“Where are you?”
“Amsterdam.”
“For how long?”
“Three years now.”
“And . . .” he pauses. Twenty-one questions was never my favorite and our back and forth is stiff.
Knowing what he’s asking, I answer. “He’s dead.”
“Oh.”
“It was for the best.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, dad.”
“I heard what happened. I should have reached out.”
We all live with regrets. We all live with our own idea of mistakes. We all carry a cross that weighs us down when it comes to certain actions. We hold blame and are quick to point the finger at ourselves.
“I always promised to keep you safe as a little girl.” I hear the surrender in his voice.
“It’s not your fault.” This is my chance to free him. “You weren’t expected to cover me in a bubble to never experience life. It was hard and I failed at many things, but I learned. I redeemed myself.”
“How long has it been?
“Years, dad. It’s been years.”
“You’re probably a different person.”
“I was, but I’m coming back home.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to call back. I was unsure if I had heard the message correctly. Then, I was unsure of how I’d apologize for being gone so long.”
We talk for a long time. When he asks how I’ve been, I can only say that it’s too much for a phone conversation. It catches me off guard when he insists I visit. I’m not ready.
Tennessee. I’ve never been to Tennessee.
“You’re wise,” he says.
“I’ve had hard lessons to learn. And I’ve been reading a lot more.”
“What books?”
“Paulo Coelho specifically.”
“Great author. My favorite.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Of course he is.”
“Think about visiting. I know it’s far way and the flights are expensive. I’d go out there but work is demanding right now.”
He still hasn’t mentioned his wife. He hasn’t brought up if he has other kids or not.
“It’s okay. I’ve been dealing with things about my life and I thought you might have some clarity.”
“What kind of things?” He’s worried.
“Things about mom.” I test him out.
“Oh.” Pain.
“I know things. Things I wish I didn’t.”
“Your mother was a complex woman.”
“You loved her.”
“Of course. A woman as rare as her doesn’t cross your path twice.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate. I smile.
“Me too. I wasn’t for a long time, but I am now. I found my man on the moon.”
“I always knew you would.”
“I need to remember everything from the past,” I confess.
“We can’t always remember everything. I promised you I’d keep you safe, and I did as much as I could. You were a happy girl.”
“I remember being unhappy.”
“You lived many things. Divorced parents, depressed mother, distant father. It would make any child unhappy. Don’t overthink experiences. You are not your mother and your lessons are different.”
When did everyone in my life become philosophical? His words comfort me because I hear the conviction in them. My skin chills with goosebumps. Truth. It was always my confirmation. Goosebumps.
I hear him chuckle. “Actually, I don’t think anyone would ever dare harm you. You were a firecracker. Even the elder respected you from a young age. Sleep peacefully, darling.”
The truth can set us free. It reveals sides of us we still hide when we thought we were fully exposed. It reveals fears we held unknowingly. It lets us breathe differently.
I hang up and stare. I stare at a blank wall that contrasts the inner workings of my mind at the moment. Words heal or they destroy. I’ve written words. They healed when I allowed myself to understand and process them. My father’s words were a part of that healing. I wonder who he is and what his life is like. I didn’t ask much about him. The focus was on me. A parent’s worry.
His words set me free on one level but my own self has set all of me free. Where do I go from here? Without a clear answer, I head out. I feel like Alice after she’s fallen down the rabbit hole. Confused and a bit lost, but prepared to discover the magic in the world.
I climb the metal dome in the park that has now become familiar. I reach the top and stand tall with my arms out. The breeze surrounds me and I ignore the people watching me. Children laugh around me and I secretly wish they take a stand for themselves when they need to. I wish for them to truly forgive when they’re hurt and to open their minds before their hearts close.
I climb back down and get stopped by a little girl on the swing. She asks if I’ll push her. It’s surprising to hear a small child ask that of a stranger, especially when an adult must be here with her. I’m more taken aback by her penetrating stare. I begin to swing her back and forth as she happily hums. A familiar tune sounds from her. I subconsciously begin to sing along.
Oh, when the saints go marching in.
I freeze. She swings back and knocks me. All along, the rhythms I created as I danced behind a window, ran, and lived all stemmed from this song. Threads separated from one main chord.
“Are you okay?” the girl asks. She can’t be more than five.
I nod.
She tilts her head to the side. “The song.” I nod again.
“My mother used to sing that to me,” I tell her.
Her smile gives me chills before someone comes running to chastise her in Dutch. No idea what the woman is telling her, she looks at me and apologizes for her daughter’s manners. I assure her I’m okay and watch them walk away.
My mother loved that song.
“I already told you no!” I’m yelling. I’m aware that I’m yelling. I don’t know why I am except that I am reacting.
“Listen.” Dominant Max is not one I usually argue with but today I’m rebelling.
I’m being irrational but I don’t want to hear what he has to say. We’ve been arguing for thirty minutes. When he insisted I go see my father, I lost it. I was blinded by rage and confusion.
