by Portia Moore
“When your parents told me about you,” her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced—the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to listen to,” her hazel eyes glaze over, tears covering them. I was hurt and confused. I didn’t even believe them. I didn’t want to believe them. I’m still hurt. I’m still confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to…” she trails off, her voice breaking. She looks down at her feet and continues, “To you,” she pauses, and I feel like my heart is on the verge of stopping.
“I can’t compromise with someone I don’t know, either,” she shrugs and smiles, even though tears are falling from her eyes. Then she looks up at me, and the smile leaves her face.
“When you look at me, it’s as if I’m a burden, a problem, and you have no idea how much that hurts, “she says, her voice shaky, and I feel like the biggest ass in the world. I’ve never wanted more in my life to be able to say something to make all of this better, but I know whatever I say will probably make things worse.
“I don’t blame you for it,” she adds quickly. She should. “I can’t, but you have to understand that you have Cal’s…” she drifts off and chuckles through her tears. “You have his smile, his voice, his eyes. When I look at you, I can’t help but see him. And it hurts knowing that you weren’t the one who stole my heart when you first smiled at me, the one who took me bungee jumping on our first date. That you weren’t the one who told me I’m the only woman you have ever loved. But you…you’re not him, and you’re in love with someone else.” It’s the first time I’ve heard someone speak about this guy without using jerk, asshole, or problem in the same sentence. For the first time, it hits me that she really experienced things with him; they had a life together.
“So, I’m sort of having a hard time with this,” she continues, chuckling as she wipes away the tears on her cheek. “Even knowing all of it, I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past it,” she explains. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with this, or if I even can, but I’m willing to try, because of that little girl in the picture. I’d do anything for her, including giving up the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”
That’s when I realize: she’s somehow come to terms with this, and I feel like a load of bricks have been removed from my brain.
But then she starts to cry. I can tell she’s trying to be strong but it’s like whoever just took the bricks off my brain just fastened them to her heart. “I-I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
She walks towards me and takes a deep breath. She looks at me almost and I can tell she’s trying to see me for a new person. Tears are still pouring from her eyes. I search my pockets and find a napkin, and offer it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes.
“I know that this isn’t your fault. And I know that you want to believe none of this is your problem, but it is, and it’s mine too...but it’s not Caylen’s. I’m willing to accept that you’re not Cal, that you aren’t my husband. I can learn to do that. But I can’t relieve you of being Caylen’s father. You’re part of her.” Her voice is shaky but stern, and the look in her eyes lets me know she means business. “That’s all I’m really sure about. That’s all that I can think of to say to you,” she says with a sigh, as she takes a seat on the sofa.
Wow, what is with this girl? She seems fragile, yet so undeniably strong. How the hell did a guy like him make a girl like this fall in love with him? I walk over to the sofa and sit down in the same spot I was in before, the requisite inches between us. I look over at her and remember Cal’s message.
“My parents say that he’s—they describe him like—” I’m trying to think of a way to describe him without offending her, but I’m coming up blank
“Oh I know, your father didn’t hesitate to tell me what he thought of Cal,” she replies.
Good old Dad. “Is he—was he…?” I ask hesitantly. I’ve never hated anyone before, but I can imagine this is what I feel toward him for what he’s done to my life, my relationships. His disregard for the beliefs and values my family taught me to hold dear makes my skin crawl. That monster—he’s inside of me.
“The person your parents describe isn’t who Cal was to me. Don’t get me wrong, he could be arrogant, mean, and snide, a lot,” she sighs. Arrogant, mean, and snide; that's my first impression of him.
“He’s so much more than that,” she continues. “He could be kind, caring, and protective,” she adds, and I feel my eyebrow rise. I don’t see how a guy who ruined my life could be kind, caring, or protective, but I try not to let my expression show my disbelief.
“He’s extremely intelligent, confident, and persuasive. He could talk anyone into doing what he wanted. He was handsome, and incredibly sexy.” I try to hide the smile growing on my face. I know she’s technically not referring to me, but well, physically we’re the same.
Chapter 24
The meeting with Lauren went better than I expected. I don’t know what I expected, really. But it could have gone worse, way worse. It’s weird thinking about how a part of me had this whole life with another person. That’s something I haven’t been able to grasp.
At least she seems nice. I wasn’t there long, but it went better than our first meeting. Then again, it couldn’t have gone any worse than that. I’ve gained a lot respect for her. She was able to hold it together, aside from the crying, but I can’t blame her for that. I can’t imagine being in her place. My own place is screwed up enough. I feel lighter, though. Like the heaviness that I carried is gone. I know things are far from fixed, but knowing that Lauren isn’t a screaming psycho, and she recognizes me, or at least is trying to recognize me for who I am, helps a lot.
My first instinct was to call Jenna and tell her that this isn’t going to be some awkward love triangle, and that Lauren and I are more concerned with being parents to this little girl. But I know she’s still fuming, and I can’t blame her.
