by Julia Wolf
I threw my hands in the air. “Stop saying I’m perfect! Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? I’m not some doll that sits up on a shelf because it’s too fragile to play with. I’m a woman and I have flaws. Look at me!” I held out my shaking hand for him to see. “I’m having a panic attack because of some silly open mic night. This is not the picture of perfection!”
A car pulled up to the curb and the driver rolled down his window. “Eliza?”
I wiped a tear off my cheek. “That’s me.”
“You’re leaving?” Charlie asked. He looked so lost, I almost broke.
“I have to go home,” I said.
He raked his hands through his hair. “I know, I know. I’ll take you.”
I opened the car door. “No, go be with your friends. I need to be alone.”
“I love you, Eliza.”
“I know you do, Charlie. But you really hurt me tonight.”
I closed the door, and the driver pulled away.
I didn’t look back.
Twenty-Five
I felt bad for my Uber driver.
For the forty-five-minute drive home, I vacillated between deep breathing exercises with my head between my knees and sobbing quietly. Even though he had to be at least twenty-one, he looked sixteen. And from the glimpse of his wide eyes in the rearview mirror, my open display of emotions was making him nervous.
After my second round of crying began, he turned on the radio and stared studiously at the road.
I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to deal with my emotions either.
I knew my reaction wasn’t one-hundred percent because of tonight. I hadn’t fully dealt with the loss of my parents in my life and it suddenly hit me full force. My parents didn’t love me enough to accept that I could never be exactly who they wanted me to be. Even though I’d tried and sacrificed who I really was inside to be the daughter they wanted, it wasn’t enough.
So they let me go.
I was surprised how easily they slipped out of my life. I didn’t miss them, not really, but I still felt loss. I had no other family, so I was alone in this world now, except for my friends.
And I thought Charlie too. But maybe I wasn’t enough for him either. Maybe he wanted a woman more like Malka, a woman who could joke with his friends, a woman who could get on stage, under the spotlights, and not melt.
When I got home, I threw off all the clothes I had so carefully picked for tonight. I was completely drained from my panic attack and all the heightened emotions. I had nothing left inside me to pick apart what happened and how I was going to deal with it. I was spent, done in. So I pulled on my comfiest T-shirt, and without bothering to wash off my makeup, I climbed into bed, pulled up my covers, and fell right to sleep.
If there was such a thing as an emotional hangover, I woke up with one. My head was foggy and my eyes were bleary and puffy. I’d slept like a rock, but I was still tired and heavy limbed. It would have been so easy to stay in bed. I didn’t have to go to the salon. I didn’t have to be anywhere.
I got up anyway. Running was the only thing that was going to clear the fog. I dreaded doing it, but I looked forward to the results. And there was only one week until the marathon. Today wasn’t the day to slack off. Eight miles would do every part of me good.
Once I changed into my running clothes, I opened my front door, and a piece of paper fluttered to the landing. A note.
My heart skipped a beat or two. And then it sank. Instead of Charlie’s messy scrawl, the handwriting was big and loopy, with a heart over the “i” in my name.
Eliza,
It was too late to knock, but I wanted to let you know Charlie got really fucked up last night and hurt himself.
He’s okay, but he won’t be able to meet you in the morning. I’m so sorry about what happened last night. I punched David in his fucking face after you left.
Yours,
Malka
I threw down the note and ran down the steps at top speed. Thankfully the road was deserted, because the only thing I could see was Charlie’s building. Everything else was a blur. When I got to his door, I pounded on it frantically. My heart felt like it was going to explode, and my guts were tied in knots. Charlie hurt himself?
Malka opened the door, her violet hair a tangled mess, wearing one of Charlie’s T-shirts and nothing else. For half a second, I was ready to fly into a rage and accuse her of sleeping with my man, but as angry as I was at Charlie, I knew he’d never do that. And even though I hardly knew her, I didn’t think Malka would do that either.
“Oh, Eliza, I’m so sorry, honey,” she said in a rough voice. She pulled me into a tight hug, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to see Charlie.
“Where is he?” I asked when she let me go.
“He’s sleeping. We didn’t get back from the hospital until three and they gave him some pretty powerful pain meds. He’s sleeping it off, the lucky bastard.”
“Hospital?” I asked weakly.
“Yeah, the dummy broke his foot.”
I covered my mouth with my hands and gasped.
“Can I go see him?” I asked.
She motioned toward the bedroom. “Of course. He’s your boyfriend. I’m just going to lie back down on the couch.” She flopped down in the spot where she’d obviously been sleeping and pulled a blanket over her shoulders.
I went into his room, pausing in the doorway for a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Charlie was lying on his back with his arms wrapped around his body. When I approached, I saw his left foot and half of his calf were wrapped in a blue cast. Shit. He really did a number on himself.
I stood over him for a minute or two, watching him sleep. His face was anything but peaceful. There was a deep line between his brows and he murmured incoherently as his head moved restlessly from side to side.
I turned away. He was alive, he was breathing, he wasn’t maimed beyond all recognition. I hated that he was in pain, but I wasn’t ready to sit by his bedside and tend to him either.
