ShameLess (4 page)

I start chuckling, recalling that particular day. "You were so strong. I wasn’t, but I was so honored you had my back. How about that time in high school after I started dating Tucker and Amber Stamford flirted with him? She used to call me and hang up, and then stare me down in the school hallways. I’m not a confrontational person, but I’m so thrilled you were when you got right in her face after she had the nerve to send Tuck that sext of herself.” I am laughing now as I remember the look on Amber’s face that day.

“Oh, Elle, what will I ever do without you? I remember so many days spent with you. We were inseparable. I miss you so much. I feel like a part of me died that night, too. Most days, it feels like I didn’t lose my best friend, I lost my sister. I remember all the times we spent at my dad’s beach house, playing in the sand and searching for seashells as kids, jumping waves, and getting knocked down by them as pre-teens, and laying out in the sun slathered in coconut sun-tan oil as teens.”

This memory tugs at my heartstrings, and I can barely keep it together. In fact, only a few short minutes of struggling actually pass by before I am bawling all over again with weighted emotions flooding me.

Finally, I wipe away the tears, squinting to see her epitaph. Beautiful etched words span the middle of a bronze heart being held by a beautiful, white Angel. The color of the stone is so brilliantly copper that it seems illuminated in the beams of sunlight. The expression on the face of the Angel is one of wistfulness and love. She is so impressive, it is beyond perfect. I blink even more tears away.
God!
The Angel’s wings are open, stretching in both east and west directions. Her upper body leans downward, holding the heart in both hands, angling over the words, almost as if guarding them – watching over Elle, and it reads:

Do believe I'll never leave you,

Always you will be in my heart.

Don't forget my soul is near you,

So we will never be apart.

Daughter. Friend. Angel.

Elle Elizabeth Derringer

December 2, 1993 – May 11, 2011

I gently run my fingers over the deep engraving allowing each tip to feel the hard concrete and the meaning of each one. ‘
Do believe I'll never leave you, Always you will be in my heart
’.

I stop, letting them pause over the words. “I’ll never leave you, either, Elle. No matter where I go, I will never be far from you. You will always be in my heart, always with me.”

Continuing, I let my fingertips rest over, ‘
Don’t forget my soul is near you, so we will never be apart
’, and this almost breaks me in half. I gasp. “I know we will never be apart. You are part of me. Always have been; always will be. You are now my Angel. Fly free, my friend.” My entire body starts quivering, as I scream, “Oh God!” releasing so much grief into the quiet winds of the day. In a much softer voice, I whisper, “To be stronger without you, I have to let go. You will always be ‘
My hero, my wind beneath my wings…. Fly! Fly!’
I love you, Elle, farewell for now.”

Moments slip by on this sweltering late spring day. Vivid reflections of Elle’s memory are still close to my heart. I embrace each one with a warm tenderness. Crossing the lawn, I am so lost in my thoughts I am oblivious to anything other than seeing a few squirrels hopping from tree to tree. I also hear the faint sounds of some birds singing. I glance over my shoulder stealing one more glance at Elle’s final resting place before turning, and making my way back to my car.

That is the exact moment I faintly hear
my
words. Only, it is not my voice, and it is not being whispered. It is deeper. I do not see anyone, at first. I truly thought I was alone because I didn’t see anyone else when I first arrived, which is one reason I left my car door open and put Bette on repeat, letting it sound loudly across the cemetery.

Interest piqued; I start nosing around trying to pinpoint who is speaking
my
words.
Were they listening?
“Oh, God, I hope they didn’t hear everything I said.”

Now, I feel so vulnerable, but continue walking. I only take a few steps before I hear them again, even more clearly this time. “Why? Why God? W-H-Y?”

It’s a male voice. Is he mocking me? Oh god, I think I hear crying, too.
It is a cemetery, Ren, for garsh sakes. People cry. Hello?

This is not my business. I know this. Having said that, I can’t force myself to turn around. Call me crazy, a stalker, creeper or whatever... By stalking, I am doing to someone else what I had just prayed was not done to me. I am invading his of privacy. Something presses me on. Yes, it is the words. I believe there is more to it than that. Regardless, I am curious and need to find out.

I circle around a small-secluded garden area. There are concrete benches, a little birdbath, and assorted flowers neatly placed around. It is quaint, but do they honestly believe people are going to spend time sitting on a bench admiring birds bathing or be considering how meticulous the flowers adorn the beds? Strange, I think. I zigzag around a few headstones. Out of respect, I am careful not to step on their graves, nearly tripping myself in the process.
Dang it!
I catch myself before falling, and keep heading straight.

Not far in the distance, I see him. His back is to me, but he looks somewhat familiar. His head rests in his palms, and he is on bended knee. What do I do now? I can’t just walk over there and intrude. I don’t want to interrupt his moment with his loved one. Oh my god, he is standing. Do not turn around. Do. Not. Turn. Around.

Quickly, I hide myself behind the thick trunk of a nearby oak.
Holy shitballs! Just great!
Luckily, I think I ducked out of sight in time, so he wasn’t able to see me prying or spying on him. Whew! Thank the sweet Lord and all of his Angels above. Angels…

Immediately I am taken back to the verse engraved on my friend’s headstone.
Thanks for having my back again, Elle.

