Catching Raven (18 page)

Impatient, I tear open the rest of the envelopes to find out the
verdicts. I’ve been accepted to the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena,
which is my second choice. Rejected from School of the Art Institute of
Chicago, my top choice. And rejected from Rhode Island School of Design. I’m
still waiting on a response from one more, but the West Coast is looking pretty
damn promising.

If only Eric could be here. He’d be ecstatic. I’m tempted to whip out my
phone and text him the results, but I refrain. Better to make a clean break
than to complicate things all over again. As long as he continues to have a
strong presence in my life, I’ll always want more. We need separation and
distance.

My gaze automatically floats to the painting he made for my eighteenth
birthday. That portrait represents every facet of us smashed together in a
single canvas. Other than a handful of photos that were too precious to make
the burn pile, it’s the last piece I have of him. That’s the hardest part;
wiping all traces of him from my life. I don’t know if I can bring myself to
get rid of everything. Text messages, voicemails, videos—they all still exist.
I’m not using them as torture devices for my heart, but I can’t bear to erase
them yet. That’s a whole ’nother level of saying goodbye.

Why does the one person who I want to share this moment (and all my other
moments with) have to be MIA? We would have celebrated a hundred different ways.
Managing my pain during the day is one thing, but at night when there are no
distractions, and his side of the bed is cold and empty; it’s impossible to
think about anything else.

e     r     i     c

“How’s the beach?” Dr. Coleman asks.

We’re kicking it over Skype.

“Scalding.”

Honestly, who complains about being on a beach? Leave it to me to suck
the positive out of everything lately. I tack on a pro to avoid sounding like
such a whiner. “The water’s nice, though.”

Doc smiles, noticing what I did there.

Crystal Beach has always been a reliable source for creativity and
inspiration, but being four-and-a-half hours away from Raven changes things.
Somewhere along the way, she became my muse. Then my muse became a constant
reminder of my failures, and the well ran dry. Haven’t been able to paint or
draw since.

Every day I pick up a spray can and stare at a blank canvas, waiting to
be inspired. Seconds tick by and turn into minutes, which stretch into hours.
Nothing productive ever happens. It’s all mind games and wasted time. I’m
stuck, in every sense of the word. My coping mechanisms have taken a hiatus.
I’ve had to resort to using other outlets like good ol’ Dr. Coleman here to
exorcise my bullshit. Goes without saying, he has his work cut out for him.

Just making sure I get my money’s worth, that’s all.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better. Still can’t break my creative barrier, but mood-wise, I’m doing
okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “Do you think you’ll end up staying there for
the entire summer?”

“Haven’t decided.”

Two years ago, Uncle Max sold his house and bought this place. It’s right
on the coast, doomed to get swept away by a hurricane, but not today. He’s
allowing me to stay here for part of the summer while he’s on a fishing trip.
When I initially pitched the idea, he laughed hysterically and told me to fuck
off. But when I explained the situation and told him how serious I was about
getting my shit together, he relented.

“How are you holding up without Raven?”

“Fine,” I lie.

Telling from the look on his face, he isn't buying anything I’m selling.
Why can’t therapists be less perceptive? Would it kill them to accept the lie
like everybody else? Smile and nod. Those are the rules. How hard is it to play
along?

“I miss her,” I cave.

“Have you two spoken since you left?”

I shake my head. “What would I say? I’m the reason she’s hurting. In her
mind, I didn’t even try. I’m just the asshole who dumped her and left.” I pause
and clench my jaw, working it over back and forth. “It’s not like I can undo
anything or make it better. What’s the point in calling?”

“You made the right decision.”

I glance up at the screen and shoot him a look of incredulity. This is
the first time he’s voiced his opinion on the matter. He leans back in his
office chair and swivels from side to side.

“When you look back on this, I think you’ll be glad you took the time to
focus on yourself and confront your issues. I know it must seem like you’re
going through hell now, but you’ll be stronger for it in the end.”

“Better be,” I mutter. “I’ve sacrificed too much. I want her back when
this is all over.”

“Let’s take things one step at a time. I don’t want you getting ahead of
yourself here.”

