A Song of Life: A Fictional Memoir (Song for You Book 2)

by Megan Rivers

  “I know! I mean, I do. I’m sorry, Christie. I just want us to be together. Every single day. Isn’t that enough for you?” He looked at me, his eyes pleading.

  But I was just so angry. A switch flipped inside of me. All those months of squashing my feelings deep down inside erupted in a storm of anger. At that moment I loved him, but the things we swept under the carpet came out fighting. I did want to spend my life with him, but not like this.

  “No, Galvin, not anymore.” Whether he realized it or not, that last statement added to the guilt theme that this proposal seemed to adapt. “Not... now.”

  “But I―“

  “No.” I shook my head. “I want to marry someone who respects me, not someone who uses me.” A steam engine of chills raced down my back and fueled me to keep pressing on. “I’ve wanted nothing more than for you to support me. I never wanted you to save me.”

  “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I just love you so much, Christie. I want to marry you. Grow old with you. Be happy together―forever―with you.”

  I bit my bottom lip and shook my head again. I wanted that too, but not right now. Not in the middle of this storm we couldn't work through. “Galvin, I can’t.” The fact that our fifteen month relationship was falling into pieces was beginning to seep into my reality... and I was causing it. “If you knew me at all, you’d know that I can’t give up my life, no matter how bad it’s been, and run away. I can’t live with you and marry you as a way out of all of this. And if my mom is looking down at me, I want her to be proud of the decisions I make.”

  Galvin’s eyes shot back and forth between mine, but his expression was unreadable. “I know you miss your mom, Christie, but you need to stop thinking about her and think about yourself. I am sorry that she’s not here anymore, but do you really think she would want you to live this way?”

  A million pins pricked at my heart with how he carelessly flung my mother into his conversation―she was my mom, not his, and I was not ready for anyone else to toss her name into a conversation so carelessly, especially during this argument. His words poked at a deep, fresh wound that was nowhere near healed.

  “I don’t know Galvin, but she will always be a part of my life and I can’t forget her as quickly as you can.” A memory of my mother floated by my mind's eye and I saw her smile as she told me to have a good day. “Have a great day at school,” she would say. “Learn what you can because no one can steal your education.” She would grab her keys off the counter and walk out the door as I sat at the table and ate my breakfast. “I know that she would want me to be happy, Galvin.”

  He rubbed the slightest bit of scruff on his chin, digesting my words. When he and his aching green eyes looked up at me, he said, “What is it going to take to make you happy, Christie?”

  His words churned inside of me. It was a loaded question, but I didn't even have to think about it, it shot off my tongue before I even knew what I was going to say. “I want to get my college degree.”

  Did I mean for that to come out? It surprised me as much as it did him. “As much as I would love to get married and see the world with you, I... I want my college degree more.”

  He didn't miss a beat. It was his turn to be angry. Fire grew in his eyes, causing his lips to get smaller as he pierced them in distaste. “Why?” he snapped, using a tone I never heard him use before. “So you can show your dead mother what you can do? So you could punish me for using drugs?” It took everything in me not to cry as his anger rose. “I’m offering you a lifetime of love and devotion here, Christie. I love you.”

  Irritated now, I looked up at the twilight, licked my lips, and took a deep breath. The word love meant my mother, not what was happening between Galvin and me at this moment. This moment was full of the rage and regrets we didn't address before this night. “The only thing I know right now, Galvin,” my voice was slow and steady, “is that my mom wouldn’t want me to marry you because you promised me the world, she would want me to marry someone who shows me why the world was worth exploring.”

  Frustration painted his body language, his head shaking slightly as he bit his bottom lip. He then threw up his arms, an eruption of vexation. “How in the world can I do that?”

  Guilt and regret soaked through me, but I looked him squarely in the eyes and stood up straight. “That is why I can’t marry you, Galvin.” Though I was unsure of our relationship at that moment, a feeling of certainty and confidence settled upon me like a blanket with that sentence. “Not like this... not after tonight.”

