by gard, marian
A shy smile slipped across his face—one that I felt almost sure I wasn't intended to see—and then he regained his composure. "There is life outside of a microwave, Raven."
I kicked his foot under the table. "I'm serious. I don't know anyone our age who cooks like this. Where on earth did you learn?" He leaned back in his chair and looked at me, locking his eyes on mine just long enough to make me inexplicably blush. I didn't know him as well back then, and could never tell what he was thinking.
Finally he spoke, his voice lower and quieter than it had been before, as though he feared someone overhearing us. "I used to cook a lot with my dad." His answer was simple enough, but his delivery seemed to hint at something a lot deeper.
I set my fork down gently and lowered my voice too. "Used to? But you, um, don't anymore?"
He looked down at his empty plate. "He's dead." What I did next, I knew later to have been a mistake, but at the time he didn't make me pay for it. I leaned in closer and took his hand in my own. "I'm so sorry, Collin, what happened?" He pulled his hand away from mine. Not in a rude way, but there was a nuance to the gesture that made it clear he was more bothered by the touch than he was trying to let on. Collin is very sensitive about perceived pity. Pity is not at all what I felt in that moment, not even close, and maybe on some level he knew that.
He picked up his wine glass and finished its contents. "Which version do you want? The one I was told when he died, or the one I found out about six years later?" Shocked and off balance by his response, tears welled up in my eyes and I snatched a napkin off the table, trying lamely to prevent them from spilling down my cheeks. Fail. Collin's expression softened immediately.
"Hey." He tilted my chin toward him with a single finger. His voice shifted and became gentler, softer. "Listen, I'm sorry. Stuff with my dad's death is…complicated. I'm not used to talking about it. My mother remarried not long after he died and it was like I was supposed to act as though he'd never existed, that's how everyone else acted anyway." He sighed and puts a hand to his forehead. "In spite of my mother's attempts to hide it from me, I found out his death wasn't due to a car accident. I mean, you'd think I would've known that all along since both our family cars were fine." He let out an uncomfortable laugh and then shrugged. "I was little."
Even now, a decade later, I can still feel the same sensation in the pit of my stomach as I did then. I wasn't sure what he was going to say next, but I knew whatever it was, it must've been more painful than losing your dad to a car crash. The grief of that alone seemed unfathomable to me, and my heart ached for him. Collin proceeded to tell me that his father had hanged himself in the shed in their backyard. He'd been discovered by a neighbor, who had seen the door flapping open in the wind, and had gone over to shut it, only to find him twisting from a rope inside, already gone. Everything was cleared away before Collin got home. His mother's parents had already decided to tell him the story about the accident. His distraught mother had gone along with the ruse, not knowing what else to do. I can't blame her too much. How would you explain suicide to a child that young?
"My grandparents hated my dad and they were upset with my mother for marrying him. My dad was an artist. He was really gifted, actually. But he was also ill."
"Ill, how?" I asked, struggling to understand everything I could before he shut down and refused to tell me more. I knew enough about him at the time to know any personal disclosures on his part were always brief and few and far between. He stood up, carrying dishes to the sink and I followed, as though tethered to him, with our empty glasses.
"He was a manic depressive, or bipolar. I don't know what they call it now." He shrugged. "Anyway, had these like wild mood swings where sometimes he would be up all night creating all kinds of stuff, or disappear for a few days. Then at other times he would be really down. I can remember stretches when he had trouble getting out of bed for weeks at a time." Collin's voice was flat and distant sounding as he talked. It was almost as though he feared getting to close to any of the memories he described.
"That must have been so hard on you." I felt dumb and naïve, and at a loss for words. I wanted more than anything to hug or hold him, if he'd let me.
Collin shook his head. His eyes were far away, remembering. "When he was alive he was a great dad to me. The best he could be, anyway. He always wanted to involve me in whatever he was doing. Teach me."
"What kind of art did he do?" I asked.
