Rash Decisions

by Alex Rosa

  I’m trying to make the leaving process easier by packing my things in my office before I make my actual departure. I figure the day I decide to walk out of here for good will be more easily done if I didn’t have to worry about carrying it all with me.

  I literally snuck into the mail room earlier in the day for a box, trying to make sure no one saw my puffy eyes, especially Troy. No surprise though, his door was firmly shut.

  As I scooted by Claire with the box in hand, she whelped and asked me what I was doing. I was so sick of explaining myself that all I could do was give her my own sad whelp and shrug as I scurried into my office.

  Yup, I’m definitely a dog with its tail between its legs. It only brings the word bitch to a whole new level for me, because there’s no arguing I’m one at this point. Troy’s look imbedded that feeling into my bones.

  I lingered in my office, busying myself until the building cleared out. As it nears six in the evening, I feel it’s safe to take a look at my office. I’ve spent more time here than my own apartment, and this room might’ve actually become more of me than my living space.

  It’ll be harder to pack this space up than my apartment.

  I pull the box out and lay it on my desk and peer around the items I need to take down to sterilize the space of a short lived life experience, be it a rich one.

  My eyes shoot to the most miniscule items, but they might have the most meaning. I’m a sucker for nostalgia, or I’m a hoarder. There’s a solid debate for both.

  Dotted along my monitor are tickets of different kinds. I scan the tickets, plucking them from the frame of the computer screen as I remember each memory. Even I’m baffled at how sentimental I can be as I grab for one.

  This was the ticket from Noah’s and my first subway ride together. It was the first thing I taped onto my computer. I drop the paper in the box. The tiny paper pitifully weaves and floats its way to the bottom. I grab for the next one. It’s the taxi receipt from when I took a cab home with Troy after our hang out in Times Square.

  I huff as I drop that piece of paper into the box too, hating myself all over again. It’s the ultimate dichotomy that brought me to this point. One memory contains Noah and the other Troy. It’s not even close to fair of me. How could I be so stupid?

  I knew that this process was going to be riddled with moments like this. The realizations are still fresh wounds; that’s all.

  I’m about to reach out for the glass vase harboring a wilting bouquet of flowers on my desk. I won’t admit who got them for me. I pluck out the sweet note still pinned between the drying leaves, dropping it in the box before I reach for the flowers to throw them away.

  “Julia?”

  I gasp, jumping as I hear the sweet squeak. I knock over the vase, and barely catch it before it falls.

  “Shit!” I whisper, and it’s the giggles I hear that have my attention springing back to the door.

  “Lizzy! What are you doing here?”

  She looks especially precious tonight, and her long wavy hair begs to be played with. I daydream braiding it, and then just as quickly shake my head of the thought.

  When I blink my eyes open to stare at her, her wide expectant ones are a mirror image of her fathers. The whole moment swallows me like the Bermuda Triangle and I’m in a sinking ship of conflict. I feel confusion, love, guilt, and a small sliver of hope. I don’t know where that hope comes from.

  Even when I look at her now I can’t help but wish I could be who she needs, too, but I’m so far from being fit for that.

  Another dry gulp at the thought.

  She tilts her head watching the myriad of emotions that must be flitting over my face as she replies, “My Mommy drop-th me off down-th-tairs, and Daddy pick-th me up.”

  The word Mommy pangs that heartstring, and the string snaps with its recoil, flooding me with more emotions than I’m prepared to feel.

  I nod as I fiddle with the vase and pull out the dry flower, dropping them in the trash.

  If Lizzy is standing here that means Troy is somewhere nearby. The idea of sending her away is a cowardly thought among my many, but it’s one I won’t act on.

  “How are you Lizzy? How’s school?”

  She lights up, taking a step into my office.

  “Better! Kids let me play jump rope with them today!”

  I grin, and the stretch to my cheeks feels odd, seeing as I haven’t smiled in days. “They did! See! I told you! Everyone’s gonna want to know Miss Lizzy Dillinger.”

  She giggles, nodding furiously. “Maaaayybbee.” She peers over at my desk and examines the box. Her eyebrows pucker in bemused interest. “What are you doing?”

  “Um, packing some stuff.”

  “Why?”

  I’m baffled at the direct question, but for a child this seems like a normal thing to ask.

  “Uh, because I have to pack up my office.” I deflect answering.

  She shakes her head and it has me wondering how Troy ever gets away with anything while talking to her.

  “Why would you need to pack your offi-th?”

  I release a long huff, and don’t know how I’m supposed to avoid it now, and if anyone deserves the truth, it’s this sweet girl.

  “Well Lizzy, I’m actually leaving.”

  Her eyes droop. “But why?”

  I flinch. “Because I’m going home.”

  She shakes her head again. “But I thought you are home. Don’t you live here?”

  I sigh, knowing there’s no way around this. “I do live here, but I have a real home in California.”

  She takes a step toward my desk again. She’s only a head taller than it. She rests her chin curiously on it as she watches me. Her chubby cheeks and natural pout have my heartbeats wavering. “You’re leaving to go back to California?”

  I nod, chewing the inside of me cheek.

  “But what’s in California if this is your home, too?”

