Page 75 of Poetry By Dead Men
“I know. I wasn’t ready to talk yet.”
“Ready to talk? Seriously? Is this still about when I came to visit—”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. It’s about all of it.” My voice cracks, and I take a deep breath, squeezing my hand into a fist to ground myself. “We want different things, Harrison.”
“What are you talking about?” There's no sound of keys in the background anymore. Just a low hum that makes me nauseous.
I take several deep breaths, closing my eyes. “I love you. But I can’t marry you.”
The silence is louder than the pulse pounding in my ears.
“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Harrison’s voice is as sharp as a blade, and cuts just as deep. The memory of glass shattering makes my arm sting, and a shiver skates down my spine as I think about what might have happened if I’d done this in person.
I shake my head even though Harrison can’t see me, because thisisn’tabout Bobby. “No. It’s about us. I want to write. To create. We want different things,” I repeat, like those are the magic words that will make him understand.
“We didn’t until you left to go on this fucking tour!” He’s yelling now, but I barely hear him.
“It has nothing to do with the tour, and everything to do with what I need to be happy.” I pause. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“You’re not ending things. This isn’t you, Elizabeth.” He bites out my name, and my guilt and sadness shift into anger.
“You don't get to tell me who I am anymore!” I shout, standing.
"I’m going to be your husband! I know exactly who you are!"
“You don’t, and that's the problem! This wouldneverwork.” My voice breaks, and the sob I’ve been working to hold back explodes from my chest. “It’s over, Harrison.”
Harrison’s voice drops to a deep rumble. “I’ll ruin you before I let you leave me,” he says.
“I’ll get your ring back to you.” I hang up, sobs shaking my body as I drop back onto the couch, covering my face with my hands.
My body feels numb, and so tired, it’s as if I’ve finally dropped the weight I’ve carried on my shoulders unknowingly for years. I don’t know how long I cry before Bobby walks through the bus doors.
“Beth?” He freezes, dropping his guitar case on the floor with athudand immediately pulling me into his arms. “Hey…shhh,” he soothes, rocking me gently as he strokes my hair.
He doesn’t ask questions. Not until my tears have run dry and my breath has stopped shuddering. “Tell me you’re okay,” Bobby finally says, tucking my head beneath his chin.
I close my eyes. “I ended things with Harrison,” I say, and Bobby stiffens.
He pulls me tighter. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and that’s all.
No celebration or joy.
No expectations.
He’s just here with me, and I’m so grateful, another sob works its way up my throat.
I sniffle, sitting up so I can look him in the eye. “I know I was here for Harrison, but I’d like to stay and finish the article.”
“You can stay as long as you want,” he says, and I close my eyes as his rumbling voice soothes the wounds in my heart. “Article or not.”
THEN
August 2018
Used to have a map
But I burned it in a fire