  Every feature on Galvin’s face fell. Any flicker of hope or faith he had in our relationship disappeared from his face and left him genuinely crestfallen. My answer seemed more concrete than reality itself.

  “Christie,” his voice was doused in desperation, “I am ready to do whatever you want me to do in order for you to be my wife.” His expression faltered and his eyes softened. “I am very sorry for what I’ve done to you in the past and there’s nothing else I can say, but I am sorry.”

  I shook my head slowly with the knowledge of what my reply would mean. “No, Galvin.” My voice beginning to crack with the weight of emotions that I never thought I could feel. “You hurt me tonight, more than I ever thought you possibly could, and just saying you're sorry isn't going to change anything.”

  It was the seal that put an end on the night’s events. We felt the tremors of our relationship crumbling down around us. For a few moments we were still, trapped in the aura of realization that comes with the most horrible truths.

  Galvin moved first. He walked down the path and into the front door of Abbington Cottage, looking back only once to make sure I was one hundred percent sure about my decision.

  I stood my ground firmly, watching him disappear through the double doors and out of my life. As much as it pained me to let go of him, I knew that this was the path I had to take, it was what I was meant to do.

  It was a five mile walk to reach Aunt Odilia’s house from Abbington Cottage, since the busses were no longer running. The only thing that made me repeatedly put one foot in front of the other was to picture Mom walking beside me, stroking my hair and telling me that everything was going to be all right.

  XIX.

  She Wore White Boots

  “A Bird's Song” – Ingrid Michaelson

  The next day I went to work on autopilot with red-rimmed eyes and a distracted mind. The events of the previous night replayed in my head over and over. After work I tried to mask the pain with studying, but I kept rereading the same sentence, getting nowhere. The night was growing darker and I lied in bed, begging for sleep to come and make me forget my pain for a few hours.

  I felt horrible for hurting Galvin so badly. He was vulnerable and asking for help; I only yelled at him. I knew that I didn’t want to marry him, not at this point in time anyway. But there were a lot of truths he spoke that night too. I did love him. I did want him in my life. He loved me more than I knew. I had to talk to him, to work this out.

  Bundling up, I walked out the front door and into the bitter night air. Five miles later, I stood outside Abbington Cottage, in the same spot where the ghosts of last night stood. I watched my breath come out in a cloud and rehearsed what I wanted to say in my head.

  I reached out and pulled at the front door, walking into the brightly lit room. Suzanne was the lady behind the desk. She was always there, ready for any question or any request. She came into Green Caffeine every morning for a bold roast and we engaged in many superficial conversations. “Hi Suzanne,” I forced a smile.

  “Christie! Late night tonight?” she asked in a chipper neighbor-next-door voice, putting down her magazine.

  “Yeah, kinda,” I replied. I wanted to take my hand and wave away the niceties and just move on with why I came here. “Is he still in 7C?”

  Her face fell a bit. “Yes, but―”

  I cut her off. I needed to get this over with. I needed to talk to him. “I'll only be a few minutes.” I began walking to the stairs besi
de the desk.

  “Yes, but I really should―” She started to get up from her chair.

  I began climbing the stairs. “I really need to talk to him, Suzanne, I promise I'll be in and then out.” Before she could say anything else, I was up the stairs and out of sight.

  Before I could collect myself or take a breath, I knocked on the door. No one answered, but I heard noises. I wouldn't answer the door if I was on the other side either. “Galvin, I know you don't want to talk to me, but I really want to talk to you.”

  Still nothing.

  “I wanted to say I'm sorry.”

  I paused, hoping I wasn't being too loud if there were other people occupying the rooms nearby. “I feel horrible for what happened―”

  I heard a thud and then the lock on the other side of the door tumbled open and Galvin appeared. He wore a white towel around his waist and was shirtless. Strands of his dark hair clung to his glistening face. The sight of his state made me stutter. “I―I'm sorry, it can wait until morning.” I assumed he was in the middle of a shower and I blushed.

