Bloom (17 page)

On a rainy April morning I visited the burn clinic to go over a few things about my scars. Instead of treading through puddles with my woe is me attitude, I wore colorful rain boots and brought bags of gifts for the doctors and other patients.

My visit went well enough, I suppose. They said my scar color was great. Nice and pink. My range of motion had improved a ton. I could even open jars myself and my showers were no longer the most dreadful experience of my life. I was less tired and my pain was under control. I showed them how I could write letters and twist pen caps off.

We scheduled my surgery for skin grafting. Four days after Vasili’s wedding. They would take skin from my back and graft it into my neck to help with movement. I’d be home within a few days.

I wasn’t looking forward to the surgery, but I knew it was for the best. For months I wallowed in self-pity, missing the old Sarah. Now, I genuinely looked forward to the new Sarah.

The old Sarah was nice and all, but she concealed her true feelings and, well, she was a people pleaser. Not because she cared about them, because she cared about her own reputation.

I no longer cared about that. The world could say what they wanted about me. It didn’t matter anymore.

I spent the rest of the week as the new Sarah. I invited people into my life and made eye contact with strangers. I still refused to use my phone, so when I sat in waiting rooms with a bunch of people staring at screens, I made it a point to bother them and force a real life conversation. By the end, they thanked me for it. And it felt good for me too. It felt like living. Really living.

By the end of the week I was exhausted when Ella handed me the mail. I carried the letters to my room, plopped onto my bed, and read the return addresses. One from James. One from Vasili.

This should be interesting, I thought. I saved the best for last and opened the letter from James first.

Dear Sarah,

I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I saw the pictures and I heard about the news thing. It wasn’t me. It was Cheyenne. We got into a fight over you and she got mad. I would never do that to you. I’m sorry I even took the pics. I know you’re better off without me. I can see that now. Maybe when everything calms down you can visit Abby and me. She’d like that. Let’s try to be friends. I won’t bother you anymore.

James

I hated that I always felt sorry for people who hurt me. Sometimes I wished I were one of those people who held grudges for ten months and stopped talking to people who hurt me. That’s something old Sarah and new Sarah had in common. We both wanted to take the blame for our enemies. I guess I didn’t see them as enemies. I saw them as fellow hurting people, just as broken and in need of love as I was. My bitterness would only hurt them even more. And me.

So I snapped my pen and wrote James a quick note.

Dear James,

I forgive you and I love you as a friend. I always will. Looking back, I feel like this was meant to be. We would’ve gotten married if it weren’t for the fire and I know part of you still thinks we should, but I hope one day you see what I see. For me, marriage is only worth it if both people become better people simply through their love for each other. I don’t think we did that for each other and I’m sorry for my part in it. We didn’t inspire each other to live. Slowly, we stole the air from each other’s lungs. We were suffocating.

I do love you, James. Enough to tell you the truth. It was never meant to be.

Find yourself someone who gives you a reason to wake up every morning. Be kind and stop blaming yourself for your brothers death. And for my scars. My dad once told me, “Why are you so arrogant that you think the world’s problems are your fault?” It’s true, James. We’re only hurting ourselves when we hold onto guilt. Even when we hurt people on purpose, it’s up to them to accept our apology and move on. We can’t dwell in our issues. It’s selfish and it will ruin you. So please move on. There’s nothing I want more for you than to see you smile, really smile.

We’ll keep in touch soon.

Always,

Sarah

I addressed and sealed the envelope, then turned Vasili’s in my hand. I feared opening it. The closure that it would bring made my chest ache.

I couldn’t do it.

I glanced at the calendar on my wall. Three days until his wedding.

Someone knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I said.

Ella entered my room and sat beside me. “Everything okay? I saw who wrote the letters.”

“James was nice. He didn’t post those pictures. My very kind and loving cousin did.”

“I wasn’t talking about James.”

“I haven’t opened it yet.”

“What if you regret it?”

“I won’t.”

“You might.”

“I can’t ruin his life. He has a beautiful girl who wants to do whatever it takes to be the perfect wife. I’m not going to ask him to give that up for me.”

“I’m tempted to tell him myself, but I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“You could always do what they do in movies.”

“What’s that?”

“Show up while he’s at the altar and scream, ‘No. I love you. Don’t do it.’”

