by Kim Holden
Clare and I end up going to a little Italian dive a couple of blocks from Ma’s house. We walk since it’s so close, and we make small talk until we’re inside sitting at a tiny table for two. Then shit gets real.
“I’m sorry, Gustov. From the bottom of my heart. I was a mess. For a long, long time I was a mess.” She smiles, but it’s apologetic, like her words. I can tell that she’s being sincere. Some things just can’t be faked. “I actually just got out of a rehab facility a few weeks ago.”
“How long were you there?” I ask. She needed it. I knew that before, but seeing her here now and seeing the transformation that’s taken place, it’s apparent the benefit is pretty goddamn miraculous.
“Six months. I checked myself in as soon as I got back to the states. Initially it was at the request of my employer, but before I even got there, I knew I needed it. I’d needed it for years, but I couldn’t face it. I had been acting recklessly. Sometimes, punishing yourself is easier than facing down your demons, you know?”
I do. I nod. “I’m with you on that, sister.”
She raises her eyebrows to acknowledge my admission. “I know you are, and I also want to say that I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know at the time what was going on with you, I just knew from the first moment I saw you that you were hurting. You were hurting like I was. I think that’s why I was so drawn to you. I needed to feed on that agony. I needed my pain to commiserate with someone else’s. I felt like I had a partner in grief, you know. Someone that got me, even though I knew you didn’t like me.”
I nod. I understand. Addicts don’t choose tragedy. Tragedy chooses them. And addiction is the result. “Like I said, I’m with you. I don’t blame you for anything that happened, Clare. Please don’t think that. I accepted whatever you gave me. I could’ve turned it down. I should’ve turned it down. But I didn’t.” I take a deep breath. “We used each other. It filled a void we both had. I’m sorry for that. No one deserves to be used.”
Her clear eyes are welling up with tears. “Thank you. Thank you for not hating me right now. I was so scared to call you this afternoon. I was so scared to face you. I’m still in follow-up therapy. I probably will be for a very long time. I’ve got some major issues I’m still working on. I’ve apologized to everyone in my life that my addiction hurt; you are the last person to whom I felt I owed an apology. So again, I’m sorry, Gustov.”
I hand her my napkin, and smiling, she takes it, blotting her eyes. “Apology accepted,” I say. “And right back at ya. I’m sorry, too. I knew you had something major you were contending with and I never tried to help you, because I was selfish and drowning in my own shit.”
She dabs her eyes again and smiles. “I’m good now. I’m clean. Clean for six months. I haven’t been clean since I was eighteen, if you can believe that. It feels good. I’m dealing with my eating disorder, too, which is harder than it sounds like it would be. I mean, I don’t need coke to live, but I do need food. It’s a daily struggle, but right now I’m winning. Today, I’m winning. I’m healthy and that’s where I want to stay. I still can’t give up the goddamn cigarettes though,” she says, laughing. “But someday I will.”
I huff in agreement. “They’re evil. I can’t give them up either.” I think twice about asking, but then I give in to my gut. “So, what happened?”
“What do you mean?” She looks confused.
“What happened when you were eighteen?” I have a feeling that she brought me here for more than an apology. That maybe she has more she wants to talk about, more she wants to explain. And I’m a fantastic listener.
Her eyes drop to her plate in front of her. “I was raped.”
That word makes me feel nauseous. Always has. The thought of someone forcing himself on another person without consent is sickening. I wait for her eyes to meet mine again before I speak. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’m so sorry.” God, am I ever.
The corner of her lips tip up slightly. “I know that now. For years I blamed myself, but I know now that it wasn’t my fault.”
“It wasn’t,” I reassure. There’s no situation where rape is the victim’s fault. It’s not possible. Ever.
She nods. “Back to you … how are you doing? Any better? I don’t want to ask if it’s getting easier, because I can’t imagine losing someone you love ever gets easier, but are you dealing with it better now?”
