I’m ready to go in a few minutes, and Max is dressed with sneakers and shorts. We leave and begin running in silence. He respects this time for myself but stays close enough where I can’t forget he’s here with me. A present figure stronger than the shadow that would tear me down.
We run for a while before Max stops for a break. He looks tired. I jog in place as I look at him.
“How are you still going?” he asks.
“We’ve only ran five kilometers.”
“I used to pride myself on being in shape.”
“You may need to keep working towards that.” I take off and hope he continues because I’m not done having my alone time.
He finally catches up again and we run together for a little while longer.
Back at my apartment Max sits beside me, pulling out something from his bag. He hands it to me without a word. I see a stack of pictures on my lap. I grab them and flip through. They’re pictures of me. These are the photos he began taking.
The next picture I find is the one I took. The one he said was nothing.
“You see? I did take a picture of something.” I show him the image.
“You did.”
It’s a picture of the sky, the clouds sparse as the sun shines. You see the perfect circle with rays randomly shown. I keep this photo. I look through the rest and try not to focus too much on my expressions. They’re all candid. The last photo is one of Max. I keep it as well.
“You look happy. I wanted you to see what I see when I look at you.”
“How long does happiness last?”
“However long we allow it to.”
You know what I’ve learned? That not many people know what unconditional love is. Many people wander throughout life thinking they understand the depth of love. They don’t. The love they claim to have is some made up version in their mind. Unconditional love is different. It’s intense. And once you feel it, you crave it. You want nothing less than that feeling. It’s not perfect, it’s real. It’s this immense amount of emotions that you want to have all the time. All at once. It swallows you up and spits you out as a completely new person. It’s beautiful. It’s tragic. It’s raw. It’s unique. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, no matter how little time I have it, because it lives in you years after the person has gone his own way.
There’s something about connecting with someone on such a soul level that you look beyond imperfections and see something otherworldly. That gives you unconditional love. It feeds a part of you that you otherwise may not be aware of.
I’m hanging upside down again on the monkey bars as my heart adds to the new rhythm it’s been creating while I hang this way. It’s a different beat than I used when I danced in the window looking for my next client. This beat is more hopeful. The beating of life within me.
The blood rushes back to the rest of my body as I sit on one of the spring animals and begin to rock gently. Back and forth. I’m at a turning point in my life. I can go backwards like this spring horse, or move forward in a completely new direction. It’s time I make the choice and begin. As soon as I took responsibility for my life, change happened.
I head home ready to rest a while. The soothing of the swings lulls me enough that I know I’ll sleep throughout most of the night.
Before getting in bed, I look in the mirror and try to say those words that, as silly as they may seem to some, will break me free. I haven’t used the word love in a long time to anyone, especially myself. I can’t seem to do it.
I keep on dreaming with the villains, the Disney witches. They pop in, one by one, showing me their ugliness. And then their reasoning. They manifest as the tools they use to bring down the princesses. The animals they transform into. All the steps until the last one creates justice for their actions. Forgiveness is a hard lesson.
I suppose as an adult I relate more to the fallen character than the victimized princess. Always finding a way to seek revenge, even from the innocent. But I’m changing. I’m acknowledging my reasons and releasing them.
I’m changing.
I’m changing.
I’ve changed.
Tonight it was Maleficent. She came as a raven, watching and waiting. For what? Beats me. The last time was the Evil Queen from Snow White. The red, luscious apple filled with venom. Evil painted pretty. Isn’t that how it always goes?
As I walk into the bathroom, I realize I’m less bad guy and more lost girl. Oh, god, I’m turning back into a princess. Or maybe I’m going back into my child.
The picture. I grab it and stare. Beautiful, beautiful girl. I slowly run my finger across the photograph. A phantom caress. I feel like she and I are two separate people, but our eyes are the same.
“I’m searching for you,” I whisper.
Yup, definitely losing my edge.
Back into the bathroom I go. The steam of the shower filling the space as I jump in. My mind is away as I wash my body. No thoughts occupy me, just lather, rinse, move on. A constant flow.
I begin to doodle on the shower wall. The steam quickly wiping away my confessions. I turn to words.
Forgiveness. Love. Believe.
This time I think of me. No memories from the past, no hatred tied to them. Just me. As it hasn’t been in a long time. Just me on my own, no barriers creating excuses for not being who I am. If I’m honest, I am enjoying being just myself. Confused, but rooted.
I swipe the mirror with my hand, just enough to see my eyes and nose. Before the lingering steam fogs it up again, I stare into my black eyes, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink and say, “I love you.” Tears fall down my cheeks in silent surrender.
I feel numb. I’m not sure what I feel. It’s hot in here. I drop my towel and open a window. I need to breathe. Breathe dammit. I race after oxygen. I need it. I crouch down and put my head between my legs.
Ho’oponopono.
I love you.
Someone knocks on my door. I stand and open. Automatic. Distant. Unaware.
