I was always Samantha, or Sammy. It was the name I went by even when I started a new life here. For Max I was Sam. It took on a different meaning. I’m thinking about this as I put away the pictures I found. If my mind is a mess, at least I can control the chaos that has become my home. I organize and clean. Something to take up my time. I keep out only the photo Max found of my trip back home from the beach to continue my rediscovery.
I’ve been hard on myself for having a shift. I think I have become the very essence I criticized. Who was I to judge? Now I see it.
Last night while I repeated ho’oponopono, I felt some tension ease. I can’t say what made me begin using this technique except I was desperate when Bale suggested it. Subconsciously, I began and consciously I have continued. The crazy thing is that I think it helps. I don’t know if I’m forgiving myself or loving myself or whatever, but I feel less angry.
After I put the tin of pictures away, I grab The Alchemist. I continue from where I left off, unfolding the top corner of the page and finding my spot again.
It’s all written.
If everything is already written somewhere then what is the point of living? I’m sorry, Paulo, but I have to argue this point. The book states that things in life are already written yet when you truly want something with all your heart the Universe helps to make it happen. Talk about contradiction. I roll my eyes but keep on reading.
At dusk there’s a knock at my door. I open it to find Max standing there.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi.” I open the door wider to allow him in. We haven’t spoken since the tulip fields yesterday.
“The Alchemist,” he says with approval when he walks into my living room.
“I think you wrote this book.”
He laughs. “I did not.”
“Well, then it influenced you more than you think.”
“Maybe.” He sits on the sofa and picks up my book, nodding as he reads what part of the story I’m by.
“I disagree with the author.”
“I knew you would.”
“Of course you did,” I murmur. “Here,” I point to a paragraph on the page. “He says things are up to fate, but here,” I point to another paragraph a few pages before. “He says if you truly desire something that the Universe will conspire to make it so. That’s intervening with fate.”
“There’s a written law already in place in the Universe. Certain truths that are meant to be. You and I meeting was written. But there are also things we can control.” He smirks at the use of control. “We have free will. We have the option to decide what we want out of life. People, experiences, some of these are engraved in our personal history, but we have dreams to follow and desires we wish to make reality. That is part of life. Balance of both fate and free will.”
“That’s too much trust in a greater power.”
“The beauty in that is that you’re not alone.”
“Better alone than broken trust.”
“You assume the trust will be broken. Open your understanding of the world and accept it as it is and you will never be left disappointed.”
Max is in a good mood today despite his life lessons. I can tell. He smiles and teases as he reveals truths he holds within. Sometimes I question his humanness.
“You have unrealistic expectations when it comes to helping people,” I tell him.
“I don’t want to help people. I just live my life accordingly, and if I so happen to influence someone the same way a priest can influence the masses, then so be it.”
“A priest? I’m not sure I would be proud to compare myself to a priest.”
“You know what I mean. It was the first example that came to mind.”
“Whatever.” I grab the book and continue reading as he stares at me. I’m not even sure why he’s here.
“Are you just going to sit and read while I visit?”
“Why did you come visit? From my memory, I didn’t extend an invitation.” He sees in me that I’m teasing. His good mood has spread.
“I wanted to see you.” He removes the book from my hands. A barrier to keep me protected.
“Well, here I am,” I say.
By now the sun has set and the moon has risen. The soft glow of my lamp is the only light in the room, casting shadows around us.
“I don’t want to change you. I need you to understand that. I’m not seeking to mold you into a certain way. I just want to be around you. I contradict you because that’s what we do. We are each other’s polarities in many ways. And when you find your polarity, you find out the meaning of having that person in your life whether it’s for a few hours or a lifetime.”
“Only I can save myself.”
“Exactly. All I want is to hold your hand while you do it.”
I place my hand on his lap for him to hold. Around Max I’m soft. He takes my hand and we sit in silence for a little while. No book to distract me, no wall to keep him away. Just us. Two people living out part of a destiny.
I quietly crawl out of bed and head to the bathroom. Max’s soft snoring soothes me. We stayed up late talking. Little by little more of my childhood surfaced. Max asked questions and I had answers. I remember life with my grandmother. I remember her happy and loving. I don’t remember her wanting me to suffer. I don’t remember her resentful towards my mother. What did I miss? Was she great at acting, or was she just living her own destiny?
My memory of her just doesn’t match up with someone who would condone certain behaviors. I know our mind can play tricks, but all I can remember about her is love. That can’t be some twisted mind trick.
I walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee maker.
My grandfather seemed all right too. He was caring and kind. Now I question if there was a hidden reason to that persona.
As soon as the coffee has brewed, I serve myself a cup and wander back into my room. I stand in a corner and stare at Max sleeping on my bed. His long body draped diagonally on his stomach on a tiny European bed compared to the monstrosities we have in the States. Max held me tight all night long in case I decided to escape this new reality and venture off into my old fantasy.
