The Quest

by Olivia Gracey

  I slipped on a pair of yoga pants, pulled my hair out of my face, and slipped into a no-nonsense wife-beater. I trotted down the stairs and off to the leasing office. It was time for new surroundings, a new beginning, a new place. I loved the area I lived in so moving to another apartment complex was out of the question. I felt a new apartment, one without memories was just what I needed. I walked in all happy and chipper with my idea in hand and spelled it out to the leasing agent. She totally understood and took me on a tour of what was available.

  The first apartment she showed me was smaller than mine but it was bright and open. A very nice airy feeling but the kitchen was just too small. Not that I’m a gourmet cook, but I do like to make a soup or something on occasion. I don’t want to be denied the space just in case my Betty Crocker side decided to arise. The second apartment she showed me was similar to mine but had carpet throughout, no hardwood floors. I knew I wouldn’t like that. What if I had a moment when I needed those hardwoods? What then? I quickly declined before she showed me much more. What was my excuse? “Allergies!” No need to explain how comforting a pristine hard wooden floor is to a once twice shy broken woman.

  The third apartment she showed me looked out over the wooded area that surrounded the back of the apartment complex. It was an undeveloped area with plans of future apartments and retail shops. The agent felt it would be a long time though before it would be developed. The apartment was a three bedroom, a little larger than I would have chosen, but it had all hardwood floors and a larger kitchen than mine. She walked me through it showing me that the third bedroom was smaller which would make the perfect office space if I needed it. It also had a balcony that looked out over the woods. Very nice. No peeping passerby’s like I was used to. The feeling the space gave me was serene and peaceful, soothing and wanted. I felt immediately at home in the empty shell. I just knew it would be a perfect fit. “I’ll take it!”

  I signed a new lease and agreed to move within the week. The sooner I moved the better I knew I would feel. I needed healing, new surroundings, a new beginning. This I thought would help me a great deal. There would be no more ghosts haunting me. No more memories of being broken on my floor. It was a fresh start. The new beginning I deserved to a brand new me.

  I called my guy friend that was loaded edge over the edge in muscles and after hearing a bit of ragging on my situation he agreed to round up his guys and move me again. Only this time I had to double the amount of beer and pizza and throw in a dinner date with him. Ugh! After much negotiation to which I had no other choice I gave in. He was a single guy, one I had met after Ed that I had no romantic interest in. Of course, he didn’t feel the same way about me, but he kept a lid on his actions and always acted like the perfect gentleman around me. When he mentioned date I figured I would make it a lunch date so to not be in the presence of a romantic evening consisting of alcohol or candlelight with him. I didn’t need another railroaded night like I had with Radley. I knew I was vulnerable. I knew I couldn’t trust myself or him.

  The guys showed up bright and early that Saturday morning. I was wide awake and ready, third cup of coffee in hand, ready to bark out orders with my truck backed up to the stairs. I was so anxious to get my new life started I could hardly contain my smile. Maybe it was the coffee that had me a little anxious. Either way, I was beaming. The guys were full of sarcastic comments and smirks, but they were fun and very helpful. There was nothing they couldn’t lift, chug, or carry down those three flights of stairs. And when we reached my new apartment, I marveled in the excitement of watching them carry it all back up another three flights of stairs. But the guys never complained, and they started on the beer a little earlier than expected. By noon, I was making another trip to the grocery store and reloading the fridge. By mid-afternoon the beer was gone, the pizza was devoured, and the job was done. I, of course, was lined up for a lunch date the very next day. I gave it my best shot to put him off till the next week but he wouldn’t have it. Sundays were good days for him, he added, and I could join him for church if I’d like. Nice. Too bad he wasn’t my type. Going to a new church sounded like a great way to start off my new life. I made myself a note to search for a new place of worship.

  After they left, I stood surrounded by boxes content with my decision. For once I felt like I made the right choice. I scooted into each room taking stock of what I thought I needed to make my new home cozy. I agreed the office/bedroom would make the perfect studio. I would hang some of my favorite shots on the walls, have a nice over-stuffed chair to curl up and read in, and maybe a bookcase or two.