When I went back to the living room, Malka sat up and yawned.
“Still sleeping, ja?” she asked.
“Still sleeping.” I sat down on the chair next to her and sighed. “What happened?”
“I went outside to check on you guys, but you’d left, and he was so upset, so I grabbed Ian—he’s my man, by the way—and we ditched the other guys and went to a few bars. Charlie talked about you the entire time. But he was wasted and stupid by the end of the night. When we went outside to find our car, Charlie started ranting, and he kicked a lamppost. I don’t know how he did it, but he hit the post just right and broke a couple bones. Meta-somethings.”
I shook my head sadly. “Oh, Charlie. Why would he do that?” I rubbed my hands over my face, my chin quivering. “We’re supposed to run a marathon next weekend.”
She looked at me with so much sympathy, I had to look away. “I’m so sorry, Eliza. I wish I could have stopped him.”
I stood, a ball of anger starting to churn in my stomach. “He’s an adult. He knew I was counting on him. He chose to be stupid and hurt himself. This is all on Charlie.”
Stomping into his kitchen, I found a scrap of paper and a pen and started scribbling.
Charlie,
I’m sorry your foot is broken. I hope you’re not in too much pain. But I’m very, very angry with you right now.
You knew I was counting on you to run the marathon with me. And now I have to figure out how to do this on my own.
I don’t know if you even want my forgiveness, and I’m not sure I can give it to you if you do. I just know
I need to concentrate on preparing myself for the marathon, so I need to not see you this week.
Feel better, Charlie.
-Eliza
I left the note on his kitchen counter. “Can you make sure he sees that?” I asked.
Malka nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll probably hang out here the rest of the day, make sure he’s okay when he wakes up. Am I t
o assume you won’t be back?”
I huffed out a breath. “No. Thank you for being here for him. I just can’t right now.”
“Don’t feel bad. Charlie fucked up. If he doesn’t understand why you’re not here, then I’ll punch him in the fucking face just like David. I got you, girl.”
I went to the door, but before I left, I turned back to her. “Even though last night ended terribly, I’m really glad I met you.”
She smiled. “Me too. Good luck with your marathon next weekend. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Thanks. Try to get some sleep!”
She lay down on the couch and yawned. “All right, here I go.”
When I was outside on the sidewalk again, I stood there, trying to catch my breath. I’d gone from having a partner to being completely on my own. Every curse word ever invented, and some I made up on the spot, pounded through my head. This wasn’t the plan. I couldn’t believe Charlie wasn’t going to be running with me. The deeply pessimistic part of me said maybe we’d never run together again. And then that dark part of me said maybe I’d never hold him again or see his smile. I hated that part of me. Was it possible to punch an aspect of one’s own personality in the fuckin’ face? Because that bitch deserved it for rearing her ugly head exactly when I didn’t need it.
I took off on my run, hitting the pavement hard. I missed him with every step, every time my shoes slapped the pavement. I’d run by myself for years until Charlie inserted himself into my routine, and now I seemed to have forgotten how to do it on my own.
Slipping my earbuds in my ears, I turned on my favorite podcast. I tried to get into it, to think of anything but Charlie, but even 2 Dope Queens wasn’t cutting it this morning.
All I could think of were the countless times he’d made me laugh so hard, I thought I’d pee my pants. And the times he’d pushed me when we were running, even when he was barely hanging on by a thread himself. And the first time he told me he loved me.
I was only supposed to run eight miles, but I kept running full out until I was completely exhausted and my legs went into protest mode. Home was a long way away, but the distance helped.
Time apart would be good. I had immersed myself in Charlie so much, I hadn’t even noticed when he’d become my world. I counted on him so much, I didn’t even want to run by myself anymore.
I’d been with Edward for six years and lived with him, yet our lives outside of each other had been completely separate. I wasn’t sure which was better, healthier. Obviously, my relationship with Edward had been a shitshow and everything with Charlie had been wonderful—until it wasn’t—yet the results were the same. I was alone, running to the point of exhaustion so I wouldn’t have to think.
When I finally got back home, I was wrung out and empty. Thank god I didn’t have to go into the salon today, although my hands were twitching to scrub and scour something.
After I showered, I wrapped a towel around my chest and wiped the steamy mirror. Dark circles ringed my eyes and my bangs hung in wet clumps on my forehead. I looked as crappy as I felt.
I picked up my bangs between my fingers and dropped them. Right now seemed as good a time as any for a trim. Opening a drawer in my vanity, I pulled out my spare pair of shears and a comb. I pulled my bangs straight and gave them a nice healthy trim.
There, done. Except when I looked at my straight hair and straight bangs, I was sick of it. I’d had almost the exact same haircut forever, never venturing outside of my comfort zone. A surge of rebellion rushed through me, and I picked up a chunk of hair on the top of my head and chopped.
The feeling I got when the ribbons of hair fell into the sink could only be described as freeing. So I picked up piece after piece, cutting it at random lengths. When I got to my bangs, I slid my scissors downward, leaving them in short, choppy points.