The warmth of the coffee travels within me. Max is a part of me. As much as I want to hold on to the sliver of hatred still clinging to my soul, I must admit that there’s a different sense to my life. I can find balance like the moon, some nights alone in my own darkness, other times sharing my life with others. A cycle to keep me sane in an insane world.
“Good morning.” I hear his groggy voice.
“Morning.”
He turns and stretches his body. For someone who lived for the satisfaction of controlling men sexually, my urge with Max is different. I don’t care to control him. Instead, as I watch his half naked body, I have the urge to connect with him.
“Coffee?” I ask holding up my mug.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He stands and walks into the bathroom.
I sit and sip my coffee in the kitchen. I look around but see nothing. My mind is elsewhere. I wonder what my grandmother’s life was like growing up. What made my grandfather do what he did, repetitively? What makes people act and react? There has to be more than simply being a robber in a Cops and Robbers game.
I wasn’t this way before. Something happened to me that stained me with darkness. Cause and effect. Is there some kind of understanding that people are who they become by way of experiences? I have first hand knowledge in this. If this weren’t the case, I’d still be the happy little girl with flowers in her hair. I’m not.
Now comes the question I’ve been turning in my head. Are bad guys still bad when they die, or do they somehow redeem themselves when faced with the Creator. My first shift has been in even believing that there is a Creator more useful than one used to manipulate children into good behavior. As much as I try to hide this truth, it’s lingering in my mind. The knowledge that something greater exists out there and the lucky bastard gets to live amongst the stars.
>
“Hey,” Max says as he walks into the kitchen.
I bookmark these thoughts for later.
Max serves himself a cup of coffee, seemingly comfortable in my apartment. Since day one he has been comfortable. He sits across from me and smiles. I struggle to understand what ties us together. We sit in silence for a while. I think about my bookmarked thoughts, tempted to seclude myself and continue the exploration, but I won’t. I’ll save them for later when I can fully dive into them. For now, I’ll enjoy the companionable silence.
“How do I save myself?” I break the silence thinking back to last night’s conversation.
“Love yourself.”
I’ve never heard more complicated simplicity in my life. Loving myself is what I’m trying to do as I look at myself in a mirror unable to say anything positive about who I am. I don’t feel those emotions towards my being. The entire reason for me repeating a Hawaiian mantra that I may believe is nonsense is for that one percent within me that trusts a process that is out of my control.
“I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” he says with compassion. I hate to see the sadness in his eyes. I hate to know that he thinks I’m a charity project. Or maybe he thinks nothing of it and just wants me to be happy. It’s pretentious of me to think I’m always on his mind.
Today’s Max is pensive. I see it on his face.
I finish my coffee, but Max serves himself another cup.
What the fuck brought me here? To this place so low that I stopped seeing me. I stopped looking in the mirror and focused on seeing others—their faults, their mistakes, their humanity. It was easier than seeing my own.
“You know, I think part of you does love who you are. You always show confidence. That doesn’t come from insecurity.”
“If I show confidence, I can’t be insecure. They’re antonyms.”
“You understand me. A woman as confident as the one who moved for hundreds of people is not insecure. Other things maybe, but insecure is not one of them.”
“Other things?” I raise a brow. I’m unsure if to be offended or intrigued.
“You intrigued me from the beginning. I saw something, but then again I also felt the familiarity of who you are within the skin. This you already know.”
I half roll my eyes. Such a structured answer for someone not wanting to delve into a topic. I let it go.
He’s right however. I always expressed confidence, but there must be a missing link in my self-esteem. I sought approval from those outside of me when in reality the only opinion that matters is my own. Confidence has an air of humility not superiority, and I always considered myself superior when dealing with mere humans.
Mostly, I’m a lunatic trying to find her path.
“What’s on your agenda today?” Max asks.
I stare up at him almost forgetting he was present. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I have an idea,” he says and smiles. “Get dressed.”
We make it to the spring festival that we walked past a few days ago. It’s still streaming with children’s laughter and the nearby smell of fried dough. Families galore in an excitement-filled environment that makes me cringe and dance at the same time. A walking contradiction.
Max grabs hold of my hand and leads us to the Ferris Wheel. We hop on and begin to spin, rising and descending. I sit quietly and stare at the view around me. The city spread in front of me as we reach the peak of the wheel. I watch as it slowly disappears when the images of the moment become focused again. I observe everything around me quickly moving. I see faraway, people walking along sidewalks. It’s constantly changing.
I look over at Max and he smiles. The breeze blows his hair around and I laugh as he tries to hold it back with one hand. I let mine fly freely. It was my favorite thing to feel as a child. I smile at a memory of me at our county fair.
“What do you want to do next?” Max asks as we step off the platform.
I look around and smile with excitement. “Bumper cars.”
Max pulls me by the arm and leads the way. We each get in a different car, and I go straight for him. I crash into Max and laugh as he bounces in his seat. I drive away, feeling the crash as someone else hits my car. I keep my escape from Max, but he finally catches me and hits me from behind.
