TWELVE MINUTES

by Kathryn Hewitt

  Wondering if I should call Rachel, since I was feeling uncertain about how to process the situation with Charlie, I decided that I was capable of handling a phone call. Secretly hoping that he might not answer, which I was slightly ashamed of but couldn’t deny, I pressed his number and waited.

  “Cassandra!” Charlie had barely let the phone ring before picking up. So much for my hopes of leaving a firm but friendly voicemail. “I was hoping that I’d hear from you. I was worried when you didn’t return my first call, but I understand that people can get busy.” I nodded before I remembered that he couldn’t see me.

  “Hi, Charlie,” I said, willing my voice to remain steady. Hearing his deep tone still had a funny effect on me, but I was no longer convinced that it was one of intrigue.

  “How’s the summer going?” Charlie asked, and I wondered how long I’d have to make small talk with him before I could get to the point and get off of the phone.

  “Oh, you know…same old same old. Just been working on some personal projects to stay busy,” I said, figuring that was an innocuous answer and pretty much the truth.

  “Is that what we call it these days?” Charlie laughed, but I didn’t quite understand what he meant. “It’s ok to just say that you’ve been busy with Harrison, Cassandra. We’re both adults.”

  Wait. What?

  “I happened to be driving past the Home Improvement store a bit back, and saw you two. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t stop to say hi, but I was on my way somewhere,” he supplied, my silence apparently conveying my confusion. “Anyway, I’ve been staying pretty busy myself, working on getting everything squared away to graduate. I envy you, truthfully, having a few more semesters left to get things in order.”

  “I’m sure you’re very organized, Charlie,” I supplied, still feeling funny about his comment about me and Harrison. I guess he’d seen us when we were loading the paint supplies into my car, but I hadn’t noticed him. The store was on a pretty busy street so it wasn’t that strange for Charlie to have been passing by, but still…

  “You always have such confidence in me, Cassandra. I appreciate that about you. So, I know that we haven’t had a lot of time to catch up recently, but I thought maybe you could squeeze me into your schedule. Grab a coffee or something? I’d say go for a beer but I know that you don’t drink…”

  “Yeah, Charlie, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that. It was nice talking, but I have to go.” I was no longer even interested in seeing him around as a friend. There was something off about this conversation, and I just wanted to be done with it and crawl into my old and uncomplimentary, according to my mom, bed covers.

  “Come on Cassandra, I’m finally getting to hear your voice. Just a coffee. I’m sure that Harrison won’t mind,” he added, and although he sounded like he was smiling, I was definitely not. This was not how I’d expected this to go, and I was feeling too uncomfortable to correct Charlie or ask him to explain his thoughts. I would not be getting coffee or calling him or anything. Our relationship had run it’s course and if there was one thing that I knew how to do, it was to alter my life to remove things that made me feel discomfort.

  “Ok, I have to go. Bye Charlie,” I said, taking control of the conversation.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Cassandra,” I heard as I was reaching for the end button.

  What The Fuck.

  Now I was no longer excited to finally get to enjoy being back in my room, enjoy the results of Harrison’s and my hard work, or feel the soothing effect of the Clary Green we’d painstakingly applied. Now, my heart was racing and I wished it were daytime, or that I could go back in time and have never called Charlie.

  But, if I could have do-overs in this life, well…let’s just say a phone call wouldn’t be first on my list.

  What had he meant? What had any of it meant? And why did it make me feel like my skin was crawling and my cheek suddenly seem to throb? Was I just having some post-trauma reaction to his making me feel unsure and uncertain? Or was it more? I hated to feel like I was no longer on solid ground, after feeling like I’d been making so much progress.

  I needed to process this in my own time, at my own pace. Maybe if I got some rest, I’d be able to review our conversation and interpret how it had made me feel with a clearer mind. Perhaps a little distance would help it to take on some more definition and I could use that to get a better grasp on the situation. I didn’t even know if it even was a ‘situation,’ or just an awkward phone call with an overeager guy who had a strong sense of hope.

