Page 194 of Becoming Selfish

I’ve been running for a year straight. I ran away to Spain. I shut off any emotion towards that time in my life, any feeling of her. And I hate myself for it. I’ve acted like she didn’t exist for the last twelve months. Like she wasn’t the most important person in my whole life. She was my best friend and my mom, and I refused to think about her. I refused to remember her. I refused to let Eli know her.

I’m a terrible daughter, trying to forget about her the way I did. But I can’t any longer. It’s like the memories that I tried to black out from my mind are all seeping in today, and the force with which the grief is sitting on me is almost unbearable.

Flashes of her sandy brown hair that lightened in the sun run across my mind. The time I dropped my dad’s birthday cake that she worked so hard on, then pretended like she didn’t like it and was going to redo it anyway so I wouldn’t feel bad. Her dresses that flowed in the wind. She always looked like a soft feminine doll floating around on air. I was never that pretty and soft, but she was. The basketball jersey that she sewed for my Barbie doll because I was upset that the store didn’t have anything that wasn’t pink and frilly. The way she smelled. That one sits with me the most. She smelled like strawberries and sunshine. I didn’t even know you could smell like the sun, but she did.

In the last few months of her life, she didn’t smell like sunshine anymore. The sterile hospital stole her pretty scent, and overtook it with chemicals. They say scent has the strongest memory ties. I remember those hospital days all too well. Her feminine dresses were swapped for an oversized hospital gown, and her yummy home-baked treats were traded in for terrible microwaved meals from the hospital cafeteria. Our warm California home had been left empty as I practically moved into her 8x8 room, overtaken with loud beeping machines and the constant revolving door of nurses and doctors.

The thing I remember the most? The way she couldn’t remember me.

And that’s the thing I never want to remember again.

The way her meds were so strong towards the end that they made her memory foggy. The way she asked if I was the nurse on shift on more than one occasion. The way she asked what my name was as I sat and ate my reheated Thanksgiving dinner next to her. I don’t want to remember that.

But they’re all here, all the memories. The good ones and the bad ones, and they aren’t leaving anytime soon.

I wipe at my eyes again, but it’s no use. The tears haven’t stopped all night. I don’t cry, rarely ever, but I truly don’t know if I’ll ever stop again.

The only hint of relief I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours was the email from my doctor with my test results. Everything looks good, but do I really care? I’m not so sure.

I look over to my dresser, Eli’s jersey sitting right on top, making me feel even more terrible than I already did. I know he needs me at his game, but I can’t go. I can’t get myself off this bed. It’s like a vortex of all-consuming sadness that’s sucked me in, and I might never be able to get out.

It’s dark here, too. The lights are all on, but all I see is darkness. My chest is heavy. The way I assume Eli’s is when he’s having a panic attack. Now I know what it feels like, but I think I deserve it, whereas he definitely does not.

The note Eli left me this morning is sitting in my palm, where it’s been since I read the words the first time. I open it again, reading it to myself through my blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Hi. You’re the best.

I can’t wait to see you at my game.

-E

Eli. I love that man more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, but I am anything but the best. To be honest, I feel like the absolute worst right now. He can’t see me like this. He doesn’t need this. He can’t handle this, and he shouldn’t have to. No one our age should have to.

The idea of having to take care of someone else has absolutely terrified me. I failed so miserably with my mom, I wasn’t ready to take on that responsibility again. But when I met Eli, I knew he needed me, and it’s like that part of my natural instincts kicked in because I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to take care of this strong man who sometimes feels weak. Whose mind plays tricks on him and tells him he’s not good enough. I was happy to finally be successful at taking care of someone else, but here I am, failing again when he needs me the most.

Today is the day he’s going to get called up, and I’m not even there for him. I’m so selfish right now, but I can’t do it. I don’t know how to do it. I feel broken.

I think I am broken.

I guess the timing works out perfectly for him. He can leave for Dallas and not have to deal with my mess. He doesn’t need this, and I don’t want this for him. At least I won’t have to explain to him why I have to go back to California by myself to clear out that storage unit instead of spending Christmas with him and his family. It won’t matter because he’ll be gone.

It really is fitting that today would be the day he leaves me. I think I deserve that.

The knock at my door pulls me out of my daze. Well...barely. It’s still blurry and dark as hell in my mind right now.

Ali has been texting me, telling me she’s across the hall if I need anything after I lied to her and Marc about not feeling well. Though, I guess it wasn’t a total lie, I feel the worst I’ve ever felt in my life, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better. The knocking is Marc. I know it is. He already came by, pounding at my door before Eli’s game started, but when I didn’t answer, he finally gave up and left for the rink.

I know it’s him again, but I don’t know why he’s here. I already told him I wasn’t feeling well, and I don’t think Eli’s game is over yet. I’m just going to ignore him until he goes back to the arena. I know I’m a terrible friend in this moment, but he needs to be there for his brother right now because I can’t.

The knocking continues, and Marc hasn’t let up. I don’t want him to see me, but I don’t know how else to get him to leave. I somehow peel myself off of my mattress, the heaviness on my chest and shoulders pushing my dragging feet into the ground. I take a deep breath and unlock my door, ever so slightly cracking it open to tell him that I’m okay. But when I open my door, it’s not my tall tanned-skin best friend waiting on the other side.

No, it’s the last person I ever wanted to see again.

“Zac?”

Anger.

Oh, I like this emotion. Much better than grief. I can handle anger.

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