Between (25 page)

“
Nothing’s been the same since she left. She was—well, the two of you were—my whole world. When you went away to college, I was all alone in this empty house every night and the only solace I found was in this damn bottle, trying to forget everything I’d lost. I wanted to die because I had no reason for living once she left. You were the only thing that kept me from killing myself and believe it or not, I actually resented you for it because it meant I had to endure the pain.” He chest shook with a sob and I held on tight to his hand.

“
You’re all I have left, pumpkin, because I was stupid and let her go. When she called to tell me you were in that accident, I felt like my heart had been carved out of my chest. If you had died… oh God…” His words became incomprehensible as the grief and pain poured out of him. I got up and sat on his lap with my arms around his neck and he clung to me like a life preserver, his face buried in my shoulder as he cried. Finally, he straightened up and wiped his face with his sleeve.

I felt an overwhelming compulsion to tell him the truth about that night.

“
I did die in that accident, Dad. I went to this beautiful place where the ground moved underneath me and the air was a part of me, and where time stopped. It was amazing and wonderful. But God sent me back, back to my body, back to you.” A lump built in my throat and I swallowed hard, but the ache of loss was more than I could bear and I started to cry as well. Dad held me close and whispered words of love and comfort to me as he’d done when I was a child. I dissolved in his arms, releasing the pent up pain and emotion until we were both exhausted.

“
Thank you, God, for bringing my baby girl home to me,” Dad whispered to the dark room, the first prayer I’d ever heard him utter, and I repeated it in my head.

Even with the new car, I was in a melancholy mood when I returned to school after the break. While I appreciated my father’s confiding in me, his sullen state wore me down and I found myself spending long periods of time thinking about Aiden. I couldn’t get him out of my head and as much as I tried to focus on the present, a dense fog had taken up residence in my brain. The long drive back to school by myself hadn’t helped.

Unable to concentrate, I felt as though I were just going through the motions in class. My friends kept asking me if I was all right and I assured them I was fine, but I wasn’t. I spoke to Aiden in my mind constantly, describing to him what I saw, what I felt, what I was thinking. A part of me wanted to believe that if I sunk deep enough into my thoughts that I would somehow hear his voice again. It wasn’t rational, but I wasn’t firing on all cylinders anyway, so logical thought was not a prerequisite. I sank farther into depression day after day and not only was I powerless to stop it, I didn’t really want to.

I dreamt of Aiden that night, his easy smile and his thick Scottish accent as he teased me.

“
Sit still!” I said as I tried to paint his portrait. He sat on the stool for a while, his sky blue eyes twinkling at me, but invariably got bored and came to see what I’d painted so far.

“
Why, ye haven’t painted a stroke yet, lassie!” he complained and I scolded him for peeking. I frowned at the canvas, which seemed to clear away all my work like an Etch-a-Sketch every time he moved. He took his place again and I started over, outlining the curve of his face, his brow and strong jaw. Just when I’d started to make some progress, he’d jump up and the image would be washed away.

“
Don’t! You have to stay put until I’m finished. I keep losing you when you move!” I tried again, but the colors all mixed together as I painted, swimming together in pools of gold and blue. Aiden frowned and I finally gave up, standing to go over to him. But I couldn’t move past the ruined painting. Tears streamed down his smeared face on the canvas. I reached for him and he for me, but the easel stood firmly between us, keeping us apart, mocking me with the barely recognizable image of my love.

“
Lindsey, are you okay?” Stephanie’s voice woke me as her hand lightly pressed on my shoulder. My wet pillow stuck to my face as I groggily turned to look at her.

“
You were crying in your sleep. Were you having a bad dream?” She whispered in the dark room, seated next to me on my bed. I sat up and nodded feebly to her. She opened her arms and I leaned against her, letting the tears flow freely while she held me.

“
Thanks. You’re a good friend, Steph,” I snuffled, wiping my face with the sleeve of my nightgown.

“
My mom always told me the way to combat a nightmare is to think of something that makes you happy. Like Christmas morning, or your birthday, or a trip to the beach.” She smiled in encouragement and I assured her I would try it as I lay back down, but every happy thought I could come up with centered around Aiden, which didn’t help to dispel the emptiness in my chest at all.

I remembered Christmas in the hospital when my dad gave me that journal to help me “write stuff” and promised myself I’d dig it out and give it a try in the morning.

It turned out I didn’t get a chance to write anything until later the next day. I wanted to go sit in the oak grove but since it was April in the Pacific Northwest, everything was sopping wet. So I slogged through the marshy grass to the library and sat in an isolated corner where the lamp cast a warm pool of light around me. I began to write, to empty out some of the pain and brokenness in hopes of finding peace.

Students moved about the library in hushed tones, ignoring me as I sniffled and wiped my nose with a tissue, my head bent over the journal. The words spilled out of me in a flow of ink, the pen moving across the page almost by itself. Exhausted and emptied at the end, I closed my eyes in a silent prayer of thanks, my hand clutched tightly to the ring I wore around my neck, hidden under my blouse.

“
What are you writing?” Ravi’s lilting Indian accent startled me and I squeaked in surprise, dropping my journal on the floor. The noise echoed throughout the library and several heads turned in my direction.

“
Sorry,” I whispered, and the students quickly lost interest. Ravi picked up the journal and sat in the chair across from me, murmuring “Can I see?” as the book naturally flipped open to where I’d been writing. I lurched forward to retrieve it, but he started reading aloud, his voice soft yet sure in the still room.

