Jabberwock Jack (11 page)

She was... well, you hear the phrase
The One That Got Away
thrown around a lot. It's tempting to say that. But that's too simple, that's an unfair reduction of everything into a neat little container. Calling her that would ignore all the times when it was good,
really
good, the times that were some of the greatest in my life, the best times with anyone I'd ever met. To just say she was The One That Got Away also minimizes all the fights, all the arguments, all the times I nearly threw my phone at the wall, and all the awkward and painful times we held each other in our arms when things were definitely
not
all right.

There were problems. And the relationship had ended in pure and total devastation. But the one thing I won't say is
It Just Didn't Work Out
. No phrase infuriates me more than that one. It Just Didn't Work Out does no justice to the relationship. It Just Didn't Work Out is just telling someone the ending of it all. It's telling someone the butler did it. It wipes away the whole story, the whole life of a relationship. It Just Didn't Work Out is refusing someone an explanation and just showing them the ending credits. It's all so much more complicated than that - for every relationship, not just mine.

It did end, and not recently, as much as it lingered in my mind. We last left things in the raw red of an argument and then there was no time for reconciliation. She got on that plane to study in Paris, and that was that. Gone for what I thought would be good. Unless I had been willing to scrape together the cash for a ticket to France, cyberstalk her for her address, and then attempt to get her back in full on RomCom glory, that was it. Game over, man. Thanks for playing.

As my brother could tell you, I had dated since then. I had been in relationships. Sort of. I'd dated girls for weeks, sometimes a month, then lost interest. It was never deep, and when I broke it off it was from my own disinterest and realizing that I was inadvertently stringing these girls along. Total
It's Not You, It's Me
territory. It was always me. I never denied that part. I always knew something was lacking and it was always on my end. It might take a few weeks and a dozen denials from me, but the result was always the same. It was the same reason hidden in all the excuses I made, in all the permutations on the breakup speech, in all the emotional blocks that kept me from caring how I should. It always was the same reason deep down.

They weren't her.

How fucked up was that? Somewhere in my mind, I always kind of knew this was true, but I did nothing. I didn't jump a plane to France, I didn't start a full on emo blog of tragic poetry, I didn't even once email her to see how she was. I had let her go and hadn't been the same since. Real cavalier about being a broken asshole, Mikkel.

And here I was, now staring right at her.

I'll say that for all the good things, all the great things, the super wow things it can do, the heart is kind of an asshole. The strongest feelings we have are never when things are stable, never when things are solid, never when we can handle things. The sharpest feelings are when things are either super good or super bad, as if the heart only ever wants to add gasoline to a fire. And the heart has all the subtlety of a freight train. It's going to hit you, and it's going to hit you hard.

At that moment I was mowed down by that freight train. Every good or bad memory hit me at once. Every healing wound from that relationship seem to burst through their scabs at that moment. I remembered every stupid and hurtful thing I had said to her, every time I let frustration overtake the fact that I loved her more than anything. And then the love itself came rushing back. Wonderful feelings if only they hadn't been hidden behind the DO NOT TOUCH wall of
It's Over
. I had that swelling feeling that I loved her more than this breath and I couldn't go hold her in my arms anymore. There was an invisible barrier between us. And who fucked that up? This guy right here.

There was a part of me that was a coward, which said
run
- run faster and farther than from the greatest danger, than from the biggest, growling beast.
Run!
And there was a part of me that was a lion, saying
go to her
, forget all dignity, forget all the reasons, forget the pain, forget the resentment you've been holding on to, go to her and let passion burn through that barrier, hold her in your arms and look into her eyes until the universe puts things as right as they should be.

Both voices howled within me. What did I actually do? I froze. Deer in headlights. Advised by two strong voices inside of me, I did nothing at all. Classic fucking Mikkel.

Ultimately, it was Carly who made the deciding move. Rising from her table without a word to her friends, she crossed the room to me. Someone's Eighties selection on the jukebox taunted me with Naked Eyes' "Always Something There to Remind Me." Jukeboxes are assholes too.

"Bonjour," said Carly.