This moment feels surreal. Even as it’s happening, I feel as if I’m watching it from the outside. Laughter, enjoyment, freedom. It passes in front of my eyes in slow motion, the sound almost muted to distant laughter and cheering. I watch myself drive towards Max, his come and get me look drawing me in. The hit is fast and hard and I’m zoomed back into my body—everything suddenly fast and loud.
My heart is racing as I climb out of the car. I can’t deny the smile breaking free on my face. Max mirrors me. We stand in silence for a few seconds. In those seconds, so many ideas cross my mind, but I can only grasp one—hope.
“Oliebollen?” Max asks.
“Oliebollen,” I confirm.
We devour the powdered sugar dough next to the mobile stall. Back home we would devour elephant ears. Fried dough with powdered sugar is a staple at any funfair.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Max says.
I smile and nod. I still think part of me is viewing this from the outside in. Surreal. Without analyzing it, I make the choice to enjoy the rest of the day.
Choices. It’s nice to have choices. Maybe we do have some control after all.
The day passes in a blur of emotions. However, I stay true to my own promise of enjoying the day. We walk around the fair like two children in search of our next high. I am chasing something unknown to me but very much real. I feel it deep within.
Maybe all I am running after is my freedom. My freedom to be myself without any guards. A freedom few adults understand because of limitations our experiences have created. I knew this feeling when I was younger. Instead of getting older, I think I’ll get younger.
I have to release denial and find compassion. It’s easier to not know certain truths but that which holds a sense of falseness in my life. I have to be realistic within reason.
Max has taught me this unknowingly. Little by little, I have been releasing the past, shedding layers of myself to reach my center. I’ve accepted the change, now I need to open up for it to fully happen.
I look over at Max with his eyes closed on the couch. He’s not asleep, but he looks exhausted. As I stare from my position on the floor, he opens his eyes and catches mine.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Very.”
I continue to read The Alchemist but I feel his hands on my shoulders. I stop and stare at the same word, waiting. His fingers begin to massage my back as he settles on the couch with one leg on either side of me. I close my eyes briefly. Then, I continue on with Paulo’s words.
A few minutes later, Max breaks my concentration when he pulls my back to rest on the bottom of the couch to allow his hands to massage the area above my chest.
He dips lower, massaging the top of my breasts slowly and effectively. My nipples harden beneath my shirt and any thoughts about this book have departed. He finally takes my full breasts in his hands and continues his massage. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
The tease leaves my breasts and moves further down, moving his fingers over my stomach with the right force. My head tips back as his hands make their way back up the same route he took. His lips touch mine and he murmurs, “You’re beautiful.” I stay silent.
He continues, “I like your body, but I love your soul the most.” He takes the book from my hands and tosses it to a side. After, he lifts me and places me on his lap. His kisses drown my back and neck to the underside of my jaw. I twist my head to catch his lips, and we lose ourselves in a sensual kiss.
Max releases me and whispers, “I don’t want to share you.” He’s vulnerable before me.
I shift to face him and grab his face. “You don’t have to.”
His kiss comes in fast
and desperate. As if he has been waiting for my confirmation that I no longer belong to that window. As if he has gotten the courage to claim me. As if this is what we were destined to be.
He lays me down on the sofa and pins me with his body. His tongue refusing to exit my mouth as we fall into place. Everything with Max is perfectly measured. Nothing with him has ever been planned yet we’re synchronized. Down to the explorations of our bodies in a heated moment.
We pause a second. I look at Max and see the truth in his eyes. In a sea of blue, my reflection stands out and I appreciate my beauty. I see the light he refers to as his eyes encircle me.
You’re beautiful. I silently repeat in my mind before taking his mouth with mine. With our eyes now closed, we get lost in the wilderness of our souls. The intimacy of the moon and the sun right before daybreak.
When I looked into Max’s eyes a few weeks ago I was suddenly aware of myself. I saw beyond the need to seduce and the cynicism used to escape my world. And it wasn’t Max and his words. It was me. It was my doing. I felt a connection within my own being.
And my stuttering in the mirror has turned into one-word compliments. Forgiveness is a difficult process, but I’m working on it day by day. The more the child in me is exposed, the more I desire to be that person again where I held nothing but wildflowers in my hands and dirt beneath my feet.
I stand with my arms wide open in the middle of a garden taking in the rays of the sun. My mind wanders to the window. It now has a new resident and she’s good. I’ve walked by and seen how she’s doing. I’ve seen Bale around there a time or two. It was what we knew for years. The nostalgia seeps in from time to time.
Bale went back to working the club scene, which is a huge step for him considering that’s the line of work he was doing when Evi died. As for me, I’m taking some time to continue figuring out who I am and how to let go of the dead.
Why do emotions exist? Why do we need to feel? Why can’t we just be numb? Numb to the pain. Numb to the experiences. Just numb. Emotions just add more layers to our being.
“Hey.” I hear Max’s voice behind me. I twirl around to face him.
Red Lights, Black Hearts Page 13
