For Always

by Danielle Sibarium

  “Stupid, I guess.”

  I couldn’t take anymore. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to hear him. I didn’t want to be near him. I turned and stomped in my house. The front windows rattled I slammed the door so hard.

  He was infuriating! I stormed up to my room, angry, furious. I beat my pillow, pummeling it with my fists, smashing it against the bed. My hands shook. Tears streaked from my eyes. My chest ached. I refused to acknowledge it. I defied my sobbing heart.

  How dare I let him hurt me yet again?

  Shawn called me first thing in the morning to make plans. Something about the urgency of his tone made me nervous.

  “Let’s get together tonight. I have to see you.”

  “Can’t. I’m going to the movies with Maria.”

  We were going to see the latest and greatest in the wizarding world. I looked at it as an olive branch, falling back into old habits as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

  “How about after the movie?”

  “I need to start packing. I’m moving into the dorm in less than two weeks.”

  Shawn accused me of avoiding him and although I thoroughly denied it, I had to ask myself if that was just what I was doing. Had I allowed Jordan to sabotage yet another relationship? No. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I agreed to meet him the next evening at his apartment.

  I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Maria and I went to the movies to spend “quality time” with one another and yet said almost nothing. What an awkward night! It wasn’t as if we didn’t try. At first we pretended the previous night hadn’t happened but sooner or later, we had to talk about it. Isn’t that what best friends do? Dissect every little detail of their lives?

  “Shawn sure is a hottie,” Maria said during the walk home attempting to break the deafening silence.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “So you’re pretty serious?” I knew she was poking around for information, I just wasn’t certain for whom.

  I nodded.

  And then tension. A lot of tension.

  “You need to talk to Jordan,” she pleaded.

  “No.” I snapped. “I don’t,”

  “You can’t just ignore him.”

  “Why not?” I wondered. “Hasn’t he ignored me for years?”

  “He never ignored you. And you can’t give up. You have to work things out.” She turned out to be a pretty good cheerleader. I wonder if he had any idea how passionately she defended him.

  I was so done with him, done longing for him and hoping for him. Just all out done! “For the record, I’m not giving up, just moving on.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said, sounding exacerbated.

  “Two months ago, you tried to convince me to forget Jordan. I’m just taking your advice. Which, Jordan himself agrees with. So why beat a dead horse?”

  “But . . .”

  “I have nothing more to say about him. And to tell you the truth, there’s really nothing more I want to hear about him.”

  “But he came back to tell you . . .”

  “I think I’m finally going to do it. I think I’m going to have sex with Shawn.” I hoped the shock would be enough to keep her off the subject of Jordan.

  “You can’t! You have to speak to Jordan.”

  “What, like I need his permission?” I glared.

  “Stephanie, I don’t want to see you make a mistake.”

  “Trust me, it won’t be a mistake. In fact, I think tomorrow night’s the night.”

  Horrified at the thought of what I’d suggested, she backed off. And I realized having sex with Shawn was the perfect way to exact my revenge on Jordan.

  Thirty-Four

  I stood at the basement entrance of the two-family home, still angry from the confrontation with my mother. She flipped when I told her I’d made plans with Shawn and asked me to cancel, suggesting we go out for dinner. Just the two of us.

  When I declined, she grew angry. We went back and forth, her tone rising, mine climbing to match hers, until we were engaged in a screaming match. She did her best to make me feel guilty for walking out on her and leaving her alone. And how could I just before I left for college, when she was certain to be alone night, after night, after night?

  I took a deep breath and put her out of my mind. I pressed the doorbell and waited for Shawn to answer. He did so shirtless in a pair of sweats and slippers, his hair a mess. I tried not to show my surprise at his super casual appearance and wondered why it bothered me so much.

  “Hey, Babe,” he took me in his arms and pressed his body firmly against mine picking up where he left off the other night.

  “Hi,” I stood on my toes, brushed his lips with my own and pulled away quickly.

  “Come in.”

  I stepped inside and followed him five feet down the hall through another doorway. His apartment consisted of two rooms: a living room and kitchenette.

  The mustard colored living room looked gloomy, grimy. I wasn’t sure if the color or the worn brown corduroy couch was the culprit. The entertainment center across the room was by far the highlight. Encased in it lay a stereo system with Bose speakers and a large TV.

  The kitchenette was small and greasy looking. It was skimpy on cabinets and had a leaky faucet. The walls were bare, save the worn yellow color. There wasn’t much room to move around, especially with the refrigerator door open.

  “I planned dinner,” he informed me, pulling a small frying pan out of a lower cabinet.

  “Great.” I tried to sound enthusiastic but in truth, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I felt the walls come alive and close in around me. My opinion of him certainly took on a different hue from the apartment.

  He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out two bottles of beer. He handed them to me and then reached back in for a Tupperware container.

  “Meatball sandwiches,” he announced proudly, pulling the lid off the container.

