Page 8 of Staying Selfless

Since September, whenever I saw my reflection, I couldn’t help but smile like an idiot from the way Eli made me feel. He made me the most ‘me’ I’ve ever been. But now, I can’t look at myself without my eyes stinging with tears.

My first few days were numb. Driving away from Eli was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, so I tried to tune it out. All I wanted was to let him lift me out of the sadness I had sunken into, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to have to carry the burden of my guilt and grief. I also didn’t want him to see me like this—broken.

But more than anything, I want to be able to get through this myself. To know that I can handle the things life throws my way. To know I don’t need anyone else to help me live or survive.

I hadn’t realized when it happened. When I started needing Eli. I tried to avoid that feeling all semester of being reliant on another person. I had never in my life needed to lean on someone else, and I don’t like the sense of dependency.

I spent the first week back in California wallowing in the despair I had found myself in. I spent most of my time crying and feeling guilty, partly towards my mom and partly towards leaving Eli the way I did. That man has done nothing but love me unconditionally, and I could tell he still didn’t understand why I had to go back to California alone.

The second week I cleared out the storage unit. I sold old furniture that I knew I couldn’t take with me. I sifted through every box that I had been too afraid to uncover. I held every picture in my hand and touched every article of my parents’ clothing as I tried to decide what to keep and what to donate.

I felt it all. All the sadness. All the sorrow. And all the guilt. But I also felt all the joy. All the nostalgia. And all the gratitude towards my blessed childhood and amazing parents. The duality of my emotions was confusing. It’s like I was holding grief in one hand and beckoning gratitude with the other. It was the first time I felt more than just darkness, and that bit of light was hopeful.

I felt like I could take a deeper breath after that week. I thought I was making progress, but then suddenly, a wave of grief fell over me again without warning. That was Christmas. I spent an hour on the phone with Eli’s dad explaining the guilt I felt towards the way my mom had passed and the life I lived afterward. He’s the only person I know who has experienced the same emptiness I have, and he’s the only person I feel some sort of relatability towards right now. He doesn’t pity me. He just understands.

The third week I drove to our old family home. I parked across the street as I looked at the house I barely recognized, but I didn’t feel the sadness I was looking for. I wanted to tackle the pain head-on, but it wasn’t there. I almost drove away, but then I spotted a patch of orange flowers blooming in the front, near the garage. I remembered those flowers. My mom had planted them for me because orange is my favorite color, but they never bloomed in spring. We were so stumped every March when they wilted, but then they somehow thrived in winter, and we always found it odd and charming when they showed their color every December.

I didn’t cry that day. I laughed at that, and it felt good.

The third week I also found a small wooden box, which almost broke me all over again, but it also built me up somehow. It was a box of letters from my mom. I haven’t read any of them yet. I’ve barely even touched them. I don’t feel ready. But somehow, that box filled me with enough hope that maybe, just maybe, I will be okay again one day.

That was two days ago. The same day I got in my car and started to drive back to Minnesota.

I don’t remember deciding to go back. I just recall getting in my car, and suddenly I was hours away from my California town. Somehow Eli’s magnetic pull still held true over a two-thousand-mile distance. It’s like he was drawing me back to him.

I didn’t get to my dorm until almost three in the morning on this New Year’s Day. When I finally parked and grabbed my phone, I saw a couple of missed texts from Eli, wishing me a happy new year. I wanted to reply, but it had been close to an hour since his last message, and I didn’t want to wake him. I’ve been so bad about responding to him, but sometimes I didn’t look at my phone for days at a time. Not because I was ignoring him, but because my mind was so consumed with other thoughts. As much as I love him, he hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind these last three weeks. However, he’s always somewhere, lingering in my thoughts on a daily basis.

As soon as I walk through my door, I put a few of my belongings away before I practically fall onto the bed, hoping for sleep. But suddenly, this room I’ve lived in for the past four months doesn’t feel like home anymore. Without Eli in it, it just feels cold. This is the room where I hurt him, and that fact alone keeps sleep from finding me, just as it has so many nights over these last three weeks.

I look over to my bookshelf, where I replaced my two favorite pictures. I don’t know what made me take them with me when I left. I don’t know if I wanted to have that photo of my parents and the one of Eli with me while I tried to start working through everything or if I genuinely didn’t plan on being back here.

I don’t know. To be honest, my mind has been so hazy over the last few weeks that I can’t figure out what my thought process is. Half the things I do or think haven’t made sense, even to me. I guess that’s what happens when you feel like you can’t breathe. Lack of oxygen to your brain becomes an issue.

A rustling at my door snaps my attention away from my favorite pictures as I watch the lock turn. I’m not scared, though. I don’t have enough space for that emotion. I’m just blank as I stare at the handle turning.

Finally, the fumbling stops as my door swings open, and my best friend comes stumbling in. He pats around my wall for the light switch, and when he finds it, he illuminates my room just enough for me to see how hammered he is.

Marc doesn’t see me lying here in my bed, facing him, but I see him. He looks sad, hurt, and drunk off his ass.

Finally, his red-rimmed eyes find mine.

“Logan?” he asks in disbelief.

His eyes widen as he stares at me, looking like he just saw a ghost.

Once again, my head snaps back to my door, watching Eli swing around, standing in the doorway, and staring at me with a gaping mouth.

Everything around me pauses when I see him, and a bit more light comes into my life. I’ve pictured his face every day since I left, but my imagination did nothing for me compared to the real thing. He looks as handsome as he always does, and for the first time in three weeks, I take a deep breath.

“Hi,” I say, unable to pull my stare away from him.

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps his gaze locked on mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Marc quickly snapping his head back and forth to look at us, waiting for the next move.

Eli takes a shallow inhale. “Hi,” he finally says on the exhale as his brow furrows.

I can see the confusion and hurt on his face from here. I know he’s upset that I didn’t tell him I was back, and I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess because I was already part way to Minnesota when I realized I made the decision to come home. As I said, my mind hasn’t made sense in weeks.

We continue to stare at each other without saying another word, until finally, Marc breaks the silence.

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