The Me That I Became

by Christopher Harlan

  “I love California rolls. I just graduated past them a few years back.”

  “Graduated?”

  “There are levels to this sushi game,” he jokes. “The California roll is a good base roll, a way into the strange world of rolled up raw fish, but now that I’m in love with it, there are such better rolls.”

  “Says you. I’m happy with my beginner roll.”

  “Good,” he says, smiling proudly. “Then I did a good job. That’s what I was hoping for.”

  “You did better than good. You did better than great. You did perfect.” There it is again, that proud smile. He’s got this five o’clock shadow going on, and his face looks even more rugged when he’s scruffy. For a second, I imagine the scruff tickling my cheeks as he kisses me. “So, are you close with your whole family?” I ask.

  “As close as I can be. They all live here, except my sister. She moved out of state a year ago to try to live on her own. I think she was sick of everyone always doting on her. She used to say that we were treating her like a patient more than a person. I never forgot that expression.”

  A patient more than a person. That’s actually the perfect way to describe it. If you have a bad physical illness, being treated like a patient is wonderful. People take your temperature, bring you food, monitor your health, day and night. When Carla was ten she got walking pneumonia and almost died. Doctors said she was basically walking around drowning. She had to spend a week in the hospital and then she was on bed rest for another week after that. We took care of her like she was our patient, because she was.

  But mental illness doesn’t work that way. When you tell someone you can’t stop crying, or that you can’t get out of bed, or give them details on some of the really dark thoughts running through your brain, the last thing you want is to be told to seek help, or to be patronized, or, my personal pet peeve, being spoken to like you’re dangerous.

  “Henry’s the same way,” I lie. “He didn’t say those exact words, but similar. He says it’s terrible to always be looked at like you might go crazy at any point, like you’re nuts. That actually made him even crazier than he already felt.”

  “Where’s Henry now? Does he live in the area?”

  “It’s weird how many similarities there are between our siblings,” I say. The ability I have to lie right now is surprising me, but now it doesn’t even feel like a lie because everything I’m saying is true, I just invented the person it’s true about. My therapist would call that equivocating, but she’s not here right now. “Henry actually moved abroad a few months ago. He said he wanted to travel across Europe. He always talked about it when we were in high school, and now that he’s been more stable he decided to actually go.”

  “Well, good for him. I hope he’s having the time of his life.”

  He’s not real, Brandon. I made him up because I’m a liar and a coward. But if he were real, I’m sure he’d thank you for that kind sentiment. “He is, for sure. We text all the time and he’s doing really well.”

  “That’s amazing. Where is he living right now?”

  “Luxembourg.” I don’t even know where the hell that is. Where did you get that one from, Lia? Why not England or Spain, like a normal person?

  “Luxembourg, huh? I’m a total idiot with geography, I don’t think I could find that on a map if you put a gun to my head.”

  “Me, either, to tell you the truth.” Ironic. “But every time I try to find where he is on a map he’s off to the next country.

  “I’m glad to hear that about your brother. These things don’t always end so well.” There’s a tangible sadness in his voice, and he takes those grey eyes off of me and looks into the distance like he’s somewhere else. I’m sure he’s been through a lot. I know I’ve put my family through a lot of stress and worry over the years, let alone the string of ex boyfriends I’ve left in my wake. I decide to bring him back to me.

  “Speaking of good news, this was the most surprisingly good lunch I’ve had in forever. You made all the right choices.”

  “See, you can trust me.” He looks back into my eyes, and I get hypnotized like I did the first time I looked at him. The way he looks at me is different than the way Joel or any other guy ever has, and I hope he never stops doing that.

  “I see that. So, tell me something random, Brandon. Tell me something that I don’t know about you that I should. Anything at all.”

  “Anything?” he asks.

  “Whatever you have hidden in the depths of that soul of yours,” I joke. “No pressure, though. Just your deepest secret.”

  He thinks for a second, looking up at the clear sky above us for a second, then casts his gaze back on me. “Easy.” He smiles, and I’m dying to know what he’s about to say, but he keeps me waiting a few more seconds, until I raise my eyebrow. “I want to kiss you. Really badly.”

  It’s hard to shock me. Like, really hard. When I’m depressed, especially, my apathy levels hit defcon 5 and I become the queen of indifference. But what he just said broke right through my defenses. “You what?” I ask, only to buy enough time for me to process his words.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did I not speak loud enough? Hold on.” He gets up and moves his chair so that he’s next to me, and he leans in just like he did at the bookstore. Only now he’s even closer, his cool breath teasing my earlobes, the scruff of his face tickling cheek. “I said, I want to kiss you so fucking badly that it’s killing me.” He pulls away, and I get chills. I have goosebumps on my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. “Could you hear me that time?”