"Uh hi," I said. I had no fancy French to say to her. And this close, I could smell her perfume, despite the bar's own muggy scents. She hadn't changed it even after all this time, so it both intoxicated me and stabbed at my heart with memories. "I didn't know you were back." Immediately after I said it I thought that sentence was stupid. She didn't owe me any sort of update on her life.

"I just got back the other day," she said. "I've been staying with my sister. In fact, that's why I'm here. I had to get away from her and all her True Crime stuff. She's a little obsessive, even if it is a hobby. I thought I'd get out and see friends. I had no idea that you'd..."

"I know, me neither." That was dumb, Mikkel. Of course you didn't expect to see her. France.

She smiled. "Yeah, you thought I was still in Paris studying."

"Are you..." I wasn't sure what I wanted to ask exactly.

"I'm back for good," she said, guessing my general sentiment. "The Parisians are not for me. It was fun for a while, but I've had enough. I guess it took going there to realize how much I missed things here. I'm going to apply for grad school here. Mourningside if I'm really lucky, but likely I'll end up at Avalon U."

"That's good," I said.

Carly smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"For you. It's good for you," I said. "It's what you wanted."

"The things I want may have changed," she said mysteriously. "Maybe I know them better now."

"I'm sorry to assume," I said, backpedaling, "I mean, it's what you did want when I last knew you. I didn't meant to ignore -"

"- no, that's not what I mean, I mean -"

"- I mean, I'm not trying to say I know what you want -"

" - no, I'm not trying to say that you -"

"Hey, Mikkel, we got an emergency," said Szandor, interrupting our awkward flailing. He had come down the stairs and now stood with his hands in his jacket pockets. He looked at me when he spoke and then looked at the floor. I saw Lem hovering on the stairs but just out of earshot as if ready to ride in and avert catastrophe.

"An emergency?" I said.

"Yeah, there's a thing. It's complicated. I'll explain in the van."

We had left the van at home. And we never had any emergency that was so vague. I realized what he was doing. He was trying to be a good brother and make up an excuse to get me out of this situation. He was trying to play rescuing wingman. I appreciated that, but I didn't want it. I'm not sure why I didn't want it. Stubbornness, stupidity, masochism, who knows? Probably the perfume.

"It's fine, Szandor, I'll be fine."

"Seriously, it's important. We have to run," persisted my brother.

"Szandor, it's fine. I don't need a rescue," I said tersely.

My brother half blushed and looked uncomfortable. I think he thought he was being suave and like a secret agent, but I'm sure Carly recognized the failed rescue too.

"Hi Szandor, how are you doing?" said Carly with a smile.

"Uh, hi Carly, I'm doing fine," he said, nervously stretching his arms and scratching the back of his head. His glance ranged over the room, anywhere but on Carly. "I mean, I could be doing better. But I'm doing okay. I guess."

"Go," I said to Szandor. His mouth opened but I repeated myself. "Go. I'll be fine. I'll pick you up tomorrow for the thing. Tell Lem I'm sorry to bail."

Szandor closed his mouth and just nodded thoughtfully. He patted me on the shoulder than headed up to the stairs. I saw his conversation with Lem but didn't hear it. After some words from Szandor, Lem turned to look at me with concern, then he shook his head in resignation. The two headed up the stairs to the street. I turned back to Carly.

"I see you still inspire a lot of loyalty in your friends," said Carly.

"Sometimes they're all I have," I said. "And those two will always have my back, in their own ways."

"Did they have your back for this?" Her hand reached up before I realized it and gently touched the cut on my cheekbone, now poorly covered by medical tape. There was a lot of tenderness in her expression and it surprised me. Maybe that's wrong. Maybe I wasn't surprised by it. Maybe the truth was that I wasn't ready for it.

I nodded. "They did."

"Monsters?" she asked with some confusion. She knew Szandor and I hunted, but she knew Lem didn't.

I shook my head. "Drunken frat boys."

Carly cocked her head. "Has your life changed so much?"