My non-negotiation face appears. “Look, Doc, I refuse to settle on this
one. I’ve settled my whole life. I’ve spent way too much time absorbed in the
wrong people, the wrong activities, and the wrong mindset. Not many risks I’ve
taken have been worth the outcome, but she’s different. Smartest decision I’ve
ever made was falling in love with her. I’m going to win her back. I need you
to get on board with the plan because it’s the one topic that’s not up for
debate. Anything else is fair game.”

“She may not be willing to take you back, Eric. Prepare yourself for
that.”

And there it is. My deepest, darkest fear materialized. What if this is
truly the end for Raven and me? Friends, lovers, soul mates—all of it. What if
saying goodbye is the last defining moment, the last real impact, we’ll ever
have on each other’s lives?

I’m distracted when my phone lights up and vibrates beside me on the bed.
I pick it up and swipe the screen to read the text.     

Chase:
Just checking in to make sure you’re alive.

As I’m about to type a response, Dr. Coleman pipes up.
“Put down
the phone and pay attention. You’re wasting valuable time.”

I sigh and toss the phone aside, then sit up and concentrate on him.

“Good. Now listen up. Here’s what I want you to do; I want you to call
your mom and set up a time for the two of you to sit down and have a
conversation.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get ahold of that woman?” I
ask, almost laughing. “You may as well be asking for Jesus Christ himself.”

“I sincerely doubt it’s as hard as you're making it out to be. You’ve
gone to great lengths to avoid her. Now I’m holding you to our deal. If she
refuses, then we’ll readjust. But the effort needs to be made. No excuses.”

“Are you going to prescribe me something to get through that encounter?”
I half joke.

“Why are you so quick to try and suppress your feelings? Not every
emotion is bad. Sadness and pain have their rightful place in the spectrum.”

“When you’ve been dealt the lion's share of both, it’s nice to experience
something else for a change.”

“I’m not referring you to someone for a prescription. You just want to
take the easy route, which is an illusion. It’s a temporary fix for a
deep-seated problem. You and your mom need to hash this out properly.”

“But I’m in emotional distress.”

“I can see that,” he acknowledges. “But it's nothing out of the ordinary
given the circumstances. You’ve self-medicated in the past. Did it ever make
your problems go away? For more than a few hours?”

I narrow my gaze. “Fine. You win. I’ll call my mom and ask her to meet
up. No guarantees, though.”

“I’m only asking you to give it a shot. Text me if you get ahold of her
and we can set a time for our next session and discuss it.” 

“Can’t wait,” I respond sarcastically.

“Eric?”

I glance at him, fully prepared to be chastised.

“Great job today. I’m proud of you.”

His words create a deep, rippling impact. I blink a few times. My lungs
deflate, completely caught off guard. I can’t remember the last time anyone
said that to me. It’s comforting to hear I’m doing something right. Especially
when I’m putting all this effort in. 

“Hang in there, okay? Keep me posted if you decide to come back early so
we can meet in person,” he says.

“Will do. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“Thanks for not giving up on yourself. Until next time.”

“Later.”

I end the call and close my laptop. With a light toss, it lands on the
foot of the bed. I slip my hands behind my head and lie back to stare up at the
ceiling. It's so quiet here. Nothing but waves and birds and chill vibes for
miles. Gives me ample time to self-reflect and face all of my issues, which is
exactly what I came here for.

Remembering Chase’s text, I roll over to the side and grab my phone to
reply.

Me:
Yeah. All good. Thanks for asking. How’s everything back home?

I’m assuming he knows what I’m getting at.

Chase:
Same old. We all miss you.

Me:
How are my girls?

It takes him a few minutes to respond.

Chase:
One is currently moving in with me, and the other is moving to
Cali in a month. She got accepted to a couple design schools out there. We’re
all throwing her a surprise farewell party at Bellotti’s next Friday night. Just
in case you want to show up...

My stomach plummets. I sit up straight and swing my legs to the floor.
She’s leaving? In a month?
That’s not enough time. Was she ever planning
on telling me?

Me:
Which schools did she get into?

Chase:
No idea. Sorry, dude. I’m not much help.