“What are you doing?” Surprised eyes stare back at me. They’re blue and pretty. They’re the opposite of mine. He is the complete opposite of me. My mirror. My polarity. My soulmate.
I’m naked. I shrug and walk away. Max grabs my towel and wraps me in it. Intuitive. That is Max today.
Max holds me. I turn into him. I don’t need him to save me. I need him to hold me. I break. The last of my shell cracks. No more hiding places.
I spent so many years pretending I had no emotions. Acting as if I didn’t care about anyone. I’m tired. I’m human. I feel and I’m ready to be honest about it. Max watches me carefully although he’s trying to be subtle about it. I see it. I see his eyes on me waiting for me to fall. I won’t. He showed up when I needed him yesterday, but I wasn’t drowning, I was swimming. In a state of shock. All we spoke about was what I did and then we slept. I didn’t even count the specks of light. I just closed my eyes and slept.
No dreams. No startling wake up call. Just sleep in the glow of the moon. Her full beauty on display for the world. There’s no such thing as coincidence, and the full moon last night was not one.
“What was your favorite thing to do as a child?”
I look at Max. “Play in the dirt.”
“Mud pies,” he says remembering.
“No mud pies for me. Just digging. Feeling the dirt coat your skin. I used to love letting it dry on my hands and then slowly close my fists so it would peel.”
“Let’s go do that.”
“What?”
“Now. Let’s go.”
Smudged with dirt in a solitary park on the other side of the city, we sit on the ground and talk. Max holds nothing back when asking me questions. I don’t hesitate to answer. It’s candid but we’re sitting on moist ground with dirt covering our arms.
“I never played in the dirt when I was a child. I used to play football, ride bikes, herd sheep.”
“Herd sheep?” I laugh.
“Yes. I took it very seriously. It was my nap tim
e under the trees.”
“No wonder you’re a fan of The Alchemist.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“And by football you also mean soccer. I can’t really see you tackling anyone.”
“You Americans and your vicious sports.”
I sit cross-legged with the clouds overhead. The smell of soil that rises in the air right before it’s going to rain fills my nose. The scent of home surrounds me. It’s comforting and familiar. I used to love guessing when the rain would come. The air would change and the wind would blow up a dust of dirt. I’d stay outdoors until the first few drops would fall. Then I’d stay a little longer just to make sure it was a real shower. After spinning a few times, I’d run inside.
It’s going to rain today. I sense it. I love theses minutes right before. I silently take it in. Then, drops. Drops of water. Drops that cleanse. Drops that renew.
“It’s raining.”
“I know,” I respond.
“We should go.”
“Why?”
Max shrugs and smiles. “I love your eccentricity.”
I look at him and laugh. Then I reach over and smear the dirt that is now mud on my hands all over his face and neck. He pulls me in by the arm and sits me on him. We sit and kiss and touch under the gray sky as it washes away all of our sins.
“You should find your dad,” Max speaks up.
“What?”
“Find him.” A demand.
“Where?”
“Only you would know.”
“The world is a big place and he can be anywhere.”
“If he wants to be found, he will be.”
“These aren’t sheep you would herd as a boy,” I bite.
“Sheep are mindless creatures. Your father is not.”
His fingers stroke my arm in an attempt to comfort me. He turns and stares. He has been quiet all afternoon. He’s pensive, and pensive Max combined with demand is a dangerous blend.
“Sam.” He waits. Nothing. “Sam. Look at me.”
I turn and see him. Really see him. His eyebrows are worried and his mouth is set straight. I roll my eyes like a brat. It’s an overload. Too many things. Too many realizations. Too many feelings. I went from numb to overdone in the emotional department and I can’t handle it all. I can’t handle what Max is going to say along with all I already know.
“You’ve come such a long way. Don’t stop now. You know that this is only the beginning of greatness. Your dad is a guide on that path no matter how long it’s been since you’ve seen him.”
I’m embarrassed to admit this but I didn’t even tell my dad I had gotten married. I was angry and resentful. When most women have the most important man walk them down the aisle and dance a meaningful song with them on the most important day of their life, I had no one. I denied his presence in my life for so many years that now I have no idea how to go back. How can I look at him with a straight face and tell him I want to talk?
Knowingly, Max stays quiet and just sits with me. After a while he grabs his book and continues to read his World War II historical. I close my eyes and see beyond the thoughts created by my mind.
And with the soothing music of rain and Max’s heartbeat in the back of my head, I think of ways to get to my dad.
Now that I’ve finally found a piece of me that was gone, I want more of that. The same way I love to inhale Max’s light, I want to surround myself in the girl I was. I’m so tired of living from a place of anger and hatred. I never thought I’d feel this way, but once you release masks, your sight becomes clearer. No more opaque views towards what you think you feel. Now it’s all truths that can’t be hidden.
I don’t have my deceased grandparents to hide behind, or an abusive husband to blame. It’s me. Alone. Not lonely.
Max says to find my dad and talk to him. Reconnect. How do we even begin to do that? I know him less than he knows me. The last time I spent quality time with my father I was a little girl. That was so long ago. It also means leaving this city. Leaving this life. Going back to where I came from. Where I fled from.
