I took the last drag of my cigarette as I stood on the bridge and looked down to the river. We used to dare each other to stand on the railing of the bridge. I was crazy enough to sit on the railing and drink. My feet dangling, knowing one little slip and the drop was going to suck. I wasn’t sure if the drop would kill me, but it would hurt.
Today was different.
I wasn’t at the bridge to relive stupid teenage decisions.
After I flicked my cigarette off the bridge with a final puff of smoke, I reached into my back pocket and took out the letter. I clutched it tight in my hand for a few seconds before slowly opening it.
To Delilah,
I shut my eyes and folded the paper.
It was a bad idea.
Writing the letter was a horrible idea. Writing the letter didn’t do what it was supposed to do because I never got rid of it. Writing the letter sent me into the arms of Michelle for comfort, and that had been lasting a little too long for both of our own good. Now she had my shirt and I hoped I didn’t have a dusting of her heart.
A quick flick of my wrist and the letter could fly off the bridge and down to the water. It’d be gone forever. Nobody would read the words or know what it all meant.
Instead, I put the letter into my back pocket and lit up another cigarette.
All my secrets were hidden in my art and never actually told.
Chapter 3
Break the Seal and the Secret
NOW
(Amelia)
I smelled like a delicious garlic pesto sauce, but there was nothing delicious about it clinging to my skin and clothes. The ends of my curly hair looked frayed to death and my reflection in the rearview mirror reminded me that I needed a hot shower and something with alcohol in it.
I’d maybe count my tips tomorrow and then figure out the rest of my money, bills and all that adult crap. It was supposed to be so much easier than this. But somewhere the idea of my dream and reality separated, and I wasn’t paying attention enough to realize it.
Even still, I could have a career anywhere doing anything I wanted.
But I hid.
That was the truth.
My plan had been to take a few months to figure things out. A few months turned into six months then six months turned into sharing an apartment with Grace. She was a life coach with an addiction to all things cats, except owning an actual cat. That was a whole other conversation though.
When I got home, I climbed the set of stairs to the second floor as though it were a mountain somewhere with below freezing temperatures, snow and wind.
I opened the squeaky door on my floor and almost instantly, the door to my right opened.
Apartment 15
“Oh, Amelia, you gave me a heart attack,” Miss Laura said.
She was short, round, had big glasses, and thought she was the security for the entire building. I swore she sat at her door with her ear pressed against it, desperate to hear a noise so she could come talk to someone.
Lucky me, I guess.
“Miss Laura,” I said. “It’s just me. Just getting home from-”
"Did you see this?” she asked and pointed to her lip.
There was a large bandage across the top corner of her lip. It was kind of impossible not to see.
“I see,” I said.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No.”
“Cancer.”
“What?” I asked. I stepped toward her. “Are you serious?”
“Well, I thought it was,” she said. “Talk about a scare.”
“A scare.”
“Yes,” she said, her brown eyes going very wide. “I had been watching that thing for months. Growing. Changing. Then I started feeling off. Different, you know? Something was very wrong here.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding, trying to plan my escape from this conversation from hell.
“So, I called Dr. Williams. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Oh, he’s the best,” Miss Laura said. She touched my arm. “You need to call him.”
“For what?”
“Anything!”
“I feel fine. Thank you though.”
“You just call. Tell him I said to call. He’ll appreciate it.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“So, I go see Dr. Williams. He says to me, ‘Oh, Laura, you’re crazy. But you’re smart. Most people wouldn’t notice or care.’ So how about that, Amelia? A doctor thinking I’m smart?”
“That’s really something,” I said. “I mean, you are observant.”
“Oh, stop,” Miss Laura said with a laugh. “You’re just buttering me up for some of my famous oatmeal cookies.”