by Monica James
Please, universe, give me a sign.
Muted voices catch on the light breeze, alerting me to the fact I’m no longer alone. Fearfully looking ahead, I see a car without any headlights on stopped about half a mile away. It all looks extremely suspicious when a hooded figure emerges from the driver’s side.
If this is my sign, then I don’t know what that’s saying for my future.
Deciding to take my chances, I confidently keep walking, ensuring to keep my head down and not make eye contact. My footsteps seem amplified out here in the open, especially because it’s so quiet. I quicken my step. As I get within a few hundred feet of the car, the voices cease, and I can feel the strangers watching me. My eyes are still peeled to the ground as I try to blend into the shadows.
My breathing is fast and choppy, giving away my fear. But my house is only a few yards away. If this is my sign from the universe, no matter how obscure, then I’m going to embrace it and discover what it all means. I hustle past the car and its occupants, minding my business and only focusing on getting home.
Once I reach my house, I sprint around the back, inhaling deeply as I stop in the middle of my yard to catch my breath. The blood whooshes through my ears, resulting in an exhilarating head rush. Bending at the waist, I gulp in mouthfuls of air, somehow titillated by the entire situation. The feeling reminds me of last night—of when I met Jude.
“What happened to your car?”
“Sweet baby Jesus!” I yelp when I hear a voice sneak up behind me. Spinning around quickly, my excitement turns to dread when I see the hooded figure I saw out on the road is now standing in my yard.
“It’s me,” the figure says, unshrouding his face when he reads my panic.
“Jude?” I question, my heart racing at a billion miles a minute.
“Yes, it’s me,” he clarifies, walking closer, hands raised in surrender. This time, I don’t have a bottle of whiskey to protect me.
“What are you doing here?” The moonlight reveals his smirk. It appears this question is a common one between us. I’ve known this man for all of twenty-four hours, and all I’m left with are more questions than answers.
But if he is my sign from the universe, I want a recount.
He must be able to read the conflict in my eyes because he pulls his shoulders back. I can read his withdrawal, and for some unexplained reason, I don’t want him to go. “My car died!” I state, replying to his earlier question. “I swerved to avoid hitting an animal, and well, my sympathy has left me without a car.” The words rush out of me, as I’m afraid he’s going to leave.
He thankfully stays rooted to the spot. “You could have called me. I’d have come get you.”
“I don’t have your number,” I stupidly reply. Wow, that sounded like a come on. I’m about to backtrack, but my excuse dies in my throat.
As he steps toward me, his commanding presence fills my yard. His demeanor seeps confidence and control. Jude is a man who demands attention, and he’s certainly got mine.
He simply extends out his hand, indicating he wants my phone. Looking briefly into the sky, a star twinkles brighter than any others. A shooting star then flashes across the sphere.
Damn this to hell.
Searching through my bag, I pull out my iPhone and hand it to him. As he enters his number, I turn to look at the lake. Henry’s glowing house is now an eyesore, as I know what goes on behind closed doors.
“Why did you burn that chair?”
The mention of the chair spikes my temper. “Because, like I said, some things are better off as ashes.”
“Most people would have left the chair behind, or maybe given it to Goodwill. Not set it on fire in their backyard. But you’re not most people. You’re…” His pause makes me wonder what he was going to say.
“I’m what?” I ask, turning to face him. “Crazy?” I offer, filling in the blanks when he looks at the ground.
His hair flicks forward, shrouding his face, so I can’t read what’s going on behind those eyes. “Different,” he corrects a second later.
“Different?”
He nods. “So why?” he presses when I’m trying to decode what he means by his response.
“Why what?”
Finally looking up and meeting my gaze, he elucidates, “Why did you burn it? Or should I ask, why did you keep it?”
Memories of Bryan and Matilda, memories of my fiancé screwing my sister while she screamed out that she loved him punch me in the guts and I feel a whirlwind circling within my soul.