  I watched him melt the butter and thought back to the dinner Charlie made for me. Shawn placed two slices of bread in the pan, covered them with sauce, added meatballs and mozzarella, and called it a meal. It was worlds apart from the feast at Chez Charles.

  While working on his masterpiece, Shawn opened the beer bottles. He placed mine on the beat up wooden coffee table in the living room and took a swig of his.

  “Go on, have some,” he encouraged.

  “Maybe after I eat, I haven’t eaten all day,” I lied.

  He nodded.

  Acting as if he were performing a great feat Shawn slid a spatula under the sandwiches and put them on paper plates. He placed the plates on the coffee table in the living room. When he’d settled down on the couch next to me he picked up his beer and guzzled it down. Once the bottle had been emptied he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

  “Eat,” he ordered.

  I tried to watch the scene in a detached manner, as if I were an unbiased observer. Disenchantment settled in. I was disappointed with Shawn, with where he lived, with everything. And I absolutely was not about to have sex with him!

  I had no expectations for this relationship. I started dating him hoping to find a distraction from Jordan. Now I understood that’s all he was. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “You’re very quiet,” he said, “something wrong?”

  “No. Just tired.” I began to think how I should end it. I wasn’t good at breaking up. In fact I wasn’t good with dating as a whole, which became more and more obvious each day.

  I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was good, much to my surprise. After two more bites, Shawn took the food from my hand and placed it on the dish. He wrapped his arms around me easing me down on my back, resting the weight of his body on top of mine. I heard Jordan’s words echoing in my head, “He’ll dump you the minute he gets you in bed.” I wanted to shut him up, tune him out, but I couldn’t. He was in my head. And worst of all, in my heart.

  My racing heart.


  My heart pounded in fear, understanding for the first time, Jordan was probably right. And even worse, I could be in danger. This wasn’t Charlie the perfect gentleman I’d dated for months. He wasn’t Jordan who’d never try anything inappropriate. I barely knew him at all and we were alone with no safety net. I wanted to run.

  His lips covered my mouth hungrily, his hands trying to make their way under my clothes. I shifted constantly warding off his advances. I tried to nudge him off but he resisted.

  “I really like you, Stephanie,” he whispered in my ear as he took hold of my hand and placed it just under the elastic waist band of his sweats, “I want you to show how much you like me.”

  I yanked my hand out and swallowed hard shaking my head.

  “I understand you’re scared.” He gently brushed a hair away from my face. “It’s okay. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  Momentarily paralyzed, I couldn’t move before his mouth covered mine. I struggled before breaking free from his kiss. I no longer felt frightened. I felt terrified.

  “Tonight’s the night, Stephanie,” he ran his tongue down the side of my face and neck, making me cringe. “I want to be your first,” he informed me.

  Panic threatened to take over, “No! I’m not ready.”

  His hands made their way under my shirt, and unclasped my bra. “Sure you are. You’re an adult now.”

  “Because I’m eighteen?” I was no more an adult than I had been the week before. What’s the deal with guys and numbers?

  He didn’t bother to answer me. Instead he groaned as he rubbed against me sending me into a tailspin of terror.

  “Get off me or I swear I’ll hurt you,” I threatened.

  He sat up and backed off for the moment.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I think I should go home.”

  “It’s early.” Again he seized me, holding my arms above my head, slobbering me with kisses, like a large, overbearing dog.

  “No Shawn! I mean it! I want to go home!” I thought his groin needed an introduction to my knee and so I obliged him.

  With a groan, he backed off and glared at me. “You weren’t worth the money I spent on that bracelet.”

  “Is that why you gave it to me? So I’d have sex with you?”

  “Grow up. You know how it is. You have to give a little to get a little.”

  “Well you won’t be getting any from me!” I picked up my purse. Loose bra and all, I stormed out the door.

  I swear somewhere in the background I heard my Grandmother jump up and cheer, “That’s my girl!”

  I hated Jordan.

  Hated him for existing. Hated him for interfering. Most of all, I hated him for being right. He’d known as always, in the end I’d be hurt.

  Thirty-Five

  I found Maria sitting in a chair on her front porch tapping her foot, like a mother waiting for her tardy wild child. Once she spotted me she opened her mouth for the interrogation to begin. I beat her to the punch and offered up the information she’d been looking for.

  “Nothing happened.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t understand.” Maria lectured. “You and Jordan claim to love each other and yet all you do is hurt each other.”

  “I never hurt him.” I corrected.

  “Never?” she challenged.

  “No.” I stood firm.

  “You confronted him when you needed to back off!”

  “He blamed me for Madison!” Surely she had to see that qualified as an unusual circumstance.

  Maria’s tone softened, “He blamed himself. He drove.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you also know it’s natural for him to want to lay blame somewhere else, to look for a reason that doesn’t involve him.” she reasoned.

  “Of course I do, but . . . ”

  “But what? He needed time. That’s all. He needed to come to terms with the fact that someone he cared about was out of his life. Forever.”

