The Roots of Us

by Candace Knoebel

  APRIL 8, 2016

  TWO WEEKS DISAPPEARED LIKE A bag of Oreos in my hand. During those two weeks, James said all of five sentences to me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Janice can help you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “I already told you, I’m over it.”

  My emotions felt like one giant bruise, beaten and broken, crumpled on the floor. How far could one person bend before they snapped in half?

  Every day that passed, I grew more and more irritated. Thunder rumbled through my chest, a sign of a storm surely brewing. Being around a man who catered to his ego was like taking a stroll through a minefield. I was bound to set them off at some point.

  I thought the crew could sense the animosity. He was short and choppy with everyone. Sometimes he’d yell cut when we were in the middle of something good, and then disappear for hours in the woods. It was frustrating, and set us back nearly a week in production time.

  Janice pulled me aside to tell me the crew was getting worried.

  I had to put a stop to it.

  “James,” I said the following week.

  He refused to look my way. Just yelled, “Cut,” and then stormed out before I could finish what I was going to say.

  As if one man’s hurt feelings ever stopped me before.

  I followed him out, determination carrying my steps. I was done watching him run off into the woods because I’d said something he didn’t like. Especially when he was the one who asked for it in the first place.

  “James,” I said sharply.

  He didn’t stop. I felt like we were five, playing tag on the playground. He chased me. I chased him. It was utterly ridiculous.

  We were moving deeper and deeper into the woods, the trunks absorbing the sounds around us. The sun cutting in, in angry slashes through the trees. It was cooler. Darker. Mirroring our souls.

  “James, stop.”

  He kept going. One petty foot in front of the other.

  I picked up my pace until I was close enough to reach the swell of his arm. I latched onto him, and he spun.

  “What?” he sputtered, the lines of his face marked with anger.

  “Why do you do this?” I asked, hands flowing up in question.

  “Do what?” He kept his eyes on a point behind me.

  Dragging my hands down the side of my face, I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so unnerved. So annoyed and equally desperate to fix something.

  “This… this cry for attention.” My chest heaved in and out. “You’re too old to be doing this shit.”

  His eyes turned into slits. “You followed me so you could tell me I’m acting like a child? Thanks.”

  “If the shoe fits.” It was a low blow. I couldn’t help it. He was being a manchild.

  He snorted and turned his back on me. But he didn’t leave.

  “You can’t keep running off like this,” I continued. “Sometimes you’re gone for hours. Do you know how selfish that is?” I put my hand to my forehead and paced. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry and drunk. You were pushing me outside of my comfort zone.” I stopped pacing. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. But you’re a grown man, and we have a job to do here, James. There are people that rely on us. That look up to us and count on us to be there for them, and every time you run away from the problem—”

  Hudson appeared in my mind.

  I stopped, mouth clamping shut. Who was I to scold him when I did the exact same thing? I ran. Hudson relied on me, and I left him. I left everyone before they had the chance to leave me.

  If anyone understood James, it was me.

  He turned and marched toward me, mirroring the anger I felt. “Go on. Finish what you were going to say, Hartley. Was it that running doesn’t make the issue disappear? You think I don’t know that?”

  “James, I—”

  “I know I take things too personally. That I’m too emotional. I’ve been told that my whole life. I’ve had to defend that for as long as I can remember. It’s been thrown in my face by some of the most important people to me. So you know what? I leave before I get to the point where I know I’m going to get hurt. I don’t ever want to feel that type of disappointing pain again, and if leaving the room or the state or even the damn country can prevent that from happening, then so be it.”

  Heat burned behind my eyes. I felt like I was watching myself unravel in him. Like I was standing in front of a mirror. Is this what I looked like? The look that’s on his face of utter fear of rejection? Wounds so deep no medicine could ever reach them?

  We stewed in the silence. He ran a hand through his hair and turned half away from me, cursing to himself. I took a deep breath as he put his hands against the bark of a tree and leaned down, breathing in.

  I realized then that there were those who chose to pay attention to the lessons life was teaching them, and then there were those who stacked mistakes like a game of Jenga, pulling out one bad decision after another until their entire lives fell apart.

  I hated Jenga.

  The cycle had to break. We had to shed, like Basil said, because this wasn’t living. We were liars, James and I. Telling ourselves we needed adventure when we were searching for a way to dim the hurt. But hurt didn’t go away by ignoring it. We had to see it, and then we had to decide what to do with it.

  “Come with me,” I said, extending my hand.

  His eyebrows lowered, bruises in his eyes, but he took my hand. I led him down to a secluded part of the lake, and then started to strip.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, trying not to peek once my shirt was off.

  “Shedding.”

  It took him a second to understand, but when he finally did, he was stripping down to his underwear, letting the air of the place fill our lungs. I couldn’t help but think of that first night with Hudson, when we had shed our secrets to one another, and my heart cracked a little. I had to let him go. Not because I couldn’t be loved, but because I could love, and I loved him. This job would always relocate me, and I committed to it long before I met him. I couldn’t ask him for more. I wouldn’t.

  We ran toward the lake, laughing like kids.

