Unveiling The Sky

by Jeannine Allison

  “After that night I started paying better attention, telling myself I’d be better for her. If I couldn’t save her from cancer, I could at least save her from her sadness. I started stopping by at unexpected hours trying to see if I could gauge her true feelings again, since apparently she never showed them to me. But I never heard her crying again—every time I walked by her room, she was humming or singing. So when I walked in one day to her bright smile and warm eyes, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to ask for my help to kill herself.

  “She told me how much thought she’d given it and she listed all the practical reasons why I should help her. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She didn’t make it past reason number three before I was yelling at her. Telling her she was selfish was my desperate attempt at keeping her.” I paused and let out a loud breath. “She didn’t deserve it. I was just so damn scared, and that made me angry. Eventually all that was left was complete and utter despair. I begged her, I told her I wanted more time with her, told her we all wanted more time. She eventually started crying and relented.”

  I broke eye contact to look down at our hands. “I didn’t understand, hell, I still don’t. But after she went to sleep that night, all I kept thinking was… why didn’t she want to spend more time with me?” My voice cracked and I felt tears run down my cheeks. I brought my head down to rest on our joined hands; I closed my eyes and took deep breaths in an effort to stop my tears. I felt Alara’s unoccupied hand brush through my hair, trying to comfort me, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. My breathing sped up as the tears escaped faster and fell on our hands. We sat there for a few minutes while I silently cried, and Alara’s grip never weakened; if anything, it got stronger. I slowly sat up, and she gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen since she walked in.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” I said softly as I shook my head for emphasis. “I know she was in pain, but I don’t know if I’ll ever understand how she could want to kill herself when she still had me and my sister and so many other things she loved.”

  Alara was quiet for so long I thought she wasn’t going to say anything. My eyes were on our hands again when she gently removed hers while simultaneously extracting her other hand from my hair. She flipped her left palm up and thoughtfully traced the scar there. I hadn’t thought twice when I’d seen that scar before; it was simply something I was going to learn about later on. A childhood accident, a prank gone wrong, a cooking lesson gone astray. But I was quickly realizing that it wasn’t going to be any of those things—it was going to be so much worse.

  I stared at her hands with rapt attention as Alara pressed her fingers a little harder along the scar. When she finally spoke, her response was pained and so soft that I almost didn’t hear it.

  “I do.”

  I looked up and found her eyes squeezed shut and lips trembling. “You do what?” I asked.

  Another silence stretched on in which I thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked right at me as she spoke eleven words that would break my heart.

  “I know what it feels like to want to kill myself.”

  Trying to buy some time, I disentangled myself and walked over to my bag. I was aimlessly digging around when I saw the ugly orange bottle I’d spent months trying to hide. Tears came to my eyes as I looked at the bottle, and all at once I imagined all the pills I’d ever taken and all the pills I’d be taking every day, twice a day, for the rest of my life. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. How appropriate that I would tell him and immediately have a meltdown.

  Gabe came up behind me and gently took the bottle from my shaking hand, slowing turning it while he examined the label. He finally looked up at me, but I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. My mouth had gone completely dry as my hands continued to shake. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Our staring contest continued and with it my anxiety increased, until it was suffocating me and I had no choice but to leave. Without another thought, I quickly ducked around him and headed for the door, even though my bag was still on the floor behind me. I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t hear him move, I didn’t register anything until his hand came crashing down on the door I was trying to open. I jumped in surprise and even though he wouldn’t let me leave, I stayed facing the door.

  “Move.” I attempted to open the door with a huff.

  “No.” Gabe’s voice was gentle yet firm.

  “Please.” I tried to say it with conviction, but there was a lump in my throat that made it more like a sob.

  “We can talk about this,” he whispered in my ear before resting his forehead on my shoulder. “Please, let’s just talk about this.”

  “I don’t know how. I thought I could but…”

  He lifted his head up and placed a soft kiss on my neck before speaking in a voice so soft and soothing that I could almost pretend everything was fine. “Let’s start easy. What’s the medicine for?” He was trying to be gentle, but I could hear the worry in his voice. When I didn’t say anything he spoke again. “You can tell me, you can trust me,” he pleaded. “What’s it for?”

  I didn’t respond and he said no more as I contemplated my options, none of which looked good. There’d always been an ohh moment when I told someone about my depression. At first they thought maybe they misheard. There was no possible way I could be depressed, not when I smiled like I did, not when I laughed like I did. They thought I couldn’t possibly be as good at pretending as I was. But then came the understanding, but not the kind of understanding where you feel accepted. Instead it was the kind of understanding that left them feeling uncomfortable and unsure of how well they knew me or how they should act. They didn’t know what to say, but in those moments that followed it wasn’t about any words. It was all about the eyes, because that was always how I knew what would come next. That was how I knew if I’d lost a friend. And even though he probably already knew what I was going to say, I wasn’t ready to lose Gabe and… whatever we had. But I had already thrown the verbal grenade at him; I couldn’t exactly take it back.