"All kinds really. He was an amazing painter and photographer. He loved to cook. He was always learning new techniques in the kitchen. We ate all kinds of fun stuff when he was cooking." A faint smile rose and fell on his face.
"Wow. I see where you get it, then." He deflected my compliment, shaking his head ‘no'.
"I'm not an artist. In fact, when I was growing up, if I tried to do anything artistic it seemed to really upset my mom. She didn't want me to be like him, I guess." He shrugged and I could no longer resist the urge to touch him. I placed a tentative hand on his arm and he allowed it.
For the first time in several long minutes he turned and looked directly at me. "It was as though she thought if I did things like that I would get sick too. The older I got, the more I looked and sounded like him. It was as though she became afraid of me, or disgusted by me, or something." His voice trailed off.
He walked back to the couch and sat down, his expression far away again. I followed and sat next to him, placing my hand gently on his knee. "Being a gifted artist isn't what made your dad sick, right?" I felt tears threaten again. He nodded his head, but didn't reply.
"Collin, I can't imagine what it must've been like for you to lose your dad and then on top of it have to feel shame for who he was. Or deny your own talents because you may have shared some of them with him." He wasn't looking at me, but I could tell he was still listening. "You're an adult now and you don't have to accept their story about who or what he was. You have your own memories—only you know what he meant to you. No one can erase the history you shared. You don't have to carry their version of any of it around anymore, if you don't want to."
His eyes shifted to mine; wet, but not tearful. "I'm mad at him too, you know, for leaving me behind. And for this." He pointed to his head. I squinted my eyes in reply, not sure if I was following. His voice cracked. His emotions had clearly overtaken him. "The fucking ticking time bomb in my head. You have no idea. None. What it's like to have everyone waiting and watching for you to go crazy." That was all I could take. I pulled him into a hug and held him as tight as I could.
"You're not crazy, Collin," I whispered into his chest. My voice, shaky and emotional, reverberated back to me. "And there isn't a time bomb inside of you." We stayed like that for a little while and then eventually he pulled away, but just before he did, he planted a small kiss on my forehead. That was the only time he ever kissed me…that is, until he did it again, on the night that ended everything.
I'm pulled out of my memory by Beckett who is seated next to me, clinking his ice around in his otherwise empty glass. I stare down at the perfectly-shaped cubes, shrunk smaller in his crystal glass by the warmth of his hand and the temperature in the room, and remind myself of where I am. I blink, hard, willing myself back into the here and now. Parts of Maxine's speech come floating back into my consciousness, captured somehow during my mind's hiatus. Her voice booming through the microphone is commanding, and simultaneously sincere, as she recounts their struggles with her daughter's refusals to stay on medication. I tilt my head slightly, away from the table, and pretend to be checking over my shoulder for something, while actually attempting to steal a glance of Collin. He's seated just a few tables away and is turned so I can easily see his face. Given the nature of this talk I can only guess what he must be thinking and feeling right now. But guess, is all I can do, because his face is impassive; he's giving nothing away. It appears some things haven't changed after all.
I shook hands with Maxine and managed to say a few intelligent things that seeming
ly met with Tim's approval, and now Beckett is guiding me out to the rooftop patio alit with twinkling, white lights and decorated with beautiful floral arrangements. There are a few table and chairs where some couples are seated, but mostly people have congregated by the balcony, enjoying Chicago's impressive skyline. A few guests are standing toward one corner, attempting to stealthily smoke, although I don't think it's allowed, even all the way up here. Beckett is talking, and I'm listening; but when I can, I covertly scan the smokers for Collin. I'm engaging in one such scan when I hear his voice directly behind me.
"Forgive my interruption, but with all the, um, chaos, before I don't think I got to introduce myself." I swirl around to see Collin extending a hand to Beckett. They exchange names and handshakes as I stare up at him and then down at his amiable girlfriend who is smiling brightly at me.
