by Clark, Kaisa
When Annabelle comes home that night she finds me slumped on her couch, eyes red from copious amounts of tears and alcohol, silently scrolling through old text messages on my phone. She doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t force me to relive the agony, just takes the sight in from the door and announces, “We’re leaving. Come on.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere Annabelle.” The words sound flat, lifeless, like they’re coming from someone other than me. “Please leave me be.”
In one quick, fluid movement she snatches the phone from my hands. I’m too stunned to move.
“No more text messages. You can have this back later.”
She pockets my cell phone. Despite my yearning to hold it in my hands, to feel even a fraction closer to him, I make no effort to stop her.
“Carly and I are playing cards with her new boy toy. I already told them you’re coming. Bring the vodka, but you’re coming.”
I don’t bother getting ready. I don’t care that I’m still wearing yoga pants or that my hair is unkempt or that I don’t have on a stitch of makeup to hide my blotchy face. I won’t be seeing Adam. Nothing else matters. When it’s time to go I scoop up my purse and the vodka and shuffle to her car. As she drives I lean my forehead against the pane of glass and stare out at nothing. All I see ahead of me is darkness.
The night slides by in slow monotony. One hand of cards rolls into the next and I barely pay attention to who has what. I don’t say a word. I just sip drink after drink and replay the last day’s events in my mind, wondering how everything went so wrong so fast. Would one slight change have made all the difference? If we’d simply stayed in bed, if that line-jumper hadn’t cut, if I’d stuck it out on the dance floor, if Damien hadn’t come to the booth, if I’d focused on the music in the car would the words not have come spilling out of me? Would any one tiny change have been enough to save this?
When it’s time to go, Annabelle takes me by the hand, grasping the remains of the nearly empty bottle of vodka in the other, and gently guides me towards her car. She climbs in beside me and we sit in silence for a moment. Then she pulls my phone from her jacket pocket and sets it on the center console. I can tell from her resigned expression it hasn’t rung. My fingers slowly reach out to grasp it. I don’t really want to look, don’t want the confirmation, but I do it anyway. The home screen is blank. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
I sleep most of the next day away on Annabelle’s couch. It’s a black sleep, all dreams blotted out from the massive amount of alcohol I consumed. When my eyes finally flick open I stare lifelessly at the ceiling above me. Dread hits me square in the chest, the horrific feeling that something is terribly wrong.
Annabelle appears at my side with a glass of water. I grip the glass in my hands, pressing my fingertips white against its surface.
“Need anything?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. I feel the misery clawing at my chest, screaming through my lungs, clamoring to get out. All I can see is the pained look in his eyes before he walked out. I can hear the finality of his words ringing in my ears. Tears come easy, my face slick and salty and flushed. I don’t bother trying to reel it in. I curl into her couch reliving the crush of Adam leaving me all over again.
Maybe I could reach out to him. Maybe I could try to fix this, but I know he’s back at school now and a phone call would never do this justice. We’ve never been great over the phone sharing guarded, unreliable words. I need him to see me. I need him to see it written on my face and in my eyes how sorry I am. I need him to know everything I did came from a place of love.
I stay on Annabelle’s couch as long as I can stand to. When I can no longer force away the image of Adam and me sleeping here, summer sun brightening his face, I decide to go. I reach my apartment and press the door shut behind me with a click. The noise seems to echo through the empty space. The quiet is deafening. This place should be filled with the remnants of his laugher; it should be filled with the memory of his beautiful words. Never this pulsing silence. Never his complete erasure from my life.
My eyes scan the living room and catch on the flick of fins in the corner. I click the fish tank light off; I'm not interested in seeing them right now. Too many haunting memories. Too much emotion. The pictures he brought me from formal are still lying on the coffee table where he left them. My fingers brush over the glossy edges, lightly tracing the curve of his jawline. I stare at his face with longing, wishing with everything in me I could take it all back.