  Her question is so simple and to the point. It causes goose bumps to rise all over my skin. They tingle their way up my neck as I try to respond.

  I have no truthful answer. There’s nothing I want in California but a sense of sunshine and old memories that I don’t miss.

  I open my mouth to speak but I’m too distracted by the water gathering in my eyes as I watch Lizzy who sits expectantly for a logical answer I cannot give.

  “ELIZABETH!” is shouted from the offices outside, which only amplifies my heart rate.

  This time Lizzy jumps at hearing it, but her eyes are on me, piercing my soul like only an innocent could.

  She pulls herself away from the desk, trots her little legs around the wooden object to me. She extends her purple rhino that I didn’t notice she was holding, out to me.

  “Don’t be th-ad,” she says. “Here.”

  She hands the rhino to me, and I only take it from her because of my instilled manners.

  “Lizzy, I can’t take this.” I try handing it back to her, but her instant huff as she pushes it back toward me has me clutching it close.

  “No. Take it. If you’re leaving, I don’t want you to be th-ad. Th-niffles helps me when I’m th-ad. I want you to have him.”

  I blink back my tears. I lean down on my knees and pull her into a hug. She grips me tight, nuzzling into my hair as she says, “It’s okay if you need to go home.”

  Another shout of her name erupts from hallway, and this time she pulls away. She gives me sweet cheeky smile and runs out the door.

  What the hell am I doing?

  It’s been three days since Troy ripped my heart into shreds and left me to stare at them on my office floor. Even after his daughter left I still stared at the proverbial heartbreak.

  I deserved it. Every moment. I know I did.

  His words have been constantly ringing in my head. It’s his effortless faith in the situation that plagues my mind and body. Don’t get me started on Lizzy, whose simplistic views on life could easily solv
e the world’s problems, but could they solve mine?

  Now I’m staring at the only assembled box sitting pretty on the floor of my living room. There are eight more boxes, flat and leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting for me.

  This single box is the only progress I’ve made so far, and the more I stare, the more it feels like it embodies my life. Empty. Flimsy. And a sad example of what I’ve built since arriving in NYC.

  I’ve been creating mental checklists the last three days, trying to decide when and how to make my leave, but no matter how hard I try, I end up sidetracked and in a daze.

  I grab for Sniffles, the purple rhino, and squeeze it close, but make the mistake of inhaling. Right now it smells sweet like Lizzy’s shampoo. Sometimes the damn thing smells like Troy’s worn leather jacket. I can’t tell if this is my mind playing tricks on me or not.

  I push myself off the couch and turn to look at my apartment. Everything that seemed important to me months ago, all of my personal belongings that I packed up and had shipped here, all seem insignificant. It’s amazing how things can change. What was important to me then isn’t important to me now.

  I’d be more than happy throwing all of it in a dumpster and go back home without any baggage.

  Hm, home.

  What a concept. I can’t seem to define the word anymore.

  I keep trying to tell myself that California is where I belong, but the question that constantly bungees back into my brain comes in the form of Lizzy’s innocent, all knowing, question.

  “But what’s in California if this is your home, too?”

  I peer down at the rhino and let out a huff. I turn around, kicking the empty box to the side and place the stuffed animal on the counter, facing me. That’s when I begin to pace.

  Back and forth. Back and forth. This is all I can manage as I periodically stare up at the stuffed animal, it’s large, black button eyes staring right back at me … judging me.

  Now I know I’m losing it.

  I try to convince myself of what I’m going home to.

  My Dad is there and family. Isn’t that reason enough?

  The answer to that isn’t a good one. I love my father, but the thought of asking him for my job back puts a bad taste in my mouth, among other things.

  My heartbeat accelerates as my mind grasps for straws. What am I going home to if not for family that I’d prefer to see on a holiday basis?

  The tight squeeze in my chest tells me I only want one thing.

  Troy.

  I claw at my chest as I heave in a deep breath while stopping dead in my tracks to turn and face the purple rhino that continues to stare.

  If the thing could talk, it’d probably yell at me, too.

  I hate this.

  The truth of the matter is, no matter how I twist my predicament, the lines of what are important blur and blend, and then sting.

  At what expense do I sacrifice my own happiness?

  One thing has become clear as I attempt to pack away my life and somehow seek guidance in an inanimate object: I’m running, aren’t I?

  But what am I chasing? I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel any longer if it ends with a plane landing at LAX.

  Which continues to beg to the question: what am I supposed to do?

  Troy’s voice twists around Lizzy’s in my head. If he’s willing to battle the storm with me, and he’s what I want, then why shouldn’t I try?

  I know this is something he was trying to explain to me before, but at the time I was so sure that there was something for me at home. Troy might’ve been willing to hold my hand through the chaos, but it’s Lizzy who helped me figure out what I want, hell, more like what I need.

  I’m in a trance as I stare at the rhino. Talk to me. Tell me what to do!

  I’ve made so many mistakes in my short lifetime, and they aren’t necessarily that obvious. Sometimes mistakes aren’t necessarily the things that you do, but the things you don’t do … unless you act to make a wrong a right.