“She was my life. My best friend. She was everything, you know?” That’s as honest as I can be and it makes me swallow back the lump in my throat that’s suddenly appeared.
She nods. “Franco told me all about her. I asked him on the last day of the tour.”
“Yeah. I don’t know. I mean some days I’m just living, just doing what I need to do. Functioning. And other days it hits me and it hurts so bad, it’s debilitating. I don’t know if that makes any fucking sense? Some days I’m good and some days I’m not.”
“Are you talking to someone about it?” She’s prompting in a kind way and I know where this is going. She’s going to suggest therapy.
I try to counter her with humor to divert. “I’m talking to you. That counts, doesn’t it?” I smile, but she doesn’t buy it.
“I’m glad you are, but I mean people in your life that you see more than every six months.”
I glance over her shoulder at the poster of the Leaning Tower of Pisa behind her. “Talking about her hurts. I already hurt. I don’t want to hurt more. So no, not really.”
“At first it does hurt. Like hell. But what if eventually it didn’t hurt anymore? What if someday it was healing? What if someday it made you happy to talk about her? To think about her? Wouldn’t that be worth it?”
“To be honest with you, that sounds like some kind of far-fetched fucking dream. I’m not there.”
She smiles. “But you could be. And you will be someday. Despite everything we went through, and as badly as we treated each other, I know your heart isn’t made of stone. You’re one of the good ones, Gustov.”
I smile back. “I try, dude.”
Her smile grows. “You are, dude.”
After we split a piece of tiramisu, we walk back to Ma’s. We share a cigarette during the walk and both tell each other we need to quit. It’s after nine o’clock when we approach her car in Ma’s driveway. I invite her in, but she says she needs to get back to her aunt’s and get some rest. Her flight leaves at six o’clock tomorrow morning.
She’s looking at me with relief painted across her face again. “Thank you for agreeing to see me and for forgiving me. I think that was one of the last burdens I needed to release, that guilt I associated with you. I feel lighter and your kind heart did that. Thank you, Gustov.”
I smile. “I’m glad you called. This was good. Thanks for forgiving me and my assbag ways, too.”
She laughs.
“I’m proud of you, Clare. You’re a different person. Keep up the good fight.”
She nods. “I will. I have to.” She winks. “My new, amazing life kind of depends on it.”
I hold out my arms. “Come here.”
She steps into my arms, and for a second something feels familiar. It’s not sexual at all, but I remember her closeness. She squeezes, and I feel nothing but comfort and friendship. Her words reinforce what I’m feeling. “I’m here if you ever want to talk, Gustov. About anything. I’ve learned to be a good listener these past few months.”
I pull back and smile. “Ditto, lady. Have a safe flight in the morning and stay in touch. I wanna know if you ever quit smoking. And if you do, let me in on the magic secret.”
She laughs. “I think the secret is wanting to make the change and doing the work. I’m not there yet. You’ll probably quit before I do.”
“We should make a bet. Fifty bucks to whoever gives it up first.”
“You’re on. Good luck.”
“Good luck.”
I wait until she backs down the driveway and drives away before I go inside. My heart feels a little lighter than it
did hours ago. There was no physical attraction to Clare, though she’s more beautiful than she was when we hooked up months ago. Her energy was just good. Good to be around. I’ve blocked myself off from most people lately, and maybe she’s right. Maybe I'm only making it worse.
(Scout)
I wake up when I hear the front door opening. I wait a minute to decide if it’s Audrey or Gustov, since they've both been out. When I hear the footsteps on the hardwood, I know it’s Gustov. I was sleeping on the sofa. I don’t know why. I should’ve just gone to bed after I got out of the shower. But I couldn’t. I’m mad at myself for being so affected by seeing him with someone else. She was pretty and it was obvious they’ve known each other for a while. She wasn’t just someone he picked up. It’s not jealousy I feel; at least I don’t think it is. Hell, I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about him and the fact that I’d never stand a chance with a guy like him.
