by Amanda Paris
“Ewww! Duchess! Get off of me!” I protested, waking up.
I heard the alarm then. I must have been sleeping deeply. I reached over to shut it off and realized I was going to be late for school. Ben was supposed to pick me up in ten minutes.
Ben.
What was I going to do about him? It wasn’t as though I didn’t love him anymore. What I felt for him was real, but it wasn’t as intense as my love for Damien was. I got up and reached for the photo Aunt Jo had taken of Ben and me about to ride a roller coaster. It was just before Mom got sick. We looked so happy together.
What would I tell him? What could I tell him? I’m in love with a knight who died almost eight hundred years ago. And then it hit me. Damien had died. The feeling of loss welled up in me, as though I’d just lost him, which of course I had. The overwhelming sense of despair and grief tore at me, and I began to sob.
Aunt Jo knocked on the door, and when I didn’t answer, she came in.
“What’s wrong?” she exclaimed, running over to put her arms around me.
“Nothing,” I choked out, wiping my face in my nightgown.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I can’t talk about it,” I said through sniffles. And I couldn’t.
“Is it Ben?” she asked, intuitively going to the heart of one problem.
I thought for a moment. It was going to come. I couldn’t be with him and still love Damien, even if he was dead. That wasn’t fair to Ben.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. It wasn’t a lie. Even though we hadn’t yet broken up, it would have to be soon. I couldn’t hide this from Ben much longer.
Aunt Jo knew better than to ask questions. She let me have my personal life, lending an ear when I needed it. Otherwise, she stayed out of my business. She continued to hold me, and I cried on her shoulder until I heard Ben’s pick-up out front.
“What’s he doing here?” Aunt Jo asked. She assumed it had already happened.
“He doesn’t know yet,” I said.
I could see the confusion in her eyes.
“I’ll tell him you’re not well and that I’m taking you to school,” she offered, getting up.
I shot her a grateful look. I could always count on Aunt Jo.
A few minutes later, I heard Ben start up the engine again, and by the time Aunt Jo came back inside, I felt and looked more composed.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Oh, not too much. He just looked a little surprised and offered to come up. I told him I thought it was girl stuff,” she said.
“Aunt Jo!”
But I was grateful, nonetheless.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
I did want to tell her. But I had no idea where to begin.
She started for me.
“Why are you breaking up with Ben, Emily? He’s a nice boy, and you’ve been inseparable for as long as you’ve lived here.”
“I know,” I said miserably.
I could feel myself starting to cry again and fought back the tears.
“Did Ben do something to hurt you?” she asked kindly.
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
I hesitated then plunged in.
“Aunt Jo, I’ve been having these dreams.”
“What kinds of dreams?”
And then I tried telling her. I could see that she wanted to understand, but of course she didn’t know how this was connected to Ben.
I decided to take a slight detour.
“Do you remember the lady who took me home on Saturday?”
“Yes. And when I went to pick up the Saratoga yesterday, she looked even stranger in the daylight.”
I felt guilty. I’d totally forgotten the car. This wasn’t going well.
“Emily, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately with school, and I know it’s been a difficult year,” Aunt Jo said slowly, thinking, perhaps, that I was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress because of Mom. I wondered what she’d think if I told her I’d just experienced a past life.
I didn’t answer. I knew she wanted to help. And I was trying to explain it, but how could I? I didn’t even understand it myself. I decided to change the conversation. I probably needed to assure her I wasn’t going crazy.
“I was thinking…would you let me go on the spring break trip to Europe?” I asked suddenly.
Her face lit up.
“Emily, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”
She grabbed the tissue box from the dresser and began telling me about her own experiences abroad as a young woman, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t tell her I was a witch. I wasn’t even sure if I was a witch. And if I hadn’t actually experienced the past for myself, I never would have believed anyone else claiming to have special powers. It was hopeless. I had to keep it to myself, and that was that.
I looked up and saw that Aunt Jo had asked me a question.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, do you want some breakfast?”
“No thanks. I better get going.”
“I promised to take you to school.”
“That’s okay. I’ll try taking the Saratoga. Can you write me a note?”
“Sure. But if you want to stay home today, it will be okay with me.”
I thought about it, but then remembered that today was the deadline for getting Mr. Dean the permission slip for the trip.
“That’s okay. I just need you to sign something for me. I’ll have to put down a deposit by next month for the airline ticket,” I said, searching for the slip among the clutter on the floor.
“Alright. But you’d better be good with that paintbrush. We still have three rooms left,” she said, glad I no longer looked upset.
We both laughed, and I felt some better. But I knew I’d have to face Ben at some point.
Wearily, I got up and dressed, not caring much how I looked. How could I explain to anyone that I felt the deepest grief a person could feel, especially when it was for someone nobody, including me, had ever met?
Even Annie, who knew some of this, wouldn’t understand.
