by Janice Ross
For my part, I swivel around again, seeking out help...anyone to take the place of my Zach.
~
"Zach ... Zach ..." I shot up from the bed with both hands stretched out in front of me. Tenders breezes caressed the length of my bare arms. I grasped at the air, though I longed to go back in time and be near Zach once more.
These dreams continued to do me in. They’d initially visited me on a nightly basis, but now they’d gone all the way down to no more than two days a week. I loved being caught up in our love affair once again, but losing Zach a year ago only helped weaken my resolve that much more. And losing him over and over again broke apart what little strength remained.
I drew bare knees to my chest, tucking tightly, and then spread a blue blanket flat on my body. When the visions refused to flee, I eventually pulled it over my head to let out a silent cry. Forget about the fact that I shivered from Fall’s early morning chill. I simply didn't know how, or if I’d ever be able to steady the pain. At times, it felt like the loss only intensified with time. I’d hoped to someday be able...to be free to live with an unbendable broken heart.
How?
I don’t know, especially when constantly being reminded of what no longer existed.
The alarm’s light ringing provided a reminder. It forced me to own up to reality. I needed to get up and prepare. After one last deep breath, I flung off the sheet and swung my legs into purple house slippers. As my morning ritual, I turned the shower medium hot in order to get the right amount of steam inside of my private bathroom. Within twenty minutes, I'd showered and was dressed for my role as a grief counselor. It was interesting how I came to help others get over the very damaging emotions I was still not able to.
My body was no longer mine. It was as though my daily life was borrowed. I had somehow managed to function, even as the days went by. People carried on with smiles and frowns, yet I was just there, waiting to feel or even be passionate about something once again. Every time I wished for better, four letters raced through my mind: Z-A-C-H.
I know...I know life was made for the living but what about that which should still be living? How could I walk away from what always was, especially if it was always incredible? How could I ever forget, especially if I had no desire to let go?
XIX.
Rhys
~
How does a boy become a man and never make mistakes?
Hell, I've made my share. Every day I'm on this earth, I'm confronted with bittersweet memories of twenty-six years of living. My mistakes began only a few years back. Seems like ages ago. I was a boy then. Now, I'm a man with a fresh set of burdens to bear.
The day I crashed my Range, along with a stranger named Jen, Death came calling. I wasn’t ready to let go of my sad life, but determined to stick around a little while longer to prove my worth. While in coma, the only voices that mattered were my parents’ pleas to come back. The ever faithful cries of my mother. The insistent orders of my father. They bonded together for my sake. They made me want to live and so, I did. Life today was the exact opposite of that time, three years in the past.
"Yes sir," I answered without taking the time to check the screen. Wednesday morning and I hadn't yet started my day. In fact, my father was predictable, so he must've timed things as usual. Our conversations usually lasted no more than twenty minutes, and were filled with his words. After the accident, which nearly ended my and Jen’s lives, there was little choice. Because his name is Rupert Colburn, my mistakes were caught before they could go viral. He squashed any harm to my future. Honestly, I had little choice than to rethink our relationship. So now, I listened out of respect. I kept up the sessions for the same reason.
"So how are things at the office, son?"
This was the point where he expected me to rave about how thought-provoking the role was at one of his smaller offices. He filled the roles with trusted businessmen, though control had been placed at my footsteps. I came to play a part, finally fitting in how I needed to.
"Fine," was the best I could do before my workout.
"Honestly Rhys, you have the ability to take charge of corporate America. Every morsel of what you're learning from those men should be ravenously taken in. You'll be set, one way or another, but..."
I mouthed his words along with him and inhaled, never exhaling, when it came to good old Rupert. I never needed to worry about the voices inside of me because he overpowered them all.
"Rhys, are you listening to me?" Rupert hadn't realized he'd lost me seconds in. The minute he got started on a tirade, it became easy to slip away.
I acknowledged that I was still aware of his words, even played into his ego by adding a few sentences to appease. The alarm clock over in the far side of the room showed I had about two more minutes of torture.
"Well Rhys, I'm aware of your morning ritual. Free your mind and conquer the day."
"Thanks, sir. Same to you."
As we ended the call, I leapt up from the bed. The large bedroom had no more than a king-sized bed with matching dresser and a desk with a chair close to the window. I required basic necessities, even as I strolled over to grab a gray and white Jack Willis boxer briefs. For a second, I thought about lounging as-is, bare to the morning's coolness. My piece was alive, firmly saluting while I gathered items to prepare for my morning run. I had to shift my thoughts, remember the plan. So, I shook it off, literally and attempted to suit up for a run.
A light tap at my door broke through my determination. I didn't want to answer just yet, especially not with the stubborn bulge that was vaguely secured in my underwear and an a-line top.
Tap. Tap.
Again...
I knew the invader. I’d finally left the city only to get a house out on Long Island. After the accident, the City lost the slightest bit of appeal. The elaborate lifestyle I’d become accustomed to dulled out to hopeless nightmares. Instead, I purchased a home not far from St. John’s when I’d made the decision to complete a graduate degree. I now shared the house with three other students who’d been in my classes at the time. Perhaps, they could be considered as friends. Not a perfect set up, but I'd wanted to learn how to live without my father's pull and promised they could stay as long as it took to secure real jobs in their fields.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The next time would be four.
