Different Roads (10 page)

            I
smiled up at him, "There's more?"

            "Guess
whose roommate is out of town for the night?"

            My
stomach turned inside out with excitement, and I grinned as I began to think
about the indecent things I wanted to do with him, "How'd ya manage
that?"

            "I
went over to the east side and found a hooker to entertain him for the
night," he said. When he spotted the horrified look on my face, "I'm
kidding. He went to some gaming convention in Kansas City."

            When
we pulled up in front of Seth's house, the blood rushed out of my head as soon
as I spotted the damage to my car, "What the hell?" I turned to him,
"Did you see that on the side of my car?"

            He
stopped the truck and we hopped out. Both sides of my car had been keyed. Deep
nasty gouges the full length of my beautiful Charger. In disbelief, I shook my
head. Seth's jaw muscles popped as he clenched his teeth together. "I'm so
sorry, Jaq."

            "I
wonder which one of your psychotic ex-girlfriends thought this would be a good
way to spend her night?" I shook my head and stalked off toward the house.
I was pissed, but it wasn't his fault. I wasn't about to let some crazy bitch's
idea of fun ruin what had up until that moment been one of my best night's of
my life.

            "We'll
figure out who did that to your car, Jaq," he whispered as he wrapped his
arms around me.

            I
nuzzled my nose into the spot where his neck met his shoulder and sighed,
"I know. It's not your fault that you had such poor taste in women before
you met me."

            He
laughed, "You got that right."

            I
spent the night in his arms, marveling at how ironic things were. She'd fucked
up the side of my car and I still came out the winner. Whoever
she
was.

"Did
you figure out what you want for your twentieth birthday yet?" Shelley
asked. I waggled my eyebrows and nodded.  She planted her hands on her hips and
said, "Shut up. I mean something I can give you?"

            "Shell,
you know how I feel about birthdays," I warned. "Seriously. I don't want
to celebrate my birthday and you don't have to get me anything. Okay?"

            She
ignored my protests, "Fine. If you're not going to tell me what you want,
I'll just get you something
I
like."

            I
blew out a noisy breath, "Whatever. But no party." I narrowed my eyes
into a steely glare to drive home the fact that I wasn't kidding. I
hated
my birthday. I swear every year on my birthday something bad happened, starting
on the year of my tenth birthday when my bulldog, Norma Jean, died.

            Then
the year I turned eleven, my dad moved out of the house setting off the chain
reaction that began as a separation and culminated with their divorce becoming
final one year later on, you guessed it, my twelfth birthday. Those were just a
few of the reasons I hated November seventh.  

            "We'll
just have a
small
party. We can celebrate Seth's birthday too,"
Shelley mused.

            I
gaped at her as though she had three heads, "What are you talking about?
Seth's birthday isn't until July."

            She
giggled like a junior high cheerleader and whined, "I know, but I think
it's cute how your birthday is 11/7 and his is 7/11."

            I
rolled my eyes at the crazy Shellyism, "No party, Shell."

            I
knew whatever I told her went in one ear and flew right out the other. Throughout
the week I overheard bits and pieces of her plans to dispel the ghosts of
birthdays past.

            My
twentieth birthday was on a Saturday this year, and every part of me wanted to
believe things would be better this time around because I had Seth in my life. But
I couldn't shake the edgy feeling that something bad would happen. I didn't
know if it was just irrational fear due to my lousy luck with birthdays or if
it was some sort of ominous warning.

            The
night before my birthday, Seth was supposed to come over after he got off work.
We were just going to have chili and watch movies with Shelley and Tim. He
normally showed up around six, so when he hadn't made it by six thirty, I
started to worry that something bad had happened to him.

            "He'll
be here, Jaq." Shelley smiled. "I'm sure everything's fine."

            I
tried to relax but there was a knot growing in the pit of my stomach,
threatening to squeeze the life force from my body.
Where was he?
Finally, about seven, I heard his truck pull up out front. I threw open the
door and ran to him, "Where have you been? I was so worried about
you!" I said. My voice was thick with emotion. I wrapped my arms around
his neck in a hug. He stiffened in my arms and didn't hug me in return. I drew
back and stared up into his eyes, "Seth? What's wrong?"

            He
took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair, "We need to
talk."

            I
detected the smell of Wild Turkey on his breath and my heart sank. The troubled
look on his face told me more than the words I was certain were coming ever could.
It was never good news when the love of your life showed up late -- especially
since he was never late -- and muttered through a fog of booze breath that we
needed to talk.

            My
knees folded up like an accordion and I dropped to the grass in our front yard,
"Just tell me."

            "Do
you want to go inside?"

            I
shook my head, "No. Just tell me right here."

            He
reached for my hands and I let him pull me to my feet before he said, "Jaq,
I can't be with you anymore."

            I
blinked back the tears I would not let him see me cry and I asked, "You're
breaking up with me?"

            He
nodded slowly, "I'm sorry Jaq. It's not you..."

            "Don't
you
dare
!" I shoved him hard away from me. "Don't give me that
pathetic
it's not you, it's me
line. Save it for someone else. I'm not
buying it." I spun away from him and stalked toward the house. He didn't
try to stop me.

            The
tears held off until I collapsed into a heap just inside the kitchen door.
Shelley came running, "What the hell happened?" I shook my head in a
daze. She got down on the floor with me and hugged me to her, asking,
"Where's Seth?"