  “You came back,” he said, surprised.

  “Yes, I...” Something did not feel right, or at least I didn't feel right. Was it a mistake to come? Should I have just left things the way they were? “I wanted to talk things out, but.... if you're busy...”

  “Oh! No! Don't go,” he stumbled over his words, a little confused. “Wait right there.”

  He closed the door and I stood in the hallway. I took a deep, long sigh and told myself to hold on; I can do this and hold on to the decision I made, even though the sight of him at the door made me feel more relaxed and a lot less anxious. I had walked a few yards to the end of the corridor and the cold breeze shifted the tree branches outside the window. In my head I kept repeating the words I wanted to say.

  After a few moments he emerged wearing a pair of jeans and faded yellow tee shirt under his brown leather jacket. “Hi” he said. He looked lighter, carefree, not weighed down by the weight of our conversation the night before.

  “Hi.” I repeated.

  We looked at each other, it was almost foreign. We weren’t Galvin and Christie anymore. It was now Rockstar Galvin Kismet and I was that one girl he dated that one time... at least that's how it felt to me.

  I had a million things I wanted to tell him but they weren’t coming out of my mouth. “Do you want to take a walk?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered probably too quickly. Even though he turned to walk forward, I didn’t move; I couldn’t move. “I need to tell you something, first.” Before anything else happened that avoided me from telling him how I felt, I needed to put it on the table.

  “Come walk with me, we can talk outside,” he said, moving toward the stairs.

  “I need to say something now, before we go.” I moved to the edge of the stairs and he stopped after descending two of them.

  He turned to me. “Come Christie, there are other people staying here and it’s late, let’s talk outside.” He offered me his hand, but I didn't take it.

  “No, Galvin. I need to apologize to you first.” His momentum for us to go outside stopped momentarily when he realized what I said.

  “Apologize?” He looked at me like I was speaking a different language.

  “Yes, I need to apologize for a lot of things.”

  “Come walk with me.” He offered my hand the nook of his elbow.

  I looked down at it and then back to his eyes. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted to you yesterday. Something popped inside me, much too quickly, and I handled the situation in the wrong way.” Whew, that felt better.

  “It’s really all right, Christie. Come, let’s sit by the fireplace in the lobby and discuss this.” He motioned down the stairway with his hands this time. I bit my bottom lip and thought of Suzanne sitting at the front desk overhearing our conversation.

  “Maybe we should take a walk,” I said, walking towards Galvin.

  We started descending the first few stairs but he stopped when I didn’t follow him. My head was turned towards the corridor where we had just been. “Christie?” Galvin said my name quietly, looking up at me.

  My eyes went from his, back to the corridor and back to him. There, outside suite 7C was a sight I never expected. I licked my lips, creased my eyebrows and said her name in disbelief. “Ruthie?” It felt as though rough, dry hands were wringing out my heart.

  Galvin climbed the stairs between us and stood on the one below me so that we were eye to eye. His eyes pleaded with mine. “I can explain.”

  I turned and walked back down the corridor. I had to get closer, to prove that this half naked woman in the corridor wasn’t a figment of my distressed mind and that she was desperately trying to get back into 7C, not 5C or 6C.

  Galvin followed me and he could now see Ruthie standing outside his door, half of her clothes in her hands, trying desperately to open the locked door again. She had meant to leave when the coast was clear and locked the door behind her. She glanced to her left and saw both Galvin and I coming her way.

  She jiggled the doorknob more forcefully now until I was five feet from her. “I’m sorry, Christie, really. I didn’t mean to―I’m sorry.” She repeated, putting as much room between her and me as she could in order to get past me. I just watched her, calm, cool and collectively, as she scurried her way around me in her black skirt and lime green bra. She juggled her white boots, blouse, coat, scarf and bags in her arms, dropping several articles and cautiously bending down to pick them up.