My roommates consisted of two guys and a female. Prissy’s room was directly across from mine. She knew when I came and left, got up and lay down. She had a sort of fixation that stemmed a bit too far for my liking. Hooking up was nowhere close to the top of my list at this point in time. For a second, I allowed a moment of reflection on the few times I had sex since my last relationship.
I wasn't entirely sure if Maggie's deeds were the reason, but there was little to no desire to settle back into an all-out relationship. I got off when I needed to. Hell, being a man with desires, I would never deny myself that opportunity. Beyond the one off hook-ups, I learned to shut that shit down otherwise.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Yeah Prissy," I answered in a sharp tone, moving close to the knock and responding just above a whisper.
"Can I run with you today?" Her screeching words annoyed the hell out of me. I chose not to answer. Instead, a cold silence passed through the air.
For the past two and a half years, she'd watched me do my thing. I kept to myself. Early mornings, I ran to prepare for the day ahead. Admittedly, this was my thing, my preparation to take on a life I truly despised. No one should be so intrusive to present themselves into another's ritual. How does someone justify volunteering their life into your space, without ever being offended? Opening up my home had to be enough. I should've shut her down, but didn't want to be perceived as an asshole. Although I could damn well be a grade A one.
I gathered air and unlocked the door, as I was. I moved away from the entrance. She moved forward, already dressed for the game. Don't get me wrong, she was beyond fierce. This chick had the thickest, silk
iest charcoal hair I'd ever seen, to match the color of penetrating pupils. Her portions were healthy with ample breasts and equally pleasing hips. All the same, she was an appealing package. This morning, her pink gear clung to every inch of a curvy figure.
"I figured I'd prepare, just in case..."
I smirked at the intrusion. I wanted to chop her down with a flat out no. Her body, though, and the way every area screamed out to my manhood–palm-full breasts, protruding ass, and wide hips–looped me in little by little. Damn. I just had to be a straight man with fierce libido. Couldn't bring myself to stop staring. Instead, I nodded and continued to get dressed, anticipating the things I would do.
Once I sunk my feet into my Nike runners, I walked over. She'd been looking at me intently the entire time. I felt the rain of her heavy stares drilling down upon me.
"I hope you can keep up," I teased, though truly unsure of her abilities.
"You'd be surprised," Prissy wasted no time in responding. Her tongue darted out to slide from left to right. As much as I craved sexual episodes, now wasn't the time. In response, I swished a few fingers above our heads en route to my bedroom door.
I exited. She followed.
Prissy chose to wiggle into my space, so as we headed down the driveway and touched onto the street, I tuned into Coldplay’s newest release. My strides were wide. In fact, they might’ve been considered glides. As usual, I counted my breathing as it flowed outward and matched the influx of air at the same pace. My entire body moved in sync, but then I started hearing a rushed pounding. The sound told me it was likely someone with shorter legs, someone that had forced them self on me. After looking over to my right to make certain Prissy wasn’t on the verge of collapsing, I increased my volume once again and broke free. I then tapped my left fingers to my lips, pointed the index and middle in the air, nudged them onward to make sure my direction was clear, and pressed against the wind.
It wasn’t that I was a total jackass or anything. I would’ve gladly hung out with her on another turf, but this particular enjoyment was mine. I found solace in the race, and didn’t believe it would change.
XX.
Chanel
~
Not a second went by where tears weren't trailing from my soul. I was broken in the worst of ways, without the slightest chance of being put back together. This time, as I moved over to the window of my bedroom, the joy I'd always experienced no longer found me. Everything reminded me of Zach and the lifetime journey we’d embarked on over the years.
I didn't want to think about it.
Yes, it.
Couldn't bring myself to deny the reality either. Perhaps, if I thought more about how things were the day before it happened two years back, the pain might be less destructive. After planning a life with him, I still couldn't believe I now had to move on alone. They tell me that I can still enjoy a fulfilling life, but Zach can't. His life was cut short. Doesn't anyone else understand that? He won't get to live and love. He won't get to raise a family. He'd only gotten the darkness of being suffocated in the ocean.
So now I was expected to move on and forget he ever existed. How?
"Chanel..." A vaguely familiar voice captured my attention from beyond the door, followed by a knock. I'd drifted so far away from reality the sounds became foreign.
Without getting my approval, the intruder entered. I didn't turn around, but instead continued my desperate gaze into the wide-open sky to plead for some form of settlement between reality and the universe.
Footsteps paced slowly through my room to stop only inches away. I bent my knees into my chest, then wrapped my arms completely around them. Taking a deep breath in, I quickly exhaled along with a fresh set of tears.
"Chanel, sweetie, I'm so sorry this happened." Only then did I realize it was my mother. Her words were gentle, filled with much hurt. She shifted around until I felt her clothing brush against my arms. "You’ve gotta let go. This isn't healthy. Zach would want you to get out. To breathe. To live."
