The Mass, page 24
At the first red light, I message Dawn to let her know I’m here. Instantly, I’m plagued with bad news.
Dawn: Maya checked out of the hotel.
Me: Do you know where she went?
Dawn: No clue. She says she wants to be alone.
Me: Where does she usually go when she wants to be alone?
Dawn: A bar.
Me: She’s eighteen.
Dawn: Maya has her ways.
Me: Would she actually?
Dawn: I honestly don’t know.
Maybe I shouldn’t have reached out to Dawn. She obviously told Maya I was on my way, giving Maya plenty of time to think about my arrival and figure out how best to avoid me. Now here I am with an ugly car, little cash, and no idea what to do.
Relying on Google again, I calculate sixteen places that serve alcohol in the area. I could try every single one until I find her, but something tells me Maya isn’t there. What would be her next outlet, if she couldn’t drink?
Sex.
I swallow hard. Awful images parade through my head. Have I ever really thought about the number of people Maya has had sex with? I can use one hand to count the number of girls I’ve been with. How many hands would Maya need?
She only needs one hand, and that’s mine. We can’t change the past, but I’ll be damned if I can’t make a better future for her. I just wish I knew how to find her.
My phone buzzes, saving me from despair.
Dawn: She just updated her Facebook status. Says she’s staring at stone.
Staring at stone? What the hell could that mean? Several things are made out of stone. Churches, statues, tools, gravestones…
Me: I know where she is.
Maya
I thought about getting a drink (I’m always thinking about it) but settle for a cigarette. It gives me the minimal high required to endure this trip down memory lane. I haven’t been to a graveyard since my parents met the ground. I was supposed to stand in the front row with my family, but because I was in a wheelchair, I asked to be in the back so people wouldn’t stare at me. Still, they stared. Always staring, wondering when I was going to crack.
I smoked a cigarette during my parents’ funeral. Afterward, I got drunk off wine at the gathering at my aunt and uncle’s. Dawn did her best to cover for me, blaming the Vicodin for my slurring behavior. Really, I just wanted to disappear from existence. I wanted to close my eyes, find a rainbow, and slide on down until I found gold or something better than what life was giving me. But I was in that wheelchair for weeks before I could move on to crutches. And once I managed to walk, I didn’t care how much it hurt; I was getting out and having fun.
Closing my eyes, I inhale the nicotine and imagine that rainbow, taking me far away. But no matter where I land, even if it’s Fantasy Land, I can’t have fun anymore.
Because I’m alone.
I sit between my parents’ gravestones. Just like bathrooms, they each had to have their own stone. Beautifully engraved, always surrounded by flowers. Who knew you could prepay for a service that puts fresh flowers on your grave every week? Were my parents that self-conscious, or did they worry no one in the family would bring flowers? I certainly haven’t paid such respects, but I’m sure Dawn has. They were my aunt and uncle too...
My hands are empty besides the cigarette, which is almost out. I take the final inhale and throw the bud across the field. I don’t know what I expected to feel or find by coming here, but it was on Dawn’s checklist. Until I figure my life out, I might as well follow her advice. She told me I should speak to my parents while I’m here. Seems pointless since they’re in the ground, and I don’t believe in heaven or hell. I can’t imagine them in either place. I only see them in their coffins, rotting away.
“You can’t hear me, but if you could, I want you guys to know a few things.” I take a deep breath; my chest burns from the smoke. “I’m mad at you for not coming to my gymnastic meets. I’m mad at you for always working and taking vacations without me. I’m mad…” My heart ossifies with some kind of emotion, but I can’t distinguish if it’s rage or sadness, guilt or despair, or maybe just cigarette tar. So I take another deep breath and allow the emotion to fill my body. I hope for tears, anything to clarify what I’m feeling, but nothing happens.
Maybe I’ll have a different reaction at Connor’s grave.
I start cigarette number two and make my way across the field, using my phone flashlight since it’s pitch black. Technically, I shouldn’t be here after the sun sets, but screw the rules. The dead don’t care what time you visit.
Connor’s grave is less flamboyant and decorated with hand-picked daisies. His parents were well off, but they lived in a ranch-style home and expected Connor to work hard to match their wealth. Sophomore year, Connor took on a part-time job, scooping ice cream. He always insisted on paying for everything when we went out, even though my weekly allowance could cover dinner and movies for a month. He was always polite and generous, but just so-so in personality. But that wasn’t why I broke up with him.
The night before an important meet, my parents insisted on having Connor and his parents over for dinner. Everyone had someone to talk to, except for me. The conversation lingered on politics and religion, so I excused myself to use the bathroom, when really I snuck into the wine room to drink a glass of merlot, anything to mellow out how annoyed I was feeling. Not only did I have to endure another awful dinner, but Connor had made plans to golf with our dads the next day rather than attend my meet. He didn’t understand my “obsession”, as they all called it.
Rather than cause a scene, I went to bed, complaining of a headache and needing to rest. The next day at my meet, I stuck every single landing. And then, trophy at hand, I called Connor, while he was not making any hole-in-ones, and dumped him. But my exact words were: “We need to go on a break. I need to focus on my obsession.”