Jude senses my impending explosion and continues to push. “Tell me, and be honest with yourself.”
The walls start closing in on me, and I suddenly feel hot. I frantically need to claw my way out of this uncomfortable situation. “I have to go.” I try to push Jude away, but he stands his ground as he grips onto my bicep. The pressure isn’t punishing, and I could break free at any time. But I don’t.
“It’s a simple question.” His breath fans across my cheeks.
“No, it’s really not.”
His eyes turn curious, but they also fall poignant. “Why are you holding onto the past? Burn it. Burn it just like you did that chair.”
I can’t breathe.
I’m no longer in my yard; I’m back in Bridgeport, weakly climbing my front steps. The door is unlocked, and I don’t hear the cries until I slip off my shoes.
“Bryan?” I gently call out, my head close to exploding after a simple walk around the neighborhood.
The cries get louder and louder.
“Matilda?”
I know what’s happening, but my brain goes into survival mode. It doesn’t want to believe the truth.
The slapping of flesh, the impassioned moans, the amorous words all point to one thing. But that thing—no, it’s not happening. But it is. Pushing open the heavy door, I see my fiancé driving into someone who looks like my sister but surely, it can’t be her.
But as she screams, “I love you, Bryan!” I know it is.
They haven’t seen me; I’ve crept in quieter than a mouse. Bryan’s eyes are closed, his head thrown back, his length slamming in and out of my sister as she’s sprawled over my chair, my most favorite chair in the world. I’m numb. There simply are no words. But funnily enough, all I can think of while I watch my fiancé fuck my sister is why did they have to use this chair? Why not the couch, or the bed? Why did they choose this chair?
That chair—it represents all I’ve lost, and all I’ll never achieve.
That motherfucking chair.
Months of anger bursts out of me; anger I didn’t even know was there. I thought I had a handle on this, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.
I shove at Jude, who stumbles backward, his face painted with shock. But he pushed these buttons. He wanted the truth? Well, here it is. “I kept it as a reminder of who I’ll never be again! Of what I’ll never allow myself to become!”
“And what’s that?”
“A victim! I’m done being fate’s bitch. I’m a survivor, and burning that chair proves it.” I need to shut up, but I can’t. I’ve kept this bottled up for so long it’s now seeping down the sides. “You’re right, I am different. Most women would have screamed, shouted, and cried about the injustices of the world, but I didn’t. I was too busy trying to survive. I’ve lived through an assault, a near fatal gunshot wound, continuous nightmares of the most horrific event I’ve ever experienced, and a cheating fiancé and sister. I thought by moving here I could start fresh, but why is the pain, the betrayal”—I thump my fist over my heart—“still here? Why do I constantly think, why me? What did I do to deserve this?”
By this stage, I’m sobbing, the hot tears scoring my flesh. But I don’t care. It feels good to cry. I’ve tried to be strong, tried to move on, but my heart is grieving—grieving for the person I wanted to be.
“Victoria,” Jude consoles, but I’m suddenly embarrassed—he knows it all. He now knows my secrets. He knows I’m incomplete.
I need to
get out of here.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could have—” He suddenly pauses, his eyes searching mine, the remorse clear in the blue depths.
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Are you still so eager to help me when I’m in distress?”
Even though he looks sorry for pushing, he nods firmly. “Yes. Always. That won’t change.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice merely a whisper.
Smiling sadly, he steps forward apprehensively, approaching me as he would a crazed tiger. I feel warm and safe wrapped in his presence. I haven’t felt this way for so long. With a calculated, unhurried speed, he wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “Because you’re different. I knew it the first moment I saw you. You’re strong.” Taking a deep breath, he goes on to confess, “And what makes you different…makes you beautiful.”
I can’t even comprehend his declaration—it’s simply too much. In a warped way, this is the beginning of the new me. Once I face my demons, only then can I let go.
