Page 27 of The Wrong Heart

People will try to help you up, tell you it’s okay, encourage you to hop back on and try again.

So, you’ll try again, expecting a different result, or at the very least, hope that you can hold on a little tighter this time—stay on a little longer.

But you’ll still get thrown. And it will still hurt.

I think the key to healing is accepting that your grief isn’t going anywhere, then getting back on the bull anyway. One day, you’ll start to enjoy the ride more than you’ll fear the anticipation of the inevitable fall.

I can’t wait for that day.

—Magnolia

I hold my breath, squeezing the phone in my hand as I click “send.”

And then my heart starts to thump erratically when I notice the little dot by his name turn green, alerting me that he’s online. He’s probably reading my e-mail right now.

Something about that feels so… intimate.

My feet tap the wood planks beneath my kitchen table as I wait for him to respond, my palms sweaty, my chest rattling with suspense. I wait a few minutes, then a few more, almost ready to turn off my phone and call it a night, when a little message box pops up, and my breath catches.

Zephyr:I think you meant “imperfect.”

I blink at the response, frozen. Mentally tongue-tied. Those five words hang between us, nearly palpable, something I can almost reach out and touch. With the e-mail correspondence, there was a bit of a disconnect—room to pretend.

The imaginary Zephyr and his make-believe heart.

Butthis, this instant messaging, this live conversation… it all feels tooreal.

There’s a bitter sting in the back of my throat, and I notice that my hands are trembling as I hold the phone face a few inches from mine.

Think, think, think.

Words.

I need words.

I swallow back the sting and the residue it leaves behind, then type out a rambling reply.

Me:I didn’t. Unperfect and imperfect are both accurate and carry the same meaning, but unperfect is less recognized. It’s overshadowed by its prettier, shinier counterpart, and I can’t help but relate to that. Everything deserves a chance to make a comeback, you know?

A heartbeat skips by before his response comes through.

Zephyr:Touché.

It only takes one more heartbeat for me to realize that I’m smiling.

—SEVEN—

“Dancing in the lake.”

I find myself watching her again, elbow to knee, my chin propped up by the heel of my hand. Her heartbreak is tangible, engraved into her voice, carved into her skin, and coiled around every piece of her like barbed wire.

But something about her looks different today, and it pisses me off that I even notice.

It pisses me off because that means I’ve been paying attention to something other than my own hollow misery. Something other than my cemetery of scars.

Her spine is straighter, her eyes brighter. There’s color in her cheeks.

It’s almost as if she’s getting something out of this charade.

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