  “Umm, yeah,” I say, trying to compose myself. “That time I heard you loud and clear.” He grins, his expression the perfect balance of confident, cocky, and that thing that makes me feel beyond beautiful. I haven’t felt anything physical for a guy in a long time, including Joel, but that look makes me want to know more than just how his lips feel. It makes me want to have his body pressed into mine. It makes me want every inch of him. “So,” I say, giving him the most intense eye contact I can. “How about getting the check?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He pays the check like a gentleman and we take a walk together. I like walking with him. His height is comforting, and when I’m with him like this I’m on vacation from my real self. It isn’t just that he gives me all the feels, but he also makes me forget my other feelings—the bad ones—the ones that come late at night when I’m alone. The ones that remind me that I’m crazy. But walking next to this great guy makes all of that seem very distant, even though I know they’re waiting for me when I get back to real life. I’ll take the temporary reprieve, even if it is just that.

  We get to the end of the block, where Brandon’s car is, and he offers to give me a ride home. “Actually, I think I’m going to walk around a little. It’s a beautiful afternoon. You want to join me?”

  “Can’t,” he says. “I have a few things to do myself.”

  “Official presidential business?” I smile at him and he smiles back. “Or pleasure?”

  “Cleaning, mostly, so I guess neither.”

  “I see.” We’re making small talk, and I’m not sure why. About a minute ago I felt this intense attraction to him, and I thought he felt the same—he basically told me so, but now we’re just standing at the end the block, chit-chatting. Maybe he changed his mind? Knowing my luck, he probably did. “So, Friday night, then? Book club?”

  “Book club,” he repeats. “I’m glad you’re liking the book, it’s one of my favorites. I read it years ago, way before the movie came out.”

  “It’s huge. I’m not used to the feeling of holding a book that’s over a thousand pages in my hand.”

  “It’s massive, but it’s worth it. One of his best books. Maybe his masterpiece.”

  A noise from behind me catches my attention, and I turn around. It’s only two seconds that my head is turned, but as soon as I turn back towards him I feel his hands gently caressing my face as he kisses me. It’s so
sudden that it takes me off guard, but that feeling dwindles in comparison to the shockwaves running through my body. If his touch is magic, then his kiss is fire—a heat coursing through my body, head to toe. He presses softly at first, and then more firmly as the kiss continues. My skin is tingling. Only an ice-cold bath could bring my temperature down.

  When it’s over I look up at him as he looks down with soft eyes, his hand lingering on my cheek for just a second after the kiss is over. “How was that?” he asks

  “Hot, Brandon. That was hot.”

  He smiles. He thinks I’m being metaphorical. If only he knew that I mean it literally. I walk away, promising to text him now that I have his number, and I tell him how much I look forward to Friday. He tells me that he does also and kisses me sweetly one more time.

  As my feet carry me further down the block, I’m still warm from his kisses and my mind is living out our lunch all over again like a movie. It’s all positive. Only one bad thought crashes the party, and it shouts its phrase over and over. It yells, why did you have to go and lie to him, Lia?

  Chapter Six

  Thursday

  If relationships are like swimming pools, then I’m a high diver. I leap in, head first, usually with terrible form and poor training, hoping that it all ends beautifully, with plenty of applause and praise. But it doesn’t end well. More often than not it’s an ugly thing, a giant thud of a splash, followed by the hushed, embarrassed silence to remind me that every step I took along the way was flawed.

  Everyone experiences mental issues differently—there are no rules for how it effects you, or how it will make you behave. Mostly it makes me a confusing person to be around, and definitely makes me a minefield for any guy who wants to be with me. The smart thing to do would be to stay by myself, but instead I rush into relationships, clumsily, because I don’t like the feeling of being alone. When I’m alone there are no checks on the crazy thoughts that my brain can come up with—all of it comes to the surface when I don’t have anyone around to at least try to be normal for.

  If men use women for sex, I’ve been guilty of using men for companionship under the guise of what we both think is love. I mean, I have loved my boyfriends, but love is a general term. Mostly the love was that comforting, roommate, friend-zone kind of love. I’d end up treating the guys in my life like pets—you want them around, but only when you want them around. After boyfriends grow out of the puppy phase I tend to take them for granted.

  But I feel differently about Brandon. We don’t have anything resembling a relationship yet, but already my mind and body respond to him differently than any other guy I’ve ever met. He’s like a depression antidote—or maybe more like a depression band-aid, but it’s more than just that. Once I don’t feel depressed I can get a glimpse of who I really am, underneath all the emotional debris, and I can see clearly what I want. And right now, I want Brandon.

  But before I can think of my future I need to let go of the past. I need to clear space so that Joel can let go of the past, also. It’s the least I can do, given how I treated him. I text him before meeting Abby for some coffee. She’s been pestering me to hear all about my lunch date with Brandon, and I finally gave in. We’re supposed to meet at the coffee place by my house in an hour. I have to admit: her reaction did make me laugh. You ate fucking sushi? You? Miss anti-sushi? What? He kissed you? The hot guy from the bookstore? I need every detail!

  As I’m halfway through the text to Joel I hear a knock at the door. Oh God, don’t let it be. . . the sound of knocking is followed by the sound of a key in the lock, and before I can even walk over to let him in he’s let himself in. It’s funny how you can spend a year with someone—sharing a bed, sharing bodies, sharing everything intimate—yet once you void the contract with them, seeing them can be the most uncomfortable thing in the world. “Hey.”