I’m still dealing and processing. I’m still acclimating to the changes and the opening. I’m focusing my new vision to get the clearest view possible.
I’m wild. An uncontrollable storm. I’m familiar with this part of me. She still lingers somewhere.
“I will not listen to what you have to say because it’s pointless.”
“It will help you.”
“I don’t need that in order to learn.”
“He’s your father. You already spoke to him. You already connected. Why won’t you go to him?”
“I’m not ready to leave this place. Leaving here means I’m fully done with this.”
“You’re getting in your own way of happiness.” He calms down.
“I’m happy now.”
“Learn where you came from. This is a part of you you’ve denied for so long. Defeat your fears and go back to you. You’ve already healed so beautifully, light igniting from within you. My moon. Your cycles will always be a part of you.”
I breathe deeply. What’s left of me in Amsterdam is a shadow. Pieces of me I’ve shed through my transformation. Proof of my metamorphosis. If I admit this to Max, he will book my flight. And leaving Amsterdam means fully embracing myself. No longer a reflection in a mirror.
“If I go, it won’t be just for a vacation.”
“I know.” His eyes look into mine. “You’ve learned to live again. I have proof with photographs. I want you to embrace this life.” His hand reaches out to me. It cups my jaw.
“I need to sleep.”
He gets closer. His lips touch my skin and I sink into him. I just want him.
I can’t sleep. Max snores lightly
next to me, but I can’t find a way to relax. Counting doesn’t help and I have no will to write. I want to sleep. Instead I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a coat and walk out of my apartment. I walk under the star specked sky with the coolness sweeping over me. I have one destination.
I stand in front of the windows watching the last of the clients being mesmerized by the girls. They tease and seduce. Then, I find the one spot I came for. I feel no desire to retake my spot inside that window, but this will always be a part of me. A part of me that felt this was the life I deserved. A part of me who was convinced prostitution was my strength and power.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was here,” I respond.
“I figured.”
“I came to say goodbye. One last time to thank the place that housed me for so long.”
“I know.” I look over at him. “You’ll always be mine.”
“Stop.”
“No. Let me speak. You’ll always be the light that shines my nights and the one I’ll rise in the morning for.”
I ignore him. I can’t listen to him.
We already discussed this. I wasn’t honest with him because I was avoiding this same scenario.
“You have to go. Connect with your father again. Chase your dream of helping people and finish that career.”
I continue to stare at the window. The curtains are shut and the garnet is enhanced with the red lights that illuminate the street.
I finally speak. “My dad used to talk to me about a man on the moon. I think he was talking about you.”
“Because you and I have always been a part of one another. Regardless of our physical distance, our connection was always felt.”
“How are you so calm?”
“Because in another life I knew you. In another life, you healed me. We will continue to move together because that is how the universe works.”
We stand in silence, neither one looking at the other. The windows shut down, the bit of crowd that was left thins.
“I’m leaving Amsterdam. I did what I needed to do here. Amsterdam holds nothing more for me. I could chase you, but we both know that isn’t how this is supposed to end.”
I turn to face him. “Why?”
“Because of what I just said. Life happens when it needs to and when we finish that part of our experience, we move on.”
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t know who I’ll be once I’m there.”
“The same person you are. The person you have fought to become.”
Shel Silverstein once said he preferred a happy middle because there was no such thing as a happy ending. I get it now. Everything of his I read as a child makes sense in this moment. The depth of his words go beyond children poetry.
“If I woke up from this dream like the boy in The Alchemist did, I would relive it all over again. Just to feel this.” I place my hand over his heart. “I’d relive it all, Max, just to feel you again.”
“Let’s go.” He leads the way back to my apartment, both of us surrendering to our destiny.
Our fate was written in the stars. We were destined to meet. To love. To learn. To leave. My heart beats life again because of Max. Because of my courage to uncover what was hidden within me.
I made the decision to go to Tennessee. My dad and I have spoken regularly in the past couple of weeks. I have no idea how long I’ll be there for or where I’ll go from there.
“Hey, babe.” Bale walks into my apartment and looks around. I’ve packed up most of my belongings.
“Hi.” I stop and look at him.
“How are you holding up?”
I shake my head. At this moment, I wish I was back to being heartless so this transition wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“I’m proud of you.” He looks happy.
“Come visit the States?”
“You got it, kid.” He hugs me. “Now, what do you need help with?”
“Nothing, Bale. Just stay for a while.”
“I plan to.”
I continue packing as he tells me about working with the new girl. Her name is Julia. I can tell Bale feels back in his element. After meeting with her, he decided he wanted to help her. He loved working with me and I hope this gives him what he wants.
Bale talks about everything possible in his attempt to keep my mind busy. It helps for the most part. While he steps out to pick up lunch, I pack my photographs, old and new. I make sure I have one of Max. Then I grab a few pictures Max took of me and grab a pen. On the back of one, I write, The moon cannot shine without her zon. Thanks for giving me back my existence. I leave them on my nightstand to give to him. Then I lay flat on my bed and stare into the nothingness of the ceiling.
