stunned for a few moments, before his expression softened. “I want you—of course I want you.” He drew me into his arms. “More than anything.” I felt his lips against my ear. “So much.”
That afternoon I met up with author Elsa Reed at the Tuscan-style villa near Bondi Beach, where she lived. The entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking about the contents of the black metal box. Not even the gorgeous sea view from Elsa’s deck or the fact that I was actually speaking to one of my idols could keep my mind from trailing back to that morning. The photograph, the poem, and the page from Ana’s diary kept popping up in my head, one after another, like pieces of luggage on a carousel. Luckily, Elsa didn’t seem to notice how distracted I was as we discussed her writing process.
“I get up around five every morning,” she said. “I don’t know why. No matter how late I go to bed the night before, the next day at 5 a.m. sharp,” she clicked her fingers, “I’m up and ready for work.”
“But how do you manage to cope with all the day-to-day stuff?”
“Well, I think it helps that I’ve never been married and I don’t have any children. It means I can nap during the day if I want.”
“So you’ve never wanted children? I’m sorry if that’s too personal a question.”
She smiled at me, her eyes creasing gently in the corners. It was a warm smile. “I don’t think I went out of my way not to have children,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose I never made it a priority. Other things seemed more important to me during my thirties and forties. Then before I knew it, I was in my fifties, and by then, I knew it was a little late.” She laughed. “Not that I feel as if I’ve missed out. I’ve spent much of my life traveling, and as you know, I’ve written several books during that time. I can’t say that I would have preferred to settle down like most responsible adults, because you only get one life, and I don’t have that comparison to make. What I do know is that I like my life—very much so—and I am possessive about the way I live. I can’t imagine having it any other way.”
“I grew up devouring your books,” I said. “I hope this doesn’t sound selfish, but I’m glad you had all that time to write. I feel your books are a gift to the world. And, what’s more, you’ve found the holy grail in that your books have enjoyed critical acclaim as well as commercial success.”
“Yes, I have been very fortunate in that regard.”
We were quiet for a few moments, as we sipped the green tea she had prepared earlier.
“There’s something I have always wanted to ask you.”
“Go ahead.”
“There is a recurring character in your stories. The man with the bumblebee pin. You write about him with so much tenderness—I can’t help but wonder if he’s based on someone you know.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ah, the man with the bumblebee pin. Yes, he is based on someone I know or rather, someone I knew—a very long time ago. I suppose you can say he is my muse.”
“Am I allowed to ask what happened?”
“Do you know about Saturn return?”
“No.”
“It’s an astrological transit that happens about every twenty-eight years when Saturn returns to the same place in the sky it stood on the day you were born.”
“And what’s the significance of that?”
“Do you know the opening line of A Tale of Two Cities?”
“‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .’”
She nodded. “Around the time you turn twenty-seven, Saturn begins to close in on its first cycle. Many people believe this will herald a tremendous change in your life. It’s supposed to be the period where you cross the threshold into adulthood. And it’s meant to be a time that is as magical as it is unsettling. Your life is thrown into chaos and disarray. Think of it as your own tiny revolution.”
“Was it that way for you?”
She nodded. “That was the year I met the man with the bumblebee pin.”
“And what happened?” I asked, fascinated.
A mysterious smile played on her lips. “Well, I won’t go into any detail—I let my books speak for me in that regard—but I will tell you that when I turned twenty-seven, I learned a very important lesson.”
“What was it?” I asked, leaning in.
“I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.”
I left Elsa’s house, my head spinning. I decided to go for a walk along Bondi Beach to process everything that had happened that day. Writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most. I couldn’t help but attach those words to Rad and the book he wrote after Ana’s death. Seeing that box and its contents, I finally understood the depth of his feelings for Ana, and it was as if the rug had been pulled out from under my feet.