“Right.” I laughed. “I’m okay. I know I’m doing the right thing. If I’m meant to get married, someone else will come along. I’ll be better by then. Less insecure. It will work out.”

She sighed. “I hope so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I waited ten years to see Gavin again. One glance is all it took. I wanted him and I wasn’t willing to let my dream of him go. When I got set up with Matt and thought it was Gavin, it crushed me. In that moment I let go of my fantasies. I realized love doesn’t need to be magical to be true. Then he came. And you know, I was expecting fireworks when we finally saw each other again. It wasn’t like that. We sat in my cafe until the sun came up. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. The best part about it was that in place of fireworks, we had contentment. It was like walking through a desert for years and finally finding your home.” She walked back to the door, then peeked back in. “There’s no place like home. Once you find it, no matter how many houses you move in and out of, there will never be another home.”

Mom and Dad wrote me quite a few letters, most of them ending with, “Can we come and see you?” And I always responded the same by saying, “Soon.”

They thought I lost my mind when I gave up the phone. I wanted peace and simplicity. And I got it in abundance. Immersing myself in technology again didn’t have the slightest appeal.

I wrote Dad again and asked them to come for my surgery next week. Without Cheyenne poor Ella would end up taking care of me and she had enough on her own plate.

After mailing a few letters I drove to Philadelphia. Something I hadn’t done since the fire. I couldn’t bear it.

As I drove into the busy city, I was reminded of the reason I spent so long avoiding the streets of Philadelphia. Every turn and stop light, every house and tree, every single detail of every single street reminded me of my life before.

I stopped in front of my old apartment building. The one I shared with Ella when I found out I had cervical cancer. She moved out while I was in a coma. I still hadn’t opened the boxes of clothes she packed from my closet. I didn’t want to see them. Or smell them. And remember the memories I created in them. I didn’t want to bury the girl I used to be.

I parked my car near my favorite diner and stepped outside. The cool spring air felt good as I inhaled and caught the fragrance of a blossoming tree.

Walking down the city sidewalks, I swept every last detail into my mind. From the sidewalk chalk stick figures to the colorful tulips sprinkled amidst weathered bricks and strips of pavement. Kids laughed and chased each other from one set of steps to another, while parents chatted on their porches.

I came to Philadelphia to look for an apartment. To surprise Ella after my surgery with plans to find my own place and let her growing family be together without me. But the more I walked those familiar paths, the more I felt that I had moved on.

I stopped and leaned my back against a shop window. Looking out at the place I once called home, I missed my new home.

The quaint city of Lancaster, a hidden gem surrounded by cities too large for their own good. It’s tiny shops and local markets. The humor of hearing rap music disappear down the street, followed by the clippity clap of an Amish buggy. And the look you give your friend when you say, “Only in Lancaster.”

I walked back to my car and smiled. Without hesitation, I could bury the old Sarah and walk away, because somewhere along my recovery I had already moved on. I already changed.

And I didn’t mind it.

In fact, I quite liked it.

I arrived back in
Lancaster by sunset. Instead of going
home, I parked on King Street in the center of town and meandered from shop to shop, buying little gifts for my friends as I discovered them.

In a thrift store on Prince Street, I spotted Vasili near the entrance. I ducked behind a rack of clothes and pretended to sift through them, hoping he’d leave without seeing me.

“Ready for the big day?” the guy behind the counter said.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Vasili leaned on the counter and pointed to something in the glass case. “Looking for a gift for her. She wanted to exchange something after the rehearsal dinner.”

“Then off to Paris with a hot mama you go.” The guy smirked.

I sunk further into the clothes and something fell.

“Everything okay back there, miss?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, in a more high-pitch voice.

Vasili walked toward the clothing rack. I panicked and wedged my body inside the clothes. As he came around the back I slipped through the front of the rack, but something caught my shirt.

I tugged on it, but it wouldn’t even rip. The guy at the front raised his eyebrows at me and grinned. Then Vasili came around the rack and stopped.

We stared at each other for a few seconds without speaking, but he didn’t look too happy to see me. His brow lowered toward his nose and his mouth didn’t have the slightest hint of a smile. I yanked my shirt and apologized, then jogged out the front door.

He didn’t follow, thankfully.

I stopped at the corner of King and Prince and decided to get my nails done. He’d never expect me to go in there, which meant he’d never find me.