My God, my God

My heart is pierced, my foundation shaken

I’m pressing hard against the dam but it’s not enough

I can’t keep the pain at bay

The leaks are killing me, memories of joy stripped away

Flashes of love, a smile, a touch and the ache starts again

You’re there, God, I can feel you near

But you don’t save me from despair

Your love keeps me breathing, keeps me moving

But I don’t understand your ways

Bring peace again, my God

Give me strength to bear the pain

Make me whole again, Lord

And hold me through the flood

I am not God, I am barely even me

My heart is battered in this storm

Make me whole again, Lord

And hold me through the flood

Ravi finished reading and sat staring at the journal in his hands. “Wow,” he said and finally looked up at me, his face stricken and awed at the same time. “That’s beautiful. I had no idea you felt that way.” I couldn’t meet his gaze but when he set the journal on my knees, I clutched it tight. “I know I’m not supposed to say ‘I’m sorry’ anymore, but…” his voice trailed off as he grappled for words. “Actually, everything I want to say is off limits.” He sighed in frustration.

“
Screw it,” he muttered under his breath and put his arms around me in a firm embrace. His breath was hot against my cheek and he whispered “I love you” before he kissed my temple and released me, then left the room without another word. I stared helplessly after him, tears dropping unchecked onto the swirling pink
L
of the journal in my lap.

Tension built steadily during the last few weeks of the school year. Stephanie decided things were moving too fast with Micah and suggested they take things slow. He didn’t respond well and she came back to the room in tears after they had a big fight. The emotional undercurrent made our band rehearsals uncomfortable, but I was so excited about the talent show that I tried to push it aside. Still, I looked forward to each practice session with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Before the talent show began, my stomach churned with nerves and I kept an eye on the nearest restroom, just in case I had to make a run for it. Micah’s face had gone a pasty white color and Ravi fidgeted, rocking back and forth on his heels and twisting his hands. Todd practiced his part by drumming on anything that would sit still: the wall, his knees, the chair. When he tried to add Micah to that list of drummable objects, I thought things might come to blows.

When the emcee finally announced us, we strolled out onto the stage, pretending we weren’t one breath away from hysteria. The stage lights shone pink and blue in my eyes as Todd counted the time with his sticks. The familiar rhythm of our opening song enveloped me with its thumping beat and the bonds of anxiety fell away.

The crowd of students in the auditorium jumped and danced along with us like a swirling mass of pure adrenaline. A cheer broke out from the audience when we finished and I beamed as bright as one of the hot stage lights, waving to the sea of unfamiliar faces like a rock star. In the end, we took second place and won $250, but you’d have thought we were Grammy award winners, we were so stoked.

Todd lived in an apartment off-campus and invited us over for an after-show party, along with twenty or so of his closest friends. Jen, Paul and Steph joined us and the energy was high. It was right before finals week and we’d studied as much as humanly possible, so we were all in the mood to celebrate the end of the school year, not to mention our second-place win. Alcohol flowed freely and since the party was within walking distance of the college, no one had to hold back as a designated driver, so we enjoyed ourselves more than we should have.

I’m not sure if it was the alcohol, but Stephanie and Micah had apparently made up and were joined at the hip. Though I wasn’t very fond of Micah, it was good to see her happy again and I smiled when I caught sight of them kissing in the hallway. The pressing fog I’d been living under had receded and I felt happier than I had in a long time, laughing with my friends and fondly recounting the story of our success like it hadn’t just happened hours ago.

Ravi touched my arm as he added his own perspective to the story and it felt completely natural. In fact, he found multiple opportunities to touch me: as he brushed past me in the narrow hallway to the restroom, moving behind me in the kitchen to get another drink and conducting me across the living room to introduce me to someone from his Physics class. I didn’t care—in fact, I enjoyed it—and when he offered to walk me home at two in the morning when the party finally broke up, I happily accepted, thankful for his company and the renewed ease of our friendship. Deliriously buzzed and light-headed, I hooked my hand over Ravi’s arm as we walked back to the dorm.

“
Do you mind if we stop at the music hall on the way?” he asked. “I’ve been working on something I want to play for you.”

The hall was unlocked, I was surprised to find, and he explained that he often comes to play in the evening, so had worked out a system with the janitor. The familiar room stood quiet and still, and Ravi flipped on only one bank of lights, which gave the space a warm, intimate glow. He led me to the piano and we sat on the bench next to one another, our thighs touching. He rested his fingers on the keys for a moment, then began playing the haunting melody I remembered from earlier in the spring. The minor key wrapped around me in a sad embrace as the beautiful music echoed in the empty room.

I closed my eyes and let the sound wash over me, its melancholy tendrils weaving through my mind. His voice was soft but clear as he began to sing,
“My God, my God, my heart is pierced, my foundation shaken…”

My hand flew to my mouth as I recognized the lyrics to the poem I’d written in my journal. He didn’t turn to look at me but continued on, singing the words from my soul. My chest constricted and I trembled with emotion, the music wringing my heart, his voice breaking through my defenses.

“
Bring peace again, my God, give me strength to bear the pain,”
he sang as I struggled unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. I mouthed the words along with him, the song building in intensity to the finish.
“Make me whole again, Lord and hold me through the flood.”
His fingers flowed across the keys, his face drawn in concentration.

His voice wavered slightly at the end, the final notes lingering in the air. My head swam with alcohol and I couldn’t think straight. The pain and tenderness in his eyes made my heart swell in compassion. Silently, he wiped away my tears, then took my face in his hands and brought his lips to mine. My body responded before my mind could object, the warmth of his mouth a powerful aphrodisiac. I kissed him back and his arms came around me, pulling me close. The blood pounded in my veins as we kissed and I completely lost myself in the moment. The sound of the music still echoed in my head, surging like waves on the shore and his embrace was like a life preserver in the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. At last we broke apart and he smiled down at me.