"I'm Leighton." She thrusts a confident hand into my own weak and trembling one. I start to say Rachel, but she says it for me and I rip my eyes from hers and look up at Collin. He smiles at me and now I understand what people mean when they say things like my stomach did a flip because, I swear, mine just did. Thank God for all of us that Leighton seems at ease as she continues talking. She's still clutching my hand, now in both of hers.
"So you guys were college friends, right?"
Her teeth are so white that in the darkness of the night they almost appear to glow. I continue to stare at Collin for half a beat, who gives me a smile I don't recognize as his, and then I turn to look at Beckett who smirks down at me in a way that cautiously questions: Did you have a head injury you forgot to mention? Now all eyes are on me, and waiting.
"Yes!" I exclaim in a chipper voice that is as foreign to me as the smile that Collin wears. "We did go to school together. What a surprise! Collin, it's…well, it's nice to see you again. I apologize for earlier, for being so out of sorts." I glance around nervously, and notice Tim, who is now also out on the patio, observing us. He gives me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up and it's all I can do not to just turn and run away and seek refuge, for the second time tonight, in the stall of a public bathroom.
Beckett pulls me close, as if to protect me. He definitely knows something is up, but what—he has no idea. "Collin, it's great to meet you. Were you two close in college? You'll have to forgive me, because I'm terrible with names, but I don't remember Rachel talking about you." Beck's voice is smooth and light, you'd have to know him as well as do to pick up on the trace of defensiveness in it. Beck always wants to be in the inner circle of whatever is going on.
Before Collin can answer, Leighton steps forward. "I said the same thing to Collin. He hadn't mentioned Rachel either, but admittedly I haven't met any of his college friends." She looks adoringly at him and gives him a playful nudge. "I'm trying to get Collin here to be a little less anti-social." Collin smiles at Leighton in an almost guarded way and then shifts his eyes to mine, and we lock in on each other for the first time tonight. I feel my forehead crease and I lose track of the conversation for a moment trying to read into his eyes, the way I used to. Leighton is now pulling Beckett away and they begin walking toward the makeshift outdoor bar. She twists back in our direction and waves a hand over her shoulder. "You two catch up."
We break our eye contact to watch her and then simultaneously swing our focus back to each other.
"I'm sorry, Rachel," he says too quickly, before I can even think to speak. "She wanted to know why I just stood there staring at you instead of helping, and I'm sorry about that, too, by the way." He puts a hand to his head briefly, like the whole situation has given him a headache. "So, I just told her you were someone I knew in college and I hadn't seen in years, and it caught me off guard." He takes a tentative step toward me. "I didn't mean to bother you, though. Leighton is on this whole kick to get me to socialize more and when I told her we used to be friends she insisted I come over here to talk to you."
My emotions are sloshing around inside of me, colliding and crashing into one another, most of them at odds. I don't know what I'm feeling. I don't know what I want to feel.
"I was shocked, too. I should've said something, but I…uh, I didn't know what to say, plus I was dripping with your – what was it – gin and tonic?" He nods and then laughs, and a little relief pulsates through my system, and I laugh too.
He runs a hand through his hair and looks away again, clearly uncomfortable. Then I surprise us both by saying, "you look good, Collin."
He doesn't miss a beat. "You do too."
The awkward tension between us shifts and morphs into something else and I feel like I can't keep up so I say, "Leighton seems great."
"Yeah." His hand is in his hair again. "She's a force to be reckoned with."
"I can tell." I smile at him, feeling almost dizzy with all the questions I have, and all the things I feel too unsure to say or ask.
"And Beckett, was it?" He turns and looks over at Beck and Leighton who seem to have fallen into a comfortable, animated conversation. Leighton is gesturing wildly and Beckett is laughing as they make their way back to us. Time is running out.
"Yeah, Beck. He's a great guy. You'd like him," I say, not sure at all if that's true.
He takes another step toward me and then looks into my eyes earnestly. "Good." It comes out a breathy whisper.