I pass most of the day silently doing chores around the farm with my dad. He hasn’t said much, and I don’t have much to say to him, either. My mom cooked dinner: homemade macaroni, fried chicken, and green beans. I grabbed a plate, and headed to my room. It’s the first time I can remember since I’ve been home that we haven’t eaten dinner together.
I’m not mad at them. Well, I’m trying not to be. But to sit down and act like everything is fine, and nothing has changed, would be a sham. The next time we have dinner together, I want to make sure I’m genuine. We’re all genuine, and not putting up facades. I’ve had enough of that. Today is a day I wish I was called in for work, but there’re no classes to teach on a Sunday. After watching an old football game and showering, I ended up where I am now, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. I never minded being alone before all this, just with my own thoughts.
Now I don’t feel like I’m alone. I don’t know how this DID works, but it’s almost like trying to hide what I’m thinking from myself. This Cal guy kept so much from me, and I wish I could hide everything that’s going on from him. I don’t know what he knows or sees, or where he is, but I don’t feel alone. How can I?
I thought about talking to him when I stood in front of the mirror brushing my teeth this morning, but I felt like an idiot. And I don’t want to do much talking. Punching him in the face would make me feel better, except that it’s my face. It’d also be hypocritical, considering I always tell the kids I work with that violence is never the answer. It never has been with me. My parents always stressed how important it is to use your words, especially my mom. But just in case that didn’t work, my dad started teaching me how to box when I was seven. I even did Golden Glove while I was in middle school, until football caught more of my interest. I was good enough to have a couple of schools offer me scholarships until my condition started to interfere with things my senior year.
Well, I don’t have to say condition now, DID. Now I know it was Cal who started to appear and screw everything up. When I think back to each time I blacked
out, really believing that I was unconscious, or just forgetting what had happened to me during the lapses, I feel stupid.
I spend a couple hours reading through endless articles, none of which leads me to the answer that I want: how to get rid of this guy. The other irritating thing I found was that Dr. Lyce’s name continuously came up as one of the most respected in the field regarding the disorder. I can’t see her anymore though, how can I? She lied to me; well she didn’t lie. Instead, she failed to tell me vital information. I didn’t see her much, only a few times. At least that I remember, but I’d know if she told me my diagnosis, that’s not something I’d easily forget.
I hear a song starting to play, and I sit up and look around the room. My radio and TV are both off. I turn and see my phone lighting up. I grab it, and see it’s an alarm with a song I didn’t put on it. I hit the button to turn it off and sit it back down. I flop back onto my mattress, and it starts again. I pick it up and see its set to go off every three minutes for the next hour. I start to go through, canceling the alerts, and the song starts to play louder and louder, and everything around me gets hazy.
When things come into focus, I’m outside. There are people all around, and the song is playing louder, but it’s not coming from my cell phone anymore. It’s coming from everywhere. The sky is dark but there’re bright lights shining from above me. I’m at some type of festival.
Then I see myself. I’m leaning against a building, one hand in my pocket. Another doing something on a phone. I’m dressed in a black T-shirt and dark washed jeans. I have on a watch that looks too expensive to be worn to the place I’m in. On my arm is a big duffle bag. Something catches my attention, and I push off the building and start to walk through the crowd. That’s when I know it’s not me. It’s him.
I can tell by the way he walks, a slow cocky, strut. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and quickens his pace. Then he stops and tiptoes behind a girl and grabs her by the waist, lifting her up in the air. When she turns around, I see it’s Lauren. Her hair’s longer than it is now, but those same wide hazel eyes sparkle for him.
“You scared the crap out of me!” she squeals playfully, and pushes his chest. He tugs her toward him and pulls her into a slow passionate kiss—one that makes her stand on her toes. Suddenly, I’ve gone from looking at her from afar, to being the one kissing her, feeling her soft lips before she pulls away. She wriggles against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist.
“How was the bathroom?” I ask her, but it’s not my voice. Well, it is, but it’s different. The tone of this voice is deeper than I normally sound.
“Not as a disgusting as I thought it would be,” she teases. I take her hand, and we make our way through the crowd. We go through a ticket gate at the very front of what looks like a park. It’s a concert in the park. We find a spot, and I set the duffle bag down. She pulls out a blanket, and I help her spread it out.
“It’s so beautiful out tonight,” she says excitedly, with a smile so bright I feel my heart speed up. The sky is black, but stars are out, shining bright. The band on the stage is already playing. There’re hundreds of people out, but enough room so that everyone isn’t piled on top of each other. After we smooth out the blanket, I sit down, my legs apart, resting my elbows on my knees. Lauren’s rummages through the bag looking for something.
She finally pulls out another blanket, wraps herself in it, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pull her between my legs, and kiss every inch of her neck. She looks back, giving me a playful warning glare, but then kisses me softly. When she pulls away she shows me a smile that causes one to spread across my face.
She then crawls out of my embrace, and she’s back searching through the duffle bag. She pulls out a sketch pad and pencil. She draws through a couple of songs while I sing to the music. Songs I don’t even know, but I seem really excited about being here. When I look back at her sketch pad, I see she’s drawn me. It’s not completely finished yet, but done enough to where I can tell.
