Use Somebody (79 page)

So I did as he asked… I left.

* * *

“Well I’ll be fit to be tied,” mama lamented as she poured me a cup of homemade hot cocoa. No doubt the news was just as difficult for her, considering she had watched us all grow up from awkward preteens to high school grads. Though as always, she kept her composure, just like the swan. “Poor Phoenix. He was always such a sweet boy.”

“Yes, he was.”

Only a few more hours to go until my plane returned to Texas. I’d be back in time for finals, alright. At that very moment I should’ve been studying. But my mindset had been nowhere near my classes all weekend.

How was it possible that leaving California this time was even more painful than the first?

It was bad enough to know—despite laying everything on the line—Vance didn’t want me. It felt even worse to know I had hurt him that much.

“…Calls every month. And he emails every week. He even sends pictures.”

“Oh?” I said. I wasn’t really listening.

“He’s been asking about your father’s time in the service. He even asks about you.”

I shook off my thoughts. “Wait. Who?”

She gave me that stern motherly look that told me I was busted. “Pay attention, Scarlett. I was telling you about James.”

“As in your son?”

“Yes. Also as in your brother.”

“…Huh.” I mused.

She breathed a wounded sigh.

“No, no,” I corrected myself. “I think it’s great.” In all honesty I assumed he’d fall off the face of the earth once he got out from under my parents’ thumbs. Who would’ve guessed he’d keep in regular contact? No wonder my mama was thrilled. Maybe the military really had been good for him after all.

“I’m so proud of him,” she said warmly, and I knew how much she meant it. This was what she always hoped for—to have a relationship with her son. My only wish was that the effort wasn’t strictly one-sided, and that he wasn’t twisting it to take advantage of her in some way.

And that maybe, just maybe, even my asshole of a brother was capable of growing up.

I cleared my throat.

It was time.

“Mama?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Um… when did you know dad was the one?”

She blinked at me, and smiled awkwardly. “It was love at first sight.”

I waited, but there didn’t seem to be more to the story. “Oh.” So much for stalling tactics.

My fingertip circled the rim of my mug. “So… you remember when I went to Ocean College, how I told you I worked as a teller at that bank?”

She nodded proudly. Getting that job right out of high school was a great achievement in their eyes, impressive work experience bound to look good on my resume. “Of course.”

“Well,” I swallowed nervously.
Was I really doing this?
“One night when I was working there… there was a robbery.”

Her eyes widened as my words sunk in. “Sweet heavens… That’s awful! Was anyone hurt?”

“Yes…” I said quietly. “Three people died.” Shock registered on her face. I pushed forward. “I am the only one who walked away.”

Reliving that night was brutal every time I told my story. For so long, it had been my darkest secret, locked away tightly under fear and shame. But I had made peace with my past, meaning it no longer held power over me. By lettering people in, the weight of that burden became lighter. More bearable.

My mama looked at me with a face of disappointment and hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I felt so guilty, mama,” I admitted. “There were so many days I wished I hadn’t survived it.”

My confession crushed her. I knew it would. Like I was somehow letting her down by revealing a truth she didn’t want to hear. (Unfortunately knowing your feelings are irrational doesn’t make them any less real.) But I also knew it wasn’t my job to protect her from the dark, unmerciful truths of this world. It was her job to protect me.

“I don’t understand… how could you think that?”

“Well, there’s more,” I warned, “And it gets worse.”

My mama listened as I detailed the events that had unfolded that night, how someone I trusted and loved had committed the ultimate betrayal, how I had grown enraged and fought back, my actions directly contributing to their fiery demise. I even showed her the old newspaper so she could see for herself in black and white. It didn’t belong hidden under my mattress any longer.

It probably goes without saying that in the end, neither one of us looked like swans.

I couldn’t tell if she was more hurt by what had happened to me, that I dealt with the aftermath alone, or by the fact that she hadn’t made me confide in her sooner. I didn’t blame her for not trying harder, not really. I held tight to my secrets for reasons beyond fear and shame. Even the embodiment of persistence himself was unable to crack my stubborn wall, up until the very end.

When you love someone, you don’t want them to suffer. I thought I was protecting people by not letting them in. But you know what hurts even worse than hard truths? Silence—shutting them out of your life. It’s really difficult to wholly love somebody who doesn’t let you in. Vance learned that the hard way.

The drive to the airport was pensive. I could practically hear her mind connecting the dots of my mysterious life last year. It was a lot to take in, especially after learning the news of Phoenix. Two tragedies in one weekend were two too many.

A small, green suitcase sat quietly by my side. Cars whizzed past us while she embraced me at the terminal in an atypically long hug.

“I love you, Scarlett. I’m so glad you came home.”

I hugged her back, knowing she wasn’t just referring to this weekend. I was glad I told her, and grateful we were able to talk it out person. With forgiveness comes healing, and second chances. This time both of us were committed to change. “I love you too, Mama. Thanks for everything.”

“Things are going to get better. You’ll see.” Her arms tightened around me. Her voice wavered as she said, “I’m proud of you.”

Good gracious, that felt so good to hear.

I stood in line, looking around with hopeful eyes as hundreds of strangers hurried by, off to who-knows-where. A man in a suit with a briefcase. A mother with three young children trailing behind like ducklings. All carrying on with their own lives. Rather than keep my head down, I looked into every face, trying to see each individual person instead of a roomful of nameless strangers. For the few that made eye contact, I smiled.

