Unglued (Holding On)

by Rachael Brownell

  Thank goodness for Natalie. She was the one thing that was holding me together. She was the one person who truly understood what I was going through, what we were all going through. I had no idea until that moment that she was the glue that was holding us all together through this entire mess. Without her, I have no idea where I would be right now.

  I needed to talk to Brad. I needed to know what Ethan said to help him get his life back. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be normal again, or as normal as I ever was. I wanted to feel like I was living with a purpose. I wanted to stop feeling like everyone was watching and waiting for me to break again. I wanted to be the strong person that I used to be. More than anything, I wanted to find a way to forgive myself for the things that I had done so that I could move on.

  “Thanks Natalie. I think I finally know what I need to do.”

  Chapter 10

  I was looking up at one of the most beautiful three-story building I had ever seen. The architecture was magnificent. The brick, although probably very old, was in great condition, and gave the building an incredibly rustic feel. The large windows look like they were a newer addition to the building. They looked great, but they took something away from the building. I knew that the building was probably a hundred years old. The windows, the modern design of them, must have come from a remodel in the last few years.

  It was hard to believe that it was a hotel. I was so impressed with what it looked like on the outside that I was imagining a million different ways it would look on the inside. The only way to find out was to check in to my room. As I stepped through the revolving door, I was not disappointed.

  The lobby was very modern contemporary. Everything was white and black and red. Every wall was a pristine white. The couches were red leather, and none of them had arm rests. All of the tables were black wrought iron with glass tops. The artwork revolved around the color scheme as well. It’s like the painting were made specifically to fit in here. They were either black and white or black and white with vivid red to make them stand out more.

  My room was the same as the lobby. The walls and bedding were both white. The furniture was black wood or wrought iron. The artwork all had splashes of red. Every lamp or clock or little embellishment to the room was red. It was amazing how great they could make a room look, even one as small as this one, using just three colors.

  Once I stepped into the bathroom is when the color scheme fell apart for me. The bathroom was black and white, but the tiles in the shower were red. It didn’t have the same appeal as the rest of the hotel. Had they used a red shower curtain and black tiles, it would have been better. Who was I to judge, though? I was just visiting.

  I quickly unpacked a few things, took a few moments to make my hair look good and my make-up look fresh, then headed back down to the lobby. I stopped at the desk and asked the clerk for a map and directions. Once I thought I knew where I was going, I set off on foot. I could have easily taken a cab, but I knew that I would enjoy the walk more. It gave me time to think, time to figure out exactly what I was going to say. I had flown across the

  Atlantic to see him. I didn’t want to screw it up now.

  London is a beautiful city. So beautiful, in fact, that while I was enjoying the sights, I eventually got lost. The gallery had a show tonight at six and I wanted to make sure that I was there. It was Ethan’s first show. From what Natalie had said, the gallery had successfully put on three or four shows for local artists since Ethan had arrived. Tonight it was his turn. He was going to be showing his work for everyone to see.

  I found a café and stopped in. I grabbed a coffee and asked them to call me a cab. The lady behind the counter didn’t seem overly enthusiastic to be helping me, but did so anyway. I sat at a table by the front window and waited for the cab to arrive. It was close to six and I wanted to make sure that I made it on time. The lady had said that I was only about six blocks from the gallery, but my feet hurt, and I didn’t want to walk anymore.

  When it pulled up, I ran outside to flag him down. I hopped in and told him where I needed to go. He pulled away from the curb and sped towards the gallery without saying a word. The back of the cab was different than I would have imagined. It wasn’t your standard yellow on the outside either. Everything was a bit different in London.

  Pulling up outside of the gallery was when my nerves went on high alert. I knew that he was in there. I knew that the second I walked into the room, that he would know I was there. I knew that he would either run from me and I would ruin his night, or he would run to me. Either way, things were about to change.

  I think the thought of actually talking to him scared me the most. I hadn’t quite worked out what I was going to say. I wasn’t quite sure of how I wanted to approach him. There was obviously no other reason for me to come to England. He was the only person I knew here. He was the only reason I would come here. I was supposed to have come here with him three months ago.

  Natalie and I discussed my trip just yesterday as I packed. She was giving me her standard “confidence boosting” pep talk, or at least she was trying. I was only half listening to her until she said his name. Ethan. That’s all it took to get my attention.

  I listened to her tell me all about what he’s doing right now. I listened to her tell me about the success he’s had since coming here. The fact that he was having a show of his own was a testament to how hard he was working.

  I had wanted to bounce ideas off of her. I wanted to hear how she thought that he would react to seeing me. I wanted to know if he ever asked about me, about how I was doing. The words just wouldn’t come out. All I did was listen. I was too afraid to engage in the conversation.

  The large front windows gave me a nice view into the front room of the gallery. I recognized some of Ethan’s artwork, but not all of it. I decided that it’s now or never. I asked the cabbie to come back and get me in an hour and he agreed. I paid the cabbie and thanked him before getting out, but I only got a muffled response.