  The guest room I would make up really frilly and ladylike. Adorn it with lace curtains, thick silk bedding, and overstuffed pillows. I’d hang signs of encouragement on the walls so that when Sofie would visit it would make her feel like a princess and subconsciously give her the advice she so desperately needed. Mainly, I would finally have a place she could call her room to come stay in whenever she needed it. I would outfit the guest bathroom with jazzy animal prints and fluffy rugs. The ones you could sink your toes in. That I knew she would really like.

  My bedroom, I agreed, would be my sanctuary. It would be adorned with deep rich fabrics hanging from the curtains, white fluffy bedding, overstuffed pillows, small little pillows too with quotes that I’d read every day. Quotes that reminded me of the life I deserved. I would buy new sheets, ones that no lover had ever slept on, pure and crisp with a high thread count too. My closet I knew would be a haven for all my things. There was more than enough room to hold all my clothes. I do believe the last count I had, I possessed over seventy-five wife beaters, but everything else I owned was just lame in comparison. I smiled thinking I needed to add some new ones to the new space. I grabbed my keys off the counter and decided I needed a break; A retail shopping break. And off I went.

  I arrived back at my apartment late that evening. I had closed the stores down with my shopping spree. It took me three trips to my truck to lug it all up the stairs. I was used to climbing three flights of stairs with packages in tow. I knew how to pile my arms full to make the most out of one trip.

  I wasted no time unpacking and arranging my room. I figured it was the most important place to start so I started there. A few hours later, I had sheets on my bed and a pillow that read, “Do what makes you Happy. I am,” I said when I tossed it amongst the others. Happy quotes surrounded me all around my room. On my bed, on my walls, on my bathroom counter, on my mirror too. I spent well into the wee hours of the morning applying them all everywhere. I wanted to be reminded every day, every morning I awoke, that I was worthy. Subliminal messages you could say. I felt if I saw them, I would eventually believe them.

  When I was a child my Mother loved the word of the Good Lord. She would buy plaques and pictures framed with scriptures. When she felt the need of a new scripture, she would make a note of it and hang it somewhere on the wall. Somewhere she was sure to pass by and see on a daily basis. It was comfort for her. A reminder of the Good Lord’s promises. The scriptures she chose were always uplifting and full of love. I remember reading everything I passed by, every time I passed by them until I was quoting from memory.

  Many Bible passages I had learned from her notes that she posted. I never told her the effect those notes had on me, and actually, I don’t think I ever realized it myself until now. Now, I find myself seeking scriptures and quotes to uplift me as if I’m not able to keep my spirit up myself. And maybe that’s okay if I have days that I need a reminder. Maybe it’s not a bad thing to recognize you are weak and in need of help at times. Maybe it’s a good thing to be reminded every day that you are worthy, you are loved, and you are special too. I definitely had no man in my life at the moment that was going to remind me of that.

  I found the Hemmingway quote I had always loved, “The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.”

  I hung it in my bathroom. Then I felt lucky to find the qu
ote, “I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” That one I hung over my bed. It was true. When I slept, I didn’t know he wasn’t here beside me. When I was awake I had my moments that I would fall apart without him. So it reminded me to quickly close my eyes at night, not wasting any time lying there wondering ‘what if’.

  It took me a few days to get everything back in order and unpacked. When it was all done I was satisfied. Of course, it didn’t fill the whole in my heart like I thought it would, but it was easier to come home now. I didn’t have the feeling of wanting to run away anymore. I was content with my new surroundings you could say. I had managed to go by my old place on Sunday after the lunch date with my muscle-bound fellow and cleaned my beautiful floors for the last time. I had a very intense moment of remembering all the times it reached out to me. I thanked the floor wholeheartedly for being there. There were days I just wouldn’t have survived without its support.