“You weren’t supposed to look,” she teases, her cheeks flushing, her hair falling in her face. I pull her over toward me, and she settles between my legs again and rests her back on my stomach. I cross my arms over her waist, and she starts to sing along to the song playing. I lean down to her ear and kiss her right below her lobe. My heart starts to beat faster. My stomach is doing flips, and I’m not sure why. A second later, I take her hands in mine.
“I love you,” I whisper in her ear, and I feel her body stiffen. She looks back at me her eyes wide and a small smile on her face.
“I love you too, Cal,” she says, before turning around and kissing me like no one else is around. Everything fades out around me and I’m back in my room.
Chapter 25
They don’t tell you about things like this on the websites. In the articles, they talk about symptoms, possible treatments. I’ve found a couple of online support groups, even a few that meet in person; although none are in my great state. But nothing I’ve read about so far in the limited time I’ve known about this tells you what to do when you start to remember. How to deal with these memories, or better yet, how to stop them. I thought I’d want to remember, to know, but now I don’t know if that’s the best thing. Of course, it’s absolutely perfect timing. If I wasn’t nervous around her before, I definitely am today. He did this, and it definitely wasn’t to be noble. He wanted to freak me out, and that’s exactly what he did.
Right when I start to feel a little comfortable in the predicament he’s gotten us in, he has to shake things up. That dream, vision, or memory—I don’t even know what to call what I saw. It was like reading someone’s diary or listening to their confessions. It felt too real, way too personal, and what’s worse, I don’t know if it was real or a dream.
The other was like little snippets I could ignore, or pretend didn’t happen. But this was different, and I’m having a hard time shaking it off. I want to know if it was real, really a memory, but the only way I’d know is to ask Lauren, and I’m not diving into those waters. I bet he’d love for me to stroll down memory lane with her. Keep him alive in her thoughts. That’s the last thing she deserves.
For about an hour last night, I tried to think of Cal as me but it’s too strange, it's easier thinking of him as someone else entirely, but Caylen voids that argument. And aside from all of that, as if I wasn’t anxious enough already, today is the day I meet the third woman in all of this. My daughter.
She’s only a year old. Hopefully, I can make up for not being there for her birth, first word, and first steps. I don’t have a clue about where to even start being a father. Yesterday, I went with my mom to pick out a present for her. She literally bought the whole aisle of toys, but out of everything, the one thing that stood out was this singing stuffed penguin. One of my friends talked me into going with him and his kids to see The Penguins of Madagascar, and they loved it. I loved it too, to be honest. At least I know we can watch cartoons together. I look at myself in the mirror, wearing a white button up shirt, and khaki pants, the third set of clothes I’ve tried on today. Now I look like I’m getting dressed for a job interview.
“Knock, knock,” my mom says, entering the room with a smile on her face, the widest I’ve seen in a long time. She’s so excited about meeting Caylen. It’s all she’s talked about. I had suggested to Lauren that maybe I could drive there to meet her, but she said she didn’t mind coming here. My mom would have been so disappointed if she had to wait another day to see her. After everything calmed down, she gushed over her picture.
“What are you doing Chris?” she says, a hint of amusement in her tone, when she sees the three outfits I’ve tried on.
I sigh. “Trying to look like a dad,” I admit with a laugh. I’m failing miserably.
“Honey, there isn’t a certain thing to wear to look like a dad. I’m sure a one-year-old isn’t going to grade you on your outfit.” She picks up the blue T-shirt and jeans that I was going to put on earlier
. “This is you,” she says, handing it to me. “Be yourself. She’s going to love you. I’m sure of it.” She says it in a way that makes me believe her. She picks up the tie I was about to put on, and giggles as my dad walks in.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks, putting his arm around my mom’s waist.
“Just me being nosy,” she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder. They’ve been married over 30 years, and it’s like they just met.
“Can you give me a minute with Chris?” he asks.
“Sure,” she says before pecking him on the lips and leaving the room. I take off the white button up and pull on my T-shirt. My dad and I haven’t said much to each other since he picked me up from Lisa’s. He was disappointed in me, and I felt the same way toward him.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks as he sits down at my desk.
“Yeah, I’m still here, so it’s a good day,” I say nonchalantly. Both my parents hid the truth from me, but my dad, I hold him more responsible. I know my mom wanted to tell me, but she didn’t because of him.
“I know that you’re still upset with me, and I understand why. I just…now especially, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this. I know you don’t agree with my judgment, and the decision I made, but I hope that you still feel like you can talk to me. The worst thing you can do is hold this all in.”
I look at my dad, who has always been my hero, a fair man whose opinion I valued and respected. People used to always joke that my family was the modern day version of the Cleavers, and it wasn’t far from the truth. My relationship with my parents was always great. I’m privileged that out of all the homes I could have ended up in when I was adopted, I was truly blessed to end up in theirs.
“I know you did what you did because you thought you were protecting me. I don’t like it, but I guess I understand it,” I shrug. He looks surprised, then a smile spreads across his face. He grabs a Snickers off my desk. I’m addicted to them. I used to buy whole boxes from kids during those school fundraisers.
