Hope

The other day I met up with an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in several years. What struck me most was how present he was in the conversation. He didn’t drift off amongst his own personal thoughts, but kept his eyes on mine. It was almost disconcerting, and I found myself averting my eyes at times, a habit I’d picked up over the years to disconnect from people who might see too much in them. I’ve been hiding away for so long, and I’ve done this throughout my life, protecting other people’s secrets, but never protecting myself. I always thought that by protecting them I was somehow doing the same for myself, but really I was only getting myself hurt. I’m slowly regaining the ability to let people see me for who I am, and he saw me, he SAW me, he saw ME; and then suddenly there it was: a spark of hope.

I told him of terrible things I’ve done, and worse things that have been done to me, and of my year-long illness and then he said to me, “You’re telling me about the most awful things that have happened to you, and that’s when you laugh the most,” and I feel like I need to explain this to him somehow, as though it can’t possibly have been that bad if I think it’s so funny. And I know that I don’t think all of these things are funny; they’re tragic, horrible, they’ve wrenched my heart from my chest and smashed it into a thousand tiny little pieces, but if I wallow in those feelings, I will become them, and what is life worth if we’re not laughing, and loving, and living? And then I realized he had just said one of the nicest things anyone’s said in a long time.

The next afternoon I was driving over to my Grandma’s house and I thought of everything I’ve been through this past year. After seven years apart, my son’s dad professed his love for me and we tried to get back together, but we just aren’t compatible. Shortly after he decided to take me to court on false claims that I had retaliated after our failed relationship by restricting his visitation. I then found someone who convinced me he would love me and stay with me forever, and we created a family from two broken ones, only to be torn apart by something so far out of my league that we had no chance of survival, let alone that everlasting love that I thought we had found. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what was true and what wasn’t, but I do know that I have no idea who he really is. And the loss of his daughter... I don’t have words for that heartache. I found out some of the people I thought were my closest friends weren’t friends at all. I had both my electric and gas shut off because I wasn’t able to keep up on the payments while supporting my ex’s ... lifestyle. Riding this roller coaster for so long has left me feeling like I have nothing left to give, not really believing that anyone will ever give me anything back. My entire life has been one hurt after another, but I’ve always been able to pick up the pieces and move on with an open heart and a never ending hope for something better. This time, that hope inside of me had died. I felt completely empty, like every last drop of goodness in me had bled out when he left and I saw the situation for what it truly was.

I flipped on the radio, cursing myself once again for forgetting to make mix tapes. Maybe I could still find an upbeat song that I could belt out and lose myself in, or at least something that could lift my spirits. What I got was even better.

“This is not the end, this is not the beginning...”

I was only picking up a few words here and there at first, my mind slipping back to thoughts of all of those difficulties, but as the lyrics flowed on, I really began to listen.

“I know what it takes to move on...”

I’ve found a new room mate and I’m really excited for her to move in next weekend. I’m slowly starting to get my bills back under control, but without a room mate, I won’t be able to keep my home for very long. I need help. I can’t do it alone. And I didn’t really think I’d find someone, again, but things have a way of working out when you least expect it, and I have a feeling this is going to be really good for me, and a lot of fun besides.

A few weeks ago, I packed up all of their things nice and neat into cardboard boxes, and it was heartbreaking. Taking all of her pictures off the walls, his books off the shelves, and putting them into boxes made it all so very final, yet it was closure that I needed. I didn’t cry until the next day when I went into her old room and saw all of the boxes stacked up like no one lived there anymore, and it hit me that no one did.

“All I want to do is trade this life for something new, holding on to what I haven't got...”

For the first month after they left, I was living as though they were still here. I would wash the laundry and fold the clothes and put them away in their drawers. I cleaned all of her toys up off her floor and put them away where they belonged. When I went into the gas station on the corner,  the cashier would see me and immediately grab a pack of Camel Menthols and I would buy them so I didn’t have to explain that they weren’t for me, and that he was gone.