I was walking down the busy footway, the ocean before me shimmering like a jewel, when suddenly, I stopped. I remembered the page from Ana’s diary. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my Audrey jacket, but nothing was there. I frowned. I was dead sure I had put it in there. I checked the other pocket, but it too was empty. Frantically, I dug into all the pockets of my jeans—there was nothing. My head began to spin. My throat felt like it was closing in on me. I reached down and tweaked my rubber band, blindly stumbling to a nearby bench. A teenage boy on his skateboard stopped by me. “Hey, are you okay?”
I nodded. “Asthma,�
� I said, hoping he would leave me alone.
“Do you need me to call the ambulance or anything?”
“No,” I managed to gasp, “I’ll be okay.”
I collapsed on the bench, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I snapped my rubber band again and gripped the side of the bench, forcing myself to concentrate on my hand, to acknowledge that it was connected to something solid. I clutched the bench like a life raft.
It felt like an eternity before I managed to get my breathing under control. Then it was like a fog clearing, and, gradually, I felt as if I was back in the real world again, and I became aware of the odd looks I was getting from passersby.
I reached into my satchel, my hands still shaking, and took out every last thing in there, hoping I would now find the page from Ana’s diary. Maybe I could put it back in the box before Rad noticed it was missing. But I looked and looked, and it was nowhere to be found.
I grabbed my phone and called Lucy.
“Hey, Audrey.”
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, even though she must have known from my voice that I wasn’t.
“I don’t know. I’m at Bondi Beach. Can you come and pick me up?”
“Sure, sweetie. Just hang on—I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Lucy took me home and settled me onto our blue couch. She wrapped our large throw around me and squeezed my shoulders.
“What happened today?”
I told her about my morning, how I found the time capsule Rad kept in his apartment.
“Oh, Audrey,” she said with a sigh. “You shouldn’t have looked in there. I mean, most people keep old love letters, and it hasn’t been that long since Ana died. I don’t think it would in any way diminish what he feels for you.”
“I know. I guess I just thought what we had was the most amazing and rare thing. I suppose I always imagined his relationship with Ana was similar to the one I shared with Duck. But now, seeing the poem and the photo . . .” I didn’t mention the diary entry.
“I know. It must have been a shock for you.”
I nodded. “I hardly ever think about Duck anymore. I still care about him but not anything romantic—that faded so quickly. But I think it’s different for Rad. Even though he never talks about Ana, his pen tells me she’s still there in his heart. She’s in every damn line he writes.”
“Audrey, if you had the choice, would you rather be his muse or be in his arms?”
“I want to be both. I know it’s the exception rather than the rule, but I can’t help what I want.”
“Of course not, sweetie,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Do you know about Schrödinger’s cat?”
Lucy nodded. “Yeah. It’s the theory about the cat in the box with the flask of poison. The idea being that the cat in the box is both simultaneously alive and dead—it’s only when you open the box that it is one or the other.”
“Exactly. If I had never looked into that box, it would still be a pile of old trading cards—at least to me. But I’ve opened up a new reality, and I want to go back to the old one.”
“Audrey,” Lucy let out a deep breath, “this kind of thinking isn’t healthy. All these what-ifs. You can go on and on forever.”
“I know. I just can’t believe he would lie about what was in the box. I think that bothers me more than anything. That he could look in my eyes and tell me something that is completely contrary to the truth.”
“I don’t think he did it out of malice, Audrey. You just caught him off guard. I mean, we’ve all been guilty of that at some point.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Haven’t you ever told a lie that you regretted?”
Out of nowhere, an icy cold finger traced a line down my back. I shivered and pulled the throw tighter around me.
“I mean, everyone does,” Lucy continued, oblivious to the effect her words had on me. “Freddy still believes I’m a natural blonde.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “He has no idea.”
“He hasn’t noticed that the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “Now you know why I’m so OCD about my waxing appointments.”
I gave her a wry smile. “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”
Later that night, I got a text from Rad.
Want to go for a drive?
Sure
It had been a long day, and I wished I could just close my eyes and fall asleep. But my mind was racing, and I was on the verge of a panic attack. I didn’t know if seeing Rad would soothe my anxiety or make it worse.