Me:
Do me a favor and find out. That’s a big deal.

Chase:
I’m on it.

Me:
Congrats on convincing Mia to move in with you, btw. She clearly
doesn’t know what she signed up for.

First real joke I’ve cracked in months.

Chase:
Come back here and tell her that yourself.

Me:
Nice try. Too soon.
Nothing’s changed.

I switch over to my contacts list and pull up Raven’s number. For several
minutes, I go back and forth on whether or not to push the call button and
congratulate her. She’s worked so hard for this and it’s too important for me
to skip out on. Then again, she didn’t tell me anything. If she wanted me to
know, she would’ve told me the news herself. I don’t want to infringe on her
happiness. I’ve done that enough over the last few months. She deserves to bask
in this moment.

Even though it goes against everything in my nature, I press the back
button and force myself to search for my mom, instead. I dial what I’m guessing
is still her number, raise the phone to my ear, and dread the next however many
seconds of uncertainty. On the fourth ring, she picks up.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

Rustling noises ensue.

“Eric? Is that you?”

Several beats of silence pass before I answer.

“Yeah. Listen, I need a favor. It’s important.”

“What’s going on?”

“We need to have a conversation. In person.”

“Why? Did something happen? Are you okay?”  

I’m momentarily stupefied by her concern. Did she just feign interest in
my well-being? Unprovoked? My bullshit meter is exploding. Must discover her
angle and stay two steps ahead.

I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and rub my palm up and down my
thigh, trying to formulate what I want to say. It’d be much easier if she
hadn’t just thrown a massive curveball.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist lately. He wants us to sit down and talk
through our issues. All of them. Including, you know...the forbidden ones.”

Jesus, I can’t even say it out loud. How the hell am I going to sit down
and talk about it in person?

She exhales slowly, revealing a sense of unease.

My knee begins to bounce up and down restlessly. I’m terrified she’ll say
no. I’m even more terrified she’ll say yes.
Doc should’ve referred me to a
psychiatrist,
I repeatedly tell myself.

“Where and when do you want to meet up?”

I pause and look down at the phone to make sure I dialed the right
number. Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother? I’m careful not
to get my hopes up because she’s notorious for committing then flaking. I’m
proof of that.

“Where are you living?”

“Same place I was last time you visited and stormed out.”

Bingo!
There’s my guilt-tripping mom.

“I’m at Uncle Max’s place on the coast. Wanna come here? He’s on a
fishing trip, so it’s just me. I can text you the address.”

I’m positive she’ll say no, which is all part of my master plan. That way
I can get out of the conversation and still tell Doc I tried my best without
hearing any flack.

Cunning, but not dishonest.

“Sure, I’ll drive down. A trip to the beach sounds nice. I’ll have to
take time off work, though, so you need to give me a specific time frame.”

Goddammit, Mom!
The one time I desperately need her to fail me and she comes
through—Mother of the Fucking Year. Am I being Punk’d?

“Uhhh….”

I can hear her smile on the other end of the line. “Were you counting on
me to say no or something?”

I choose not to acknowledge that question.

“How about next Saturday? Does that work?”

“I’ll be there.”

Now I have a legitimate reason not to go back to Austin for Raven’s going
away party. It’s better this way. If I didn’t have an excuse to stay away, I’d
probably show up uninvited and end up pissing her off at her own event. Nobody
wants me to be that guy.

I exhale harshly. “Alrighty, then. Next Saturday it is.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“Mom, let’s keep it real. Are you on drugs right now?”

She ignores the question. “I’ll see you Saturday, Eric. Text me the
address. The
correct
one.”     

I roll my eyes and fight off mental musings of my suicide. This is what I
get for allowing a one-way door to stay cracked open all these years. Should’ve
figured she’d barge her way back through at some point.

We say our goodbyes and hang up. I waste no time forwarding the address.
At least she didn’t say the words “I love you.” How fucking awkward would that
have been? I have to keep reminding myself why I’m doing all this. Otherwise,
it feels like the world’s biggest trap. This is for my younger self, my present
self, and my future self. All three deserve to be healed.