My legs are so tired. My body feels so heavy. I sink to the floor, staring out at nothing. I don't bother with the stereo, feeling for once completely uninterested in music.
How can a love like ours end? Why can't he see I only had the best of intentions, that I only ever wanted him to let me in?
When I wake up the next morning I'm still on the living room floor. My back screams out in pain and I’m startled to actually feel something other than the ache in my chest. My phone rings beside me and my stomach lurches in response. I jerk the phone towards me, pleading with everything in me, let it be him, please just let it be him. I spin the display around and come crashing back down. I move my finger to silence the call. I don't feel much like talking to my mom right now. I don't feel much like talking to anyone anymore.
I try to force myself to study for finals, but I can’t seem to focus. All I think, all I see, all I breathe is Adam. Despite my better judgment, I’m compelled to feel some fragment of him, to know the last six months really happened, weren’t simply a figment of my imagination. I want to hold the shattered pieces in my hands and relive the ecstasy of being with him. Standing on a chair, I retrieve a blue shoebox from the top shelf of my bedroom closet. Even the box is special; the heels I bought for semi-formal came in this box. Inside it houses every note, every memento, every tangible piece of evidence that Adam loved me.
Piece by piece, I remove the items from the box. I finger the note he tucked under my windshield after work last summer asking if maybe, just maybe, I wanted to hang out. I unfold the tiny scrap of paper he slipped into my apron pocket telling me to meet him in the freezer for an “okay” kiss. I take out the birthday card he taped to my front door and trace my finger along my initials written in that upright scrawl across the envelope. I re-read every agonizing word of the letter he wrote me in August. The tears come furious and hard, splashing down my cheeks in a thick stream, spilling over the box and its precious contents, but I make no effort to stop. I am completely broken. I’ve come entirely undone.
I’ve called in sick to all my shifts at Milano’s since Adam left. It didn't even seem like a lie. I do feel sick. I’m nauseated by his absence, can feel it weighing thick on my chest, churning deep inside me. Despite my heartbreak, I know I have to go back eventually. I can’t keep dodging that bullet even though I know the misery awaiting me there. That place brought us together. It’s the last place I want to be when we’re falling apart.
I dress slowly, hating every minute. The uniform feels like a prison, a constant reminder of what I lost, what I pushed away. I see him in the length of my tie, in the empty apron pockets, in the crisp, white material of my shirt. I drive slowly and in silence, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. When I finally walk through the door, I’m greeted with concerned glances and cautious hellos. Everyone knows. I wish they would choke on their sympathy, just keep it to themselves and stay out of my way.
The hostess seats my first table of the day. When I see it’s a young couple, I silently curse her for not skipping me in the rotation. I step up to greet them and freeze. I’d know the look on their faces anywhere. There’s an incredible softness when their eyes connect, the love between them almost palpable. I force myself to say hello and take their drink order. As I walk away the guy rises from his side of the booth and slides in beside the girl, draping his arm over her shoulder. The tenderness sends me over the edge. I barely make it to the bathroom before I break down. Crouching against the bathroom stall, deep sobs
wrack through my entire body.
The realization hits me. That had been me. I had been in love, all out explosive, passionate love. It consumed me, knocked me sideways. It brought me sight when I’d never even known I was blind. It breathed new life into me. It made me feel whole when I’d never even realized all my life some part of me was missing. I drank in the feeling, soaked it in through every pore, let it devour me because I was certain it would never leave. But instead it twisted up inside me, changed me so entirely that without it I am lost. Without it I am a shell, a broken fragment of who I once was. All that remains is the knowledge that for a fleeting moment I’d been in love. I’d been complete. I’d been truly alive.
I fumble through the rest of my shift. I go through the motions. I do not smile. I do not laugh. I do not care at all. When it’s over I get into my car and I tip my head back and I see the two small imprints on the ceiling and am reminded it is really over. He left and it’s all because I pushed him too far.