“Ticket?”

I handed over my printed ticket to the uniformed attendant. She scanned it quickly and handed it back. My ‘thank you’ went ignored as she moved to help the next person in line. Everyone in a rush to their next destination.

With one more long glance around the room, I blinked away my tears and boarded the plane.

* * *

I left California with a mixed bag of lost and found. I’d lost Phoenix, but reconciled with the old clique. I’d found Ricky, but felt the finality in our moment in the graveyard. I opened up to my mama. And finally, I put my heart on the line and confessed my love to Vance, yet came home empty handed and alone.

I knew it was a long shot, but I didn’t regret trying.

The minute my plane touched down, I texted mama to tell her that I had arrived safely, and that I loved her. After a bit of deliberation, I texted Vance the same message. He didn’t respond. I didn’t let that deter me. I knew from experience that a little persistence went a long way.

I understood why Vance believed I was only coming to him now because of Phoenix. Based on my history of using him to dull my pain, he had every right to doubt me. That didn’t make it true.

Claire picked me up and took us back home. On the drive I told her about the funeral, and about the breakthroughs with my old friends and my mama. I thanked her, gratefully and genuinely, because the trip had been so healing for me, and it never would’ve happened if it weren’t for her. And ultimately, I was so, so thankful to have gone.

“Anything else happen while you were out there?” Claire asked. She was far too perceptive.

“Actually, yes,” I said with a sad smile. I rolled my window down and let the humid Dallas air blow in my face. “So, there’s this guy…”

I returned to my life in Texas a little broken hearted, but that was nothing new. I learned that despite the good and bad in this world, as well as the good and bad within myself, joy didn’t have to be a fleeting feeling. Through the ups and down of daily life, I had something to live for. This time I was intentional about not letting myself slip.

There was more than enough going on at school to keep me busy. It may not have been my best work, but I survived finals somehow. I talked to neighbors and classmates about how the semester had flown by. We only had a week to regain our footing before summer classes began.

My counselor and I continued to meet. I joined a book club. I even decided to talk to the church about singing on Sundays. Claire and I had fun practicing together for a whole week. It was my favorite part of every evening—the way the music renewed my strength and brought me peace at the day’s end. Even if it didn’t work out with the band, we’d always have that—music before bedtime. Pajama jams.

We were silly like that.

One successful tryout later, I enthusiastically accepted the offer to sing with the worship band every other Sunday.

I kept asking myself, “what would I do if I weren’t afraid?” Then I did it.

* * *

Scarlett: I love you because you challenge me to discover the best version of myself

Every day I sent Vance a text message. Sometimes it was a song lyric, or something funny that happened, sometimes simply ‘good night.’ Always, always, it ended with a reason why I loved him. Anything to counteract all the doubts I had put in his mind. One day he was going to realize how much I truly meant it. And when that day came, I would be right here. I’d wait as long as it takes.

He never responded, which made me feel a bit like a stalker after awhile. The last thing I wanted to do was harass him. If we were really over, if he was truly done with me, the only thing these texts would do was hurt him more. If he asked me to stop, I’d stop. Probably. So one night I asked if that’s what he wanted.

It was the one and only time I ever got a response. It was simply one word:

Vance: No

So I never stopped.

* * *

Scarlett: I love you because you loved me at my weakest, ugliest, most unlovable moments

* * *

One night, about two weeks after I returned to Texas, my cell phone rang with an unknown number.

“Hello.”

“Scarlett?”

I paused. “Yes. Who’s this?”

“It’s me. Uh, James.”

Doubt scrunched my features. No way. The person on the phone couldn’t have been James. He sounded so different. Less… horrible.

“James… Rossi?” I specified. The voice almost fit, but to be quite honest, I couldn’t believe my own ears.

He chuckled nervously. A real laugh. It only served to further my disbelief.

“Um… how are you?” he asked.

Nope. No way this was my brother. I held out the phone at least a foot away and studied it, trying to find some sort of physical evidence that the item was possessed. Or maybe I was being pranked.

“Hello?” came from the receiver. So I put it to my ear again. Might as well see where this was going.

“I’m here. Um… I’m good. Thank you.”

Another painfully awkward silence descended.

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it. Listen, I heard about your friend, Phoenix… I’m real sorry.”

My heart ached. Never in a million years had I expected my brother who hated my guts to call me on the phone, let alone to offer his condolences for my friend. I couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation.

What had he been through to have already gotten to this point?

I blinked the tears away from my eyes. “Thanks, James. I really miss him.”

“He was a good guy,” he said.

“He was.” One of the best. “Mama told you?” I guessed.

“No. Actually I heard it from Storm.”

“Oh,” I bit my lip, remembering our goodbye in the graveyard. “He took it pretty hard… at the funeral. I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since.”

“Yeah… just give him some time, kid.”

Ricky’s need for space triggered my concern, even more than James calling me something other than “brat.” As much as I wanted to fish for more information, I respected his wishes. Besides, I figured there was only so much my own brother knew, or was willing to tell me.

“So… you two are playing nice again?”

“We have an understanding,” he muttered.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised.”

“Well, I could say the same, Scarlett,” he chided. “That guy’s still a crazy motherfucker.”