  His name is on a large banner that’s hanging from the ceiling as soon as you walk through the front doors. His artwork is surrounding me, and for the first time, I am actually scared to see him. I am scared to be surrounded by all of Ethan’s emotions. I can feel everything in that moment. I can feel his pain, his anguish, his hatred, and his love. So many emotions in one room that I have to step back outside and catch my breath.

  That’s when I see him. As he walks into the front room, the first thing I notice is the woman on his arm. She’s beautiful and he’s smiling. I can’t see his dimple, but his smile seems sincere.

  I can tell that she is guiding him, but I don’t see him putting up much of a fight. She’s gliding through the room, pointing from photograph to photograph. He’s smiling and nodding but not saying much. If I didn’t know better, I would think that she was trying to sell him a piece of artwork.

  This could be my only chance. I need to go to him and say all the things that I’ve been trying to find a way to say. I need to open my heart and tell him how I feel. I need to do something besides stand here and stare. I need to do something now.

  I run. I run before he can see me standing in the entrance, before he realizes that I’m here. The feelings that I’m getting are so overwhelming. The most eager to break free is jealousy. Ethan may not be mine anymore, but I do not like seeing another woman touching him, holding him, close to him at all. Jealousy is raging inside of me, and the fresh air is doing nothing to soothe it.

  I turn around and stare at him through the safety of the window. It’s dark outside. There was no way he would be able to see me, but I can see him and everything that’s going on around him. What I really need to do is keep running but I can’t. My feet feel like they have cement blocks around them now. My heart is beating like crazy in my chest. My breathing is rapid and my breaths are shallow. My emotions are bubbling at the surface and trying to break free. I can feel the strength I have been looking for over the past few month break the surface, and just as
I’m about to take my first step back towards the gallery, I freeze with my foot midair.

  They’re bringing a new piece into the room and the sight of it makes my breath catch in my throat. I’m pretty sure I gasp, but no one is around to hear me. The smile is gone from Ethan’s face as they place the photograph in its reserved space on the wall. I can see him say something to the woman, but she just shakes her head. He bends down and whispers something in her ear, and when she shakes her head again, he walks away from her and disappears through a door.

  I want to go after him but the photograph draws me in again. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The focus is distorted and the shading is perfect. Ethan always had a good knack for knowing when to try something new, even if it’s on an old photograph. The gallery lighting is spotlighting the portrait perfectly, and before I know it, I’m standing right in front of it.

  No one is around me, thankfully. It’s a weird feeling, staring at yourself. I can see the love in my eyes. I can feel it in my heart. I remember the day he took the photo. I was standing in our backyard. We weren’t doing anything special that day. Ethan had just gotten his new camera, and had wanted to shoot some pictures just to get the feel of it. I was his favorite subject. At least, that what he used to say.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a group of people approaching, and I back away and turn towards another photograph. I don’t want to be recognized. All of the sudden, I don’t want him to know that I’m here. I need to leave the gallery. I need to leave London. It hasn’t been long enough. The look of pain in his eyes when they brought out the photograph was unmistakable. He was still grieving. He was still hurt.

  Looking up, I realize that this photograph is of me too. Once I start to look around, I can see that there are quite a few of me. I can see that he’s chosen different sides of my personality to display. There are a few of me smiling. There is one of me playfully frowning. There is even one of me playing tennis. The one that really makes me sad is the one of me he must have taken when I wasn’t paying attention.

  You can clearly see that I am lost in thought. It’s not a close up of my face like some of the others. You can see most of my body. My eye is drawn to my hands. You can see my engagement ring, and you can see that I was probably twisting it on my finger. I’m standing in our kitchen, probably waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing. I have his sweatshirt on and, if I remember right, he must have taken this the morning of his graduation.

  I can feel the tears streaming down my face. There’s no stopping them at this point. He’s ripped my heart out with one photograph. I reach out and touch it and remember that everything is for sale. I quickly pull my hand back. I have to have it. If not just to remind myself of what I’ve done on a daily basis, but also so he doesn’t have to be reminded of it. So maybe, just maybe, he can heal.

  I quickly locate the man who is taking care of the sales. I try not to make eye contact, knowing he will recognize me if I do, and I give him a false name and address to ship it to. Natalie will understand when it arrives. I pay by credit card, not realizing that my real name is on my card until I’m signing the receipt. I wonder if he even looked.

  After everything is situated, I rush to the front door to escape. It hasn’t been quite an hour yet but the cabbie is sitting out front waiting for me. I take one last look into the gallery as I open the door. I can clearly see more photographs of me. I watch as the man puts a sold sign on the one I’ve just purchased, and I take one last look at Ethan as he comes back out the door he went through earlier.

  He walks over to the photograph that I purchased and gives it a long hard look before shaking his head and walking away. He captured on film the moment it all started to fall apart. The moment I went weak and started to question our relationship. He captured so much in that one photograph. He captured my fear and my weakness. My indecision. He captured the end of everything, and he may not have even known it at the time.

