Something She Can Feel

“I’ll try,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Wonderful. Tell your mother I said hello.”

Dr. Sullivan nodded at Evan as he walked out of the room and turned to look at me.

“You’ll lock up?” he asked.

“Sure.”

For a few seconds, Evan and I just looked at each other. It seemed, in a way, we were figuring out the distance between us and trying to consider ways to break it all up. I thought of dozens of ways to begin this conversation and just when I settled on just saying “Hi,” Evan spoke.

“I haven’t heard you sing in a while,” he said, straightening up.

“I haven’t felt like singing.”

“I guess you do now.”

“Evan, I—”

“I didn’t come here for that,” he said, holding his hand up. “I was just pointing that out.” He walked into the room and sat in one of the folding chairs near the door. I stayed where I was standing. Fear or otherwise, I couldn’t move. “So, how have you been?”

“I’m fine, I guess. Staying with my parents and I just started doing some work around here for my dad. Nothing really, I guess you could say I’m just trying to keep myself busy.”

“Yeah ... busy.” He snickered a bit and clenched his jaw tightly. “Can you come sit down?” He looked at the seat beside him.

“Over there?” I asked nervously.

“Yes.” He patted the seat and smiled at me.

“Okay,” I said, walking over timidly.

I sat down and looked up toward the choir loft in front of us at nothing in particular.

“I’ve driven past your parents’ house every day since you’ve been gone. Sometimes twice. At first, I would stop, but then I realized that seeing me was only making your being gone harder on them, so I stopped,” he said solemnly. “And then when the news came about the shooting”—he took a deep breath—“and people around here were saying maybe you were dead, too—I didn’t cry. I knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. And I knew that because in my heart, you were still alive. It didn’t matter what you did, who you were with, or where you were, I knew there was no way my wife could be dead. Not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to leave like that,” I said. And my words sounded so weak up against his.

“You didn’t leave me. You left us. You walked out on our lives.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” He raised his voice a bit. “What?”

“You don’t want me to say that. You really don’t.”

“No, say it, Journey,” he ordered, turning to me.

“You always talk about our lives and all the sacrifices you made for us ... and me, but you never stopped to ask me what I wanted.”

“What? What about the house? The car? I’ve given you anything you’ve ever asked for.”

“That’s just it. This isn’t about things, Evan. This is about my life. About what I need inside to make me happy,” I said.

“Is that what he does for you?”

I didn’t say no; I knew this had to hurt Evan’s ears, but this was no time for lies. Another lie would only take me back to where I’d been before.

“Why couldn’t you just come to me with this?” he begged. “Why couldn’t you let me know you weren’t happy? Before he came?”