Broken

Look at me, she says.

Looking past her in a way that makes it appear I'm making eye contact, my discomfort moves my gaze across the space above her and back down. My eyes linger momentarily on hers, and I see what happens when one person lives for someone who lives for something else.

A single tear trails down her cheek, and the silence is broken by the hiccup of a sob - like it escaped her throat before she could stop it. The terror, the astonishment, and the hatred--mingled to become one.

Who do you hate, I whisper... The challenge hung in the air. Would she pick me? Or would she be honest and pick herself?

Her head cocks slightly in that way I used to love, and I find myself thinking... you're not a poodle, straighten your head…

I know she is struggling to read my face.

What do you mean? She mumbles.

Alex.

I shake my head. Too many times, we've come here, old territory revisited. And I wonder how I didn't bore the scenery sooner; it's so blasé. I sigh, like nothing mattered anyway. Because we still wound up in this place.

I know she hates me. I can feel it like razor-sharp lasers from every pore of her body she emanates, oozes, radiates her hatred. She says things to make me angry and make me react. I think she wants me to hate her too. But I don't. Because hatred is the equal opposite of love, and that's been gone a long time. I don't feel anything now. And while I wish I could for her sake, I don't, and I can't live this way any longer.

So I'm going to go, I say. To my mom's, I continue before she can ask. The thought of going back there makes my stomach turn, but I have to leave now before another year comes and goes. I'll call you...

Turning away, I see her hand reach one last attempt, and I am relieved when she wrestles it back down to her side.

With my hand on the doorknob, I look back over my shoulder. Her tears are falling now.

I'm sorry, I mouth.

Wait, she whispers.

I shake my head and pull the door open.

Please, she says louder, and my head drops. Going through the door, I pull it closed behind me, and her silent tears turn to devastating sobs. In the hallway, I falter. A thread of fear is weaving its way through my mind. Steeling my nerves, I move away.

I throw my beat-up bag in the backseat of my small coupe. It's a stick; I head for the hills; there's a rhythm to switching gears on the switchbacks that calm me. Turn the music up in the car and drive faster than I should. My mind plays advocate for the devil, coming up with a hundred and one reasons I should have stayed.

Winding through town, I head out and away from the masses.

Lost.

I find myself on a familiar road, winding, winding up and out and over. The road sign says 15; I push it to 40, exhilarated at how the curves hold the car in place. After ten years in this place, I am still caught off guard by its beauty. The scattering breaks rolling green hills of trees. I am so close to them I cannot see the top; flaming rays of sunlight break through the branches casting life into shadows. That reckless urge is creeping up on me, and the desire to stamp down on the gas is winning. Pulling off the road, I stagger from the car, my knees weak. One knee hits the dirt, and I stabilize myself with my hands—hair hanging in my face. I retch. Dry heaves assault my body.

I'm sorry, I whisper. So sorry. My apology falls flat. I know I've hurt her, and I never wanted that; I just don't know what to do anymore.

Wiping the drool from my lip, I rest my shoulder against the car door and weep.

Three years ago, we stood in this place; Alex and me, I guessed forever. I saw a bottomless pit of infinite possibilities. I saw our future in still frame pictures in her eyes.

She is laughing...one hand on her chest like she'll spill out of herself if she isn't careful. She has one of those all-over laughs. And it's infectious.

She caught my attention across the counter in a local coffee shop. She worked there part-time while she went to school. I remember her fingers grazing mine as she passed me a cup of decaf. Electricity through my body. I asked her out right then. Wide eyes and a mischievous grin, she said yes. A whirlwind night, a dance club, and bass pounding through our feet. We danced close, even for the faster songs. I couldn't stop looking at her. Strobe lights pulsating, her right hand rested gently on my hip. Her other hand folded into mine.

I drove her home holding her hand the whole time and stealing glances at her when I thought she wasn't looking.

Unlock our fingers to mess with the radio or thermostat to see if she would reach for my hand.

She would.

I see you looking, she laughed.

My cheeks were hot. A good driver looks around, I mumble back.

Moving to meet my eyes, she laughs. So look around then...good driver.