  I never wanted to keep it from him, but I never felt ready to tell him the truth either. And if I was being honest, I’d never be ready. Because the truth didn’t always set you free; sometimes it merely traded one set of shackles for another.

  “I think I have a right to know,” he said at last. And he did have a right to know—that’s why I started this whole conversation, so he could choose. So he could walk away and save himself from a relationship with someone like me.

  I leaned my head against the door and drew in some deep breaths to keep my tears from spilling over. I shook my head back and forth, trying to prepare myself for what would come next. Part of me believed he was different and I could trust him, but part of me also knew people reacted in unpredictable ways, and more often than not it was negative.

  “Do you really want to leave right now?” Gabe whispered, bringing me out of my trance.

  “Depression,” I whispered, raising my head slightly. He wasn’t touching me anymore, but I could still feel him stiffen behind me. “It’s for depression… and sometimes anxiety. And no, I don’t really want to leave.” I finally turned around so we were face to face, just inches apart so I could see every worry line on his face. I saw no understanding, just confusion and fear and maybe a little doubt. I shifted my gaze to the ground before continuing. “What I really want is for it to be okay that I am the way I am. I want people to stop judging me when they can’t possibly understand how this feels. But I’m not going to get what I want, so I’m left with the alternative, which is leaving and being left alone.” When I looked back up I saw he didn’t know what to do or say. We stared at each for a few seconds before his face softened and he brushed my cheek with his thumb.

  “Remember at the karaoke bar when I said I was trying to do you a favor?” He nodded. “This is what I was talking about.” He opened his mouth to speak but I quickly held up both hands, cutting
him off. “No, no. Please just think about it. Think about everything I’ve said and maybe read up on what it’s like.” I paused as I gripped his wrist, keeping his hand on my cheek. “I also need you to understand that there isn’t some hidden trauma from my past, there’s no reason for me to be like this. Nothing caused this. If you can’t… if you can’t handle it, I’ll understand.” I let go of him and wiped at the few tears that had fallen. “It’s hard and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I need to know now, and you need to be sure. So, take some time and think about it.” I slowly leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. When I pulled back he seemed reluctant but understanding. He dropped his hand from the door and stepped back, allowing me to cross the room and pick up my bag. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked back toward the door, but I couldn’t meet his gaze until the very last second. With a soft smile, he pulled the door open and walked me to my car.

  “Goodnight, Alara.”

  “Goodnight,” I whispered, hoping it wasn’t also goodbye.

  Our dinner sat untouched on the table as I sunk to the floor with my head between my hands. Truthfully, there was a lot I didn’t know, but one thing I did know was that I still wanted her. And if she needed me to take time to convince her of something I already knew, I’d do it. The only thing I didn’t know was how much time. I looked at the clock. 9:08 p.m. I’d been sitting on the floor for half an hour when I picked up the phone and dialed Naomi.

  “Hi, Gabe. What’s up?” Her chipper voice rang through.

  “Is Alara home yet?” I knew I sounded dejected, but I couldn’t muster up any other emotion.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I paused, unsure of what to say. “I just… I wanted to make sure she got home okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Well, she was…” I trailed off; I didn’t really know what she was. At least now I knew why she was so hesitant all the time. I cleared my throat. “She told me about her… uhm… she told me that she’s depressed.”

  Naomi let out a long breath, sounding exasperated and tired when she responded almost unconsciously, “It’s not something she is, it’s something she has.”

  “Right… sorry,” I said quickly. I really didn’t want to alienate one of my few allies.

  “No, I’m sorry. I just think it’s important to remember that how we say it matters.” She paused. “So she really told you?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  Naomi was alarmingly quiet, which was not something I had ever encountered before, and even though we had only known each other a couple of months it still seemed highly out of character. “So you haven’t talked to her at all?” I said.

  “No. How long ago did she leave?”

  “Not long. Maybe forty minutes.” Naomi was quiet for so long, I’d worried that she’d hung up. “Are you worried about her?” I asked.

  “Always,” she whispered. “She’s my best friend and even though she’s doing a lot better…” Naomi paused, cursing a little in the background before coming back on, “I don’t know if I should be telling you this stuff. It’s her business and I—”

  “I understand that, I really do. I didn’t mean to worry you; she wasn’t really upset when she left. I just… I don’t know if I did the right thing. By letting her leave, I mean. I don’t know how much time to give her. I let her leave because it seemed like she really needed that, but right now I’m regretting it and I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. I don’t want her to think that this changes anything, it doesn’t—not even a little bit. I really care about her. But she thinks I need time to think about it.”

  “I know,” she said. “Gabe, I know this is hard and confusing. I don’t want to scare you off and I believe you care about her, but she’s right. You need to really think about this before you go after her. You need to think about if this is something you can handle—”

  “I don’t have to think. I know it doesn’t change anything. Naomi, you’re like a sister to her so I know where this is coming from, and I’m grateful that she has you. But I’m hoping that she’ll have me too. And that’s not something I need to think about or a choice I need to make. Am I scared? Yes. Do I understand it all? Not really. Will I always know what to do? No. But I’ll always do what I think is best for her and if it turns out I’m wrong, then I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make it right.”