His footsteps echo through the foyer. They’re getting closer to the living room. I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep when he stops just behind the sofa. He starts walking again then the steps vanish, quieted by the rug under the sofa. I can feel him near me. And then, a blanket is draped over me and I feel his lips press softly against my forehead. “Night, Impatient.”
I want to open my eyes.
I want to pull him to me.
I just want.
But I don’t.
He disappears to his room.
And I stay here alone.
Tuesday, October 24
(Scout)
I got a call from my uncle Jim this morning. He told me that Jane is in rehab.
The news was delivered quickly and efficiently … because that’s how he does everything. His voice sounded flat, emotionless … because that’s how he does everything.
He’s not a bad guy, but he is detached. I know how to deal with him though, that’s why he called me and not Paxton.
He wants me to tell Paxton.
I don’t want to tell Paxton.
I want to keep this from Paxton. Paxton is happier these past few weeks being here than I’ve ever seen him. He deserves a little more happiness before he’s plunged back into his parents’ world.
So, I don’t tell him. For now, anyway.
Saturday, October 28
(Gus)
I wish I could stay in bed all day and just sleep. I want to skip this day. I want to jump from Friday midnight, to midnight Sunday morning.
I hate reminders.
And today is the worst reminder of all.
It’s five-thirty in the morning and I can’t go back to sleep. Ma is awake; I hear the coffee pot brewing down the hall. She’s always been an early riser, like Bright Side was.
I vocally kick myself in the ass. “Get up you big bastard. Let’s face this day.”
I search around on the floor for a pair of shorts. I should probably think about doing some laundry—it’s reached a critical level. I find a pair of swim trucks and give them the sniff test. They smell bad but still look clean, so slip them on.
Ma’s in the kitchen when I get there. Her coffee mug is raised halfway to her mouth. She doesn’t look surprised to see me up so early. Without hesitation she sets her mug on the counter and walks over to me. This is the part where we say good morning and make small talk. The part where we act like it’s any other day.
Except that it’s not any other day.
Ma wraps her arms around my waist, and I wrap mine around her shoulders and pull her in tight. We both hold on. She’s tense, and she’s trying not to cry. She always tenses up when she’s trying to hold back emotion. It’s hard for her because she’s emotional by nature. It’s not that she’s a crier. She’s not, but she wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s easy to read because she shares her emotions with everyone she meets.
We stand there for a long time before I say anything. “Twenty-one. Can you believe it, Ma? Bright Side would’ve been twenty-one today.”
Ma nods and repeats, “Twenty-one.”
I don’t know why, but I’m smiling thinking about her. For a moment I’m filled up with light. Bright Side’s light. It truly was fucking infectious. “I bet she would’ve spent today on a wicked, drunken rager.”
I feel Ma trembling with laughter against me, and hear her chuckle quietly. It makes my heart happy to hear her laugh.
“I don’t know about a rager, honey, but I’m certain she would have made the most of it. That’s what Kate always did best. She always knew how to make the most of every day.”
I’m still smiling. “She did. Guaranteed she would’ve done a twenty-first proud. Rager. I’m telling you, it would’ve been epic.”
Ma laughs again. “Maybe you’re right.”
I release her and pour myself a cup of coffee and stir in a few scoops of sugar before turning back to Ma. “You going to the cemetery today?”
She smiles and nods. “I am. Do you want to come with me?”
I surprise myself when I answer without even thinking about it. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
After we both shower and dress, Ma drives us to the florist for two bouquets of yellow tulips. Then we stop at the convenience store for four Twix bars. By the time we park in the cemetery lot, Ma’s hands are clenching the steering wheel so tight I swear she’s going to leave an impression. I’ve been trying like hell the entire ride to not think about what we’re doing. I thought that terror would overtake me. It’s strange, because now that we’re here, I feel calm. I feel like Bright Side is nearby. I haven’t visited since the funeral, because I thought it would destroy me. I thought it would amp up my anger. I thought it would remind me that my life is shit without her. But, right now, in this moment, I feel more whole than I have in months. Leave it to Bright Side to haunt me from the grave—and instead of it being creepy, it’s sunshine and rainbows and fucking unicorns.
