The Definition of Time

Chapter 12

i was never disillusioned
about who you were.
i knew you were broken
and possibly incapable of loving
but then again,
i had lost myself
and found that somehow
i could love you
and i thought that all of my love
could somehow make you love me back.
i was never disillusioned
about who you were.
but i still somehow hoped
that i could be the one to fix you.

May 15, 2014

I'm taking a brain walk. Jordan ridicules me for these, but they're my best source of inspiration. I like to walk outside late at night when almost everyone is asleep and all I can see are shadows, stars, and lamplight. I'm trying to brainstorm for a paper I have to write, but my mind keeps returning to Josh, just like it has done ever since we met.

I've thought a lot about him, about how to help him, about what he must be feeling right now. I've texted him, telling him to eat and sleep. I even took him chicken noodle soup a few days ago. What I haven't thought about, or have avoided thinking about, is myself.

In worrying about Josh, I haven't stopped to think about what this means for me. I've been so consumed with sympathy and concern that I've blocked out anything that could give with hope. With Haley gone, Josh is single again. I know he's hurting. I know he's broken, but maybe, just maybe, he will someday be able to see me as more than a friend. I don't know how else to show him I care.

Without even realizing it, I find myself walking up the sidewalk towards the gymnasium where we first met. It seems like so long ago now, but it hasn't even been a year. I walk around the gym, ignoring the sound of rubber sneaker soles squeaking on the basketball court. Behind it, the team-building equipment is shrouded in a beautiful forest where we spent our first few nights during the wilderness trip. There's an old ski hill in the woods where the trees make way for the sky and the stars take over the horizon.

Do you love him? I ask myself. Yes. Yes has been the answer for a long time now. I don't know how I love him--as a friend, as a lover, as a person, but I do. I realized that when scalding chicken noodle soup burnt my hand while climbing three flights of stairs to his dorm room a few nights ago. Now what are you going to do about it? I'm going to do what I always do--nothing. Stay in the background. Stay silent. Stay.

The ski hill appears before me and I pause at the edge of the break of trees when I see a figure sitting on the grass, holding a bottle. I can't see his face, but I know who it is. Josh. I didn't expect to find him here, but I'm really not surprised. He seems most himself in nature.

He doesn't see me until I sit down beside him quietly. He holds a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his eyes are red-rimmed. He glances at me and then looks back up at the stars. I lean back, my head resting in the grass, and I trace the line of the Big Dipper with my eyes.

Eventually, he speaks, his voice low and reverent, "What are you doing up here?"

"I take walks at night a lot. To clear my head."

"You mean to think?" He adds with a smile.

I realize I haven't seen him smile--really smile--in a long time.

"What are you thinking about today?" He asks, turning to look down at me with those eyes that stand out blue against the grays of evening.

You. A beat passes and I gather the words that wish to erupt form my mouth and swallow them. 

"About how screwed up we all are."

He snorts humorlessly, "You've got that right. You, though? You're great at school, have good friends, you love your family. What's screwed up about you? You're perfect."

Perfect. That word irks me--it's hung over my head for years. I am the perfect friend. The perfect daughter. The perfect student. But my perfection is burdensome and sometimes I feel as if I am sinking from the weight of it.

When I finally speak, my voice is almost hoarse, "I feel heavy."

Josh doesn't say anything but he leans back so our heads are parallel. We gaze at the stars together and I feel a surge of something. I wouldn't call it happiness. Perhaps its the solidarity in knowing that we are imperfect together.

When I speak again, it is in a whisper, "Are you going to be okay?"

Silence falls and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. I don't want to think about what I'll do if he's not.

"I'll be okay. Will you?"

I smile a little and glance at him, "I always am."

May 18, 2014

"Jordan, I'm going to fail everything."

I dramatically throw my backpack on the floor and belly-flop onto my bed. It's finals week again, the week when everything smells like body odor and dying dreams. I've eaten only cereal for about a week straight. I've showered maybe once. They've opened the library 24/7 and I spent an entire overnight in there, wrapped in a blanket and eating a Reese's peanut butter cup as a reward for writing each sentence of the 15 page paper due in a few days.

Jordan doesn't look much better than me, lying on her stomach with three pencils in her frizzy bun and a white sweatshirt turned light brown by a number of coffee stains.

"Did you remember?" She asks, glaring at me with impressive ferocity.

I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and pull out a stack of Snickerdoodle cookies and toss them to her. We've been taking turns going to the cafeteria and stealing food--simply for survival's sake.

"Ten minute break?"

"Five," I answer, "And I'm going to get out my highlighters while we talk."

I spread my stuff on the floor next to her--my notebook, a ten page study guide, a six-piece highlighter set with matching tabs, and my Dell laptop that is currently held together by purple polka dotted duct tape.

"I have a proposal for you," Jordan says, rolling on one side to look at me, "How would you feel about dropping out of school to become strippers?"

I pause and consider, "I'm not flexible enough. What about Beyonce's back-up dancers?"

"You can't dance."

"Surrogate mothers?"

"I don't have the hips for that."

"I guess we have to finish college."

"I guess so."

I lean against the post of the bunkbed, closing my eyes for a second. I've limited myself to four hours of sleep a night and I took one twenty minute nap a few days okay, but that's it. No more sleep for me. I can sleep when I'm dead, or at least when I have my bachelor's degree.

I don't even realize I've fallen asleep until I hear Jordan screaming at me, "Rachel! Answer that phone or I will throw it out the window and then sit on your bladder until your pee yourself."

I rouse myself and finally hear the familiar melody of my ringtone blaring from my chest where it's been conveniently lodged in my bra.

"If it's AJ, I swear I will murder him," I grumble.

Mom.

I click the green answer button, "Hey, Mom."

"Rachel?"

The timbre of her voice abolishes my lingering sleepiness--normally her voice is sharp and calculated. Today it is soft and sonorous.

I clamber to my feet and head towards the hallway, nearly tripping over a pile of dirty laundry and stacked dishes.

"Mom? What's going on?"

"Honey, I need to tell you something."

"Is everything okay? Dad? Tommy?"

When she answers, I feel myself collapse against the wall and slide to the floor.

No. No. No.

~~~~~

Ah! What a cliffhanger ending! Any ideas what happened?? 

Also, I absolutely love the scene with Rachel and Josh on the ski hill. Not to give away any spoilers, but that isn't the first time they meet there ;)

Thanks for reading, commenting, and voting! I really appreciate everyone who's reading this story <3