  Except that I knew I wasn’t that inspiring. I got the whole good looks thing, but personality-wise, I hadn’t exactly put my best foot forward with Charlie. I hadn’t given the best impression on who I was, or could be, so what was the basis of his interest really? Deciding that some tea might help me to get into the right frame of mind to tackle attempting sleep, I went downstairs.

  Ignoring my mom and Kara who were parked on the couch watching TV, I went straight to kitchen and started the kettle, downing a glass of water while I waited for it to boil. I didn’t feel badly about avoiding my mom and sister, they were used to that with me, so we had sort of developed an understanding. Picking a lavender and chamomile infused tea, an old-faithful blend that did its best to calm my overactive mind, I plunked the bag into my steaming mug and just stood there. I barely had the patience to wait for it to steep, and this little adventure downstairs had seemingly ramped up my agitation. Grabbing the mug after what I felt was an adequate amount of impatient waiting, I dropped the teabag into the trash and started back upstairs.

  Making myself move at a pained slowness, hoping that it would both force me to tamp down my excess energy and avoid burning myself with the hot tea, I finally got into my room and placed the mug down next to my bed. Clearing my mind as best as I could, I got ready for bed, doing each activity one step at a time, with detailed attention. If I kept things ultra-focused on menial tasks, checking them off one item at a time without letting the big picture overwhelm me, I found that I could center my mind.

  Ready for bed, I felt a little more grounded. Sipping my tea, slowly, I inhaled the aromas of peace. I couldn’t allow my thoughts to land on Charlie, I had to just take things one step at a time and get a good night’s rest before I tackled everything in the morning. I could do this. Not even checking my phone one last time, I finished my tea and got back up to brush my teeth, before crawling into bed.

  My last thought after ‘letting it go’ released the tension in my body parts one at a time, was that Harrison would find a way to make Charlie’s conversation funny.

  ✧✧✧

  I woke up sobbing.

  I hadn’t awakened crying in a long time, despite it being a nightly occurrence for a terrible period after my assault. When it happened then, though, I could almost always remember the nightmare that had brought on my panic attack, could usually pinpoint what had triggered my episode of despair. Tonight, though, it felt like I had slept so deeply that I hadn’t even dreamt.

  I felt the emotions, I felt the anguish and the fear, but there was no specificity to them. I simply woke up this way. I was pretty sure that wasn’t how the saying was supposed to be used. Trying to catch my breath as the tears seemed to endlessly fall, I almost wished I at least had a cause that I could isolate and rationalize. The torrent of instinctual feelings were much more overwhelming this way. Yes, in the abstract, I knew that I had more reasons for reaching this point than needed to be examined. But I had been doing so well, and to feel like I was back where I’d clawed myself out of was both disappointing, and defeating.

  Simply trying to breathe felt like an insurmountable challenge, as wave after wave of hopelessness and terror washed over me. Reaching blindly for my bedside table, I found the glass of water that sat sentry over me night after night, and with trembling hands brought it to my mouth. Sloshing some, but savoring the feel of the cool liquid as I swallowed what I could, I took comfort in something so simple and pure. Water. The
essence of life, always there when I needed something to fill the emptiness inside of me. It was embarrassing to assign such reverence to something so simple and absolute, but that was why I appreciated it. And, if something so innocuous could satisfy my need, why question it?

  Finally getting my bearings, the tears had trickled to a stop, but the internal maelstrom persisted. I needed to get control of myself, I had to find a way to calm the storm. Because, I knew from experience that when I got to this point, I began to devolve. Instead of being able to pull myself out of this place, I would start remembering too many details, recalling too many emotions from my attack; I began to drown in the horror of it all again.