When I was breathless, and my sink was full of hair, I realized I was crying. Not exactly out of sadness, but more so as catharsis. Cutting my hair had been cathartic too. I was a complete mess now, but I was free. In cutting away the haircut I’d been given as a child, I also cut those final ties in my heart and mind.
Twenty-Six
I texted Frannie to come over when she was done with work and she knocked on my door a couple hours later. I’d spent the time cleaning up the bathroom, and then cleaning everything.
The smile on Frannie’s face fell instantly when I opened the door.
“Oh, girl. What happened?” She started to reach out and touch my hair, but pulled her hand back as if she was scared. I hadn’t looked at myself since my cutting frenzy had ended. I probably did look scary.
I pointed to my head. “I gave myself a trim?”
“Are you asking me?”
I snorted. “No. I definitely did this to myself.”
“But why?” She circled around me, surveying the damage.
“I needed a change. It was kind of impulsive.”
“Holy shit, E. This is awful. Did you use a weed whacker?”
I laughed, because I’d decided this was funny. It was just hair, and I was glad to be done with it. It was funny because I owned a salon and could have walked over and asked any of the stylists to give me a nice cut. But doesn’t every kid steal their mom’s nail scissors and give themselves a horrible haircut, with lopsided bangs and spikes of too-short pieces on top? What I did was the same thing, only twenty years later than normal.
“I just needed the hair off my head and I couldn’t wait another second,” I said.
She ran her hands through the side of my hair gingerly. “Can I fix it, honey?”
“I’d hoped you would.”
She made a tsking sound. “It’s going to have to be pretty short.”
I nodded decisively. “Good. I wanted a huge change.”
Frannie dragged a chair into my kitchen and I sat down. In my text to her, I asked her to bring her supplies to cut my hair, so she had her own shears and spray bottle. She’d probably thought she was signing up for a quick trim, not a best friend who’d gone wild and taken it out on her hair.
We were both quiet as she sprayed my hair with water and carefully combed through it. I knew I would have to tell her everything, but my mind finally stilled as she ran the comb through my hair, and I didn’t want to break the peaceful bubble by speaking.
Frannie gently pushed on the back of my head and started cutting. I felt her scissors right up against my hairline, but I didn’t panic. Maybe I would later, when I saw myself, but right now I was only excited.
“Spill, lady,” she said.
I sighed. Quiet time was over. “Charlie and I had a fight.”
She scoffed. “It must have been quite a fight to send you running for the scissors. What happened? Do I need to take him down?”
“We were out with his friends last night—the ones from the band he toured with. I met his ex-wife, by the way.”
Frannie sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that why you guys fought? Was she a bitch?”
“Actually, no. She was really lovely. In fact, she reminded me of you.”
“Oh, well, I love her already.”
I giggled, and my shoulders relaxed slightly. “She was probably the best part of the night. Charlie’s friends were okay, but one of them was just a dickhead.”
I told Frannie about open mic night and being blindsided when they called my name and how Charlie had tried to put me up there. From the way she was vigorously combing my hair, I could tell she was getting fired up as I recounted the night.
“I’m going to take him down, E. And if I ever see that David douche, he’s going down too. What was Charlie thinking?”
I shrugged, careful not to move my head so Frannie didn’t screw up my hair any worse than it already was. “I guess he thought he was helping me. And he wanted to show me off to his friends. But I’m not some prize to be flaunted, you know? Charlie knew about my past, my fears, and still, he pushed. That’s the one thing I don’t want to be pushed on.”
“Have you t
alked to him today?”
“Well, that’s the other thing. Maybe the thing that sent me running for the scissors. He got trashed and broke his goddamn foot last night by kicking a lamppost! His ex was at his place when I went over there, and Charlie was passed out cold from the pain meds, with a big cast on his foot.”
Frannie gasped. “The marathon!”
“I know. I’m so angry with him right now.”
“Me too. Damn, if his foot wasn’t broken, I might break it myself. After the marathon, obviously. Wow. He really fucked up.”
“I worry about how violent you are, Frannie.”
She giggled. “It’s mostly talk.”
“It’s the ‘mostly’ part I worry about.”
“Don’t get on my bad side and you don’t have to worry!”
A laugh sputtered out of me. “I’ll remember that. And it’s always nice to know I have a friend who’ll throw down for me.”
“Anything for my sublime friends.”
She continued cutting my hair, snipping and sliding her scissors through the wet strands. My head felt lighter as clumps floated to the floor. Everything in me felt lighter.
“We should go get a tattoo!” I said.
“I’m not sure if I trust you to ink yourself permanently right now. Look at the mess you made of your hair.”
“I wouldn’t be the one doing the tattooing!”
“I’m putting my foot down,” she said firmly.
“Fine,” I pouted.
Frannie pushed my head to the side so she could cut around my ears. “You’re not as upset as I thought you’d be. It’s kind of freaking me out.”
I sighed. “Yeah, it comes in waves. Right now, I’m fine. In five minutes when it hits me that I’ll be running twenty-six miles by myself, I’ll probably be curled in the fetal position in the corner. I’m just trying not to think about it.”