Seconds pass. I glimpse around the oak to sneak a peek while my heart slows down. I see him. He is sitting now. His head is hanging, and he is running a hand through his dark wavy strands. He appears agitated.
Maybe he did see me?
Nah, I honestly don’t think he did.

Fuck! It’s
him!

Now, I can’t take my eyes off of him. He looks like a Greek god, especially how, on bended knee he looks like a statue, and the sunlight shadows his face. I’m more intrigued. I can only see his back, but his broad shoulders expand against his cotton T-shirt. It is snug as the sleeves hug his bicep muscles.
Damn!
He was so incredibly arrogant at the Dr.’s office. Now, he seems fragile, nearly lost. I just want to head over there and hug him tight, letting him know he will be all right. Then again, who am I kidding? I am just now making my first visit to see my best friend after two full years. Maybe his loss has been hard on him, too. This makes me feel even sadder for him. Strangely and ironically, I feel closer to him, despite how he acted earlier. At that time, I wouldn’t have cared if I had ever seen him again. Now, my heart is breaking for him.

Okay. I am actually starting to freak myself out. I am standing in a cemetery, scrutinizing some hot guy, probing into his business, and acting as if I give a crap after how he treated me earlier. The fact is that I do give a crap. Why? I have absolutely no freaking clue. I shouldn’t care one iota. Yet, here I stand, peeping out behind the protection of an aged oak, watching and stalking him. Yes! I am officially a creeper.

“Oh Elle, wouldn’t you just razz my shit over this?” If only you were listening. If only you could.

I steal one last gander at my newfound ‘mystery man’, taking in the hot Greek god in his entirety, then take off in the direction of my car.

I feel exhilarated and yet weighted by having to say, ‘farewell’ to my friend. It is temporary, I know. I think the visit itself was necessary. It provided me a greater emotional liberation than I ever expected. Many things flood my mind as I continue driving, and my thoughts are hurdling back and forth between points of view. Like a blender, feelings and experiences mix, swirling together and clouding my judgment. I leap between visiting with Elle straight over to spying on my ‘mystery man’. Despite having had two entirely different experiences with him, and knowing his name, he puzzles me.

One side of him portrayed in the office is that of an egotistical ass. I am not impressed with this one. The other, more softened and vulnerable, revealed itself clearly while mourning. I favor the sentimental one. This side of him is the one diffusing the narcissistic one. This one appeals to me. It shows me brokenness in him that resembles my own, allowing me to relate to him. Obviously, we both see the same psychiatrist so he must be sort of a head-case, like me. I am particularly fascinated. What are his issues? Why does he see
my
doc? Why were he and I at the same cemetery? I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs starting to form by all of these questions.
Ugh!

My mind travels back in time, pouring over the past two years of my life. I managed to attend our local University, getting my general ed classes out of the way. I tried not to focus on the poisoning sickness drowning me, otherwise known as depression, and grief, or all of the harassment. Not to mention, I am still trying to figure out who I really am. Some of the same kids from my high school followed me there, never letting me let go of that night nor the rumors that sparked their malicious gossip. I did not return to high school after the accident. My parents hired a private tutor for me to finish school at home, and get my GED. However, they enforced my return to school by saying academics are essential, and that I needed the social interaction, along with a degree for a stable financial future, and encouraging my moving on. I chose our local University since I thought most of our class was attending out-of-state colleges. Some did not. Some alleged ‘friends’ chose the same school as I did. Walking across campus and hearing shouts of “Whore”, “Killer”, “Slut”, along with other more threatening taunts was extremely difficult. Their persecution became too much to handle. Hence, another reason my mother and father insisted I see Dr. Bradford. What they did not know, and what Dr. Bradford will never know, is that their words became actions. Often times I would walk across university grounds only to be shoved from behind, out of nowhere. I knew who it was, I’m not stupid. There were times when I was heading to my car parked in the student lot after classes, and I would find human or dog shit smeared across my windshield, or “Murderer” spelled out on my rear window in red lipstick. Other similar outbursts occurred. I never told a soul. Why would I? I just grit my teeth to get through it. Somehow, by sticking it out, I managed to finish out these past two years, both academically and psychiatrically. I even swayed my skillful psychiatrist into believing that I need to move on, and am ready to do so. Who is brilliant now?

Anyway, despite it all, I did keep my promise to my mom, and to myself. I think, forcing myself to finish my gen-eds and continue treatments with Dr. Bradford, is the sole reason my parents eventually relented. Now, they are allowing me to transfer to a new college.
Thank God!
It is also to my benefit that they met with Dr. Bradford, and according to my mother, “It went well, dear.”

After a lot of convincing, especially since my dad happens to work as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, they caved. His agreeing to the move included strict conditions, which I fully expected from him. For instance, he insisted I call him once a day. The only way he would grant his seal of approval was for me to attend the college nearest the beach house. This one was easy for me to agree to since I absolutely love the beach and our house there. Next, he said I had to promise him I would follow our safety rules: a buddy system and the self-defense moves from the class he made me attend, to be used as needed. In addition, I was instructed to call Howie, his personal assistant if I needed anything, specifically during times I needed to reach him regardless of whether he was at the local office, or out of town on assignment.