"Mom, remember the first time you met him?"
"Chanel, don't do this."
"Please, Mom. Listen."
In silence, she slipped onto the edge of the bed. Her lips pressed tightly, like it was the only way she'd be able to remain quiet.
"That day, when you came to pick me up from preschool, Zach refused to leave me alone. He ran out of his mother's arms and flew into the back seat of our car. Do you remember?"
She forcibly nodded, a long streak marked each cheek. Her reaction helped. It let me know she might've cared. More than that, I still needed her to understand why I still mourned.
"Zach was afraid of leaving my side. He didn't want anyone to pick on me like those girls had done earlier. He had to make sure I was okay."
Oh God. A knot formed in my throat. The next set of words pulsed, ready to explode.
"Sweetie, don't do this."
"Mom, until he went off to Vasser," my cries grew heavier. The pain intensified in my chest, my heart my soul. "Zach looked out for me. Even when I got bold enough to defend myself, he made sure I was okay. Mom, how can I know if he's okay now?"
My sobs eased. Our eyes fixed on one another. As ridiculous as it might have sounded, I longed for an answer no one could seem to give. I knew this very thing to be the source of all reconciliation with the loss of a loved one.
"Why did this happen?" I knew it wasn't her question to answer, nor was it mine to ask. Some things just were. But that didn't make it less wrong, did it?
"Sweetie, there's no appropriate explanation for this. Zach wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't taken while doing something terrible. I can't answer your question." Her fingertips found my upper arms. Since the incident, my mother had tried to be patient, though I knew it must've been difficult. I no longer lived at home, yet she found every opportunity to walk the twenty minutes to check on me.
Truthfully, my days had regained some form of normalcy. However, the dreams tended to bring me into the darkness. The nightmares transformed into waking visions, and waking visions morphed into perpetual spirits meant to end me.
"Chanel, you have to stop reliving the past. If Zach loved you as much as you say, do you think he would've wanted this?" Much like now, Mom found it easy to flip flop. Perhaps my emotions were something to be toyed with. I didn't have it in me to fight.
"Have a heart," I began. My throat became dry and I reached up to wrap my fingers around it for comfort. "Let's forget about my connection with him. Isn't his lost life worth mourning?"
"Two years, baby. Two years. I've always said what I'm about to say, so repeating this sentiment might seem insensitive." Jacqui plucked at the wild curls scattered around the top of my head in a fat ponytail. After lightly touching her lips to my forehead, she gathered my face in the palm of her hands and gazed into my eyes with sorrowful, yet hopeful pupils. The shine called out to me. In that instant, I knew exactly what she was gearing up for.
"Now is the perfect time to find yourself."
Unlike before, I held onto the animosity, though a bitter emotion swirled within. Jacqui meant well in her attempts, but I recognized I needed to move on in my own time and own way. After Zach's death, I went into counseling. Specifically, grief counseling. Helping others helped me as I threw focus to their heartaches. I understood better than anyone else.
"I will when the time is right."
"You have an amazing future ahead of you. There's no time like the present, sweetie."
"I have a future. He doesn't."
"So you're going to throw away your future to chase after what could've been with a ghost?" She backed away from me. Gone was the sorrowful gaze. In came arched eyebrows with a bold grimace. She might've wanted a battle, but not me.
"It's not fair," I cried out. "It's not fair." My own voice startled me. The repeated sentence throttled against my organs only to burst free in a mournful growl. My limbs thrust forward, my legs gave way. My insides had gotten scrubbed of all life. I became a shell, empty to no
end.
One after the other, warm tears rolled down my cheeks. They didn't subside or slow down, but instead built momentum. Every shred of hope washed away with the moisture. I gasped and clutched for my chest. Zach's life was cut short, not mine. How could life be so cruel to bait anyone with the promise of a happily ever after only to rip them apart in the process? Dammit, I would mourn his demise as long as I needed to.
I absolutely hated my life. Every warning my mother had given came back to remind me of the hurt, yet couldn’t bring myself to hate her any longer.
Let's face the facts: I'd lost the only man worthy of being loved. All life, all hope, ended with Zach. Love would never again be mine, neither happiness.
Did I even need to be happy? Honestly, what was happiness anyway? Perhaps falling in love and getting to a satisfying place wasn’t meant for everyone, or just not meant for me in particular.
There was a time I had once been confident in everything. I'd had the perfect plan with a perfect guy. Now, I had nothing, forced to build from scratch a life without meaning.
How did someone start over when life had only ever been one way?
I didn't give up, though. Instead, I pressed on like everyone suggested. This life was not mine to endure. They all said it was a necessity.
He would want it.
I owed it to them all.
I had no choice but to live.
In spite of the encouragement, why couldn't they tell me why or how they were so sure? I'd faced them with silent opposition. My behavior must've seemed strong, brave even. They saw what was necessary to justify their feelings. But no one ever noticed me. No one paid attention to the fact that I'd been crippled beyond the outer portions and within my heart. Dammit, I was crippled in my soul.
XXI.
Rhys