Fast forward to her doorstep. Her hands locked in mine down by our sides. I lean forward and graze her cheek with my lips.

I had a great night, my mouth close to her ear.

She nodded.

Can I see you again?

Another nod.

I moved away to leave, and she held on.

Stay, she whispered.

Looking at my feet, I shook my head no. Hurt flashes across her face, and I squeeze her hand, but I leave her standing there.

Pulling myself out of the past, overcome with grief. I wonder if anybody ever thought there wasn't enough time. Wiping away my tears, I stand slowly and make my way to the edge of the turnout.

The End's Beginning.

On the edge of the ravine, I stand looking out over the wasted years, and I wonder...what happens when you lose the one you thought forever. And how does forever come and go so quickly? When I held her hand and gave her my heart. Who did we become that we had outgrown each other? Who were we then that wasn't who we are now? And how could I hate myself so much for something I can't even explain?

I hate that I left her. Hate that I made her cry. I hate that she couldn't be who I fell in love with. I hate that I gave up.

I always wanted to be somebody other than who I expected to become-- my mother.

After I left her there that first night, I wondered if there really would be more time. And I struggled with the idea of missed opportunities. Had I lost my only chance to kiss her? Could I forgive myself if I did?

There's a saying about waiting three days before you call. I couldn't wait, so I went to her work for coffee. I saw her eyes first; a smile played at the edges, and I knew then that I would love her forever.

The smile made its way to her mouth, and she said with the head tilt that made my heart jump but would later drive me crazy.

Hey there good driver, she teased.

Shaking my head, I smiled and approached the counter.

Hey. Date? Tonight?

I remember that was the first time I saw her all over laughing.

Hush! An exaggerated sigh. She had me. I was hers.

Please, would you like to go out with me again tonight?

For almost a year, all of our conversations had that bantery feeling. We were teasing, poking fun. Then, when the playfulness ended, we started to fall apart.

What If?

That first year was a whirlwind. I couldn't get enough of her. We spent so much time together, but we never fought. Instead, it seemed like every time a confrontation would arise, and she would disarm it with humor, with that playful smile and that rapturous head tilt. You know, the one I hate now?

We had been dating for three months; the first time conflict reared its head. She was staying the night for the first time.

When you live alone, routine is inevitable. Moreover, structure and stability are necessary when you are as broken as I am. The minor addition to an otherwise sterile environment, well, you can't foresee everything.

To put this out there, I struggle with control issues. I like things a certain way. Some therapists say, "Yes, live from that; it's normal for someone who came from where you did." While others say, "As long as you try to control things beyond you, you'll never find freedom."

I tried to ride the line between the two. It's always a struggle, though, when the balancing act falls between fear of holding on and fear of letting go.

So I took that step and invited her over. It bordered on disaster before the door even closed. I hung up my keys and lined my shoes up under the bench by the door. She dropped her stuff in a heap and kicked her boots half across the room.

That's one, I thought.

I gathered her stuff and put it in the room. Placed her shoes next to mine.

I got the look she shot me. And quickly looked away.

OCD, I said.

She shrugged it off. 'K. Do you want to watch a movie? Her eyes were bright.

I nodded. Something funny?

The movie played, and we sat close. Like we did everything else. Some part touching. Comforting. Charged. It was like being home. I realized then how different we were. I realized then the things that were important to me were not important to her. I realized then we had an expiration date.

I sat forward, look, I said. I like my place to be neat. I work hard to keep it like that. I want you to be here, can you be more...aware?

The emotional space came first. I felt her mind pull away. Then her hand. Then the rest of her. Finally, she set her glass down (not on a coaster – and that's two, I thought) and turned to face me. That head tilts, and I forgot the question.

She cleared her throat. While growing up, my mom wasn't the best housekeeper; I got used to whatever. Her eyes met mine, and I could feel her calling me out then, at that moment. I knew boundaries were necessary to maintain a healthy relationship. So head down, I pushed forward.

My mom wasn't a great housekeeper either; that's why I like my place so neat now. I get that some things are negotiable. Can you try harder?

Her head tilt switched sides, and I knew this would be the defining moment. I realized I was holding my breath when she asked me, Is this going to be the thing we have our first fight about? Really? This is it? This is happening?