I sat down in front of an old woman who smelled of Marlboro Lights and burnt hair, like my great grandmother. Her hands shook as she gave me a French manicure. I laughed inside as the nail polish dripped down my fingers more than my nails. She tried to avoid my face and pretended not to notice the compression garments around my wrists, but people always seemed more obvious when they pretended not to look.

“I was burned in a campfire accident,” I said casually. “I was in a coma for months and it still hurts when I wake up to this day.”

She fumbled over the nail polish container as she said something under her breath, still refusing to look me in the face. The other people in the room, however, were staring right at both of us.

“You can look at me,” I said. “I’m still a person like any other.” I looked at the other women. “Actually I’m a better person now. Less afraid to get hurt and more willing to do what’s right, no matter what it costs me. Nearly dying and then waking up looking like this can really change the way you see life.”

No one said a word. Eyes blinked at me to the sound of cars whooshing by outside. The woman still wouldn’t look at me.

“Am I that ugly that you can’t even say hello to my face? Why is this world so bent on looks, looks, looks?” I stood. “I’m still a normal woman.”

The woman finally peered up at me, her eyes heavy and sagging into puffy circles. “It’s not you.” She shook her head and looked away again. “My husband was a fire fighter. His crew saved a family, but the kids screamed and cried for their dog. He ran back inside to save that damn dog and the roof collapsed. He burned over 97% of his body and when his crew found him he said, ‘Tell Penny to let me die. I don’t want to live like this. I love her too much to put her through this.’”

At first, my mind retreated to thinking, Yes, poor me. I don’t deserve to be a wife when I can barely open a jar of almond butter on my own. But I didn’t allow myself to go there. Instead, I put my arm around the woman and squeezed.

She pat my hand. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“I’m sorry you lost your husband,” I said. “Sometimes I wished to die too, but I’m okay now. One day at a time. It’s a very difficult and painful thing to endure. In a sense, I’m glad your husband was spared.”

“He died anyway. On the way to the hospital his heart stopped and they couldn’t get him back.” She stood in front of me, held my hands, and looked right into my eyes. “He didn’t fight to live. He fought for all of those other people, but not for me. Not for us.”

I held onto her hands, speechless. She stopped speaking as well, but her eyes locked into my own as though she needed to tell me something, or hear me say something, but neither of us had anything to give.

I forced a smile into the awkward scene, then placed my hand on her cheek. “I needed to find a reason to live too. I think I’m still trying to figure that out. Honestly, I don’t think love is everything. It’s not enough motivation to fight such a painful battle. Your husband knew that. I don’t know what that is yet, but if I figure it out I’ll let you know.”

I laughed a little as I left all of the women to get back to their nails. When I turned to look back, they were all staring at me. Disbelief still widening their eyes. I waved and crossed the street.

As I passed strangers I smiled at them. Even better, I noticed them. The world didn’t revolve around Sarah Jordan and it would keep spinning without this tiny little life.

So I noticed each passing face. I smiled and asked God to brighten their lives in some small way. Then I saw him.

Leaning against my car with his arms crossed, he refused to break eye contact. So I did.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said without moving a single body part except his lips. I wanted to uncross his arms and put them at his sides. Carefree like the time we played in the snow. I didn’t like seeing him so serious and stern.

“How could you, Sarah?” He stepped onto the curb and stood beside me. “You, of all people. I can’t believe it.”

My pulse raced to the panic attack finish line. I hated conflict. Especially when it was somehow because of me.

“Do you have anything to say?” he said.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The letter you sent. You could’ve at least told me to my face.” He paced the sidewalk with his hand on his chin, then stood inches from me. “How am I supposed to break the news to her this close to our wedding?”

A wild assortment of conflicting emotions wrestled for the front row seat in my heart. I let confusion win. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t help the way I feel. It just happened.”

“Who else am I supposed to find now?” He finally stood still and looked at me. “I’m sorry. This wedding is way bigger than I ever wanted and it’s turning me into Groomrilla.”

I held back a laugh. “You mean Groomzilla?”

“Isn’t it a guerrilla?” He threw his hands into his pockets. “If I talk her into letting you do the photography, are you still up for that?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, then it hit me. We were talking about different letters. My friend was going to do the wedding with me and when I backed out she took over, but she got nervous and said she didn’t feel comfortable, so I wrote them to explain.