  I apologized too for abandoning it and having the need to move on. I felt it understood. I hoped that whoever lived here would live a peaceful life, one full of laughter and love, not brokenness and sorrow. I said a silent prayer to the life I lived between the walls of the apartment. Then I locked the door behind me remembering all the times I had left the keys in the door. I smiled at the thought there would be no doubt I would do it at my new place. That was just something I seemed to do from time to time. A little of my air-headedness you could say.

  I celebrated that night with a pizza and a good bottle of wine. When I finished off the last drop out of the bottle, I snuggled beneath my new crisp sheets and went to sleep easy. For the first time in a while there were no tears on my new pillow. I awoke the next morning happy, refreshed, and happily re-reading all the quotes on my walls. This one was rather large and framed. I hung it where I was sure to read it every day.

  ***

  If you find yourself alone

  Tap into your mind

  Relive all your happy thoughts

  Leave no thought left behind.

  And even if those thoughts

  Are with doubt and confusion too

  Honor them as time well spent

  And fill your heart with joy.

  Know everything you’ve lived for

  Is worthy of your smile

  Life is short do not waste

  Another day, another mile.

  OG

  ***

  I have a new project to begin today. Wheh! I was glad to get it too. It had been a while since my last project and I had almost depleted my mad money with the move to the new apartment and the crazy shopping spree. This project was close to home so there was no travel involved. Bummer. It was okay, though. My new place had given me a new trust in my feelings. I wasn’t finding myself surrounded by my bruised or broken memories anymore. I was at peace with what life had handed me. Yes, maybe not the life I would have chosen but one I was grateful for.

  I packed my camera bag, over packed a snack pack and a cooler of water, and then set out to greet the team. Today, I was working with a group of military men on the base to shoot some interesting formations and drills. It was for a magazine that was distributed to all military folks and their families. It was a great opportunity for exposure in my field and to top it off they wanted me to write an article as well for the piece. Sweet. Writing was not something I had the chance to do often, so I was looking forward to the challenge of the work involved.

  So I wore my basic black wife beater (my favorite in a group of about thirty). I made sure I wore a bra that was less attractive on the girls as well. I do own one that looks as if I’ve shrunk down a size or two when I wear it. No, it did not come from VS. All of my VS bras hype me up a size or two rounding out the girls quite nicely and placing them on a shelf. This one had very little padding, almost none, and no lace. Very unattractive you could say but it held the girls with a lot of support. I dug deep in my new closet for a pair of black cargo pants that required a belt. The pants were adorned with many pockets and the belt was just mechanical, no frills or feminine look to it. I threw on my favorite North Face jacket and headed out. I looked like a knight-ranger decked out to rescue a distressed victim. It was vital to me that I didn’t look attractive nor feminine. The group I would be working with would be very stoic and military. There would be no fun and frolic nor did I need to set myself up to be ogled or flirted with. In the state of mind I was in, I was also in no mood to be flirted with either. I was there to do a job, just a job.

  I arrived on base a half hour before time, I was afraid to be late. The commanding officer in charge greeted me then passed me off to a big buff guy that held a clipboard in his hands with all the details. A woman dressed in fatigues greeted me as well and welcomed me aboard. I was glad someone knew how to smile. I was beginning to think I was heading into war.

  The requests were simple, easy shots, but long hours of continual shooting. This I knew would be the case. I had been pre-warned the commander was very particular and to get the shots he wanted the exercise would have to be repeated again and again. I was okay with that. I had all the time in the world. And my view, well, let me just add, there’s nothing like watching a group of fit, handsome fatigues grunt and work hard before your very eyes. I was in candy land with all pawns at my feet following my commands. It wasn’t long, too, before their actions had them beaming with sweat and soaked to the bone. It was a nice view somewhat like the one I enjoy when I lift at the gym. So yes, I was quite pleased with my role in capturing the essence of their beautiful gleaming bods.