Week two arrives and the full magnitude of Adam’s departure begins to sink in. I try to dig deep, to channel the old me, the me before Adam, but no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to connect with her. Who was that girl, so fine with being on her own? She was innocent; she was blind. She had never loved and never lost it all, had never been reduced to skin and bones after having swelled to so much more.
Annabelle routinely asks me to come over. I don’t feel like going, don’t feel like doing anything anymore, but it takes more effort to resist her so I give in. Like so many times before, we munch on pizza and sip on wine, a dark and heavy red. I take deep sips, letting it fill me. I don't have anything to say and she doesn't push me, just lets me sit here without being alone. I'm practically falling asleep on her couch before I head back to my own apartment, hoping I’ll eliminate the risk of getting home and having time to let my thoughts shift back to him.
It doesn’t matter.
They always do.
I spend Christmas day at my parents’ house. I sit on their couch and drink hot chocolate and force a smile as we open gifts. Inside I am crumbling. I am wasting away. As I’m buttoning on my coat to go, my mom appears at my elbow. She hugs me tight and it’s comforting, but it does little to soothe the emptiness I feel.
“I’ve seen the rollercoaster you’ve been on these last few months,” she says gently, a rare attempt to acknowledge how far from the middle I’ve been the last few times I’ve seen her. “Remember, whatever it is, this too will pass.”
I bite back the tears spilling from my eyes and suck in a ragged breath, nodding once then heading out the door. I know how far I’ve fallen, how fully this has wrecked me. I should be used to him being away by now, our extensive time apart serving as continual preparation for a day I never thought would come. But before there was always the hope and possibility he’d come back, some future date to count down to, now there never is. His absence simply stretches on and on.
When I get back to my apartment I open the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of wine with every intention of drowning my sorrows, but I catch sight of those damn hotdogs on the shelf. I grasp the package in my hand, remembering the exact look on Adam’s face when he told me the Nathan’s were essential. I squeeze the package, hating the memory yet powerless to stop it. I turn and heave them into my trashcan. I remove tub after tub of unopened Ben and Jerry’s from my freezer. I throw away the boxes of mac and cheese lining my cabinets. The candy goes in the trash as well. I can’t take the sight of it, can’t bear the thought of eating it alone. When I return from the trash dumpster I collapse against the wall by the door, knowing exactly what I threw away. The love of my life. My eternal happiness.
Now that it’s winter break, I only have work to occupy my thoughts. At least I’ve worked at Milano's long enough that I can get by on autopilot. I don't have to try. Simply going is effort enough. Each day I grit my teeth and don the uniform and force myself through the door. I avoid the parts of the restaurant that remind me of him the most. I trade side duties to avoid cleaning the soda machine. None of the kids at my tables get ice cream for dessert because I can’t stand going into the freezer. I roll my silverware on the to-go station to avoid those damn steel tables and the image of his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. What I lack in cheer I make up for in mindfulness. I anticipate my tables’ every need to offset the solemn delivery.
Between tables, I down cup after cup of coffee. I feel jittery, scattered, my thoughts fluttering from one topic to another. And this is exactly why I won’t stop drinking it. I don’t want to focus. I don’t want my mind to rest because every time it settles on him. His easy laugh. His carefree smile. The way he made my heart sing in my chest every moment we spent here together. Feeding my caffeine addiction at every break also allows me to avoid the forced dialogue that abounds whenever I’m standing around. Adam and I made sense to everyone in the restaurant, but me after Adam is unfamiliar to all of us. It doesn’t help that I’m a walking ghost. No one knows what to say to me.
Adding to my torture is the knowledge that he’s back for break now. Part of me has foolishly hoped he’d call or come by, say he wanted to try to make this work, that these last weeks apart have been agony for him too. But my phone hasn’t rang. I haven’t heard those two knocks on my door letting me know he wants this as badly as I do. I’ve come to realize his love was temporary, fleeting, never without strings attached, given briefly then yanked away.