            Tears
streamed down my face, "Gone. You see Shell?" I let out a whimper,
"This is exactly why I hate my birthday. Seth just dumped me. No
explanation. Poof. It's not you, it's me. I can't be with you anymore. Blah, blah,
blah."

            "He
doesn't mean that, I'm sure," she rocked me back and forth, trying to
comfort me. "Everyone can see how crazy he is about you."

            "I
did the one thing I swore I would never do again," I sniffed. "I
opened up my heart and let someone inside. Every damn time I do that, it gets
ripped right out of my chest."

            "Oh
sweetie, I'm so sorry," Shelley whispered into my hair. "He'll be
back, he'd be a fool to give up the best thing he ever had."

            To
say I didn't sleep very well that night would be the understatement of the century.
I watched as the old alarm clock on my nightstand flipped through the numbers,
minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour until I finally gave up and got dressed just
before dawn. 

            Looking
into the mirror through swollen, red-rimmed eyes, I told myself, "Happy
freaking birthday loser." I splashed some water on my face and ran my
fingers though my hair before pulling it back into a knot at the base of my
neck.

            I
got dressed and left the house to do what I always did when I suffered from a
broken heart. I got in my car and drove. I didn't have any idea where I was
headed or what I'd do once I got there. I just knew I wanted to be as far away
from everywhere and everyone as I could get.

            After
driving for awhile, I spotted a familiar looking turn-off. It was the dirt road
where Brad had been killed. The normally rutted, mud road was frozen solid from
the cold snap we'd had the previous week. I kept the Charger aligned in the
deep tracks which were carved into the narrow road and eased along until I came
to the bridge. I stopped and switched off the ignition.

            I
leaned my head back against the seat and stared off in a daze wondering what I
was going to do with my life for the next twenty or so birthdays.  Tears
streamed down my face and my body was wracked with sobs which felt like they
were coming up from my toes. I swiped at the tears with the sleeve of my hoodie
and slowly got out of the car.

            The
iron bridge still carried the paint and scars from where Brad's truck had come
to rest. When I spotted the small wooden cross that someone had placed at the
foot of the bridge the tears began falling again. I traced my hand over the
butterfly tattoo and stared up at the sky. "Brad, I miss you so much right
now," I cried. "I wish you were here buddy."

Out
of all of the failed relationships in my life this one hit me the hardest. I tried
to dig out from under the sense of utter hopelessness I felt. I was left feeling
that I would never meet anyone I liked as much as Seth and that he was my one
and only chance at a love everlasting.

I knew that it would take one hell of a man
to fill his shoes and that going forward I would compare every guy I met with
him for a long, long time. My friends had their work cut out for them trying to
help me put myself back together. Especially when I wasn't even sure I wanted
to be put back together.

Like a robot, I went through the motions
of life by forcing myself out of bed each morning.  I had to put one foot in
front of the other and getting through school was difficult, at best. It wasn't
just about taking life one day at a time; it was more of an hourly project. I
knew everyone was worried about me. I could see it in the sideways glances they
didn't think I noticed and the way everyone walked on egg shells around me.

Since there had been no real closure for
me, it was impossible to let it go. I continually asked myself what the hell had
happened. How could he go from being with me every free moment to never wanting
to see me again? That was the first stage of my grief, denial. Then I moved
into the second stage: anger.

I decided that if I was supposed to move
on with my life without him in it, then he needed to give me some answers.
Unfortunately, that revelation came one Friday night while sitting around the
kitchen table with Shelley, downing several shots of tequila and getting sloppy
drunk.

I was in no shape to stand, much less
drive and Shelley was only marginally more sober than me. So when Tim arrived
we coerced him to drive me over to Seth's. He didn't want to but after a few
minutes of whispered negotiations between him and Shell, a deal was struck and
he begrudgingly took me over there. Luckily, Seth wasn't home. Of course not.
It was Friday night. Paranoia set in and I became convinced that he was out
with some other girl. It was probably better that he wasn't home. I wanted
answers, but demanding them with a tequila fogged brain was probably not such a
hot idea.

I'm pretty sure I skipped the bargaining
stage of grief. The "if only" stage. I mean, I didn't have a clue as
to why he'd dumped me, so I had no cards left in my hand to bargain with. Maybe
if I had an inkling of an idea, I would have been able to try to negotiate. Not
that I didn't have flaws, I just didn't know which one of my flaws caused him
to dump me.

Depression. I hit the fourth stage of
grief with a vengeance. I sank deeper into depression and feeling sorry for
myself. When you are depressed and feel like something on the bottom of
somebody's shoe, your self-esteem is in the shitter. I was at an all-time low
when Shelley convinced me to go to a bachelorette party with her one night. It
was against my better judgment, but Shelley wasn't about to take no for an
answer.

She told me it would be in my best
interest to go willingly, "You can either get yourself cleaned up and put
on something hot," she told me matter-of-factly, "Or you can sit here
in your footie pajamas with dirty hair, and when the time comes for us to
leave, I'll just have Tim carry your ass out to the car and you can come with
me looking like this. How you go is up to you, but understand me. You. Are.
Going."

I gave her a "you wouldn't
dare" glower. She smirked and shrugged her shoulders, indicating to me
that she wasn't kidding. I heaved a heavy sigh and said, "Fine, I'll
go."

After changing my clothes probably a
hundred times, I finally found something to wear that both Shelley and I agreed
on. I wanted to wear something plain and dark so I could just melt into a back
corner somewhere unnoticed. She wanted me to wear my best come-fuck-me ensemble,
because it was time for me to get back on that horse and ride. Her words, not
mine.