“I have another friend,” I said. “Didn’t you finish the letter? He’ll be there and he knows the plan.”

He stepped closer to me. That smell of his playing games with my heart.

“I want you there.” He took my hand.

I jerked away and clasped my hands behind my back. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? I’ll talk to her. Even if you don’t take pictures, I need you there.”

“Need? You can’t poss—”

“Need.”

I shook my head and unlocked my car. When I stepped down from the curb, he did.

“Please, Sarah. Your friendship means so much to me.”

“I can’t. Please stop. You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

I moved to sit in my car, but he stood in the way. “But you get me. I thought we were close.”

I couldn’t tell him the truth. Natalie trusted me. If I ruined their wedding I’d never forgive myself. He deserves better, I kept saying inside, but when I brushed against his shoulder to sit in my car I couldn’t help it anymore. I said loud enough for everyone around to hear, “I love you, Vasili.” People turned. I sat in my car and looked up at him before closing it. “I fell in love with you. I can’t watch you get married, okay? It’s too much. Please. Let me go now. Be happy. Enjoy your life. Just try to let me be. It’s hard enough.”

He stepped back to the curb as I turned the car on and shifted into drive.

That’s it? I thought as he stood there watching me drive away.

He let me have the last words. And I didn’t want them.

The next day I stopped
by Sophia’s house when I knew
Vasili was at work. I drove by his office to make sure.

Sophia made my favorite tea and a pot of coffee for herself. We sat at the dining room table and talked about little things for a while, then I pulled a gift from my bag and set it in front of her.

“Could you give this to Vasili?” I said. “It’s my wedding gift for him.”

“You aren’t going? What about the photography? What happened?”

“Ask your brother.” I sipped my tea. “So, you said you were going to clear Anastasia’s room. Did you finish?”

She focused on the fake tulips on the table. “I can’t. Not yet.”

We finished our drinks in silence, placed our cups in the sink, and she led me to Anastasia’s room. I stood quietly as she searched through a drawer of papers.

The bed, unmade, almost showed the imprint of where her body once rested. Her IV no longer stood beside her bed. Her chest, rising and falling beside her parents, fell for good and lay alone under the ground.

I wiped my face, but couldn’t look away from her bed. I could so easily see her waking up and trying to smile for her mother.

Sophia held a paper. It crinkled as it trembled in her hands.

“The worst part,” she said, “is that she never told me the truth. She pretended to be strong for my sake, but that entire time she slept there in that bed I’d cry and cry. Not because I was afraid to lose her, although that was part of it. I just wanted to be needed. She was always so strong growing up. When she got sick she would take care of herself. Whenever she fell and skinned her knee she’d have a bandage on before I knew it happened. Selfishly, I wanted my little girl to need me.” She smoothed her palm along the sheets and smelled the pillow. “The thing that bothers me the most is that she feared hurting me, so she didn’t tell me how much she really needed me. She felt like a burden or like it was her fault we were upset. But if I had just been honest with her, if I had just said, ‘Sweetie, I want to hold you and make the pain go away,’ then everything would’ve been different. I feel like my baby died alone because I couldn’t be the bigger person and open up to her.” She sat on the bed. “I didn’t want to admit it though. Yanni and me. Neither of us wanted to believe it.”

She handed me a drawing. Anastasia signed the bottom in blue. The picture made me smile. She drew Sophia and Yanni holding her as a baby. The sun shined to the left, birds flew to the right, and an owl sat in a tree beneath the birds.

“Look at the back,” Sophia said.

I turned it over.

Vasili and Sarah, my Nono and Nona with my cousin.

(They better not name her after me.)

I flipped it over, looked at the picture, then read the words again. Sophia smiled at me, but I couldn’t smile back. For some reason, it frustrated me.

“I’m not going to say anything else,” Sophia said. “Either way, you are always going to be part of our family.”

“How did everyone know?”

“How did we not?”

I shrugged. “Well, I told him yesterday. He didn’t say anything and the wedding is tomorrow. This isn’t a Hollywood rom-com where I ruin a bride’s day by stealing the groom and then ride off into the sunset as she stands humiliated in front of her family and friends. I can’t do that.” I shook my head. “He knows the truth and the truth is....”