****
I arrived to school later than I thought, missing first period entirely. I couldn’t say I was sorry. It was calculus, after all. I liked second period and my English teacher, Ms. May, much better than math class.
I presented her the hastily written note by Aunt Jo and took my seat in the back beside Ben. We had several classes together, and this was one of them.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Yeah,” I replied, concentrating on the book in front of me, Things Fall Apart.
Things do fall apart, I thought sadly. Even though I regretted having to break up with Ben, I had no choice.
“Ben, I need to see you after school,” I whispered near the end of class.
He smiled at me, full of confidence until he saw my face. His face filled with concern.
“Okay, sure. I was going to wait for you anyway,” he said slowly.
“Excuse me, is there something you two want to share with the class?” Ms. May said, turning her short blond head towards us.
She had caught us talking instead of paying attention to the board. I could sense everyone’s eyes on us and felt my face turning red.
“No,” we both answered together. I didn’t meet Ben’s eye for the rest of class.
After third period, I had a study break, then lunch, which would be the hardest. I knew I couldn’t force any false chattiness with everyone, especially Ben. I just couldn’t fake it. So I thought I’d slip out the back and go around to one of the tables that faced the parking lot. I hoped that Annie or Ben or one of the people sitting at our lunch table wouldn’t see me.
I carried my tray, heading in the opposite direction of my normal table. So far, no one seemed to notice. I found the picnic tables and sat down, but I couldn’t eat. Opening my bag, I took out my history book instead and started to read to di
stract myself.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” I heard.
Ben had found me.
“Oh, just studying for the history exam we have coming up,” I answered, not looking up.
“But that isn’t for another week,” he protested, laughing.
“I know. I thought I’d get a head start.”
He looked puzzled. I liked reading stories, but I wasn’t exactly the studious type.
He took a seat beside me, straddling the bench so that he faced me. Coward that I was, I still couldn’t look at him. I could already feel the blush starting.
“What’s up with you lately, Em?” he asked more gently.
Should I do it now? Later? I’d never broken up with anyone before. Should I tell him I still loved him but that I loved someone else more?
“Ben, I…” I began.
The bell rang. Lunch was over, and I was never more relieved.
Ben started to gather my books to carry.
“No, I got it,” I said, trying to take the books from him.
“Emily, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I wish you’d snap out of it,” he said, irritated.
He placed my books on the table and walked away.
I knew that I deserved much worse than that. I slowly stacked my books and put them back into my bag. I really wanted to leave, to get into the Saratoga and just go. But I’d have to face Ben at some point, and he deserved better than this. I wished I could tell him what was going on—we had shared everything since childhood. But how? How could I tell him this?
****
The rest of the day passed quickly. Ben didn’t walk with me to my classes, and we didn’t look at each other in history class.
We both turned in our permission slips to Mr. Dean, and I caught up with Ben after class by the lockers.
“Ben,” I called, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I’ll see you outside. Meet me by the Saratoga,” I said nervously.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked carefully. I could tell he was tense.
I nodded. What did it matter if it wasn’t the entire truth?
The last class ended, and the final bell rang. The time had come. I detoured into the bathroom before heading out, biding my time. I didn’t want an audience for what I was about to do.
I knew I’d stalled long enough—literally—and made my way out to the parking lot. Ben leaned against Aunt Jo’s car, a little perturbed, I could tell, that I was so late.
“Where were you? I thought you weren’t going to show,” he said.
“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered, looking at my feet. I noticed two holes in my shoes.
I didn’t know how to begin.
“Emily, you know I love you, but you have got to start talking to me,” Ben began, taking my hand.
That hurt. How was I going to do this?
“Ben, I love you too,” I started, regretting that I’d begun that way when I saw his face light up.
“But…” I continued.
“But?” he asked, surprised.
“But I want to break up,” I said abruptly, dropping his hand.
There, it was out.
“What?” He sounded like he hadn’t heard correctly.
All I could do was look at him helplessly.
“Emily, why?” he asked. I heard the anguish in his voice.
“I’m sorry, I can’t explain it,” I said, turning away from the pain I saw reflected in his eyes.
“Well, you better start trying,” he answered, starting to become really angry now.
I wanted to tell him, but it was much harder than trying to tell Aunt Jo.
“I love somebody else,” I said, immediately wishing I could take it back as soon as I said it. The look in his eyes was enough to break my heart.
“Who is he?” he asked quietly.
“Nobody you know,” I said. That was true, at least.
“I want to know,” he persisted.
I was silent.
“Emily,” he growled.
“His name is Damien,” I finally said.
“What kind of stupid name is that? Who is this guy? Where did you meet him?” he fired off.
I couldn’t answer any of his questions. I might not tell him everything, but I couldn’t lie to him.
I felt the tears on my face and could see that Ben fought them as well.