  I finally got up and turned on the light in my room, needing some kind of external change of atmosphere. I needed to be grounded by something outside of myself, and darkness was the opposite of where I needed to feel that I was. Looking around my room, I was briefly annoyed that I had changed the color of the walls, worried that I wouldn’t experience the same kind of reassurance and comfort of my old room. But, even in this state, I knew that I had done the right thing, so I ignored the fleeting feeling as I went to the mirror. Looking at my face, I took it all in again.

  I didn’t need to close my eyes to recall the concavity of the right side of my face, or how the swelling seemed grotesquely incongruent with it. I didn’t need to look at Diane’s pictures to feel how utterly destroyed my arm felt, bent now in a way that was unnatural and entirely wrong. Nor did I need to inhale, to remember how difficult it was to breathe with my several broken ribs and fractured collarbone.

  I simply needed to look at myself as I was now, dark hair and blue eyes, magazine quality symmetry, like an artist had taken a brush to sweep away my imperfections and smooth my irregularities. Because as I stared at the physical result of my attack, after all of the months of healing from the initial damage, I still saw myself as I looked in those horrible pictures that were buried in the very back of my closet, on the highest most impossible to reach shelf. They were burned into me, buried inside of me as well, because they were evidence of the fact that I too hadn’t been buried. Those were the realities of someone who had endured; that was what a survivor looked like.

  As Diane always cautioned, I must never forget. I would never forget.

  FORTY-FOUR

  It took a few days to get back to a point where I was even speaking to anyone. All that I knew was that I had visited a dark place that I never wanted to reach again, but also had pulled myself out of, and felt stronger for it. Maybe I had allowed myself to find a false sense of security, but I didn’t want to believe that. To lose everything that I had fought so hard for was not an option, and to fall prey to that would end any chance of my ever having a somewhat normal life.

  So I did my meditation exercises, I wrote in Rachel’s stupid journal until my hand would cramp, and I spent a lot of time in contemplation. My mom and sister knew that I had slipped a little, but they were still too gun-shy to ask me directly what was going on.

  “I’m here for you if you need anything, honey,” was the closest that my mom got to confronting me, and surprisingly, it was enough. Knowing that I had even a small support network made an immense difference in my attitude and my drive to continue my journey of healing.

  I’d finally met with Rachel and she’d reassured me that this sort of thing happened, that I may always have times where I reached those kinds of demoralized defeat, but it wasn’t that which I should focus on. It was the aftermath, the climb back out into the light, that was to give me the guidance and ability to mend.

  She was less positive when I finally discussed the messages that Charlie had left me.

  “I think you were right to trust your instinct that he isn’t the right fit, so you should be proud of yourself that you were able to distinguish the correct path for you. However, it is worrisome. This is one of those situations where it could be both nothing, or a red flag. Charlie hasn’t done anything overtly threatening or even necessarily inappropriate. Many people continue to pursue someone in hopes of getting what they want. And you’ve said in the past, that you suspect that Charlie usually gets what he wants. So in that regard, maybe none of this is surprising.” I nodded, happy to hear that she wasn’t demanding that I move to another country or something.

  “But, conversely, it is still important to take note of his determination. It’s difficult for me to know a lot of the big picture, to understand what type of person that Charlie is, since I have only been able to interpret him through your lens.” Rachel was nice enough not to point out that I wasn’t the best and most impartial filter, that everything was skewed because of who I was and what I had experienced. “And truthfully, what I think about him is far less important than what you do. So, I would say to continue to trust yourself and how he makes you feel, have faith in your instincts. If Charlie is making you uncomfortable, believe in that reaction. Because innocuous or not, it is you who is paramount. Cass is our number one priority, and keeping you surrounded by healthy companions is essential to that.” Rachel held eye contact with me for a period of silence, to drive home her point.

  “Ok. It always feels good to be told that what you’re feeling isn’t baseless or irrational, but what do I do? Do I just ignore him?” I needed a game plan that was Rachel approved…or anyone approved, because I had no confidence in my ability at handling this.

