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But I am heartbroken, I am hurt and upset, and sometimes I think we are told by society that it's wrong to feel those things. That bitterness and anger and sadness should be hidden and we should not indulge our pain.
But pain doesn’t work like that, not for me anyway. I can’t just push it to the side and forget about it, but I can face it and confront it and try to move forwards.
“I didn’t know it could feel like what we had together. And now she is gone… it’s like a limb is missing from me. There is a constant ache. I ache for her. All the time.”
I feel the frail arms of an old woman wrap around me and a tightness to her hug that shows just how much strength she still has in her. “I think it will ache for a long time, Alexa. I really do, but you have to try and look forwards now. You have so much happening around you. All you ever dreamed of is yours to have and you are missing it. And I don’t think you want that for yourself. I know I most certainly don’t want it for you. And neither would your mom and dad.”
I nod. I know she is right, and the moment she mentions their names I feel a longing for them. I wish they were here. I need a hug from my dad, I need my mom to tell me everything will be okay.
“I am sorry, Grandmama, I need to get out. I’m going to go for a run. I just need to feel them close to me.”
She pulls away and gives me a final last squeeze and a warm nod. I pull on my shoes and am out the door in a matter of seconds. I hear her mutter that they are always here for me to feel, but I need to go to our place. I need to be where I felt them the most.
I take the bus out of the suburbs and further into the countryside. I could have run. It’s about 22k round trip, which sounds a lot but it is doable for me. I just didn’t want to run this time.
Oh honey, I don’t date the wait staff.
I hear it over and over in my head. How could she say that about me?
Her voice is in my head over and over and over. Her words cut me to the bone each and every time.
Like the song you hate the most constantly on repeat on the radio. And the more you hear it, the less it makes sense. It loses its quality; the words lose their meaning, and yet you can’t stop listening over and over until you drive yourself insane.
She doesn’t date the wait staff, sure.
But she fucked me with a raw and open passion. We loved with an overwhelming completeness that I have never felt in my life.
When she knelt for me, I felt complete, when she kissed me, I was whole.
And now… now I am just the wait staff.
The bus stops about a mile away from the lake edge and I get off in a daze. Luckily, the weather is kind. A warm evening makes way for the setting sun and rising moon. I have an hour until the bus returns. Or two if I take too long, but there wouldn’t be another after that.
I saunter along the road. Not a pace I’m accustomed to but all I had the energy for. Not physically but mentally.
I wonder if it’s been a mistake coming here the moment the water comes into view. Because for the first time in my life, it isn’t my parents that I feel here, it is Dahlia. Beautiful Dahlia. My Dahlia. Seeing her face again, the moment she first saw the sparkles ripple along the surface of the water. Her smile lit up the morning as she turned to me…
Yes, she had taken this place and made it hers too. Well, it seems that way now, although at that moment it felt as though I had given it to her. I would have given her anything. I look across the lake and I see our place. Our spot. My butterfly moment.
I move like a magnet, there is no way I could go anywhere else. Taking the path for what would be the last time. I wouldn’t come back here now; it was time to lay memories to rest. But I needed my last goodbye.
As my feet find familiar meadow grass, I sink like a stone in the sea. My fingers run through the soft green shoots and claw at them. Desperate for a handful of something. I need to just feel something…
“Alexa.”
Her voice comes to me like the sweetest taste of sugar in dark bitter tea. It cuts through the wind and I feel it on my skin.
I turn my head.
She isn’t a figment of my imagination. She is real. She is here.
I can’t look at her. I sob. I sob so loudly I’m sure the birds pity me. Tormented by my own memories and the voices in my head.
“Oh, Alexa,” she says louder, with more need and passion and I can’t take it. I want to scream.
And then I feel her. The softest touch of her fingertips at my shoulder. She’s hesitant. Afraid. But she still sinks down beside me in the grass. I can’t look at her, only at her knees, and watch as her graceful fingers reach for mine. She takes them in her palms holding them with a gentle caress. Waiting with all the time in the world for my breathing to slow and my body to turn to her.
“Don’t. Don’t, Dahlia. Don’t come here because you pity me. I can’t take it. I will be okay. I will get better. But you should go.”