“How did this happen?” he wondered, almost to himself.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to him, wanting to offer some comfort without knowing how.
I reached out for him, but he flinched as though my hand burned.
It had been a mistake to break up with him like this. I couldn’t just drive off and leave him, but I needed to get away. The Duchess was right; I was a coward.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. It’s like you just changed overnight. I know you’ve been acting strange lately, but come on, Emily, what did I do?” he asked, starting to cry for real now. I’d never seen Ben in tears before.
“You didn’t do anything,” I said, hoping to reassure him.
I was about to add the old line, it’s me, not you, but then remembered how cliché that sounded. But it was true. He hadn’t changed. I’d just discovered a past life.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” he said bitterly.
“I don’t know myself.”
“Is this about your mom?”
“What?”
Is this one of those stages of grief?”
Ben was thinking much as Aunt Jo had this morning. It was such an easy out. I wanted to tell him, yes, I’m messed up because Mom died. But I didn’t want to disrespect him or her memory by lying.
“No. This has nothing to do with her. This is all me. I’m sorry; I wish I could be different. But I can’t,” I finished.
“Emily, have you been cheating on me?” he asked in a low voice.
When Ben got angry, he twitched the fingers of his right hand. I saw him doing that now.
Had I been cheating on him? Did dreaming count? I decided that my past life didn’t because I couldn’t control it—quite the opposite. It seemed to control me.
I needed to tell Ben something. His looked furious.
“No, Ben, I do love you, but I love him more,” I answered, taking off the ring he’d given me and handing it back.
He looked at me and then the ring, not taking it.
“You say you love me? You don’t even know what love is,” he said, almost spitting the words out at me.
He turned and got into his pick-up, slamming the door and driving off. I didn’t think he’d believed the part about me not cheating on him. Maybe it was better that way. If he thought the worst of me, maybe he could heal more quickly.
I hated hurting him, but the sense of loss I felt for our broken relationship could not compare with the grief I’d felt this morning when I realized I might never see Damien again.
I stared after Ben’s disappearing truck, alone with my thoughts.
My past life had just erased all the years I had with Ben. Could a person survive losing two great loves in the space of a week?
****
When I got home, I had twenty messages waiting for me on the answering machine, ten of them from Annie. I hit “delete all” and then unplugged the phone. There was absolutely no one in this life I wanted to talk to just now.
Aunt Jo and I didn’t say much over dinner, but she’d fixed pizza and macaroni and cheese, my two favorite foods, and let me drink all the soda I wanted. Usually, I only got one can when I got home, then it was milk at dinner, a tradition Mom had started when I was a kid. I could’ve protested—I was sixteen, after all—but it made me feel connected to her.
For dessert, we had chocolate cake, cookies, and apple pie. Aunt Jo had followed the recipes for all my favorites. She must have baked all day.
I gave a few hearty tries, but I couldn’t eat. I felt too miserable.
Aunt Jo made no comment about Ben. She knows ho
w bad it is, I thought. The Duchess was extra kind too, rubbing herself against my legs and parking herself on my feet while we ate. She stayed with me all through dinner.
Aunt Jo offered to braid my hair and give me a facial—something we had done together with Mom when I was a little girl—but I wasn’t in the mood.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, clearing the table, “but I think I’m going straight to bed,” I said, loading the dishwasher, one of the only modern conveniences we had in the house.
For once, I actually wanted to have the dream, even if it was a nightmare. I thought that at least I’d see him then. I desperately needed to know that this was real, that I hadn’t just destroyed everything good with Ben for nothing.
Sleep eluded me. The Duchess kept me company, purring softly at moments when I couldn’t hold back the tears.
Oh Duchess, I thought, what will I do?
She got up and pranced over to the armoire, which I’d left open before going to bed. Climbing inside, she lifted one paw to point at the ivory dress hanging up.
I hope you’re right, I told her silently.
****
The next morning, everyone had gathered in the parking lot before the bell rang for first period. I parked the Saratoga beside Annie’s Honda, but I didn’t see her outside. I looked around for Ben, but I didn’t see him either.
Angela Rossi stood with the rest of the cheerleaders. They stared at me, a herd of dumb cows with large, stupid eyes. I walked by, catching only part of the conversation. It was not hard to guess who it was about.
“So then, I heard that Ben told her to get lost. I mean, we all kind of expected it. She’s a total loser,” Angela said loudly, hoping, I was sure, that I would hear. Word had gotten round, and Angela had taken sides, concocting an entirely new story.
I didn’t wait around to deny or defend myself. Who cared what they thought?
I sat down beside Annie in first period, grateful for once that it was math, not English. I wasn’t up to seeing Ben just yet.
We had some time before class started.
“I heard about you and Ben,” she began.
“Yeah,” I answered, looking down to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she asked.
I could hear the hurt in her voice.
“I just didn’t feel like talking,” I said. It was the truth.