I hear the door open and close but remain in my spot. Bale finds me and the smell of fried dough lifts me. We eat our French fries and Bale takes down the ribs he ordered. I can’t hold down much food. Fries and oliebollen satisfy me.
“I’m happy for you,” Bale says finishing off the ribs.
“Thanks.” Heaviness still fills me but I know my path is this one.
As the sun begins to set, Bale leaves. Tired, I sit on the couch and do some research.
Tennessee State University.
I wonder if they’ll accept a runaway turned prostitute into their mental health program. I jot down what I need to apply for my Masters in case the courage builds inside of me. In three days, I’ll have to decide. I’ll need a plan once I arrive in Nashville.
Sometimes the smell of bourbon still haunts me, but these days it’s a reminder of the war I won instead of the battle I lost. John is nothing more than a piece of my past I released. He can rest peacefully now.
When I got agitated talking about my grandparents, my dad spoke his mind. He said my grandparents were great people with their own secrets. Their own pain to deal with. Despite the abuse my mom experienced. I still find that hard to believe. It takes a sick bastard to abuse their own child, physically or sexually, and sexually is a long stretch to forgiveness. What I forgave him for was my own anger towards him. I released the need to seek revenge when I was not the victim in that case. I released the need to be a savior to someone who lived her life in a way she chose to. My mother had choices. I have my own. We are only responsible for ourselves.
I also learned my dad did have more children. Two girls. I have two sisters. Or so he says. I’m not sure how much of a family we really are. I’m not sure how much family my dad is anymore, but it seems like we’re trying. This is our chance to mend our relationship. One we are both at fault for losing.
Max arrives to pick me up. Something about flowers. I’ve been busy packing, and using that as an excuse to steer clear from him. It’s too much. I grab the pictures and open the door when he knocks.
The feel of his lips on my cheek lighten my soul. He’s my light. He looks around in silence and finally sees me.
“You’re ready.”
“Kinda.”
“Your accent is more American when you’re emotional.”
“As opposed to . . .”
He laughs. “I don’t know. Not Dutch.”
If I was a woman of few words before, I am a woman of fewer words today.
The next thing I know we are getting off a train and jumping in a cab. The ride was a blur of nature and Max’s fingers caressing my skin.
“Come on,” Max holds my hand to help me out of the cab.
“Where are we?” I look around an empty field.
“Since I can’t buy you your favorite flowers, I brought you to them.”
I look closer and see hundreds of flowers emerging from the ground. All wild as they’re kissed by the sun.
It’s miles of land and flowers. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Just he and I. Flashes fill my mind. Picking flowers and putting them in vases. Hoping they’d grow and disappointed when they would die. Flowers are meant to stay wild. They are meant to stay grounded so they can receive the
life they need.
I open my arms and just feel. There’s something about being truly alive that is empowering. When you embrace life as it is, you allow yourself the opportunity to enjoy the journey. I couldn’t continue to blame others for my actions. Healing and growth come from within. No one else can do that for me. It was a hard lesson to learn. A harder lesson was forgiveness. I still don’t know how it happened. I question if I’ve truly forgiven John, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I see it there. The scars are healed, and although they aren’t completely gone, they’re a reminder of my fight. Max sees them. I can tell. But he doesn’t judge them.
As soon as I found love for myself, I found my truth. The beauty I had hidden.
I look at Max. His eyes are closed. His hands are in his pockets. I see his heart beating at the base of his neck. He brought me home. I’ll always be grateful to him.
“Don’t stare,” he says.
I smile.
“We’re going to stay the night here.”
“What?”
“Camping.” One-word explanations. This Max is even. He isn’t preaching or pensive. He just is. This is a new version of him. I guess we never stop getting to know people.
“I’ve never gone camping before.”
“You’ve never lived much. Now you are living. Now you are feeling.”
“I used to hate feeling.”
“You used to pretend you hated it. Good or bad, positive or negative, you were feeling something. Indifference was an illusion.”
“Indifference is an illusion. I get that.” It’s funny how we view things differently according to where we are in our lives. I rejected Max’s views on perception before. Now I validate them.
Max hugs me and I hold on tight. I’m no longer the hard shell I was. Now I’m soft. Now I’m those I criticized but only because I was afraid of everything I would have to endure in order to become that. Fear. It all came down to fear.
Fear incarcerates us.
Fear poisons us.
Fear kills us.
I was dead. The real me was dead. What was living was a fraction of me that survived the fear. What was left of me was fear itself.
I inhale Max and realize how warped I was living my life. Every story comes to an end, chapter by chapter. My chapters have flown and my book of darkness has ended. The sequel will be light and some characters will be different, but the threads that bind my pages will be strong. My will indestructible.
Red Lights, Black Hearts Page 17
