Eastern Lights (Compass 2)

“He’s a monster.”

“I can see why you’d think that, but…I mean, he…” She took a deep inhalation and released it slowly. “He’s all I’ve ever truly known.”

“Make a new story. Learn something else.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I didn’t say it was easy, but it’s always worth it.” Over the past few weeks, I thought about what I’d ask her. I thought about the questions that I’d have, the pain that I believed she could make dissipate with her replies, the missing pieces of my soul that maybe she could’ve filled. But, as I sat in front of her, I realized our conversation wasn’t about me. It was about her.

I’d already figured out how to love myself. Marie didn’t even know where to start. It turned out self-love wasn’t given to every individual by a certain age. Some people died without ever discovering themselves. Some individuals never were able to stare at their reflections and know that they were loved.

That thought alone made me sad, because I knew with a few different choices in my life, I could’ve been her. That could’ve been me. I was no better than any other person who didn’t know how to love themselves.

“I forgive you,” I whispered. “For your choices you made. For giving me up. For scheming to bring me back into your life. For the lies, the scandal. I forgive you.”

Her eyes flashed with hope as she reached across the table, placing her hands over mine. “You have no clue how much that means to me. Aaliyah, this is it. This can be a new start for you and me. We can—“

“No.” I slowly pulled my hands away from her. “You misunderstood. I forgive you, Marie. But that doesn’t mean I can open myself up to having you in my life.”

Forgiving someone didn’t mean you had to invite them back into your world. Sometimes forgiving meant finally letting them go. Forgiveness meant cutting the final cord of ones connection to your soul.

“I hope you find happiness, Marie. I do. I hope you start your journey to loving yourself. I hope you have more good days than bad, and I hope you laugh. I hope you find joy in the darkness. And I hope you leave him, because even though you’ve hurt me, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be hurt, too. If you allow it, Walter will hurt you until the day you die.”

“Maybe I deserve that.” She lowered her head and stared at her hands.

I placed mine against hers. “No one deserves that.”

She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life.”

“That’s okay. Begin again now. Can I ask why you stay with a man like him?”

“At one point, he was my everything. I was just waiting for him to come back to me… To be the man I thought he’d always been. I’m waiting for something that I know was probably always a lie.”

“Find your ugly truths,” I said, thinking about the conversation Connor had with me months ago. “It’s better to sit with the ugly truths than bathe in the beautiful lies.”

She gave me a halfway grin before wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Aaliyah for everything. For hurting you. For leaving you. For all the bad choices I’ve made.”

I smiled. “Thank you for that.” I glanced toward the front window, where Connor’s car was still waiting. “I should probably get going…”

“He proposed to you,” she mentioned, staring down at the ring on my finger.

“Yes. A few months ago.”

“Congratulations. He’s a good one.”

“Yes. He is.” I stood up from the table. “I wish you the best, Marie.”

“I wish you same.”

I turned to begin walking away, and paused when I heard Marie call out my name. I looked back to see her standing with trembling hands.

“Cole was a good man. A powerful musician, who loved the written word. He smiled like the sun, and loved like the moonbeams. He laughed like you, tossing his head back in full chuckles. You have his nose and his Cupid’s bow. He loved trying new things, and I know for a fact that if he knew you existed, he would’ve never let you go.” Her lips parted as tears began falling down her cheeks. “At Your Best, You Are Loved,” she said, making me raise an eyebrow, confused by her words. “It was the song Cole was playing as I walked into the jazz bar that first night. There’s a version by The Isley Brothers, but the version I knew was by—"

“Aaliyah,” I muttered, feeling a wave of emotions. I’d listened to that song a million times, wondering if it was crafted for me.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “At your best, Aaliyah, you are loved.”

I could count the number of facts I knew about my mother on multiple hands. She wore Chanel No. 5 and liked her coffee black. She loved to read, and when she smiled, you’d see all of her teeth. I’d gotten my eyes from her and my ears. She named me after the gone-too-soon musician Aaliyah, who I listened to throughout my teenage years. She dedicated “At Your Best, You Are Loved”, to me.