by Marie Meyer
My fingers stuck to the page as I blew on the magazine print. My puckered mouth morphed into a genuine smile as I peeled my fingers from the paper, revealing my eclectic masterpiece.
I enjoyed my accomplishment in quiet solitude. Smiling, I rested my head on a crunchy pillow of gluey magazine scraps.
On the back of my eyelids, I saw Griffin’s face. His disheveled, dark hair always fell in his eyes and drove me nuts. I’d give anything to be able to brush it out of his eyes right now. I wondered what he was doing…what had happened today.
With Griffin on my mind, I remembered the day I moved into my grandparents’ house, permanently—the day I realized I wasn’t alone in this world.
Grandpa pulled into his driveway. “We’re home, girls. We’re going to have to make a run for it,” Grandpa said.
Through the pouring rain, I stared at the pea green siding, recalling hundreds of other visits. A trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s tiny house always elicited excitement. Euphoria would propel me from the car like a bullet from a gun.
“Let’s go find Grandma,” Grandpa said. He hid it well, but I heard the sadness in his voice. He’d lost a daughter and son-in-law, after all.
Jenny pulled the handle on the car door and got out, bolting through the rain to the front door.
I stared at the pea green siding.
No excitement. No euphoria. Nothing. An empty barrel.
I just sat…and stared. I watched the raindrops roll down the window, gobbling up other drops on their way down.
Grandpa and Jenny went into the house figuring I’d be scared sitting in a storm by myself and follow them in eventually. I wasn’t scared, so I sat.
To a six-year-old, time ticks differently. I could have sat in Grandpa’s car for five minutes or thirty minutes and I wouldn’t have known the difference. To a six-year-old, either amount of time seems like forever.
I sat in Grandpa’s car forever and wondered if the people in the house even cared that I hadn’t come inside.
Probably not. They hated me.
I knew Jenny did at least.
She told me it was my fault that Mommy and Daddy didn’t come home. If I hadn’t asked them for a snow globe, they wouldn’t have decided to meet their friend.
Tears trickled down my mottled cheeks as the back passenger door pulled open. The boy who lived next door to Grandma and Grandpa crawled in beside me and shut the door. He shook his wavy hair and raindrops splashed onto my already wet face.
Griffin and I played together whenever I visited my grandparents. He was nice. We always had fun together.
“Hey, Jillibean.” He always called me that. At first I’d hated it. Mommy told me that if I ignored him, he’d stop.
He never stopped.
“Hey,” I answered.
He brushed a wet curl out of his eye. “What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing.” I wiped my wet face with the back of my hand.
“You want to come over and play?” he asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t feel like playing.
“Okay,” he said.
We were both quiet for a long time. For forever.
Griffin looked out the windows and I bit my fingernails. I didn’t have a mom to tell me not to.
A loud crash of thunder shook the car and I jumped.
“Jillian,” he said after a while. “I know what happened. My mom told me.”
I turned my head and looked at him. If his mom had told him what happened, would he hate me too?
He scooted toward the middle seat, right next to me, and put his arm around my shoulder. “When you’re sad, I’ll try to make you feel better. How does that sound?”
I nodded my head and smiled. He didn’t hate me. “Good.”
He offered me his hand. “Come on, let’s make a run for it.” He smiled. “The yard’s not that big, we won’t get too wet. What do you say?” He raised an eyebrow and held out his hand for mine. “Give me your hand, we’ll cross the distance together.”
I put my hand in his and looked up at him. “Promise?”
“Forever.”
Chapter Nine
Even though I was awake, I refused to start the day. I hated Mondays—my Mondays began in the dark and ended in the dark. Despite being in school for over a month, I still couldn’t get used to the long hours I had to spend inside the studio labs. The fluorescent lighting was suffocating.
Outside of the door, Sarah’s keys jingled and then the door pushed open. “Hey, you going to class today?” she asked, kicking the side of my bed.
“What time is it?” I groaned.
“8:30 a.m.”
“I really don’t have a choice.” Not if I wanted to get any work done on my Spring Showcase projects. I sighed and pulled the blankets off of my legs. “You’re up early.”
“I made Brandon run with me today. I needed to get some shots of athletes for one of my classes, so I recruited him.” After storing her bathroom necessities, she turned in my direction. “Geez, Jillian, you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically.
“No, seriously. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes, I just hate Mondays.” And college in general. With the exception of Sarah, college wasn’t what I’d expected. My apparel classmates possessed a far superior level of talent than I’d been blessed with and each new day only reiterated that fact. And then there was Griffin. I hardly heard from him—not since Mine Shaft had signed their record deal. Our lives were moving in two different directions and I couldn’t stop it. I missed him so much it hurt.
“Yeah, Mondays do suck. But, if you hurry up, we still have time to get some breakfast before class.” She smiled and started humming an old Bangles song.
“I’m going, I’m going.” My feet hit the floor and I moved about as fast as a download using a dial-up connection.
Thirty minutes later, I was showered, dressed and ready for another day of getting beat down in my design classes.