I remain motionless as he slips my cell into my hand without another word. Before he goes, he graces me with words of hope. “I think we’re going to be great friends.”
He then leaves me standing alone, his words on a loop because funnily enough, we appear to be two birds of a feather.
I don’t feel as ridiculous as I thought I would.
Peering into the mirror behind the bathroom door, I adjust my blue polka dot tankini, thankful the neckline isn’t too low because it hides my scar perfectly. This two-piece bathing suit was a gift from Matilda. She said I should flaunt my assets. Just because I lost my will to live didn’t mean I had to dress like a nun—an insensitive comment from someone who was perfect and clueless.
There was never any doubt Matilda and I were sisters. Some even confused us for twins. But she was always the curvier, prettier one, and I was fine with that. I had Bryan. He was all I ever needed. Too bad he was all Matilda needed too.
I have no idea what they are doing or if they’re still together. I don’t even know if they ever were. Matilda confessed when I weakly answered her numerous calls, saying she never meant to fall in love with Bryan. What happened to me took a toll on everyone, and it appears the way she decided to grieve was by having sex with my fiancé.
My parents now live in Reno after deciding to live out their twilight years in the Biggest Little City in the World. That was the plan for Bryan and me, too. Maybe not live in Reno, but we’d talk about retiring someplace quiet where we could look back on our amazing life with nothing but fond memories. But that’ll never happen.
My mom is desperate for me to reconcile with Matilda, saying blood is thicker than water. However, I’m not the one she should be giving her sermon to. My dad is more understanding, giving me the time I need to heal. And after last night, I think I might be at the starting line.
Reaching for a towel off the rack, I’m looking forward to taking a swim and building up my strength and stamina to what it once was. My strength is shining through—wearing this bathing suit is proof of it.
The brilliant sunrays kiss my pale skin, warming my body from head to toe as I step outside. The blades of grass under my bare feet connect me to Mother Nature. I feel alive.
Jude’s comment from last night replays in my mind. He thinks I’m beautiful. It appears he sees something in me that I’ve missed. He now knows my secrets, yet he still thinks I’m someone worth knowing. Why?
It’s way too early for such philosophical thoughts, so I walk down the dock and toss my towel onto the edge. The water looks crisp and still, welcoming me into its depth and promising an opportunity of rebirth.
I was once a strong swimmer, but looking at my lanky arms, I wonder if I’ll sink to the bottom of the lake like my chair. Peering into the watery depths, I wonder if that would be so bad. There were many times I wanted to die. Death would be the easy option. I wouldn’t hurt. I wouldn’t have to live with the constant ache of remembering what a masochistic thing life is.
Taking one step, then two, I move until my feet are in line with the dock’s edge. Just one more step and all of this could be over. No more pain. Maybe this is what facing my demons is all about. Maybe this is me letting go of…everything.
With that thought in mind, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and I…let go.
The icy water is like a thousand needles piercing my body. I sink further and deeper, the need to resurface and take a much-needed breath doesn’t encourage me to swim anytime soon. It’s so peaceful down here, so black. No one can touch me.
Things become clearer, which is ironic, considering I’m sinking to a watery grave. My life flashes before my eyes in a kaleidoscope of colors, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. I didn’t come this far to give up now. I refuse to surrender.
The noise blaring loudly in my ears breaks my beset state of mind, and my muscles are filled with an unexpected burst of energy because all I want to do is live. Instinct takes over, and I swim to the surface, the feeling of weightlessness salving my soul. The moment I emerge, my lungs are filled with oxygen, which has never felt sweeter. My body is singing—I feel alive.
With my newfound sense of glory, I take to the water like I was born to own it. My arms, which once felt feeble, now feel stout as I power through the water like an unstoppable force. I keep pushing forward because the burn raging throughout my body is a sure sign that no matter my doubts, I will not drown.
Each stroke takes me closer to my goals, and that is enough motivation to keep going. I don’t know how far I’ve swum, but it doesn’t matter either way. The fact I tried is enough for today because it gives me the inspiration to try harder and go farther tomorrow.