He was outside my house about twenty minutes later.
“We haven’t done this in ages,” I said, as we turned the corner.
“No.” Rad turned and smiled at me.
“It feels nostalgic.”
We drove for a while with no destination. The moon swam through the sky, pale and ghostly, dipping in and out of clouds like a retro arcade game. I looked over at Rad, and as usual, a feeling of tenderness swept through me. Sitting there beside him in the car—it was all I wanted for the rest of my life. “I know you looked inside that box,” he said suddenly. My entire body prickled with fear. I kept silent. “It’s okay,” he continued. “I think in a way I wanted you to.”
He must have noticed that the page from Ana’s diary was missing.
He switched gears and slowed down, then turned into the empty parking lot of a supermarket. He parked the car and looked at me, his face partly covered in shadow.
“Did you read anything?”
“Only a poem,” I said truthfully. “And there was a diary entry, but I only read the first few lines.”
“I noticed it was missing from the box. Do you still have it?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure why, but I stuck it in the pocket of my jacket, and now I can’t seem to find it. It must have fallen out somewhere. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Hopefully it will turn up.”
“Why did you have a page from Ana’s diary?”
“I took it on the night of her wake. I knew she kept her diary under a loose floorboard in her bedroom. I’m not sure why I went through it.” He shook his head. “Grief makes you do weird things.”
“You don’t have to explain. I probably would have done the same thing myself.”
“I’m not sure why I chose to tear out that page in particular. I suppose I wanted to punish myself in some way for what happened to Ana. I wanted something that would hurt me each time I read it.”
“But that’s crazy, Rad. Why would you do that to yourself? It’s bad enough you lost her.”
He looked at me, and a strange expression crossed his face. “Audrey, I’ve never told this to anyone before. What happened to Ana was my fault. I’m the reason why she did it.”
“Why on earth would you think that, Rad? How could it be your fault?”
His eyes, pained and haunted, looked straight into mine. “You know that rumor that was going around, the one about Ana screwing her dad?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“I was at her house right before they found her in the bathtub. I went there to confront her about the rumor.” He closed his eyes, as though it hurt him to remember. “She told me it was a lie, that someone had made it all up. But I got the feeling she was hiding something from me. I told her I thought she was lying, and we got into a fight—the worst fight we’d ever had.”
I reached over and took his hand. It was cold and clammy.
“I should have been there for her,” he continued. “Regardless of whether the gossip was true or not. She had the whole town against her. She just needed someone on her side. But I chose not to be that person. A few hours later, her father called and told me she was dead.” He shook his head and burie
d his face in his hands.
“Rad,” I put my hand on his shoulder. “What happened to Ana wasn’t your fault.”
He turned to face me. “What do you mean? I just told you—”
I drew in a deep breath. “Rad, Ana was telling you the truth,” I said softly. “The rumor—it was a lie.”
He looked at me blankly. “A lie? But how do you know for sure?”
I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again. My heart was beating so fast I felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I swallowed hard and looked him straight in the eye. “Because I was the one who made it up.”
Rad stared at me as if I was an apparition. Like I had just materialized from thin air to occupy the passenger seat across from him. “You made it up?” he said dumbly.
I nodded. “I told the story to Lucy and Candela one night, and Eve overheard us. She passed it on to her mother, and that’s how the rumor got started.”
“Audrey, what are you saying?” He grew more and more distressed. “Why are you saying this shit?” He looked around the car wildly.
“Because it’s true,” I said, my voice breaking with emotion. “And I live with my guilt every single day.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
I shook my head and bit down hard on my lip. “I wish I was, but I’m telling you it’s true. It was a lie. I made it up.”
“Why the fuck would you make up something like that?” he said, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.
“What were you thinking?” He was shouting now, his eyes flashing with anger.
“I don’t know,” I said again, my voice small and unsteady. “Kids say stupid things. I had no idea it was going to end the way it did, or I never would have said anything.”