"Collin, I…" Leighton reappears with Beckett at her side, still laughing.
"Tell me you got her number so you two can properly catch up sometime soon." Leighton looks back and forth between us. Collin gives me a raised brow, apologetic smile.
Beckett reaches into his suit coat pocket and retrieves my phone, handing it to me. All traces of his former protectiveness gone, Leighton must've convinced him I wasn't in any imminent danger.
"Here." Collin extends his palm. "Give me yours and I'll put my number in it." We exchange phones and suddenly I'm all-thumbs, nearly dropping his the moment he hands it to me. He's typing away into my phone, and I can't help briefly contemplating if the number he's giving me is a legitimate one. Our two-minute conversation hasn't brought me any closer to determining where we stand.
Collin
Rachel is just as beautiful as I remember, more so maybe, than she was before. I'm still reeling from tonight. It was like being emotionally ambushed or hijacked. I spent most of the night with a dizzying sensation like when you stand up after having a few too many and realize for the first time that you're completely wasted. It's been ages since I've felt emotional or drunk. I'm praying Leighton doesn't put two and two together. It's true I've never told her about Rachel, or talked about her in any way other than abstract terms, like: I went there with a friend of mine in college. That doesn't mean however, that Leighton hasn't seen Rachel before, because she has. I nearly choked on my salad tonight when she insisted she was familiar or that maybe she had met her before. The basement walls of my townhome are covered in large framed photographs that I've taken. Most of them are ones that I used in my business, but there's one of Rachel, taken on the last day we spent together, by the river. Her hair is obscuring a fair amount of her face, but if you knew Rachel, you'd know it was her. Leighton loves that photo and has no idea it was taken of someone I knew personally. She thinks it's a model, and has never understood why I have refused to put it upstairs in a more prominent place. Now I may have to consider how to remove it altogether without raising her suspicions.
Leighton is snuggled next to me on the cab ride home, looking like she will be asleep inside of five minutes, and I'm thankful she seems too tired for much conversation. My head is swimming with thoughts of Rachel, and what little I've learned about her life now, during our encounter tonight. She isn't married. I made sure to check out her ring finger, and Leighton had unwittingly reported back to me that Beckett said they had been together less than two years. Until tonight I would've bet big bucks she was married with kids by now, and I honestly expected her husband to have been Spencer. I can't decide how I feel about the fact that she didn't marry the guy she rejected me for.
I would love to say that the day after our night together, and subsequent fight, I'd had some kind of epiphany, became determined to be a better person; someone worthy of Raven. That is a romantic notion, I suppose; the idea that we can change ourselves, become better, in the pure pursuit of someone else's happiness. I think people attempt it all the time, but in reality, that's a load of crap. We can't hinge our happiness on others. It might feel good for a while, watching someone we love feel happy, but it isn't sustainable. I used to think focusing on overcoming my depression was selfish, like I wasn't worth my own time. Eventually, I learned it's all really the opposite of that. Focusing inward makes all the outward connections possible, though I still struggle with that part. I would give anything to go back in time and give my teenage self this bit of advice, but what would be the point? I wouldn't have listened anyway.
Back when college ended I was light years away from discovering these concepts. I didn't spend any time trying to get better or be better, for myself or anyone else. Instead, I disappointed my mother and stepfather for the umpteenth time by disappearing before the commencement ceremony. I accessed my inheritance, all I had left from my father, which became available to me in full upon graduation, and left for Europe, backpacking for months. I'd hoped the distance and time would make me think of her less, miss her less. It didn't.
The devastation I felt by her rejection of me was nothing compared to the loneliness I felt when I lost her friendship. She reached out to me in emails and said she'd been searching for me. The ache to be with her was overwhelming, but I didn't respond, because how could I? I'd put everything I had on the line and she told me unequivocally, no. The funny thing about having your worst fears realized is that if you're lucky enough to survive it – that's what you do – you survive. My world had crashed down around me, and yet I was still standing, whether I liked it or not.