  “This is insane,” he said when we came up for air. We were hovering in the cool water, ripples forming around us.

  “What’s insane is letting what happened to us in the past dictate our future,” I said, splashing at him. “Jesus… the years I’ve spent using my past as a crutch.” I shook my head. “I feel so dumb that it took me being here to realize that.”

  His eyes turned serious. “You shouldn’t ever feel dumb, Hartley. You’re amazing.”

  I knew what came next. I’d seen it a million times in so many different lovers. Hudson’s smile surfaced in my mind, and my stomach twisted sharply.

  “James,” I started to say. “I’m a mess,” I admitted, wading in the water. “I hurt someone I loved. I was too scared to admit it, so I ran.” I paused, my heart sputtering. “I know… I know I’m not ready for love. Not yet. Not when I still have so many demons to lay to rest. I’m too complicated. I ask too much.”

  “You should never feel ashamed of knowing how you need to be loved, Hartley.”

  “That’s the thing,” I said, tears pushing behind my eyes, “I’ve never stayed long enough to learn how that’s supposed to feel.”

  He swam closer to me. Brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I laughed nervously. There was something in James’ eyes I connected to. But I didn’t want to feel that way. Not when my heart was still somewhere back in Florida.

  I moved back a little.

  “You haven’t truly let him go, have you?”

  It alarmed me how easily he read me. As easily as I read him. It was strange, this bond growing between us. It felt like I was sticking my hand into the fire.

  “I have, but only in the sense that I’ve accepted we’re star-crossed. My l
ove for him, though, will remain here.” I pointed to my chest.

  He swam closer again. “That’s a shame.”

  It made me feel weird, being close like this with him. I didn’t feel those fireworks I felt with Hudson. Only a need to pull him close and hold him to me. Which was why I didn’t move away again. I didn’t want to hurt him. I cared for him in my own way, and maybe that could be enough for now.

  “Why is it a shame?” I asked as my teeth began to chatter.

  “Because,” he said, pulling me against him, “I think we could be great together. We connect in a way I’ve never felt before. You challenge me. You don’t take shit from me. Most try to bend to my needs when I’m moody, but not you. You see right through it, and give it right back to me.”

  It was true. There was an unspoken truth between us that I’d never felt, not even with Hudson, but there was no sexual desire behind it for me. We just understood each other.

  “I think whoever this guy was, he was a fool for letting you go. I’d follow you anywhere, Hartley. And maybe you’d feel the same if you’d only give us a chance.”

  I looked away.

  My love was still an adolescent, tripping over its feet, making one bad decision after another.

  Softly, he turned my chin toward him. “I told you I can wait, Hartley. I’m not in a hurry. I don’t want to be a rebound. I want to be the real deal. If that means we need more time to figure this out, then so be it.”

  I hugged him as the world felt like it was closing in on me. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I move on? James was right. We could be good together. We connected so well… but still… something was missing.

  Because he isn’t him.

  We swam back for shore, the magic of shedding left somewhere at the bottom of the lake.

  “You know… I’ve never waited around for a girl before,” he said as he buttoned his pants.

  I slid my shirt over my head. “And I’ve never cared enough about a friendship to not want to fuck it up with sex,” I admitted.

  Once my hand was through the sleeve, he grabbed it. “Hartley, if friendship is all you’ll ever want from me, know that it will be enough. Having you in my life is all I care about, and I’ll take whatever position you want me in.”

  I smiled at him, though the smile felt cheap.

  MAY 21, 2016

  FOR THE PAST MONTH AND a half, my days shifted from being on set, to living out of the cutting lab. Some nights I didn’t even make it back to my cabin. But on those days, I’d wake covered up with a fresh coffee beside me. James was a soundless friend. The kind who was always there, even if we weren’t physically together.

  When James would wrap up filming, he’d be right beside me as we went over what footage we wanted to keep, and what would be sent to the discard pile. In those moments, I felt alive. Every director and producer I’d worked with in the past hadn’t wanted anything to do with the edits until I had a semi-polished version for them. But James, he wanted his hands on every aspect.

  By the end of our last week there, the rough cut was nearly finished and James was growing restless. Basil decided to throw a pool party for our crew, so we could mingle with everyone and thank them for their hospitality.

  I debated whether I’d go. Not because I didn’t want to thank everyone, but because I was happily buried inside my work. It kept the real world at bay. My focus was on frames and transitions, and not my severely messed up love life.

  In the end, I found myself standing outside the gate to the pool, a towel clutched to my side and discomfort curled in my chest.

  I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, watching bodies mingle with one another. Seconds? Minutes? I found a small peace in standing behind that gate, unnoticed, able to spy on the world as it spun around me. I hated social settings when words were expected from me, but I didn’t mind hiding in the background, watching.

  I noticed Matt and Sarah kissing, sitting along the edge of the pool. He had a hand buried in her hair. Her hand was gripping the thin edges of his waist. Three months together, and this was the first sign I’d seen of a spark between them.

  Then again, had I paid any attention?