Annabelle shows up at my apartment on New Year’s dressed to kill. She’s all sparkles and glitter and any other day it would be too much, but on this day it works.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asks gently.
I nod and head for the bathroom to get ready. I don’t want to look like a total slob next to Annabelle so I take my time, painting on a pretty face like I’m donning a mask for the night, covering up the real me if only temporarily. I can hear her in my closet, hangers sliding across the rod as she examines my clothes. She returns carrying a black satin dress with rhinestone embellishments, her eyebrows raised. I appraise the dress and decide it’s perfect for my mood while being fitting for the holiday. She always gets it right.
Finally we’re headed out the door. I go because even if I don’t care about anything else, I don’t want to be a shitty friend to Annabelle. I don’t want to let her down. Besides midnight will be torture no matter where I am. I might as well be out with her. We head to The Berg because it’s comfortable. I doubt I’ll ever set foot in Mercado again, too many bad memories, too many missed opportunities to fix this before I even knew it was broken.
Although it’s still early, the place is packed to the brim, filled with people wearing party hats and blowing paper horns. Their happiness annoys me, grates on my nerves, but I bite back my harsh comments and silently follow Annabelle to the bar. Marcus is clearly swamped, but as we approach he sets two rum and cokes on the bar top.
”They’re doubles so you don’t have to fight through this madness as often,” he shouts over the commotion.
I take the first sip, feeling the sting at the back of my throat. Annabelle pushes her way through the crowded bar, making her way to the dance floor. I try to focus on the music, wanting nothing more than to let it take me away, but I can’t. My heart isn’t in it. My eyes rove over the crowd, scanning, searching, hoping. I don’t know why he’d be here and yet I can’t stop looking.
As the night stretches on, I turn to my drink, looking to drown my sadness. I don’t care if it’s a crutch, I’ll take anything I can to help bear the weight, to hold me up when I’ve fallen so far. I take another sip, willing the alcohol to get me through this initial crush, this gripping heartbreak. I let it flow over me, fill me up so I feel a little less empty, a little less desperate. It’s the only way I feel any warmth anymore. Even then it’s nothing like happiness, just enough to disguise the hurt and temporarily mute Adam’s memory.
Chapter 25
My New Year kicks off at an all time low. Whatever buoyanc
y and passion and fight I once had about me has completely disappeared. I’m spiraling away, losing my identity, losing all of me. Everything Adam made me turns to dust. All the light he brought out in me is extinguished. I feel myself plummeting into perpetual darkness; there is no escaping it. It beckons me, pulls me in, wraps around my shoulders, my face, my hands, cloaking me in desolation. I don't try to push it away, don't try to resist its pull, falling further and further into its grasp. There is no reason, no need. Everything that mattered is no more.
I force myself through the motions, just barely. I show up for my shifts at work. I fake a smile that never quite reaches my eyes. It’s never the nine-tooth smile. It’s never real. I do just enough to get by, all the while feeling the inescapable dullness that my life has become without Adam in it. I can see my old life flickering just out of reach but I can't seem to grasp it. I'm no longer interested in music or running or making jokes. I can’t be that girl again, don’t even care to try. My joy has been decimated; the light in my life is gone.
I’m on my way to work on Friday when I decide to stop by Java House to satiate my morning coffee yearnings and run into Marcus. He grins hello.
“Have time to stay and chat before you go to work?”
I nod and pull out an empty chair at one of the tables. I pretend to listen. I watch his lips. I feign interest. His voice reverberates in my ears, a loud echo, a blurred version in which the words all run together into a monotonous cacophony. I rub my forehead. What is he saying? Focus, Lex. I concentrate on the movements his mouth makes as his lips form words, watch his eyes flash animatedly as he gets to a part of the story he finds interesting. What had Adam said? He can’t think around me? I shake my head, still unsure what that means. Marcus is eyeing me expectantly, so I shift my gaze to my coffee cup, stirring absently.