Now I know that I couldn’t flee from what was within me. And it was ugly and mean. I was bitter. I still am at times. I’ve grown. I’ve understood situations and experiences. I’ve cracked open and allowed light to enter. It will take a bit of time for the light to pump through my veins and transform my will of living.
“Let’s go to dinner.” Max puts his book on the coffee table, tired of the silence.
“Dinner won’t change my mind.”
“Your mind has already been made. You pretend to not care because that is who you are, but you do. It takes courage to care.”
“Philosopher.”
Max chuckles but let’s me have the last word. He gets dinner.
In spite of the damage in life, we can survive if we choose to. I remember that quote I saw in Anne Frank’s house. She was a wise one.
When I look at myself now, I look into my eyes. Something I had avoided for a long time. For many years, guilt and disappointment stared back at me and I could no longer stand it. Now I see something different. I see more than a memory of who I was.
I hold the small piece of paper in my hand. It is wrinkled from the sweat building in my palms. A blurry image fills my mind. I grab the phone and follow the instructions on the calling card. The numbers on the paper are starting to smudge.
It rings. I almost hang up.
“Hello?”
Click.
He answered. I chickened out. What do I say? Hello dad, it’s your daughter? It’s like the opposite of Star Wars. I never saw the movie, but that phrase is infamous.
I’m startled when my phone rings. Is he calling back? Can’t be. The caller ID says it’s a local number, so I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, babe.” I exhale.
“What’s up?” I go for nonchalant.
“Did you do what I asked?”
Bale is a pain in the ass on his own. Max is persistent alone. Combine those two and you have an annoying combination. They both got together and searched for my dad. They found his phone number on some social media. I wouldn’t know which one. Then they insisted I call. It’s been three days and today is the farthest I’ve gotten in my attempt.
“I called and hung up when he answered.” No sense in lying to him.
Bale sighs. “Just talk to the man.”
I dismiss Bale’s attitude and speak another minute with him before hanging up. An email would have been easier. I think.
His information online said he lives in Tennessee. I have no idea when he moved or why, but he also remarried. I didn’t want to know so much. I didn’t want more connections. But life is made of webs that we can’t escape from, and this is one with a direct link to my existence. We’re connected, wanting to or not.
I could hide behind excuses or get this over with. If there’s one thing I never was, it’s a coward. I dial again with fierce determination. Who am I to be afraid of speaking to my own father?
It rings a lot of times before voicemail picks up. Great. Now he must think it was a spam call after I hung up. I leave a message. Short and simple with my contact information. Then, I walk downstairs and go for a run.
Rejection is a difficult thing to experience. It makes us feel as if there is something wrong with us. It puts ideas in our minds that are false. It blinds us because we are suddenly not good enough for another person. Well, guess what, I am good enough. I deserve a response. I haven’t gotten it.
It’s been days since I called my dad and everything has been silent. He doesn’t care, so I move on and forget about it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Instead, I obsess. I question everything. I demand answers from someone who doesn’t know I’m desperate for them. But I am. So very much so, because I have fought to get to this place. I have shed pieces of me to find forgiveness. He’s the only person I can reach who is physically able to offer comfort from that part of my life. I deserve that.
&n
bsp; I get dressed and wait for Bale. He wanted to get together since he doesn’t work. He was present in my life every day, now we schedule time to see each other. It’s weird. I try to focus on this instead of my pending rejection.
When Bale buzzes, I rush out of my apartment. Another minute surrounded by my own mind will drive me straight to the psych ward.
“Happy to see that you’re excited to spend time with me.” Bale smiles and I close my eyes. He puts an arm around my shoulder and begins to walk.
We talk about his job at the club. He’s doing much better being a part of that crowd again, so it surprises me when he says that the woman who took over my window reached out to him to discuss him working with her the way he did with me.
“Are you sure?”
“No, but I’m considering it. The least I can do is hear her out. See what she wants.”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Don’t be jealous, S. You’ll always be my favorite Red Light girl.” I laugh. Genuinely laugh.
“I’m not jealous. I just want you to make sure you do what’s best for you.”
“Always.”
We enter a local bar and take a seat on two stools.
“Nothing yet from your dad?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should give him another call. You know these international calls are tricky sometimes.”
“Whatever.” I sip my drink. If I weren’t so stubborn, I already would have called again.
My phone finally rings with an unknown number. I stare at it as it vibrates in my hand, nerves and anger stirring as one. Curiosity wins and I answer.
“Hello?” I’m harsh in my attitude.
“Samantha?”
Everything freezes. If I had thought he was a blurry memory in the caves of my mind, I was wrong. It all comes back. Vacations. Nights of homework. Business trips he was away on. My mother. Their love. It was real. So real. I was real. A product of them.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, wow,” is all I get back.
His voice is like a security blanket that could prevent me from falling. I fell while I was away, but I rose.
Red Lights, Black Hearts Page 16