  I looked away from her, annoyed she was making sense.

  “You waited four years.”

  “But he said . . .”

  “I know what he said,” she cut me off. “He felt broken and pressured.”

  “I didn’t pressure him. I wouldn’t do that.” My voice sounded sad even to me, and that irked me. “And I don’t care anymore.”

  “Of course you do.” She inched closer to me and put her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “You had what you wanted and you let it slip away. Over what? An argument? A misunderstanding?”

  Slowly, I began to comprehend what a spoiled brat I’d turned into. A miserable, unhappy, self-centered brat. Just like Jordan said. I felt despicable. I needed to speak to him. I had to set things right if it wasn’t too late.

  I sighed after a long silence, “You’re right.” I admitted. “I messed up, big time.”

  “More than you know.”

  I recognized an ominous statement when I heard one. “Do I even want to know what you mean?”

  She shook her head. “He’s leaving for good.”

  “No!” I didn’t believe her, I couldn’t.

  “Yes. But he’s hoping you’ll give him a reason to stay.”

  “When?” I asked alarmed.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Why the hell didn’t he say anything?”

  “And that would’ve been so easy, while you were fighting over Shawn.”

  I buried my head in my hands.

  “Stephanie, go after him, before you lose him for good.”

  I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t feel whole without him in my life and I knew he was only a few blocks away. I knew I’d see him around. But if he left I may never see him again.

  “I’m going to call him right now.”

  Before I could make a move Maria’s father burst through the screen door frenzied, “Stephanie, you need to come with me.” He looked somber. His gentle blue eyes held no laughter. They were serious, “C’mon, Maria.” Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. There was no declining. I understood. I needed to go with him.

  My heart plunged to the depths of my being, to a place I’d known only in my darkest hours. Someone was in trouble. I looked to Maria frightened and stunned, she shook her head to let me know she had no idea what was going on.

  Only once we were in the car on our way to the hospital did he begin to explain what happened.

  “Your mother’s in the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  Panic threatened to take over but I wouldn’t allow it. I took a deep breath understanding I needed to keep it together. I needed to be strong for my mother. Without her, no one was left to help me pick up the pieces.

  “She may have had a heart attack.”

  I shook my head in denial as if that could erase it.

  “No. My father had a heart attack, not my mother.”

  “Stephanie, I know this is hard but you need to be prepared. She seems to be okay but she did lose consciousness.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “An hour ago. She and my wife went out to dinner. As they were leaving the restaurant she collapsed.”

  Guilt overrode my senses. I knew whatever happened was my fault. It was because of my stubbornness. What if’s ran through my mind and then, once again, denial.

  It couldn’t be true. My mother was the one person I knew I could count on. She’d be there always, no matter what. I knew I couldn’t face a world without her in it.

  Suddenly I was ten years old again. I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. I wanted my mother to put her arms around me and tell me everything was going to be alright, like she did so many times. I wanted my father. I wanted to hear the beat of his heart, smell the scent of his cologne, hear the sound of his voice reassuring me.

  I ached to cry, a terrible overwhelming ache that ran from the top of my chest to the pit of my stomach. But I didn’t. I knew although I couldn’t see him, I could feel my father there, with me, making
sure I had the strength I needed to hold myself together. As long as I kept it together everything was going to be alright.

  Thirty-Six

  We went straight to the ER and informed the receptionist of our presence. Maria and I remained on our feet while waiting for news on my mother’s condition. Oblivious to cries and moans of the sick people surrounding me, my mind remained focused. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe and you’ll get through this.

  An eternity passed before a large woman with very wide hips and dry frizzy brown hair opened the door separating the waiting area from the vicinity where patients were being treated.

  “Barrano family,” she called out, resting her hip against the door to hold it open.

  I swallowed hard not knowing what to expect, afraid of what I may face on the other side of the heavy aluminum door. I inhaled deeply holding my breath for a moment. A quick squeeze of Maria’s hand, a slow exhale, and I headed for the door.

  “Right this way, hun.” She offered me a feigned smile. I followed wordlessly, wondering how many times a day she goes through this exact routine.

  “I’m Joan. I’m taking care of your mother,” she informed me while leading me into a large open area. A nurse’s station sat in the middle of a large rectangular area. Individual treatment areas each holding a gurney, monitors, and other supplies were set up on the periphery of the room. Blips and beeps filled the space with noise.

  “She’s being admitted. We’re just waiting for a bed,” Joan said, as she stopped for a moment at the desk to pick up a manila folder. I nodded in agreement as my eyes searched desperately for my mother.

  I spotted her resting in a corner of the room just as Joan began moving again, heading in her direction. The curtain around my mother’s bed was drawn so no one could see her from the sides, only from the center of the room. The nurse pulled back the curtain a bit and gestured toward a chair.

  “Ten minutes,” she warned.

  “Okay,” I cleared my throat hoping to appear stronger than I felt.

  “Try not to get her excited. She should stay calm.”