  “Shit, I had my timing way off, didn’t I?” Joel is Joel, after all. A good guy, but a bit of a mess as human beings go. I’m not surprised that he’s early, he always screws up times. We were always perpetually late or early to wherever it was we were going.

  “I guess so.” It’s sad to see him. Not because I miss him, because he reminds me of the kind of coldness I’m capable of when I’m going through a spell. If Brandon makes me forget my depressed self, then Joel is the opposite—a stark reminder of what I’m capable of. “It’s okay, I was just leaving. You can go through whatever you want but I already put most of your stuff in boxes so you wouldn’t have to spend more time here than necessary.” I start to walk past him as he heads into the living room. I’m hoping to get out the door without any bull. . .

  “So that’s it, huh? Out of sight, out of mind. I thought at least I’d get a text or call. Maybe an apology. But I guess I was stupid for thinking that.”

  Here it is. The anger that he never fully let out. The resentment that’s probably been building for months. He feels like now is his chance to spew it all out because there are no consequences. But I’m not standing around to get berated in my own home. “Yeah, Joel, that’s it. You left. You left a note. You asked to come get your stuff and for me to not be here, and I gave you everything you wanted.”

  “I wish,” he snickers under his breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said I wish that you could have given me everything that I wanted. You’re incapable of caring about anyone but your damn self. Lia only cares about Lia.”

  I shouldn’t engage. I should be the better person. This is probably exactly what he wants—to goad me into a fight that’ll make him feel better and make me feel like shit. I shouldn’t take the bait. “That’s not true, Joel. I’m sorry that you think so little of me.”

  He looks at me with tears in his eyes. Tears of frustration and anger, mixed together and being held back, despite some of it forcing its way to the surface of his eyes. “I wish I thought so little of you, Lia. If I did this whole thing would be easier. The last few months wouldn’t have been such torture.”

  “Sorry it tortured you to be with me.”

  “No, you’re not!” he screams. It startles me so much that I freeze in place. Joel’s not an explosive guy, so when his voice hits that pitch it frightens me. “You’re not sorry. Maybe in the abstract sense you are, but this wasn’t a quick thing, Lia. We didn’t cheat on each other. Nothing happened. You strangled us, nice and slow, until we were dead. There were plenty of times to pull back along the way if you were really sorry.”

  It’s hard to argue with his points, but just because I agree with him doesn’t mean I need to stand here and listen to a list of all my flaws, just so he can feel better when he walks out the door for the last time. “You know what, Joel, I get it, okay. I do. Whether you believe me or not, I get it, and I am sorry that I hurt you, and that you’re so mad. But it’s over, alright? It’s over. We don’t need to do this anymore. There’s no point. Maybe we just weren’t right for each other.” Dammit, why’d I have to add that part at the end?

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

  “Huh?”

  “Maybe you’re not right for anyone, Lia.”

  Now he’s just going for low blows, but I just bite my tongue. “You’re right about one thing. There’s no point in me ranting and raving. What is it going to accomplish? So, I’m just going to say one more thing before I don’t say anything to you ever again. Can I do that?” I don’t feel like listening any more, to any of it. But my feelings of guilt start to resurface when I see how sad he looks. I have thick skin, so I can let him get one more shot in before he just becomes someone that I used to know.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s not as simple as I loved you and you loved me. That sounds great—like a fairy tale—but that’s not how real relationships work. I realized when I was writing that note that I didn’t break up with the Lia I fell in love with. I didn’t break up with you. I broke up with the you that you became, the one you turned into and didn’t bother to tell me. That’s who I was wrong f
or.”

  I start to feel my own tears fill my eyes. I can’t take this. I need to get out of here. “Goodbye, Joel.”

  “Goodbye, Lia. I loved you.”

  In the hallway, the only sounds are the beating of my heart, the echo of the slammed door, and the death rattle of my last relationship.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday

  I was a hot mess for my coffee date with Abby after I left Joel at my place. When I walked in the first thing she asked is if I had been crying. I don’t know how she even knew that, I put on dark sunglasses to avoid her seeing my eyes. Maybe I just answered my own question. I’m incapable of lying to Abby. Even when I’m feeling my coldest and most apathetic, I always come clean with her about everything. After I told her why I was tearing up she gave me the biggest, most comforting hug ever, and did her best friend thing by being super positive about the whole situation and saying all of the things that I needed to hear. Then we got to talking about my lunch with Brandon.

  “Wait, wait, wait. You kissed him?”

  “Technically, he kissed me. And I mean, he really kissed me, Abby.”

  “And, how was it?”

  “Sent shivers through my spine. My whole body was on fire. And he told me he was going to do it, and then made me wait for it.”

  “I think I just had an orgasm,” she jokes. “But that’s fast for you, isn’t it?”

  “A little, yeah, but something about it just felt right.”

  “Does he know about. . .” She stops short and I already know what the ending of her sentence is going to be.

  “No,” I answered. “My crippling clinical depression didn’t come up. Nor did my lack of feeling. Nor did my recently prescribed anti-depressants that I take every day.”

  “You’re back on pills?” she asks. When I nod Abby makes a face—something not quite judgmental but definitely disapproving. “Things must be worse than I thought.”