  I scramble for a leveling heartbeat, a calm breath, and even a simple thought, but nothing feels right when I look at that empty box. It’s only when I stare at Sniffles that it stirs something inside me.

  Hurting Noah was never part of the plan, but this churning pain I feel is just as bad.

  Troy spoke of a chance, of giving us a chance. Maybe it’s worth all the risk. Troy can keep his cool and keep me calm, won’t he? Will he want to now?

  Standing here and doing nothing feels more wrong than the act of hurting Noah, and I can’t stand it anymore.

  I have to do something. I have to try. I will not run. I will act. This pattern of me running stops now. I need to take charge. Isn’t that the real point of me moving here in the first place? I can’t allow myself to be continually blinded by my insecurities.

  I leap forward and grab for Sniffles. I rush down the hall. I slip on my boots over my jeans and slip my arms into the coat hanging on the wall while trying to haphazardly swing my purse over my shoulder. I end up a knotted mess at first as I swing one arm through the sleeve and twist my purse around my body, but eventually untangle myself in one frantic piece.

  I reach for the doorknob, clutching Sniffles close and sneak another sniff as I pull the door open. This time the smell isn’t stomach clenching, but confidence inducing.

  “Julia!”

  I slam into Megan who seems to have been about to knock on my door.

  “Ack! Megan! Sorry!” I face palm my forehead. I had called her as reinforcements to help me pack my life away. I’m tempted to tell her to burn my belongings because those things don’t matter to me anymore, and that only putting one foot in front of the other does.

  Megan shakes herself of our collision as she says, “What’s going on? Where are you going? You look like you’re running?”

  I smile. “For once I’m running with good intentions.”

  “I thought I was helping you pack?”

  “Not anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I gotta go,” I spit out in a rush.

  “It’s nine thirty at night, where are you off to?”

  I hadn’t thought about the time. I dart my eyes all around the hallway debating on when is considered too-late. I shake my head. “This can’t wait.”

  I lock my front door and offer her a shrug. My feet are eager to get going as I step closer to the stairs as Megan nods, but I’m not sure she understands as she says, “Is that a purple rhino in your hands?”

  This time I grin. “Yup.”

  My boots make squeaking contact with the tile of Troy’s apartment building floor. I don’t shy away from the sounds as I walk with purpose, but no matter, with each step, more nerves seep out from my pores.

  I hold Sniffles close as I walk past each gold embossed wooden door.

  There’s a twitch of a smile to my lips as I recall the first time I made this trek down this hall. My nerves were at a peak then as they are now, but presently they’re driven by a reason I never saw coming. Before I was fighting my hatred for the man, but now my heart beats for him. It’s laughable to realize that what I might’ve hated then is part of why I like him now.

  My chest constricts as I get closer, realizing this could all go wrong. I can’t seem to pull enough air into my lungs.

  When I reach his door, fear is quick to appear at the forefront. I don’t actually know what I’m doing now. I’ve never fought for anything in my life.

  I know I jumped a plane to NYC, but I have to confess, I might’ve done it in a cowardly, sneaky way even though I had good intentions when I left LA.

  I’ve made lots of rash decisions, but for what? This is the first one in my entire life that has a good cause, even if I do crash and burn.

  I gulp down air as I raise my hand to his door. My hand sits in the air, hovering for a full thirty seconds as my heartbeats try to keep up with my breathing until I knock four times.

  The sterile hallw
ay has my heart feeling like a bass drum, the beats echoing off the walls in the silence, giving me away.

  The door opens and what stands before me is exactly what I want.

  Troy’s jaw falls slack, and after not seeing him for a few days I notice that his normally clean shaven face looks scruffier than usual, but the midnight stubble makes his eyes pop; their shell-shocked appearance glow turquoise as they dart all over my face. It’s almost like he doesn’t believe I’m standing here.

  “Jules.” He whispers.

  My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His low hanging pajama pants, and fitted, ragged university shirt are too distracting.

  My mouth bobs as I scramble for a coherent thought. “Troy, I …”

  There’s no hint of that wry smile as he watches me squirm. His eyes drop to my hands.

  “Is that Sniffles?” he asks before releasing a hum.

  I squeeze the rhino and clench my eyes shut in embarrassment before letting them fly open as I try for a deep breath to no calming avail. I extend the rhino out to him.

  “I wanted to return this.”

  He tilts his head to the side, eyeing the stuffed animal, but shakes his head instead of accepting it.

  “So, Lizzy did give that to you?”

  I nod, chewing the corner of my lip. “She did. Please take it.”

  This time he lifts his hand slowly and removes it from my hand, but makes sure not to touch me. “She told me she gave it to someone who needed it. I didn’t think—“

  “I did need it, but I don’t anymore. I know it’s late but I needed to come see you.”

  I see his grip tighten on the rhino. He licks over his lips as he cautiously eyes me again, this time his stare dragging the length of my body.

  “You did?” he asks.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

  His brows knit together and the sudden urge to leap into his arms is hard to fight because I find it so adorable.

  My voice is shakier than I would like it to be as I try to continue, “I-I’ve ruined so much, but there are certain things I want to save. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s a possibility I can’t, but I have to at least try. I want to try.”