Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

Walking to my car, I can’t fully comprehend what it is I’m feeling. Nothing really happened. Nothing was fixed. No one handed me a secret recipe to figuring it all out. No one told me I was right, and Josh was wrong, and everything is going to be okay now that I’ve come here.

But something happened.

I spoke about it. I acknowledged it. I admitted that it happened.

And I recognize I played a part in it, too.

I stop walking with the realization, pressing a hand to my chest. My next breath is stiff and shallow.

Why does it somehow feel good to admit that?

It’s like taking back the reins of my life somehow, like I’d been just riding along this whole time and now I’m in the driver’s seat.

What happens next is up to me.

And it’s not defined by what happened in the past.

“You’re more than what he made you believe you are.”

Greg’s words flash in my memory, and I cover my mouth, eyes glossing again at how I hadn’t even realized how much I needed to hear them.

I also know I wouldn’t be here, walking out of my first Al-Anon meeting, if it weren’t for him.

He came into my life so unexpectedly, a ghost from my past I never thought I’d see again. But he didn’t just flit in and then leave again. He rushed in, passionate and insistent, and he flipped my life upside down. He challenged me to step outside of my comfort zone. He made me believe in myself again — or maybe for the first time. He made me live.

And it’s because of him that I felt strong enough to do this.

Sniffing, I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, fingers automatically punching in the right buttons to pull his contact up on my screen. My finger hovers over the call button, trembling, my heart pounding in my ears.

But after a long moment, I sigh, pulling my thumb away.

I want to share it with him. I want him to know what he’s done for me, how much he’s impacted my life, what he makes me feel.

But it’s not fair.

Nothing has changed. He’s still younger than me by more than ten years. David is talking to me, yes, but it’s easy to see he hasn’t recovered from or forgiven me for what he witnessed. And though the idea of telling Josh to go screw himself and that I can figure out everything on my own without his money sounds enticing, I know I’m not there yet.

Patience.

I have to have patience.

And I also must have respect for the man who’s showed me what real love can feel like.

I gasp at the word, at how easily it came to my mind, and my heart cracks in my chest at the realization that I’ll never be able to tell him that’s what I feel for him.

Love.

Pure and deep and honest love.

As I slip my phone back in my purse, I close my eyes and think of him, wondering if maybe he’s doing the same for me. I wonder if he can feel me through the airwaves, if somehow — even without telling him — he’ll live the rest of his life knowing that he matters to me more than I could ever say.

I wish for him to have a life full of love and happiness and peace.

And then, I get in my car and drive forward, determined to make the same thing happen for myself.

GREG

The week after Thanksgiving, I text David and ask if we can meet up.

I fully expect him to ignore me, just like he had all the texts and calls I’d sent in those days after our blow up happened. I’m convinced he blocked me, wrote me off, likely would prefer to treat me as if I never existed — and I can’t blame him.

When I don’t get a text back immediately or even within the next four hours, I know I’m right.

I’m stealing a quick ten-minute break at the hospital and racking my brain for a plan B when my phone pings in my pocket, and David texts me only three words.

Curtis Hixon Park.

My heart rate picks up just at the sight of the response, and even though I know I’m still knee deep in shit, I can’t help but feel a prickle of hope that at least he answered.

I text back.

Six?

He sends a thumbs up emoji, and I scarf down what’s left of my lunch before hustling through my Friday afternoon to wrap up everything I need in order to get out on time.

My stomach is that of a kid’s on the Gravitron at the fair when I walk to the riverfront park that evening. I spot David easily, seated on a bench by the dancing fountains. He’s watching a few kids play in the water, something of a smile on his face.