Page 105 of Sparking Sara

In my mind, I turn the pages of my journal. The journal I write in every day. The journal that has become like another therapist. It listens but doesn’t judge. It doesn’t judge when I write about having feelings for two men. Very different feelings, but valid feelings nonetheless. It doesn’t raise its eyebrows at me when I write of my jealousy of Nora. When I pen my thoughts of the one and only kiss Denver and I shared. It doesn’t scold me when I scribe my dreams of the future. Dreams that are based on a schoolgirl crush that I shouldn’t have. And it doesn’t chide me when I talk of the guilt I feel when I lie in bed next to my fiancé.

I nod. “Every day.”

“And how’s the painting going? Are you still churning them out like there’s no tomorrow?”

“What can I say? I get inspired. I can’t help it. It’s an obsession.”

“What have you painted lately?” he asks.

I shrug. “Lots of things. Cats. Stacks of pennies. Hospital rooms. Eyes.”

“Eyes?” he asks, intrigued.

“Yeah. It’s pretty good, actually. I think it’s my best one so far.”

“Can I see it?”

Denver follows me into my studio and I pull out the picture I painted last week. I put it on a vacant easel and watch him study it. It’s two pairs of eyes looking at each other in a small mirror.

“Sara,” he says, turning to me. “That’s us.”

I look into his eyes—hisgreyeyes—and then glance back at the painting, realizing he’s right. The two pairs of eyes I painted are grey and brown.

“What a coincidence,” I say.

“It’s not a coincidence,” he says. “This was us the night of your accident. I was in the back seat of the car and the only way I could get you to calm down was to look at you in the mirror on the visor.”

“Really?” I look back and forth between Denver and the painting. “I dream about this every night.”

“So do I,” he says, running his hand along the edge of the canvas.

“You do?”

He nods.

“Can I have it?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. That’s one painting I’m not letting go of.”

Then he holds my stare, just like in the painting. I try hard. I try to remember the accident and the night we met. I try to remember everything. I miss knowing about that part of my life. I missme.

Moisture fills my eyes. Denver puts a hand on my arm. “What is it?”

“I wish I could remember,” I say through my tears.

“I know you do.”

“I thought I was okay with it. B-but I’m n-not,” I stutter. I take a calming breath. “I know I was a bitch and maybe I deserved what happened to me. But I want to remember Joelle having her twins. The first time I sold a painting. When I met Oliver. I even want to remember the bad things like when Lydia and I had our falling out. I want to know who Anna Jorgensen was and what we were doing the day of the accident. I feel like I lost such a big piece of myself, Denver. Why did that happen to me?”

Sobs start bellowing out of me. Denver steps forward and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and cry into him. I let out all the frustration I’ve felt since the day I remember waking up. I never once let myself break down. Not until this very moment.

“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear as I fall apart in his arms. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. I’m so confused. One day I feel … and then the next I want … and I just can’t … and I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”

My broken sentences are punctuated by desperate sobs as he rubs a soothing hand down my back.

“It’s understandable that you’d feel this way, Sara. Expected, even. But let me tell you something,” he says, pulling away and looking me straight in the eyes. “You did nothing to deserve this. I don’t care what you were like before. What happened to you is not fate or karma or God punishing you. It was pure bad luck. It was a flat tire that happened at the wrong place and the wrong time. And you’ll be okay one day. I promise. But it will take time. You know that as well as I do. We both lost our parents. We didn’t heal right away. I’m not sure we ever will, but it got better. We got better. And this will get better, too. You have to believe that.”

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