by Billy Coffey
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Lauren said. “I love you, too.”
I was as confused as Alex at that one, and I wanted to say something. But he said it for me:
“Well if I love you and you love me, why are we having this conversation?”
Lauren sighed again. She had been for the most part subtle and kind through the whole ordeal, but now it was time for plain truth.
“I just can’t do this,” she said. “I need to live, Alex. College is starting soon and I’ll be going away and I just…I can’t get bogged down in a relationship now. It just won’t work. If you really love me, you’ll understand. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”
With that she removed a ring from her finger and held it out to him.
Alex reached for it but caught her arm instead. “Please, Lauren,” he moaned. “We’ll be fine. We have to be.”
She folded his other hand around the ring and turned to leave. Alex remained beside me, stunned by the suddenness of her rejection. Five minutes before, they were inseparable. Now they would likely never be together again. I knew the theory of the temporary good-bye. It was one that existed in movies and books, but not in real life.
Lauren stopped and turned to face him one last time. “Oh, Alex? Those tickets for the concert? I still want mine. Just give it to Jill, okay? And call me.”
Call me. Translation: “Don’t call me. Ever.”
Alex said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had emptied his heart and bared his very soul, all to no avail. Our eyes remained on Lauren as she faded into the crowd. Shoulders slouched, he turned back to face the world without her.
We both stared out to sea. Without averting my gaze I again drew the lighter from my pocket and offered it to him. He accepted. No words passed between us.
Twenty minutes and two more smokes later, I was ready to leave. Alex would be okay, I thought. Maybe not right then or the day after, but eventually. But as I turned to go, he flicked his Marlboro into the sand by the small pile of others and said, “Dude? This is love? This?! If love’s supposed to be this big wonderful thing, why does it make absolutely no sense at all?”
I slowly exhaled. Alex wasn’t finished.
“Does love have to feel this bad? Huh? And if it does, why even bother ? I mean I love her, man. She was a ten. Did you see her? Oh man, she was so hot.”
He punched the guardrail and winced, perhaps hoping the physical pain would dull the emotional pain.
“We were meant to be,” he said. “I swear we were. Are. Whatever. How can I find another woman like her?”
Alex paused and stared, waiting for me to say something. Something profound and wise that would put him at ease. I looked around for the Old Man but didn’t see him. Evidently I was flying solo this time.
So I looked at him, opened my mouth…and closed it. All I could manage was a shrug.
Alex gawked at me. “Dude,” he said, “you been standing here this long, and you got nothin’ for me? Nothing?”
I shook my head. Then he began mocking me and accused most of my immediate family of unspeakable things.
And then he stormed out of sight.
*
I spent the rest of my vacation looking for him. Guilt had set in. I knew I should have said something, anything, but at the time my mouth felt like it was full more of cotton than words. The Old Man had given me the chance to be the angel for once, and I had failed. Miserably. I asked strangers and lifeguards, hotel attendants, even bartenders, none of whom confessed to any knowledge of an Alex or a Lauren. I tried describing them, but that didn’t help. Apparently Virginia Beach was full of muscular men with tattoos and beautiful women who wore sundresses. The Old Man wasn’t much help, either. He said he didn’t know where Alex had gone and that it didn’t matter. We’re all on our own path, he said. Not sure what that meant.
He did say that a letter would be nice. Something written by me for Alex. The fact there was no way to get him the letter wasn’t important, at least to the Old Man. He said the letter was more for myself, anyway. So I began to piece together what I could have said. Should have said, rather. I carried them around like fragments in my head, bits and pieces of observations and advice. I wrote, then rewrote, then rewrote again, until I had said what I felt was needed. I sealed it in an envelope, put his name on it, and left it in my box.
Even after all these years, Alex has never been that far removed from my thoughts. I still wonder what became of him, what he’s doing. And yes, if he’s in love. I like to think he is. I like to think that he’s found his true Lauren, whoever that is. But just in case, I’m still waiting to find him one day. I have something I think he’d like to read.
11
The Letter
What’s the letter say, Andy?”
Elizabeth was looking at me. The beginnings of a smile were on her lips, taunting me with the promise it would sprout then bloom and wrap me in its shade if I indulged her. This, I thought, was not a counseling sort of question. This was a personal one. Not just for my benefit, but hers.
I put the envelope back into the box, shut the lid, and pushed it away.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Heck, I wrote that thing years ago. Probably just a bunch of hooey anyway.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” she answered. “I can see more in you than you give yourself credit for, Andy Sommerville. You just need to show it to people.”
“It’s easier for me to do that with some people than others,” I said. “I’ve learned to love the lonely.”
“I don’t think you have,” she said. “Tell you what, then. We’ll compromise. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want, but let me.”
“Why are you so interested in this? I can’t imagine how that letter has anything to do with what happened or getting me better.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about what happened,” Elizabeth said.
“I don’t. I just don’t see why you’re so interested.”