I shook my head again. "Some guys from Avalon U trying to pick a fight in Twin Eagles. One came in and lured people outside to where his friends would jump them."

She smiled. "And you let yourself be baited."

"I thought I was just doing people a favor and taking the trash out. I didn't know he had friends. I'm lucky I had mine."

"And that's the Nowak ethic. Put yourself in the line of fire for the sake of others."

I sighed. "We've gotten back to this so quickly?" This was suddenly familiar territory. A battlefield.

Carly frowned and sighed, finally nodding. "Sorry. You're still doing it, though. Right?"

"Hunting? Yes."

She seemed about to say something, but then shook her head. "It's funny. Times are changing in this city. When you first told me about all you did, I didn't believe you. And it took seeing it to believe you - and how much I regretted saying that once I saw my first zombie. But I had the advantage of you being able to show me. Not everyone gets that, but views are changing. Now even my crazy sister believes there are monsters."

"No shit?"

"She says she saw some men with very sharp teeth and she didn't think they were human."

My eyes must have widened. That sounded like a revenant. For those of you playing the home game, think a vampire, but lots meaner. They were definitely high on the list of dangerous monsters. "Is she okay?" I wondered if Szandor and I really
did
have an emergency to ride off to. I couldn't let Carly's sister get killed.

"Oh, she's fine. She says a friend beat them up. I don't think she actually saw anything from your line of work, but she thinks she did. My point is, people around here seem like they're becoming more accepting of the idea of what you do. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Is society ready to believe in monsters again?"

"People get hurt," I said. "Someone needs to hunt the creatures that do it. I'm going to do this either way. But it'd be nice to get some acceptance. It would make my job easier."

"But why does it have to be you?" This was a sudden outburst, her eyes immediately wide and wet with tears that might not come. We had just crossed over to a hot button issue on the battlefield: risking my life to kill monsters. She didn't want me to do it because of the danger and I needed to do it because it was important to me, to save others before they ended up like my family. She shook her head and wiped her eye, her voice resuming its more measured tone. "I'm sorry. It's not fair. We can't see each other again and them immediately bring up all the old arguments. Things have changed, we don't need to go in the same old circles again."

"I made a lot of mistakes in the past..."

Carly squinted her eyes again, fighting off tears. She put her hand up to stop me. "I think... I think now's not a good time. Just give me a call or email me. We'll talk more. I
want
to talk more. But this is enough for now."

She turned and walked back to the table with her friends. Even in retreat, I looked at her longingly. One of her friends saw her tears as she sat down and glared at me, but Carly said something and the friend gave up the glare and turned back to her.

Three words fell silently from my lips. Best left unsaid, but they welled up in my heart, beating against the walls between us. The most common three words left unsaid, said too late, or said at the wrong time. I won't say them here. You know what they are. Guess. Then feel sorry for me.

In a blur I left the bar and walked home. It had started raining again. Had I been in better spirits, I might have marveled how the universe had changed to reflect my mood. Instead, it just added insult to injury. I walked briskly, adrenaline fueling my steps as I hurtled toward my apartment at the ever increasing pace of my own gravity. I did not dally at the entrance to my building, not on the stairs, not my front door. I walked with a rapid purpose, as if drawn by irresistible force. I needed to get to the kitchen. In a flurry of movement, the whiskey bottle came out and so did the shot glass. In the morning, the shot glass remained where it was on the counter, unused. It was a drinking from the bottle night.

I'm not sure how much I had drank when I got the call. I had put on Big Trouble In Little China, one of my favorite movies of all time, hoping for comfort in the familiar lines and action. But even that cinematic gem was doing nothing for me. No matter how much I quoted along with Jack Burton, Egg Chen, and others, there was no joy in it. I had a sucking chest wound that nobody could see. I was in full on heartbroken emo mode, waiting for the sweet oblivion of alcohol to overtake me.

You might ask why I even picked up the phone. I didn't know either. It was reflex. Maybe I hoped it was her. Maybe I was afraid it was her. Even if it was, I had no words to say, only the gasping words of a man drowning in whiskey. But the point is, I answered the phone. It wasn't her.