Page 62 of Back to Me

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

GRAHAM

I’m staring at the concrete beneath my feet. Soon, the specks in the asphalt begin to swirl. It’s as if it’s turned into one of those eye tricks—if you stare at the spiral long enough, then look away, you’ll see a silhouette of a bat, a panda, or Jesus—something like that.

I’m sick. I’m physically sick, hunched over, my arms resting on the roof of my car.

I haven’t been able to move since Sara left. I wanted to fight for her to stay. I wanted to grab onto her hands and pull her body to mine, begging her not to go. But the way the hurt flooded her green eyes, looking at me as if I was the worst person in the entire world, I knew I couldn’t force her to stay. And I knew I deserved it.

I knew this fight was unlike all the others we’ve had over the last six years. The others were when we were strictly friends. Times where we hadn’t risked opening our hearts, revealing our most vulnerable secret to one another. Those kinds of fights were easier to bounce back from.

When you’re a child, you stray away from the deep end of the pool. The very thought of your feet wading in the water, nothing below you, nothing to hold on to terrifies you. When you’re a child and you step your way through the shallow end, you’re thankful for that rope separating you from the dangerous depths of the deep end. It protects you, reminds you of where you’re safest.

As an adult, it’s the opposite, but for me and Sara, it was the same. Many years passed when Sara and I both swam the safe waters of the deep end. Feeling the comfort and safety of the water embracing its arms around us, covering us head to toe. We were able to hold ourselves up, without the aid of anyone or anything until we no longer could. Our bodies soon grew exhausted, and eventually, we grew tired of shielding ourselves beneath the water.

Tonight, we ventured into the uncertain waters of the shallow end. Swimming our way from one end of the pool to the other, we crossed that rope, the line barricading us from ever venturing to the other side. We left behind the only safe place we knew.

I watched in agony as Sara swam to the shallow end, her body slowly rising from the water. She glided so effortlessly, the words spilling from her mouth with ease.

Then it was her turn to watch me. I struggled to pull myself back, to go back to the safety of the deep end where I could keep the lies and secrets to myself. It was as if she was dragging me along with her, forcing me to go to a place I never wanted to go. I was fighting, kicking and splashing the water until I had to give in. And when I turned around, Sara was already standing there, her body completely out of the water, her toes touching the bottom of the pool. Before I could even begin to reach out for her, to stop her from walking up those steps, completely leaving the shallow end, she was already gone.

Everything I see turns to black and white. There’s an absence of light, and it’s dug itself deep into my core, tearing and ripping me apart from the inside out.

Sara leaving me and speaking her truth only confirmed what I had always feared. I was never going to be enough for her. She deserved better. Someone who wouldn’t offer her the world only to take it back, destroying it before her very eyes. Why should I be surprised by her decision to leave me? Somehow, I always knew I would find a way to fuck up the only perfect thing in my life. The only part I felt was right.

Standing up, I open my body to the world. I turn around, finding my dad and sister still standing in the parking lot. They aren’t too close, allowing me the space I need. My sister is still beside me, staring at me with her brown doe-like eyes. They’re large and round, and everything that is good in this world, all wrapped up into a tiny, strong, grown woman. I wish I were more like her. I wish I were good and selfless like her.

Instead, I’m the outsider. I’m the black sheep of our family, the one who can never seem to get it right. Even when he tries.

“What’s going on here, Graham?” my father asks.

“Dad, please don’t. Not right now,” Em begs. She holds her hand up, stopping him from speaking another word. She knows me all too well.

Turning to him, I shove my hands in my pockets and ask him, “Why are you even here? It’s not like you give a shit.” I flex the muscles of my arms, burying my hands deeper into my pockets and shrug. “Why bother driving out here?”

“Emiline asked me to come.” Clearing his throat, he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s gained weight since the last time I’ve seen him. Since his retirement from the Army, he spends most of his days eating my stepmom’s home cooking and volunteering at the local college’s library, reading any book covering our great nation’s history.

I furrow my eyebrows and turn to Em. “Really? You asked him to come?”

Her shoulders sag as she takes a step toward me, her big, doe-like brown eyes saddening with apologies and regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

For one moment, my mind lingers, debating whether I should be upset with my sister for telling my father the one thing I had asked her not to. Yet, somehow, the natural instinct to yell and scream seemingly vanishes like the flip of a switch. My heart, my soul simply can’t take another fight or argument, so I let this one pass. If I’m honest with myself, my sister is the only person I feel I have left on my side.

Still, aside from holding back the anger for asking my dad to be here, it doesn’t waver the indignation I hold for the brute man standing before me.

“Why am I not surprised?” I scoff. “Of course you came. Wouldn’t want to disappoint your baby girl, now would you?”

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Em lifts her hand, wiping the tears from her cheek. The words may have been directed toward my father, but they’ve wounded her, nonetheless. Another wave of failure washes over me, a feeling I’m becoming all too familiar with. Despite my efforts, I’ve still managed to hurt Em in the process.

“Graham, you apologize to your sister,” my father barks. “She was only doing what she felt was right.” His hair has greyed with age, and despite his retirement from the military, he still keeps it cut as if it were his first day in basic training. Wrinkles crease the corners of his eyes, and when he shrugs, his mouth turning down into a small frown, my skin burns.

Steeling my eyes, I stare into my father’s, noting how closely they resemble mine. I feel as if I’m looking in a mirror.

“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I grit out. Finally, as if cutting the string tying myself to my father, I face Em, giving her my sincere apology, one my father didn’t order me to say. “I really am sorry. I’ll call you later.”

My head throbs and my legs ache when I move to turn around, facing the museum. I walk back toward the entrance of the building, leaving my confused sister and disappointed father standing underneath the streetlamp.

“Where are you going?” my father asks from behind me.

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