  “Well, I’m not even sure that there is going to be another instance that you need to plan for. Clearly, you don’t need to return his message-”

  “Messages-” I interjected.

  “Messages, should he leave any. My point is, you don’t need to do anything, and most of all, you don’t need to worry in advance. There is no point in that. Sure, I get that you want to be prepared, which is wise, but worry about the unknown is-”

  “Counterproductive.” I didn’t think that I’d ever interrupted Rachel, let alone twice in two sentences.

  “Right,” she said, smiling. “But, should he call again, you’ll need to decide what you’re comfortable in doing. You’ve tried to be patient and upfront, but up until this point he hasn’t be receptive to your disinterest, so it is within your right not to engage. But, if you would rather speak with him again, perhaps in a last attempt to firmly reiterate your stance, that is also within your prerogative.”

  “Not helpful, Rachel,” I said, wishing that she could just tell me what to do.

  “Cass, you know it’s not my place to make decisions for you. I’m here to guide you and simply to listen.” Ugh.

  “Fine. I guess I’ll just wait and see. Like you said, it may be a non-issue. I mean, I didn’t answer his two last calls…it was just that the second message made me a little uneasy so I had thought that reaching out might clarify things…but then I had that episode, which was sort of like how things were…in the beginning…” I didn’t even like talking about it, reflecting back on that time.

  “Well, listen to your heart. Trust your gut, Cass, you’ll do what you think is right,” Rachel said, sensing that by even touching on my dark chapter, the feelings that had gone along with it threatened to resurface. She clearly wanted to end our session on a high note. “And it’s ultimately your decision, but lean on people. I’m always here, or Diane, and your mom and sister have your best interest at heart. Hey, even lean on your friend Harrison…that’s what friends are for.” I smiled at this last part.

  “That’s what Harrison said,” I noted softly, and Rachel smiled.

  “Well, I don’t know him, but from what you’ve told me, he seems like he’s there for you. Take advantage of the people who care for you, Cass. Solitude seems like a welcome choice, but loneliness isn’t healthy.” I guess she’d given up on ending on the positive, I thought.

  “Ok, Rach. ’Til next week,” I said as I gathered my stuff and headed back to my self-imposed solitude.

  ✧✧✧

  “You home?” Harrison’s voice boomed through the phone and I couldn’t help but smile. Not
hi, not how’s it going…nope, just a very typical Harrison ‘you home?’ I smiled.

  I’d been surprised to see his name on the caller ID, but I’d also been happy because we hadn’t talked since we’d finished my room. It felt like Harrison and I were destined to only be involved in projects with each other, projects that were all destined to end. And I liked hanging out with him, there just weren’t a whole lot of reasons to suggest it. Like he’d said, we weren’t a likely pair of friends, but it worked. And he obviously didn’t hate me, or he’d have never hung out with me outside of school at all. Or offered his off-time from work to complete my harebrained painting undertaking.

  “Yeah, why? And Hi, Harrison,” I joked.

  “Oh. Hi, Cass. Anyway, I have The Monster and I told him I’d take him for ice cream. I picked some up for you, the salted caramel one that you said you liked and I wanna drop it off. We’re going home now.”

  First of all, I loved that ice cream. Second of all, I couldn’t believe he’d remembered that I’d said that. And thirdly, wow, I could really go for some ice cream right now.

  We’d been discussing what we’d want to have on a dessert island if we could only have one thing, and I’d said water, which Harrison said I wasn’t allowed to pick because it went against the “rules” of the game and the inherent suspense of disbelief that was required, so then I had then said salted caramel ice cream. He’d argued that he refused to believe that I would want to be stranded on a desert island and want ice cream, that he didn’t even believe I allowed myself to eat ice cream, because that didn’t go against like the creed of thin girls? And was I sure that I didn’t want an unlimited supply of wheatgrass smoothies with spirulina?

  I had argued that I loved ice cream, so it just went to show what a dumbass he was, and that ice cream was a way better choice than his, which was a bag of Doritos.