His response: “I know you’re mad I missed your meet today. Let me make it up to you.”
Mine: “You can still hang out with my dad. I think he likes you more than he likes me.”
Then I hung up.
A few weeks later, Connor died.
He hated country music too.
I’m caught off guard by the tears spilling out of my eyes. If there’s any regret I have in my life besides telling my parents how I truly felt, it’s not telling Connor what a great guy he was. The letter I wrote Daniel, I should have given to Connor. But instead, I acted like a child and used condescending words, giving that boy false hope instead of the truth.
It’s harder now, ending things with Daniel, because at least with Connor I had drugs and alcohol, and later sex, to get me through the lows. Now it’s just me and myself. And we don’t make a winning team.
Since I don’t have any flowers for Connor, I leave the unfinished pack of cigarettes next to his grave. He never smoked, but he had an unusual fascination with the movie Grease, so here’s a tribute to that. Hope they’re playing Grease Lightning wherever you are, Connor.
I wipe my face dry, exhausted by everything. I need to get out of here before I relapse.
What’s next on Dawn’s list? Can’t do physical therapy this late at night, so I’ll have to postpone that one. I’ve already missed AA. Looks like I’ve achieved everything I can for one day. Now I need to figure out where to sleep tonight since Dawn has ruined my stay at the hotel. Why the hell would she help Daniel, the one person I’m trying to avoid right now?
Technically, I have a house I could stay at. A very large house. A mansion, actually. It’s under contract, but it’s mine for a few more weeks. Unless I want to sleep in my car or drive even farther to find a decent hotel, I’m left with no other options.
When I reach the parking lot, there’s a car next to mine. I freeze, panicked the cops are here to arrest me for trespassing. I quickly formulate an excuse. Sorry, officer. I was here earlier and lost my phone. Had to come back to find it.
Squinting my eyes, I see it’s not a cop car. It could be a creeper. Which is worse because I can’t defend myself. I back away until I’m out of the car’s light and dig around for something sharp or heavy. I find a jagged rock about the size of a baseball.
Finally, the headlights turn off, and the person exits the car. I maneuver behind a tree and wait. Whoever it is, they’re carrying a bundle of flowers.
I release a held breath and drop the rock. They’re just coming to pay their respects to someone. I guess I’m not the only one who sneaks into graveyards after hours.
Once the person is far enough away, I tip-toe back to my car. Just as I’m about to get in, I look at the car next to mine. Is that…?
My stomach leaps into my throat.
How the hell did he find me?
I’m mad enough to break his windshield, but his car already looks pathetic as is. I just wanted some space. Why couldn’t he give me that? How dare he come to my hometown? To my parents’ gravesite! With flowers? Who does he think he is?
If he thinks I’ll turn around and chase after him, he’s dead wrong. He can spend all night trying to find me. I hope a zombie eats him.
But he must’ve seen me or heard me moving because now he’s coming back to the parking lot. I leap inside my car, turn it on, and go in reverse, squealing the wheels like a getaway van. When I move the car forward, Daniel screams, “Stop!” and belly-flops onto the hood.
Panicked, stunned, and mortified, I hit the brakes.
He rolls off the car, landing several feet away.
My heart hammers against my chest. I wait for him to get up, but nothing happens. If he’s faking it, I will kill him.
What if he’s already dead?
“Daniel!” I run to his side. He’s sprawled out like a murder victim, but I don’t see any blood or injury. Just dozens of white flower petals covering his body like a macabre work of art. His eyes are shut, but he’s breathing. “Daniel, wake up!” I try shaking him.
He coughs once and then slowly opens his eyes. “Getting tackled without any padding ... is rough.”
I’d hit him if he wasn’t in pain already. “Are you all right? What the hell were you thinking, jumping on my car like that? I could have killed you.”
He sits up, dusting himself of the flowers. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
I do not need this. “You shouldn’t have come here. Didn’t you read my letter?”
“I read it a million times. I don’t care. I’m not leaving you again.”
“You must’ve hit your head. Get up. I’ll drop you off at the ER for a CAT scan.”
When I put my arms around him in an attempt to lift him, he grabs me by the waist and buries his face in my chest. He’s either delusional from his fall or desperate to win me back. I can’t handle either case, so I might as well give in until I can get him out of my hair for good. I will not have a repeat of Connor.
“All right, nice and slow,” I say as he gets to his feet.
“I can walk,” he says. “I’m fine.”
“Then you can let go of me.”
“I don’t want to.”
I squirm my way free. “So, you want me back? What’s your plan? Give up your scholarship and football career to be with me?”
“I don’t have a plan.”
“Yes, you do. It’s all laid out for you, the next four years. I don’t belong in the mix.”
“You belong wherever you want to belong, Maya. If you want to travel the world and I want to be a pro football player, we can still be together. Maybe not physically every day, but every chance I get, I’ll be with you.”
It’s precisely as Dawn suggested. A long-distance relationship. But just how many of those last?