“You okay, Ma?” I ask.
She nods. She can’t talk. I pat her right hand, then step out of the car and gather the flowers, candy bars, and a blanket from Ma’s trunk before walking around to open Ma’s door. She’s still holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. I shift everything I’m carrying to one arm and gently pry her fingers off the wheel. Taking her by the hand, I urge her out of the car and we walk hand-in-hand to Bright Side and Grace. When we reach their small, simple, matching headstones, I release Ma’s hand and spread out the blanket. Ma sits down without ever taking her eyes off the headstones. She’s not blinking and her eyes are full of fresh tears.
I don’t know if Ma’s visited Bright Side here, so I ask. “This your first time, Ma?” Bright Side passed in January. It’s been nine months.
She shakes her head slowly and pries her eyes away to look at me. It’s only then that she smiles. “I visit them every week. I don’t stay long ... just stop long enough to make sure my girls are okay.”
I have the best mom in the entire world. She loved them like she loves me. Fiercely and with her whole heart. “Well, looks like I really am the asshole then, first time and all.”
She smiles at my joke.
I remove the cellophane from both bouquets and lay a bundle on the grass just in front of each headstone. It’s warm today, they’ll wilt quickly in the heat, but they’re fresh and pretty now. Grace loved yellow tulips. And Bright Side loved whatever Grace loved, so I know they’ll both be happy. Next I unwrap a Twix bar for each of them and set them next to the flowers in the grass. “Sorry, it’s not frozen, Bright Side. I’m winging this visit today and I didn’t have time to prep properly, dude. Deal with it,” I taunt.
Ma laughs behind me. “She did like them frozen, didn’t she? I’d forgotten that.”
I shift back onto the blanket and hand Ma her Twix bar while I open mine. “Damn skippy, she did. She was picky as hell when it came to coffee and chocolate. Coffee had to be black and chocolate had to be frozen.”
Ma laughs again. And then we eat in silence. The silence is nice.
After we fin
ish our candy, we tell stories about Grace and Bright Side. They were family. We did everything together. There are a million stories to choose from.
The sun’s getting high overhead when Ma and I decide it’s time to leave. We’ve had the place to ourselves since we arrived. It’s been peaceful and warm, and the sky is a bright ocean of blue. Ma kneels down and lovingly runs her hand over each headstone, her fingers passing over their names. The tenderness and adoration on her face and in her touch is lovely. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s a reminder of the beautiful things the human heart makes possible. She tells them both to be good. She tells them both she loves them. She tells them both she’s hugging them. And then she tells them both good-bye. I have a feeling she does this every week when she visits. It’s a ritual. A sincere, loving ritual.
I wait for Ma to walk to the car before I fold up the blanket and squat down in front of Gracie’s headstone. I lean down and kiss it. I always used to kiss both of them on the forehead, so this feels symbolic. “Bye, Gracie. Take care of your sister for me, okay, dude? I love you.” Then I turn to Bright Side’s headstone. I kiss it, too. And I look at her name. Kate Sedgwick. That name holds so much power over me. The best kind of power: inspiring, encouraging, and respectable. It’s a name that I’ve always associated with badass bravery. It’s a name that always meant anything was possible. It’s a name that was love and goodness and kindness. “Happy birthday, Bright Side. I hope you’re in charge of showtime tonight. I’m expecting nothing short of fucking incredible on behalf of your big day, just so you know. No pressure, but you’d better step up and do epic.” I pause, not because I feel weird talking to her, but because I don’t want to leave. “I miss you, dude. I miss you so much.” I stroke her headstone one time and glance at Ma. She’s waiting patiently next to the car. She’d wait for hours if that’s what it took. “I love you, Bright Side. I’ll never stop loving you. Peace out.”