  “I believe you.” I could practically hear her grin over the phone. “She might take some more convincing than that, but even when she has her doubts she can still be pretty reasonable. Also, keep in mind that you have Derek and me. We’re Team Gabe all the way—we were even thinking of making T-shirts with your face on them.”

  I smiled. “Why don’t I try talking to her first?”

  “Fine, ruin all my fun.” She paused and her tone turned somber. “But seriously, you guys will figure it out. People in love always do.”

  …

  “So are you seeing anyone?” I asked.

  “Nothing serious. I’ve been on a couple of dates but I’ve been trying to focus on school. Annie and I have been researching and applying to colleges. It’s a little intimidating. What about you? Has there been anyone serious since Miranda?” Sam took a drink of water before eyeing me suspiciously with a knowing smirk.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m actually seeing someone right now, I think.”

  She laughed. “You think?”

  I hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain it without betraying Alara’s confidence. Sam’s smile slipped and she opened her mouth, but I cut her off before she said anything.

  “I need advice.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, sure. But I have a quick question. Actually two quick questions.”

  “Okay?”

  “Is this someone Alara?” I nodded and was rewarded with a huge grin. “And was she the reason you finally initiated a phone call and asked me to get lunch?” When I nodded again, Sam still smiled, but it was of a sadder nature.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s a shit reason—”

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t care what the reason, I’m just glad you called. I knew I was going to like her.” She beamed as she dug into her salad.

  “It’s hard not to. She’s smart and so damn sweet and really funny once she’s comfortable around you.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  I cut off a large slice of steak before shoving it in my mouth, hoping to buy some time. This didn’t seem like the type of thing to just casually tell other people. But Sam wasn’t other people, was she? I mean surely there’s some kind of family clause for telling other people’s secrets. But how would I feel if Alara told her sister a secret of mine? I’d like to think if she was doing it for a good reason I wouldn’t mind, but maybe she’d feel differently. And what exactly is a “good reason” when it’s a subjective term? But how could I get advice without telling Sam everything? I couldn’t, so maybe—

  “Gabe, I don’t need to know everything, but I can’t help if I don’t even know the problem.”

  “You have to act like I never told you.”

  Sam frowned but nodded. “Okay, I promise when I see her again I’ll act clueless.”

  “She has depression and anxiety,” I said before I could change my mind.

  “That has to be tough,” she said as she nodded thoughtfully.

  “She’s giving me time to think about—she thinks it’s going to change things.” I paused and pushed the food around on my plate.

  “Does it?”

  I shook my head and took a few more few bites of my lunch. “No… at least not in the way she thinks.” Sam tilted her head in confusion, so I continued. “She thinks she won’t be enough and that I can’t understand. And honestly, I don’t. When she first said depression I thought maybe something happened to her, but then she swore nothing ever has. And I know it’s horrible and unfair, but I thought of—”

  “Mom,” she finished.

  “Yeah.”

  �
��You don’t understand how Mom could be so happy when everything was going wrong, while Alara could be unhappy when everything is seemingly perfect?”

  “Yeah,” I said but kept my other thoughts to myself. Sam never knew what our mom had asked of me, and I planned never to tell her. She had no way of knowing that the reason I connected the words depression and mom was far more complicated than she knew. I understood Mom’s connection to depression because she had cancer, but as much as I wanted to I couldn’t understand what made Alara that way.

  She dug around her salad for an olive before continuing. “The key word there was ‘seemingly.’ You’re looking at it like Alara has a choice in all this. She doesn’t, just like Mom didn’t have a choice in getting cancer.”

  “How’s everything tasting over here?” our server asked as she walked back over, raising her eyebrows at our forgotten lunch. After reassuring her that everything was fine, she left and we each stared at our own food, lost in thought.

  “I need to tell you something. I’ve been looking for the right time to give this to you, but it just never seemed to come…”

  “Give me what?” I asked as she bent down and dug through her purse. She pulled out an envelope and set it on the table in front of me. My heart stopped as my gaze drifted over my name written in familiar black script. “What’s that?” I pointed an accusing finger at it.

  “Mom left us each a letter. Her lawyer brought them over a couple of days after…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “He was told to give them to us one year after her death. I don’t know what it says, but if it’s anything like mine… you need to read it.”

  I practically clawed at the table as I picked it up and ripped it open. My hands were shaking as I held it; I ended up having to set it on the table in order to read it.

  Gabriel,

  Wow. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How am I supposed to fit a lifetime of advice and love in a simple letter? How am I supposed to leave knowing I’ll never meet your wife or hold your children? It seems impossible as I sit here and write this. Even with all the machines beeping around me and all the needles constantly being stuck in me, I still have this thought that this isn’t really happening. That ten years from now I’ll be sitting with a grandchild in my lap while you and your wife are out celebrating your anniversary, thinking about how I worried for nothing.