“What was left when that fire was gone

I thought it felt right but that right was wrong

All caught up in the eye of the storm

And trying to figure out what it's like moving on”

I drove over to his house one day. It had been nearly a month since I’d seen him, and I was terrified. I parked a few houses down the street and tried to calm my nerves. I smoked half a cigarette from the pack I didn’t ask for, then reclined the seat and closed my eyes, taking deep, slow breaths in and out. My stomach was in knots. Finally I worked up enough courage to get out of the car. I crossed the street and walked up the sidewalk to their porch. I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the front door. I knocked, waited, knocked again. His nephew came to the door, and I asked if he was around. He disappeared toward the back of the house and I could hear him calling his name.

I step away from the door and wonder if I’ve gone completely mad. Just as I make up my mind to turn around and run, he’s standing on the other side of the screen door.

“What are you doing here?”

My mind goes blank. What am I doing here?! All of the things I wanted to say were suddenly gone and I fumble for a response. “I... I w-wanted to see you... I couldn’t stay away any longer.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from some far off place, and my hands are shaking. He steps outside, and his cousin is there behind him, following him out. I’ve come at a bad time.

“You’ve come at a bad time.”

He sits down and lights a cigarette. Not a Camel Menthol now, but a Winston. I remember the pack I have in the car. I want to offer him one; my mouth won’t work. I sit down in the chair next to his. I watch him as he blows smoke out of his mouth and nose, notice his beard is much longer, and he’s wearing a green bandana I’ve never seen before. His eyes have pinprick pupils that won’t quite meet my own. My eyes are wide and taking everything in. He’s wearing a dirty wifebeater and basketball shorts and I notice how narrow his shoulders are, how pale his skin is, the dark circles under his eyes.

“You look... dirty,” I say, and then regret it. He tells me they’ve been cleaning out the basement after the flooding. I ask if he’s been sleeping down there, and he tells me that he has his nephew’s old room. I breathe a sigh of relief. His cousin is sitting on the porch, and I don’t know what to say. Everything I had planned seems like much too much to bare in front of anyone else. I feel completely exposed in my black hoodie and jeans. I want to reach out and take his hands, turn his face toward mine. I want him to see what’s inside me, all of the love that I have for him that’s aching to be known. Instead I shove my hands into my pockets and look down at my lap.

“Is there any chance for us?” I ask. I already know the answer. His apathetic silence is coming across loud and clear. I wait.

“Is that what you came to talk about? This isn’t a good time.”

I’m desperate, searching for the words that will make him understand, that will connect us once again. I’m losing and I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to do and then his aunt comes out the door. She sees me and stops in her tracks, just briefly. She’s uncomfortable, and she goes back into the house. I don’t blame her. I want to disappear myself, and yet I sit there, waiting, for something I already know won’t come.

I ask the question I didn’t want to ask. “Do you still love me?” He hesitates. He looks at his hands, the ground, the houses across the street, anywhere but at me. I wait.

“I... I don’t know... I care about you... I try not to think about it.”

I can’t stop thinking about it, and I tell him so. He says I should try to get on Paxil. I apologize for showing up unannounced. We stand and start moving toward the stairs. I turn and look back at him, and we awkwardly hug one another. He gives me the casual pat-pat-pat on the back, and then I go. As I walk away from the house toward my car, tears begin to form and spill down my cheeks. I try to hold onto what little composure I have left, but as soon as I am behind the wheel, I am wracked with uncontrollable sobs. I sit like this with my head in my hands for what seems an eternity but was probably only five minutes, before I scrub my face and tell myself to get a grip. I hadn’t expected it to go any better than it had. I start the ignition. As I pull away from the curb, I instinctively know this will be the last time I see him, but I had seen what I needed to see. The tears begin once more.

“And I don't even know what kind of things I said

My mouth kept moving and my mind went dead

So I'm picking up the pieces, now where to begin

The hardest part of ending is starting again”

As the music continued to pour out of the speakers that afternoon as I drove to my Grandma’s house, I realized that tears were streaming down my face again, but these weren’t the painful tears of loss. I began laughing as I cried, because I felt it deep inside myself; I was finally moving on. I know what it takes to move on, and I’m not holding on to what I haven’t got anymore. Life had dealt a hand stacked high against me, but somehow I managed not to fold. I made it out of the storm, and I’m still breathing and my heart’s still beating, and then all at once that spark that I had glimpsed the night before caught fire and I was finally, joyfully, exuberantly filled with hope.

This is not the end, this is not the beginning, and hope IS alive... it was right there all along, waiting for me to find it.