Do you know how when something falls apart, and you're looking back at the moment that did it? You can find several probably. But there's one really, and in retrospect, they look tiny. So this was going to be that moment for us.

Against my better judgment, I let it go. Was this worth fighting about? Did she think every disagreement was a fight? She relaxed into me, and I tried to let it go. It turned out that enough little things unspoken add up.

I knew then that we were doomed. It turns out if you don't care enough to fight some things out, then you never know what matters. What if I had forced the fight that night? Could I have changed our expiration date? Or were we always destined for failure?

Time.

Time passed between us, and I saw her changing. Changing so slow it was like a mirage. I could see it if I wasn't looking. But when I tried...it seemed to disappear. We were coming up on a year and had successfully avoided any serious fight. As it turns out, time is like a filing cabinet that stores offenses left unsaid. And that time, when left to its own devices, becomes a bomb—Ticking, Ticking, Ticking!

The first time I heard the tick as audible noise, I had just picked her up from work. She seemed different. And when I reached for her hand, she hesitated before her fingers closed in mine.

Bad day babe?

Yes. Short, curt, and entirely unlike her.

Do you want to talk about it?

Unbeknownst to me, I had just stepped into a war zone. And that first fight we had been avoiding so religiously had come looking for us.

I could feel her head turn to look at me. And she pulled her hand away. Then, letting go, I placed my hand on the shifter and met her eyes briefly. Tell me about it.

Where were you today?

Her tone was ice. Who was this person who had climbed into my car that had the same face as the girl I loved? Where did she come from? Had she been here all along?

You didn't call me today. On. My. Break. So, where were you? Her tone was demanding.

Where was I? I had been out running errands after work and putting the final touches on my paper for school, and that is what I should have said. But, instead, what came out of my mouth was, I was with my other girlfriend.

Tick. Tick. BOOM! A bomb went off, and she's screaming, and reality hits. I can't understand a single word she's saying between the screaming and crying.

Oh. I could feel myself slide away because after a year of thinking we were solid, she was still insecure and what used to be our funny banter hit a nerve today. What I thought was a playful joke instilled fear and insecurity in her for an entire year. But because we never pushed through that first challenging moment, we didn't learn

It seems now, looking back, that that was the place we indeed came undone. But, as it turns out, that first And without that intimacy, we only grew wide in our love, not deep.

Sometimes, the argument is optimistic. It says, "I know we love each other enough to overcome, and I believe in us."

The worst part of all of this was that I destroyed her in my desire to see her smile. Which, in turn, beat us.

Fear.

Recouping, I pull over into an empty lot, put the car in park, and turn to look at her.

I want to take her in my arms, but honestly, at this point, I'm terrified of her. I'm not sure what will make it worse or if I can even make it better, and that's terrifying for me and my control issues. So how do I enter into a situation with someone I love, who I desperately want to help in a way that benefits them without manipulating the entire thing?

Can you look at me? My voice is a hoarse whisper.

She turns slowly. Her body is slowing down, and I can see she is regaining herself. I breathe an inward sigh of relief. And in a moment of raw hope, I believe we will get through this.

Later I would realize I had been right and wrong simultaneously. So we did get through it. But something in our internal chemistry changed that night. And while I could never quite put my finger on what was different, something was. Both of us knew it.

Reaching for her hand, I kissed her fingers.

Finally, I spoke; I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . . my voice trailed, and I cleared my throat. I didn't know that would hurt you. I, uh, I, we joke a lot, you know. I thought. . .

She looked at me, and the smile that usually started at her mouth and lit up her eyes didn't move that far. Instead, I saw a new smile. A tight smile that seemed to linger somewhere between happy and sad.

Should I take you home?

She nodded again. Pulling out of the lot, her hand entwined in mine. Even that felt different. Gone was the carefree girl who had captured my heart; she had been replaced by someone I didn't know. For the first time, our contact felt forced. The gentle ease with which we had done everything else seemed to be replaced by desperation not to get lost.

Hey good driver. Her voice broke through my thoughts. I could see her trying to regain the missing piece, and my hope that we would see the other side of this grew.