I stop to catch my breath and take in my surroundings with a new eye. The sunlight bounces off the peaks of the waves, reflecting vibrant rainbows into the crisp atmosphere. As I turn to the left, I see I’ve come to rest in line with a tall red maple tree.
My eyes are instantly drawn to Jude’s house. It looks bigger somehow. I don’t know for certain, but I’m guessing I’ve swum a little over half a mile. A smile stretches across my cheeks, a sense of accomplishment overtaking me. Jude’s house will be my finish line. Each day—hail, rain, or shine—I will swim closer and closer, marching forward until I cross that threshold with a sense of pride. The question is, what happens when I get there? What happens once I get to the other side? Deciding to tackle one challenge at a time, I turn and head back for home.
I’m almost at the dock when a flash of color soars through the air. I instantly stop, wondering what it could be. A moment later, I see a kite in the shape of a butterfly with wings painted every color of the rainbow zipping and zagging through the air. The sight is strangely liberating, a reflection of how I currently feel.
Needing to discover who is giving life to this sight, I swim faster, letting out a breath of relief when I reach the dock. I climb the ladder, my heavy muscles relishing in the feel of placing my feet on land. Taking a minute, I zero in on a young boy standing near my back steps. As I take a closer look, I see that the young boy is Angus. His eyes are aimed at the sky, focused on keeping the kite in the air. A jubilant smile kisses his cheeks, displaying his happiness at maneuvering something he obviously enjoys.
Remembering our last encounter, I contemplate leaving him be and not disturbing him. However, when I look down at my fingers and see they resemble prunes, I decide to get out before I shrivel any further. I dry off, never breaking my perusal of Angus even though he still hasn’t seen me.
Wrapping the towel around my body, I decide to try again with Angus. Now that I know he’s a little shy around strangers, I can approach him a little more cautiously. I wonder if he’s visiting Henry. Or maybe he lives close by? I’m assuming he lives with his father, a man I have no clue about.
I try my best to announce my arrival and not sneak up on him. “Hi, Angus. I like your kite,” I say, hoping he doesn’t see me as the enemy.
He nervously chews his lip.
“You’re really good.” I continue moving forward, my steps slow and steady, not wanting to chase him away. Angus focuses on my mouth. “Maybe you can teach me?” I almost sing in relief when he nods shyly.
This is progress.
For the next hour, Angus lowers his guard and allows me into his world. This beautiful young boy is smart, funny, and skilled. He’s patient enough to teach me how to fly the kite, giggling when I failed but never giving up. He may not speak, but we don’t need words because his actions speak volumes. He’s just a normal kid living an extraordinary life.
As I’m in the kitchen preparing us something to eat, I can’t help but think about Rosemary. I don’t claim to understand her circumstances, but leaving behind a remarkable child like Angus doesn’t sit right with me. A mother’s job is to protect her kin. No matter the situation, there is no excuse. Leaving behind your young just seems so…weak. Henry may not see the error of his daughter’s ways and instead blame Angus’s father, but at least he stuck around. It takes a real man to be a father. And it takes a coward to leave her son behind.
The back door closing snaps me from my thoughts. Angus strolls into the kitchen, red cheeked and eyes alive. He looks down at the PB&J sandwiches, and his lips almost smack in delight. I can’t help but smile. When he walks over to the sink and lathers his tiny hands with soap, I know that his father, regardless of what Henry thinks of him, is a good man.
He climbs the tall stool, smiling as I place his lunch down in front of him. I’m thankful I have a firm hold of the glass of milk because just as I’m about to set it down, Angus looks up. He pulls in his bottom lip, and before I can ask if everything is okay, he mumbles, “Thank…you.”
I nod, too stunned to say anything.
And as he happily chews his sandwich, he doesn’t realize that I’m the one who should be thanking him.