Sarah tossed me one of my bags and it fell with a thump at my feet. “Come on, I didn’t throw it that hard.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, glaring at me with her big violet eyes.
I shrugged and bent to retrieve it from the floor.
Sarah locked up our room and we walked over to the dining hall. By the time we got there, lines of students hurried in and out, fueling up for a long day spent creating masterpieces.
Sarah and I grabbed our Lucky Charms and coffee and found a seat.
I took a sip of my heavily creamed coffee and made a mental list of everything I needed to accomplish today. The most pressing task was nailing down my sketches for the Spring Showcase. If I didn’t figure out my collection’s theme and get to work on sewing those pieces, I was going to flunk out of design school.
“Jilli, what’s up with you this morning?” Sarah lightly kicked my shin underneath the table. I snapped back into reality.
“What?”
“Where are you this morning?”
“Sorry. I’m just really stressed.” I sat my coffee cup down and took a bite of my soggy cereal.
“About what?” she asked.
“You name it, I can probably find some reason to stress about it,” I replied.
Sarah tossed her hair over her shoulder and fished marshmallows from her bowl. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, spooning the colorful charms into her mouth.
“Not really.” I shook my head.
“Have you heard from Griffin lately?”
I shook my head again. “He’s been really busy.”
“Is he still with that Erin girl?” At the mention of her name, I felt my depression morph into bitterness.
“Yes,” I grumbled. I picked at my cereal like Sarah, spooning marshmallows from the chalky colored cream, and shoveling them into my mouth.
“Oo, do I sense some hostility?” she crooned. “Are you jealous?”
Yes. “No,” I snapped. “What he does with his girlfriend is
his business.”
“And that irritates the shit out of you.” She looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t get you two.”
“What don’t you get?”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen the way your face lights up when he calls you.” Sarah set her spoon down and dared me to look away.
“Whatever. It does not.” I looked away. “I just miss him. That’s all.”
“You can keep telling yourself that, but it won’t make you feel any better.”
Where the hell did she get off? She didn’t know anything about Griffin and me. I couldn’t explain why I felt so much rage all of a sudden. I looked at her and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve known Griffin since I was six. He’s just my friend. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh, honey, I think I do. It’s you that doesn’t understand.” Sarah picked up her coffee cup and drained what was left.
What was that supposed to mean? I did understand. I knew what I wanted. I just couldn’t have it. I didn’t know how to respond. Sarah’s blunt comments always caught me off guard.
Sarah wiped her mouth on a napkin. “I’ve got to get to class. Brandon and I are meeting here for dinner. You’re welcome to join us.”
I looked at her and instantly regretted the way I’d spoken to her. “Sarah,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete bitch all morning. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
Her mouth curved into a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry, too. You’re right, I don’t know what you and Griffin have and it’s none of my business.” She stood up and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “See you tonight?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She smiled and picked up her tray. “Happy Monday,” she said and walked away.
Happy Monday, Jillian. The voice in my head taunted me, not whispering anymore.
* * *
I leaned on the crash bar of the studio door, excited at the prospect of some fresh air. Outside, a cold October wind blew across my face and sent a refreshing chill down my spine. After spending an hour and fifty-five minutes sitting at an industrial-sized sewing machine, stuck under awful fluorescent lights, I felt like I was drowning.
I longed for a good run, but I didn’t have time. I had fifteen minutes to enjoy the last few beams of sun before my second studio lab was scheduled to start.
I took a quick peek at the time on my phone and scrolled through some messages while I powered down a chocolate chip granola bar. Sarah texted: I hope your day’s going well.
I sent her a quick text back: Not too bad. Thanks.
Just as I was about to put my phone away it vibrated with an incoming text. When I looked at the screen a genuine smile spread across my face. It was from Griffin. I quickly opened it, seeing a picture of him on stage during his show last Saturday night, along with a note about having some great news.
I wished I didn’t have to go back to class. I wanted to call him and find out what his “great news” was. I texted him back: I’ll call you as soon as class gets out! Can’t wait to hear about your great news!
By the time I got back to the lab, several of my classmates had already started measuring, ironing, cutting, and folding the pieces of muslin we were assigned to work with. Our lab objective today involved draping a dress form and developing a useable pattern. It was meant to foster our measuring and sketching skills. I loved the sketching part, but I always struggled with measurements. I dropped my bag on the empty chair next to Chandra’s station and went in search of a dress form.
I pulled the dress form over to my work station and laid a stack of muslin on the table top. After arranging my rulers, pens, pencils, and several pins, I figured I’d procrastinated long enough. I caught a glimpse of Chandra. Her muslin was ironed and she’d already begun to pin it to the dress form. I sighed and shook my head, wishing I possessed even an eighth of her natural talent.
After an hour of stretching, pinning, sketching, and taking breaks to breathe, my dress form began to look dressed…sort of. I scanned the room, gauging the other designers—comparing my work to theirs. Everyone had taken their muslin from the dress form and began sketching lines and measurements onto their pattern paper. Everyone but me.