  James spotted me, waving me over. He was wearing a pair of gray swimming trunks that hung past his knees, his muscles covered in a fine sheen of oil.

  “You made it,” he said once I was in earshot. Judging by the slippery slope of his smile, I could tell he’d already had a few.

  “I did.” I searched for the bar. If I was going to be social, I needed a drink. There was a long line. Shit. “So… they’re in love?” I asked, pointing my chin in the direction of Matt and Sarah.

  The laughter that belted out of him was so full of shock I almost felt embarrassed. “Hartley, you share a space with them every day. How could you not know?”

  I scratched my forehead, feeling like a bear crawling out from hibernation. “I… uh… I guess I didn’t notice.”

  They did have the cabin to themselves most of the time. Worked side by side every day. Slept side by side every night. And there was that one time I heard them whispering to each other, but I figured it was about the project.

  “Wow.” I shook my head. I truly was married to my work. Everything and everyone else had become background noise.

  Had I let a month slip by me like that? I’d never done that before. Not on any project. Sure, there were late nights and long hours… but I always maintained a social life.

  I was becoming a hermit.

  “It happens to the best of us,” he said, patting me on the back.

  “Not to me.” Truth flexed its claws and scratched at the door to my mind. I didn’t want to face why I’d buried myself in the work. Why I slowly let myself sink. “I’m going… I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

  Once inside, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, staring up to the ceiling. I headed for the sink. Splashed cool water over my face. “What is wrong with you?” I asked my reflection.

  “The miles you’ve put in between you and your problems are finally catching up to you.”

  I spun around.

  A toilet flushed, and then Basil appeared from a stall. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Pyscho-analyzing is my favorite part of every day, and I don’t believe you’ve let me have the chance with you.”

  I was speechless, and somewhat embarrassed.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say your father wasn’t the best man in your life,” he said as he finished washing his hands, and then reached for a paper towel. “And every man you’ve ever met has been compared to him.”

  I opened my mouth, but he held his hand up.

  “You don’t have to answer. The pain in your eyes is enough proof. It’s the same pain I’ve seen in Malick’s.”

  I stuck my chin out. “Maybe that was true before, but I’ve forgiven him in my own way. I’ve let the idea of him go.”

  “And, yet, that hurt he left in you is still as fresh and as new as the day he left you,” he said, not backing down.

  Truth scratched harder in my mind, ripping through the layers of lies I’d told myself. “Sure,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “If I let myself think about it, then of course it hurts. But I don’t because like I said, I’ve forgiven him, therefore there’s no more need to think about it.”

  He swooped my hands up in his, and then pulled them against his chest. I found it hard to meet his eyes, because the way he was looking at me, almost in a fatherly manner, made my chest ache so bad I thought it would split right open.

  “You truly don’t understand forgiveness, do you?” he asked, his words tiptoeing toward me. His hands were warm as he lightly squeezed mine. “Forgiveness is like a snail. It’s slow moving. It takes time to get to where it needs to be. But most importantly, it leaves an invisible trail behind. One you can’t see unless you’re searching for it.” He shifted his weight, but didn’t let go of my hands. “You say you’ve worked your way toward forgiving your father, but w
hat trail was left behind on that path?”

  I could barely make out his features through the stinging blur filling my eyes. Even though every part of me revolted against staying to hear what he had to say, I was glad he had a hold of my hands. Glad that door was locked, and he was standing in front of it.

  “Deep down, those feelings will always be there, hidden, waiting for the opportunity to rise. And they won’t ever go away until you address that the real person you need to forgive is yourself.”

  I blinked and the tears fell, clearing a path to see his face.

  “Forgive yourself for believing you weren’t good enough for him to stay. For dimming your own light. Forgive yourself for feeling like you did something wrong. For taking the blame when you were the victim. Forgive yourself for running from perfectly good men because you were scared. For walking away from happiness because you trained yourself into believing you weren’t deserving.

  “But mostly, forgive yourself for feeling ashamed of being angry that you had to take it upon yourself to forgive him, because you knew deep down he’d never come around. Anger is like fire… if controlled, it can heal land. Give room for new life to grow. But if left uncontrolled, it can destroy thousands of lives. You need to embrace that anger. Let it have its moment to breathe, and then pour the water over the flames.”

  “I don’t know how to not be angry at him,” I admitted, my voice pulled taut with emotion.

  “You will. Maybe not today, and that’s okay, but you will. When your heart is ready to let go.”

  He pulled me into a hug, and I was grateful for his strength. For him. For this place and this project, and this story of his that reshaped how I’d been living my life.

  “You’re worthy, Hartley,” he said against my hair. “Too many times we define our worthiness by the people who are willing to be in our lives. We think if we can’t keep them, then there is something wrong with us. That we should have taken better care of that relationship. Put more effort into making the other person happy. Then they would have seen our worth.

  “But the truth is, honey, our true worth comes from the ability to be able to love and accept ourselves. To be able to look inside from time to time and have heart to hearts with your mind. To assess what you don’t like about yourself, and embrace everything that you love about yourself. To not fall into the mold society has already formed before you were even conceived.