A childish and utterly beautiful thought passed behind my eyes just then. I sneaked a peek at Elizabeth’s hand.
“I’m not married.” She held up her left hand to prove it, and then added, “Except maybe to this hospital.”
I blushed beneath my bandages.
“So you’re saying your job is your Old Man?” I asked her. “That’s the thing that keeps you from everything else?”
She smiled. “In a way, yes. I’ll agree with that, though my job is something I enjoy. To me, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. And my job is to help you. I care about you, Andy. I care about you a great deal. And you might not think that letter has much to do with why you’re here, but I don’t believe it.”
The Old Man’s words came back to me
(God sent her)
and I realized just how much I’d shared with Elizabeth in the past few hours. Nearly everything. Nearly. I knew then she sensed what I hadn’t, biding her time until those final bricks were wedged away and there was nowhere left for me to hide. I didn’t want to give her the letter. I didn’t want her to hear the ramblings of an emotion, the grandest and holiest emotion, that I had pursued more than once but never truly allowed myself to feel.
“It’s important, Andy,” she said.
(God sent her)
I motioned toward the box.
“Have at it, then,” I said.
She fetched the letter out and then settled back into her chair, placing her scissors and paper on the bed. I tried to see what sort of design, if any, she was cutting. There wasn’t any. Just a hodgepodge of straight lines and gentle curves.
“Eyes to the front, please,” she told me. And then she began to read aloud.
Dear Alex,
I hope that somehow, sometime, this letter reaches you. I know it probably won’t. I guess in a way I’m writing this more for my own comfort than yours. But life can be funny, and sometimes even the most improbable things have a way of surprising us.
You walked away from me before I had the chance
to tell you what I was thinking. I can’t blame you. I imagine I was standing there looking about as bright as the inside of a cave. I promise I was trying to find the words, but something kept pulling them away whenever I got close.
I guess that was for the best, though. Maybe you didn’t need any words. When people are hurting, the last thing they want is advice. I think what you needed was time—time to fall apart, gather yourself up, and move on. I’m sure you’re not there yet, but I’m sure you will be.
Don’t feel embarrassed because of the way you handled yourself. Such situations tend to bring out the worst in people. You did ask some serious questions, though, and you deserve some serious answers. I’ve seen my share of love, both the good kind and the bad, and even though I’m no philosopher or poet, I’ve been around the block enough to know where everything is.
Love is the most overused word in the English language, and maybe in any language. We can say we love anything—chocolate or a shirt or a pet or a picture. We love cars, houses, movies, and Saturdays. Is it any wonder, then, that when we say we love someone, the true meaning is lost?
The truth? No one can say what love is all about. It’s beyond words and description. You might as well try to explain the color red to a blind person. You can hint and analogize all you want, but you’ll never get it just right.
I think it has something to do with the fact that people can’t seem to agree on what love is. I couldn’t help but wonder that after you left. Are you sure it was love you felt for Lauren? I don’t mean to belittle your feelings, but I have to be honest. You asked me if I knew how beautiful Lauren was. I did. You were right, she was beautiful. But that was really all you dwelled on. You never mentioned her kindness or her charm or her humor. I can’t believe the only lovely features she possessed were those on the outside.
Maybe I’m overanalyzing. You just made it seem as though you weren’t going to miss her nearly as much as you were going to miss her body. And that’s exactly the point I’m trying to make.
You don’t fall in love through the eyes, Alex. You fall in love through the heart.
The hurt that comes from losing someone we love can be unbearable. But the hurt that comes from closing ourselves off from the world is much worse. I know you’re hurting right now. But pain isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Numbness is.
We are meant to love and to share, and if we don’t allow ourselves the opportunity to do so, we become less than we should. The more we’re able to feel, the more we’re able to do. And we can lose anything in this life—hope, desire, even faith—but it’s only when we lose our love that we truly die.
So even though you feel like you’re all alone in the world right now, you aren’t. A broken heart is like the common cold—we all know there isn’t a cure, we all know someone who’s suffered through one, and we all know that despite whatever precautions we might take, sooner or later we’re going to have to suffer through one, too. We are the only creatures who sometimes hurt the ones we love for no other reason than because we feel like it. That’s why falling in love comes with a price. It means fully giving all of yourself, warts and scars and all. That’s the only way it can be. And we give all of this to someone who is bound to one day at least disappoint us and at worst make us wonder if we can ever love again.
Is it, then, worth all the risk? Every time.
Keep trying. She’s out there.
Best,
Andy
“I think that’s beautiful,” she said.
“Guess it’s not bad for someone who has no idea what he’s talking about,” I answered. “But then again, Alex wouldn’t know that.”
“I think you know exactly what you’re talking about.” Elizabeth made a subtle shift into Counselor Mode, but this one I managed to catch. “You’ve hurt, haven’t you? A lot?”
“Everybody hurts, Elizabeth. Everybody who ever drew a breath has hurt. This world’s made for it. You said so yourself.”
“No,” she said. “I said the world’s not solid. That’s different.”