I really sucked at this. With each tick of the clock, my confidence disappeared. I felt a lump rise in my throat while I continued to pinch and mark my darts, careful to measure as precisely as possible without crying. With my left thumb, I held the dart and reached for a razor blade to cut away a frayed piece of muslin. I pulled the fabric taut and slid the blade down the edge of fabric. Pinching the fabric as the blade cut away the frays, I felt the sharp edge graze my index finger, slicing the skin.
The pin between my teeth dropped from my mouth. I let go of the fabric I held in my left hand, dropped the razor in my right, and zeroed in on the line of blood blooming on my right index finger. Instantly, my body flooded with endorphins. Without thinking, I pinched my finger and made the line of blood grow. I knew what my therapist would have wanted me to do, but for the first time in a long time, it felt so good not to listen.
If this one little cut felt this good, just think how much better you’d feel if you…
Wait! What was I thinking? Instantly, I snapped out of the blood-induced trance. I grabbed a tissue from a nearby table and wrapped my finger to staunch the bleeding.
My poisonous thought and the endorphin release had scared the hell out of me. That was how I used to be…that wasn’t me anymore. I couldn’t hold the tears back. I hadn’t thought about hurting myself in almost two years—when I’d promised Griffin I would get help.
I needed help now.
Chapter Ten
I grabbed my purse and coat and bolted from the room. On my way out, I thought I heard Chandra ask if I was okay, but I didn’t stick around long enough to see if she had really spoken to me.
Outside, the sun had set, leaving the sky the color of dark denim. I walked around in the cold, mid-November air for a few minutes, unwrapping and rewrapping the tissue around my finger, checking to see if the cut was still there.
Peeling back the tissue for a third time, I prayed the cut might have magically disappeared, or that I’d imagined the whole incident. I stared at the inch-long gash on my finger and cringed. Nope, it really happened. Even though it wasn’t bleeding any longer, I put the tissue back in place and continued my hurried pace down the sidewalk.
After five minutes of wandering, I came across a bench and plopped down on the cold concrete, fumbling through my purse with my uninjured hand, looking for my phone. I pulled it free, pushed his name on my contacts list, and hoped he’d answer.
“Jillibean!” he said happily.
Thank you, God! I could hear a smile in his voice. It had been at least four days since I’d talked to him. I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth, but the shaking in my body erased it like an Etch-A-Sketch image.
“Jillibean?” he asked again, sounding more concerned.
Even though I wasn’t crying, I still couldn’t manage to spit out any words. I couldn’t convince my body to do anything except listen to his voice.
“Jillian, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Say something,” he demanded.
“I’m…here.” My voice cracked. A cold wind blew across the quad and I shivered. I balanced the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding my coat closed with both hands. I was careful to hide my injured finger beneath my good hand, as if I were afraid Griffin might see it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again.
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” I whispered.
“That’s bullshit. I can tell something’s wrong.” He paused and took a breath. “Just tell me what it is, so I can help you.”
Help. That’s what I’d called for. Griffin would help me. “I hurt myself.” My answer was monotone. I probably sounded like a robot.
I heard him suck in a breath before he asked, “How did you hurt yourself?”
�
�In the studio, I was cutting fabric.” I paused. “I sliced my finger.”
He exhaled. In my mind, I could see him running his hands through his hair. He was probably pacing back and forth, too.
“It’s okay, Bean,” he said. “It was an accident, right?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled.
“Is your finger all right?” he asked.
I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I was compelled to tell him how it felt when the blade broken through my skin. “It felt…good, Griffin. For a split second, I thought about…” I stopped. I’d run out of words.
The other end of the line was quiet. He knew what I meant.
“Jillian, you need to call Dr. Hoffman,” he said. “You promised if things got too crazy, you’d call her.”
Dr. Hoffman wasn’t who I wanted right now. I wanted Griffin. I wanted his strong arms around me. I wanted him to whisper reassuring words, his warm breath to replace the cold phone at my ear. I hated that he was so far away.
Tears stung my eyes. “I’m so stressed, Griff. I’m not cut out for this.”
He lowered his voice, pleading. “Will you please call Dr. Hoffman? At least talk to her until I get there.”
I sat up straighter and grabbed the phone from my shoulder, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly. “What? You’re coming here?” I held my breath, too afraid I’d misunderstood.
“I was planning on visiting you for Thanksgiving, since I knew you weren’t coming home. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Griffin,” I sighed. An answer to my prayers; he was always a step ahead of me. A blissful calm washed over me and I instantly felt better.
“But I’ll only come on one condition,” he interrupted me. “You have to call Dr. Hoffman. Promise me,” he demanded.
A full-blown smile bloomed on my face. “I will. I promise.”
“Good.” He let out a sigh. He sounded relieved. “So, you’re cooking me a Thanksgiving feast, right?”
“Um…no.” I chuckled, then sniffled.
“Wow. You treat all of your guests like that? Or do you save your top-notch hostessing skills just for me?” he teased.