  From the rumors I picked up around the coffee shop, I expect she was used to answering to angry wives and girlfriends. She also had a reputation for dealing in purchases that weren't always honest or legal.

  “Christie―“ Galvin said, his eyes imploring me to listen to him.

  “Don’t.” I shook my head. I didn’t yell this time. I had already given my apology and just hoped to talk to Galvin so we’d be on good terms, but this was unexpected; this was something I wasn’t ready to deal with.

  “Please, Christie―“ he started again, his eyebrows arched over eyes of desperation.

  “Galvin, please, stop.” I held up my hand and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the staircase again.

  “Christie, please, nothing happened!” He was following behind me and I stopped.

  Turning around to face him squarely in the eye, I said, “Galvin, you opened the door pretty darn close to naked and she left the room carrying half of her clothes. I can’t ignore that, don’t ask me to.”

  For a moment he was speechless. Whatever illegal high he was on made him idiotic. “Christie, please. OK, so I screwed up, please come back here. Come back to me.”

  I had reached the top of the staircase and looked back at where he was standing. His arms were at his side, his palms open and an imploring, a mistaken-ridden look covered his face.

  At this moment I knew I had two choices: (1) get upset, yell, [cry,] and have another fight where Galvin would feel guilty, say he was sorry, and manipulate me back into the relationship (“I can't think of a world without you―you make me better―without you I don't have a chance.”) or (2) let go. Let go of it all―of us. Without hesitation, I chose the latter.

  I bit my bottom lip and looked at him, from his dampened brown hair to his sneaker covered feet. “I’m sorry. I can't.” I looked at him with grieving eyes, “Good bye... Galvin.”

  Saying his name made it seem so final; it hurt. I walked down the steps, my head held high and no urge, whatsoever, to cry. It felt final and right... even though it hurt like hell. I missed the old Galvin who played card games on a plane and held never-ending conversations on the phone. I wasn’t going to devote my future to this drug-addict, womanizing Galvin, and I knew I would be better off distancing myself from such an unhealthy relationship. Or, at least, that's the picture I tried to paint so the pain wouldn't be so severe.

  And that night I closed my bedroom door, alone for the first time in so long
. Loneliness is such a fickle presence. There were times over the past two weeks with Galvin where I craved it, but now that it was visiting, it did nothing but berate me.

  So I cried: the only defense left in my exhaustion. I encrusted my surroundings in the salty brine of bitter tears and wailed through the sounds of audience laughter from Odilia's sitcoms. I broke like a dry stick and wept, letting those feelings I squashed behind a mask of acceptance and independence, rush out of me like a raging fire. Tears that reminded me I was alone―that my mother, my rock―would only be a memory. Tears that reflected the pain of being on my own without a shoulder or an embrace to save me.

  And after all of that, when I lied empty and depleted on my blue and purple quilt in the faint moonlight from the window, staring at the flickering light from the living room television beneath the bedroom door, I learned a life lesson: sometimes you have to writhe in raw feelings and bathe in empty tears in order to make room for hope.

  ♪ ♪ ♪

  A few days later I received an unusually heavy brown envelope in the mail with Galvin’s address in the upper left hand corner. It sat on my dresser for days. I passed it in the morning, on my way to work, and at night, after I got home from studying at the library. Once or twice I picked it up and examined it in my hands, feeling the weight of the paper and running my fingers over the indents the address made on the envelope when Galvin wrote it.

  I never opened it. I couldn’t open it. Something prevented me from doing so. My slate felt clean after I left Abbington Cottage that night; I felt lighter and freer. I left the relationship I had with Galvin feeling a sense of release. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.

  For the next week I immersed myself in studying and preparing for the ACT exam. Once I had taken it, I didn't have time to grieve or think about those events. I was filling out my application for Sarah Lawrence, for the scholarship, and preparing my portfolio. I saw all these great things for myself―my big plan in the making. I was going to go to college. I was going to study something I loved. I was going to make it.