Yeah, babe? I met her eyes briefly.

Dinner, please?

I could almost hear the smile I fell in love with. Hope shoved the fear back, deep into a dark place in my mind that holds the pain.

Fear is a funny thing. In the light, you can see it's a shadow being thrown. But in the dark, it could be anything. And fear is crafty; when left to its own devices can become something so big, you'll wonder how you ever missed it in the first place.

Home.

Walking back to my car, I dial my mom. She and I have a tumultuous relationship. She wasn't the most incredible mom while I was growing up, she'd been abusive across the board, but her neglect was the thing that damaged me the most. I've worked hard to forgive her but, it's a slow thing coming.

She answered on the fifth ring. Hey hun.

Mom. I couldn't continue, the sobs racked my body, and the hurt I'd pushed away came rushing in.

What happened, baby? Where are you?

Trying to catch my breath so I could talk, the sobs wouldn't stop.

Sam, you have to stop crying before you make yourself sick. Did something happen with you and Alex?

All I could think about was how angry I was. Calming down, I finally spoke; I left her mom. After almost four years, I left her. I walked out on her and left her standing in the hallway crying. All we do is fight, and I can't take it. I don't know what happened to us. I thought we were happy. Now, it just feels empty all the time.

Sam, hun, maybe it's time then, you know, for it to be done. Your relationship was doomed from the beginning, you know. If it were me, I would walk away. But, anyway, do you think maybe you could come by and bring me some cigarettes? And maybe like twenty dollars. I had to pay rent, so I don't have money 'til next payday.

I immediately started kicking myself mentally. Why would I ever think my mom would care about me?

Mom, by rent, do you mean you lost it at the casino?

My question hung in the air, and I could imagine her facial expression. Then, sighing, I broke the silence. Yes, mom. I'll bring you cigarettes and the money. I'll be there in twenty minutes.

Ending the call, I shook my head in frustration. Then, climbing in my car, I start it up and dial my dad. He answers on the second ring. Hey! I was just thinking about you. How're you doing? When will you and Alex make it out for dinner again?

My dad left my mom when she was pregnant with me. She told me he left because he didn't want kids when I was growing up. It turns out her telling me that was one of the hundred reasons he left, that had nothing to do with me. He hadn't been around for most of my childhood, but he tries now.

Sighing again, I told him everything, including the conversation I'd just had with my mom.

Sam, I don't know why you still go to her when you know she is only ever going to respond in selfishness. If you want to know what I think, I think the answer is in your heart. You two are good together. I know you've had some problems, but life is a problem sometimes. And so is love. What's that thing you always say? If it's worth having, it's worth fighting for. Is it worth it? I know you are angry right now, and you think you don't love her anymore. But, if that were true, you wouldn't be wondering what to do.

I could hear him smiling, and that made me smile.

You're right, Dad. She and I are good together. We have a lot of problems, though. She doesn't trust me, and she is so dependent on me for her emotional well-being. So as a result, I have difficulty because I feel trapped. I don't know how not to carry her emotions too. I'm tired.

Honey, the truth is hard. And because you weren't honest upfront. But if you love her . . . and I think you do, then you have to start telling her the truth. Because for so long you guys haven't been honest with each other, she has every reason not to trust you.

Yeah, that sounded right. Shit. Dad, thanks.

Anytime sweetheart. Talk to you soon?

I'll call you later and let you know how it went?

Good luck! Remember, you have to be honest. I love you.

Love you back, Dad!

I grabbed cigarettes for my mom and headed to her place at the store. When I got there, she met me at the door. What took you so long? It's been 30 minutes, and you said twenty.

Laughing, I handed her the pack and a twenty. No, mom, you don't have to pay me back, and you're welcome. Also, maybe when I call you, you could think about what I need from you for once. I love you. I'll talk to you later.

I left her speechless on her steps and trotted back to my car.

At the apartment, I let myself in. Alex was sitting on the couch looking at pictures of us. She turned when I closed the door behind me; her face ran through a gamut of emotions before it finally settled on rage. I took a deep breath and waded in; it would get worse before it could get better.

I sat next to her and took her hand.

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