  Did I mention military men are just beautiful? Their bodies are conditioned finer than a machine. Their muscles are formed and carved into pure perfection and there’s no room for flaws, anywhere! I couldn’t find even one. They were all different sizes…short and tall. But each in their own right buff and strong. It was hard to pick a favorite. The women even were cut and defined, a look I had always longed for but I don’t have the discipline to do. There were only a few women in the mix and to be honest they looked just as strong and sexy as some of the men. Did I say that? Yes, and no, I’m not gay I just know how to recognize beauty when I see it.

  But the buff one holding the clipboard, I like to call him Brutus, never cocked a smile. Not even a half crooked one. No, he just barks, blows his whistle, and stares angrily at me. I’ve seen that stare before, and no, not interested in why he stares at me like that. Better off not knowing. Besides, I don’t find him attractive at all. I like men who smile. He looked mean and rough, hard and serious, a very no-nonsense, no-fun type. I think if he tried he could have a softer look to his face. That’s if he stopped wrinkling his forehead at me. He was probably wondering what my story was. Well, he can just wonder. Like I said I wasn’t interested in Brutus despite how nice his quads looked through his fat fatigues.

  The shooting wrapped up precisely at eighteen hundred hours. The mood was pure exhaustion. There had only been a small break in the day and the guys and gals were drained. I couldn’t have imagined being in their shoes doing all the moves they had to do today. I figured it was typical so I was careful not to comment. I was sure I had a good handful of some awesome, once in a lifetime shots and was anxious to get started editing on. I shook hands with the commanding officer who showed up right at quitting time and said goodbye to the lady that accompanied me today. She was a big help pointing out what they were looking for and keeping ‘Ole Brutus in line.

  Brutus watched from afar with his arms crossed across his chest and never approached me to say goodbye. “Big Brute!” I whispered looking over at him. He was still staring. Why do men do that? Do they really think you can’t see them staring at you? Do they really think when their mouth is puckered, their forehead is wrinkled, and their eyes are glaring you won’t notice? “Will you stop staring at me! What are you looking at?” Geez! I shook my head walking to my car with no idea what his deal was. Maybe he recognized me, I dunno, but he was rude either way.

  When I
finally settled back home, I opened the pics to see if I was right. I was. Many good shots of very beautiful men and women doing what they do best, sweating. I had a few shots of them in action belting out the words followed by their Brute leader. I put them in order according to the formations and actions they had repeated over and over. There were some really good shots. Shots that made me proud to be a photographer.

  Going over the shots, in the corner of one, I had caught a glimpse of Brutus. A true photobomb. I enlarged it so I could take a better look. It was actually a shot of him staring right at my camera, with dark eyes and a softer look than I remembered. He was actually very handsome when you looked at him in this pic. I didn’t remember him being handsome, just mean. I guess when someone’s personality isn’t nice around you it’s hard to find them attractive. You just deem them as ugly and unattractive as they behave. But seeing this picture had piqued my curiosity. Was there really a kind, decent man under all those angry fatigues? Why was I asking? The last thing I needed was another man in my life. I folded my laptop and plopped on the couch. Yeah, I don’t need another mean man to destroy me.

  I flipped channel after channel and came up with nothing. So I turned off the TV and dug through my stack of records by the wall. Dancing was always soothing to my soul; I felt the need to dance. So dance I did. I danced and danced till I was sweating all over. My socks slid smoothly over my new pristine hardwoods making it easy to twirl and twirl. When my Staying Alive album ended, I slipped Grease in its spot, then Purple Rain. When those were played out, I put on Flashdance, that’s when I really let it all go. Before it was over I had stripped down to my thong panties just so I could see the burn I was feeling on my thighs. It was exuberating! So I started the record over, not wanting the songs to end. My hair was soaked, my mascara running, my heart beat high and flying. My girls strapped tight against my chest, as not to injure them with my moves, and my energy was high. My feet were pounding the beautiful floor beneath them rattling the apartment walls. I turned up the music louder and louder drowning my soul with the sound.