The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,95
stress and lack of sleep.
“That phrase didn’t make sense to me until I was fourteen,” she says. “My parents divorced when I was seven. Dad remarried and had a couple of kids. When my little sister was learning to walk, I got it. She was almost one. The girl was cute. A chubby little thing who would stand up holding herself up, take one tiny step after another trying to walk and suddenly she’d lose her grip and fall. She repeated that continuously until one day, Daisy was running around the house and no one could stop her.”
“Are you telling me that I’ll fall down several times before I stop wanting to be under the shower for hours? Because I doubt that. Once I’m home I might continue doing it.”
“Not only with showers, but with everything,” she says. “You might be ready to leave us in a month or a couple of years. When you do, you’ll remember this conversation. We won’t let you fall back into the habit because we have you on a schedule, for now. Once you find your rhythm, we won’t have to say a thing. You’ll follow your own beat.”
A month or a couple of years? The gap between one and the other is too big. When I registered, the person over the phone explained to me that everyone’s timeline is different. Mine isn’t set in stone, and I’m glad because I can’t see myself leaving any time soon.
“You’ll find your place, what makes you happy. You’ll find peace in the outside world. Once you accept yourself, everyone will do the same,” she pauses, “It’s possible to find your place in this world and be happy.”
“I like it here better,” I joke. “How long did you say I can stay?”
This isn’t permanent. I’m hiding but only long enough to heal physically and emotionally. My hands are doing so much better; I can feed myself and hold a pen. Things I couldn’t do for a long time. I’m lucky to have a place where I can feel safe as I work through my recovery.
“It’s your decision, not ours. You should start by being willing to take those little steps—and fall. We’ll be here to catch you.”
“I’m ready to stumble and stand up,” I say smiling because even when I’m nothing but knotted chaos, I’m less tangled than I was when I arrived at the center—or even when I started this session.
“What’s your goal for today?” she asks curiously.
“Write a letter to Wes.” I sigh deeply.
After I told him we were over, I never saw him again. I learned from the hospital administration that he paid my medical bills. Anything that the insurance didn’t cover was paid by Wes Ahern. He’s sent me care packages almost every week, but not once has he sent a note or called me.
I feel relieved and yet simultaneously abandoned. He’s doing what I asked, letting me be. We’re not together, but it hurts that he’s living his life and I have no idea what’s going on with him. We were inseparable, and now we’re not even speaking. I feel like I’m being selfish, but it’s hard not to need him or miss him.
— — —
The paper crumples as my fingers clench into a fist. This isn’t working. I make a paper ball and throw it into the trashcan. This is my fifth attempt at writing a letter that sounds breezy, casual, like it’s meant to say a simple hello, but I’m failing miserably.
What if it’s too casual or frivolous? Or if it’s too intense and he doesn’t care about what I have to say? What if he doesn’t read it at all? A tiny voice whispers in my ear, you’re being irrational.
Am I? What if he’s dating someone and he just pushes the letter into the shredder. She’s tall, smart. A redhead. Fabulous, worldly. Not screwed up like me.
Tears burn in the back of my throat as I think about everything that could go wrong with this letter before I even give myself a chance to start it. Once I’ve slapped away all the nonsense, I grab the pen one more time. My hand trembles as it reaches the paper. Just for once, I want to be a normal person with normal problems and living a normal life without faking anything.
I’m anything but ordinary and until I can be comfortable with myself, this is how I’ll communicate with him. Today my challenge is to know that I can be as open