Page 62 of Poetry By Dead Men
His actions.
The way he truly feels about me.
The bus doors closing triggers something in me I don’t understand, and as much as I wish I could make it to the back room before the tears start falling, I can’t. They burst out of me in a sob, and I cover my mouth, trying to muffle the sound.
My shoulders shake as I turn away, but a strong hand catches me gently by the elbow.
Without a word, Bobby pulls me into his arms, wrapping himself around me as if he can hold my broken pieces together. It’s the first time we’ve hugged in six years, and it feels different. But despite the time and the pain and the distance, one thing hasn't changed.
Holding him still feels like coming home.
"You don’t deserve this. None of it." Bobby’s voice has a fervor to it that makes me shiver.
"I know," I say into his shirt. "But I don’t know what to do. This isn’t Harrison. He’s not like this."
"Beth." I can tell Bobby’s forcing himself to soften his tone, but sharp edges of anger still cut through. "You don’t write poetry anymore. You can’t even drink your damn coffee without criticism."
"Harrison’s not the reason I don’t write poems anymore." I pull away, forcing myself to look into Bobby’s eyes. Eyes filled with so many unspoken emotions, it makes my head spin.
"Are you ready to have that conversation now?" he asks, but I don’t even take time to consider. The tears start to fall again, tracks of sorrow that run down my cheeks and spill onto my shirt.
I can't even speak.
I'm afraid if I do, I'll never stop crying.
I shake my head, because it’s all too much. I'm not strong enough right now. And if I find out something else that demolishes a piece ofthe world I’ve built in my mind, the series of events I’ve lived through that have created the picture of who I am, I will fall apart so completely that I don’t think anyone, not even Bobby, will be able to put me back together.
"Not now. Please," I say finally, my voice almost a whisper. Bobby nods solemnly, and I know he understands.
"Okay, Beth," he says, wrapping his arms back around me and squeezing me tight. "Okay."
We stand there together until he’s called to the stage to perform, tears silently streaming from my eyes as Bobby rubs my back, my hair, telling me he’s sorry. And while I know he’s talking about what’s happening with Harrison, I can feel in my bones that the events of today aren't the entirety of what he’s apologizing for.
After he leaves, I call Molly, who stays on the phone and listens to me cry until I have no more tears.
"Go wash your face," she finally says when my sobs have turned to sniffles. "Put on some lip gloss and straighten your spine. You are beautiful. You are strong. And you are my best friend. Not a doormat or a sad puppy to be kicked around." The anger in her voice is unmistakable, but it softens as she adds, “And Beth? You don’t have to go through with this.”
My eyes are filling with tears again as I hang up the phone, because I know she’s right—I could end things with Harrison right now, and the world would keep spinning. The problem is, I don't knowhowto walk away, or if I truly want to.
I chose this life.
I chose Harrison, and we were happy. At least, until Robert showed back up and everything changed.
Until being around him reminded me that a long time ago, I made a different choice.
I chose myself. And somewhere deep down, beneath the pieces of perfect daughter and fiancée and friend, hidden under broken bits of who I used to be, is the girl who didn’t let other people's actions turnher into someone she never wanted to be. The girl who writes what she feels and drinks her stupid coffee without shame.
I just need to see if I can find her again.
THEN
December 2017
I’m on my knees, once again
Praying
It’s all I can do