“I don’t even know what that means. But to answer your question, yes. I’ve hurt a lot. Which makes me no different than anyone else.”
“You hurt because of Caroline, don’t you?” she said.
“I’d rather not talk about Caroline, if that’s okay.”
Elizabeth pretended not to hear me. “You mistook me for her, didn’t you? You thought it was Caroline sitting here in this chair when you woke up.”
I told myself to tread lightly. I needed to keep one small part of myself in the shadows. “In my defense,” I said, “I was a little out of sorts.”
“What was it? My eyes? My shape? Do we have the same hair?”
“All of the above.” I left out the most striking similarity—they had the same heart, too.
“Is there anything of hers in your box?”
I shook my head no.
“And why’s that?”
“Because when you think about someone most all the time, you don’t need anything to remember her by.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said.
“Sure it is. I know plenty of married folks who don’t wear their rings. Know plenty of proud fathers who don’t cart around pictures of their kids, too.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Elizabeth put the letter down and picked up the envelope. Held it up for me to see. “I meant I don’t think it’s true that there isn’t anything of hers in your box. I think this was hers. Or maybe almost was.”
I tried to swallow but couldn’t.
“Alex’s name is on the envelope, Andy. But it was written over another name that you erased.”
She dangled the envelope until I finally reached out and took it. I held it close. Even in the dim lights I could see the faint markings of the letters beneath Alex’s name.
Caroline.
“You were writing that letter for him,” she said. “But you were thinking about her the whole time, weren’t you? Thinking about her so much that when you were finished and you addressed the front, you wrote her name instead of his.”
I looked at her.
“What happened?” She didn’t ask the question as much as whisper it. I had the feeling it was something she had to ask but would rather not, and I wanted to know why. Was it because Caroline had nothing to do with her job, or was it because Elizabeth didn’t care to hear me talking about a woman who once meant more to me than any other?
“Caroline walked into my gas station ten years ago,” I said. “She’d just moved to Mattingly. Her husband had up and left her and she was trying to start over. Poor gal. She was nice, real nice, but you could tell her heart was broken.
“I don’t know what in the world made me ask her to dinner one night. The Old Man didn’t tell me to. Just sort of came out. One second she was handing me a twenty for her gas, and the next we were sitting in the Dairy Queen eating sundaes. And it was great, you know? Just really…great. I’d never felt what I felt with her. She was funny and smart and so pretty. Dinner turned into a regular thing, and then we turned into a regular thing.”
“Sounds like you two made a good pair,” Elizabeth said.
“Good enough that folks around town started gossiping.” I quieted for a moment. “I bet I started to tell her about the Old Man a thousand times. Ran it through my head about how to say it all. I even asked him. But he was always pretty quiet about Caroline. I don’t think it was jealousy; I can’t imagine angels being jealous. Guess he just knew it wouldn’t end well. And it didn’t. I took a lady who’d had her heart broken, helped put it back together, and then broke it again.”
“Because of the Old Man?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’d stuck by me, you know? Guess I just thought I’d return the favor.”
“So you embrace your hurt and shun your happiness. You don’t seem like a masochist to me, Andy.”
“We have a right to pursue happiness, Elizabeth. Not a right to find it. The first part’s wha
t living is all about, I guess. The second part is maybe an inevitable consequence. But we’re all gonna hurt in our own way. I think that’s a good thing.”
Elizabeth looked down into the box. She’d made herself comfortable beside me, comfortable even to the point of intrusion a few times, but she still respected me enough not to touch anything inside without my asking. “You have anything in that box to prove that statement?” she asked.
I took the box and sat it on my lap. The pocket cross was still in the ball cap. I took it out and held it up to her. We watched as the wood caught the light.
12
The Pocket Cross
You should come,” Jackie said to me. “It’s gonna be good. Hear me?”
I poked my head out from under the hood of her car and wiped the oil off my hands. “Oil’s good, Jackie,” I said. “Dirty, though. When’s the last time Harry had this thing serviced? The seventies?”
“Oh, you know Harry,” she said. “Love of my life, but to him preventative maintenance is keeping gas in the car. You didn’t answer my question.”
I slammed the hood shut and walked over to her window. “What question?” I asked.
“If you heard me or not. You should come.”
It wasn’t the first time Jackie had invited me to her church, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. She wasn’t trying to save my immortal soul (that had already been done, thanks to Reverend Barnhart down at the Mennonite church) or get me to switch teams and start playing for the Pentecostals. It was just Jackie’s way. She invited everyone to church, whether they already went or not.
“Aww, I don’t know, Jackie. I can go to my own church and hear singin’. That’s twenty for the gas.”
“I guess you can,” she said. Jackie handed me two tens plus fifty cents for a tip. “But I expect you tend to your churchin’ the same way you tend to your gas station, by which I mean you show up, say just enough to be polite, and otherwise mind yourself. You don’t fool me, Andy Sommerville. And you understand that white folks can’t sing right. Right?”