  I’m standing with the cab door open when he approaches the window and looks out, directly to where I’m standing. I know that he can’t see out the window, that he’s probably staring at his own reflection, but it feels like he’s staring into my soul. My heart skips a few beats and my pulse speeds up again. I know that I should go back in, say something to him, anything, but I can’t bring myself to move.

  I can see his lips move. I know that he’s saying something, but I can’t hear him through the glass. Is he talking to me? As the thought crosses my mind, I see the same woman as before appear from behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. She’s saying something and before I realize what’s happening, she’s leading them back into the sea of people in the gallery, and they disappear amongst the crowd.

  When the cab pulls up to the hotel, I pay the driver and get out without saying anything this time. I feel numb on the inside. I feel like I’ve been gutted. I know that I brought all this on myself. I know that everything that happened is all my fault. I know that there is no fixing what I broke and that this trip was my eye opener to it all. I know it’s time to move on.

  Chapter 11

  I left England only one day after arriving. I was supposed to be there for an entire week. The week was supposed to be full of happy memories that Ethan and I would create. It was supposed to be full of us doing touristy things, and rekindling our relationship. I was supposed to leave there with a sense of purpose, with a sense of accomplishment. I was supposed to leave there feeling like everything was going to be just fine. I was supposed to fix things.

  By the time I arrived home, all I felt was emptiness. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. The sound it was producing was overwhelming. I knew that I was broken, but still my heart continued to beat on, through the pain and tears. Through the sadness that overwhelmed my body. My heart beat on, louder and louder, the closer my plane came to landing back in Tucson.

  Walking through the terminal felt like it took me forever. By the time I finally reached the baggage claim and spotted Natalie, it felt like I had been gone the week that I was supposed to have been.

  I could see the sorrow in her eyes. She had been the one I called when I got back to the room. She had been the one to make the changes to my flight plan for me. She had been the one that told me over and over again that everything would be okay. The look in her eyes was betraying her. Everything was not going to be okay.

  She tried her best to perk me up. She kept me talking about the sights that I did see. She asked me about my hotel room over and over again. I described everything to her, but the only thing I could see perfectly clear in my mind was the hollow look in Ethan’s eyes, when they hung the portrait of me on the wall. The shell of the person that he had become. The person that I had created.

  I didn’t tell her about the portrait that was being shipped to her house. The man I had paid told me that it would be six to eight weeks before I would see it, maybe longer. It was to remain hung in the gallery until Ethan’s show was complete in two weeks, and then it would be carefully packaged and sent to the States.

  It didn’t really matter. I had no intention of unwrapping it when it arrived. I had no intention of hanging in on the wall of my bedroom, or anywhere else for that matter. I planned on sticking it in my closet, and keeping it as a constant reminder of what I had done. I didn’t have to open it to know what it looked like. The look on my face was engrained so deep in my brain that I would never be able to forget it.

  I hadn’t called my mom to tell her that I was coming home early, so when I walked in the house, she was surprised to say the least. I knew that she wanted to ask about my trip, but I didn’t give her the opportunity. I dropped my luggage in the hall, and headed to my room. I didn’t have the strength to relive what had happened yet. I didn’t know if I ever would.

  I flopped down on my bed, and curled up in the fetal position. I had cried until my eyes hurt when I was in England. I had no tears left at this point, but that didn’t keep my body from convulsing as if I were.

/>   When I woke up the next morning, I wasn’t alone. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he showed up, but I didn’t realize that it would be this soon. He was sleeping soundly next to me with his arm across my stomach.

  It was only a little after seven in the morning according to my clock, so I knew that he must have come sometime last night. I remember my body trembling, and I remember closing my eyes and seeing Ethan’s face. What I don’t remember is changing my clothes and crawling under the covers. Hopefully, my mom helped me with that, and not Brad.

  I turned to face him, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something for him, deep down inside. I knew that it was my repressed feelings that were surfacing. I knew that these weren’t new feelings. My brain was on overload still from my trip and every emotion that I could possibly feel my body was allowing me to. No matter how deep down I pushed my feelings for Brad, they always managed to surface eventually, if only for a moment.

  My body took on a tingle, and I suddenly had a flashback to the last time he kissed me. It was graduation day, in the restaurant bathroom. I closed my eyes to try and repress that moment from memory, knowing what followed, but my brain was being persistent. My memory was even clearer with my eyes closed.

  I remember thinking that it was wrong, what I was doing was wrong. I’m not sure if I realized it at the time, but it wasn’t the kiss that made things wrong. It was the move. It was leaving him that was wrong. Brad had done nothing but show me his love for the entire time I had known him. Whether it had been through his supportive friendship or otherwise, all he had ever shown me was love.

  I had kicked him to the curb. I had pushed him away. My life wouldn’t be the same without him in it. My life would be less than it is without him in it. I wouldn’t want that life, and that’s the life I have been living these past few months. A life without Brad. A life without Ethan. I life that I didn’t even feel that I was living. I had been going through the motions every day, but I had been dead inside.