“It won’t work,” I say. “You can try all you want, but until you let go of—”
“Colebrook is dead,” Daniel says.
That escalated quickly. “Did he try to run?” I ask, thinking the police must have gunned him down.
Daniel shakes his head. “The police had a warrant to search his house. I guess he couldn’t handle anyone finding out about his private life, so he shot himself.” Daniel sort of smirks. “I think I may finally be getting used to death.”
“No one gets used to it. According to Google, you just develop new defense mechanisms.”
“Like sarcasm?”
I nod. “Like sarcasm.”
We both smirk, and I feel that connection, that burning desire to reach out and touch him, but I have to remember why he’s here. He wants me back, and I’m determined not to lead him on.
“So did the police search his house?” I ask.
“They found photos and videos. Now former athletes are starting to speak up. The guy was a monster.”
“And you’re not mad at me for turning in the photos?” He has to know it was me.
“I’m thankful. Without your help, I wouldn’t be here right now, able to leave my town to go after the one thing I want.”
He’s making me out to be his saving grace, but I’m as faulty as the next drug addict down the street.
“You shouldn’t want someone like me,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because I’ll mess up. I’ll miss you too much. I’ll start drinking again. I could cheat on you.”
“No, you won’t. We can do this.” He grabs my hands. “Please, just give it a chance. A real chance this time.”
“I did give it a chance. It didn’t work.”
“That’s because I was stuck in a shithole situation back home. And now that everything’s out in the open, we don’t need to go back.”
“What about Wesley? Did the police find anything on him?”
He sighs heavily. “Not officially, but it’s implied.”
“It won’t drive you mad not knowing the absolute truth?”
“Not when I have you.”
“Don’t put it all on me!” Seriously, I’m trying to move on with my life, not get caught up in more drama.
“I’m not. I’m just telling you how I feel and what I want, Maya. You told me I shouldn’t be ashamed of my wants and needs. That I shouldn’t deny myself something because I feel like I don’t deserve it. Because I do deserve it. And so do you.”
I shake my head. This is too much for one day.
“I should’ve held on to the cigarettes,” I say.
“I thought I smelled something.”
“Yep, I’m smoking again. Doesn’t that piss you off?”
“You leaving pisses me off.”
“You being here pisses me off!” I twist away from him. “If you’re really okay, you can drive yourself. I’m leaving.”
He jumps ahead of me. “I’m here, telling you I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be with you, and you’re mad at me?”
“Ah!” I throw my hands up. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at ... myself!”
“Why?”
This is killing me. “Because I fucked up my life, and there’s still so much I have to do to recover. And I’m scared that I’ll fuck this up too. And then my life will be doubly ruined, and I just don’t want to have to fix anything else. I’m tired of being broken. I know I preached nonstop about how unbroken I was at Fantasy Land, but it was all just a cover. I am broken. And it sucks!”
“So am I!” he exclaims, as though that will magically cure everything. “I’m broken, and there’s still a lot I have to do to get better, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go. I won’t. Even if you walk away right now, I will keep fighting for you. I’ll do anything. I’ll find a goddamn magic carpet and take you on a ride across the sky. I’ll grow my hair out again. I’ll—”
“You do not need to do all that.” It sounds ridiculous. Though if Dawn were here, she’d think it the most romantic thing ever said.
“Then I won’t. Because I can’t have long hair when I play football. I sweat too much. And that’s something I can’t change. I’m a sweaty guy.”
“I don’t care that you sweat a lot. You don’t smell bad when you do. You smell…” Like a wild demigod.
“I smell amazing, right?”
I don’t want to laugh, but I do. “You’re good with words. But don’t think that’s going to change anything.”
“Nothing needs to be changed, Maya. I still love you. And I think you love me too. If you would just allow yourself to feel it.”
“I feel plenty right now.”
“But love is the one thing you said you would omit, remember? For me, I chose sorrow. And really, I don’t want to have to choose anything anymore. I want to feel everything, even the bad stuff. Yours and mine.”
“You’re talking about things you don’t understand. You’re still new to all this. You think it’s so easy to be normal after you go through something so horrific?”
“It’s not easy. It’s hard. All of it. But I don’t care. Because I want you. All of you.”
Why does he have to tempt me with such words?
“It’s hard to be with someone,” Daniel says, his voice so soft and gentle he could make demons cry. “But it’s even harder to be alone.”
There’s no way to escape the hard. Everything I’ve done and everything I will do is hard. The alcohol withdrawal, coming to terms with my past, taking the next step, whether traveling the world or coaching a bunch of four-year-olds. I have no set plan. I have no idea how any of it will turn out. I might return to my old, destructive self by the end of next week. And if I turn down that path, I won’t have anyone to bail me out again.
I’m more afraid of failing Daniel. Losing him permanently scares the hell out of me. I could see myself hurting him like I hurt Connor.
Do I trust myself at all?
No wonder I’m so scared. I actually love this guy. I’m a zillion times more vulnerable than I’ve ever been with anyone. Potentially, I could go a hundred steps forward with Daniel.
Or a thousand steps back if I screw everything up.
