Page 15 of When He Saved Me
Saturday, I rage-cleaned my apartment, tidying up the mess of clothes, doing laundry, and scrubbing nearly every surface. The only bright spot that day had been my gig at Ivory that evening. With the impending holiday, the bar had been packed, and I’d made double my normal tips.
This morning, I was sitting on my couch, notebook and pen out, attempting to write but mostly staring into space. I was due into The Daily Grind around noon, but that time was still several hours away, so I’d thought perhaps some writing would help me cleanse this endless anger out of my system.
I couldn’t seem to make sense of where it was coming from. The circumstances of my life had been shitty for so long that I’d long accepted it for what it was. I had no use for anger, as it didn’t change anything. Most days, I existed in a space of indifferent acceptance. This anger was useless and unwelcome. I didn’t know what was driving it, and I didn’t know how to get rid of it.
Cici
Are you sure you don’t want to come to Cali with me?
You know I can’t afford that
Cici
And you know my parents will pay your way
…
Cici
I know you won’t accept it, but I hate that you’re spending Thanksgiving alone
It’s no different than the last couple of years, CiCi. I’m fine
Cici
You’re not fine
What? Why do you say that?
Cici
Seriously? You’ve been a raging dick for days. Even more than usual
Thanks
Cici
You know I love you, but you need to pull your head out of your ass
Wow. Thanks for the chat. It’s been real helpful
Cici
I just want you to be happy
I know. Love you too
Cici
<3
I tossed the phone down on the table, then sat back and scrubbed my hands over my face. I had to get out of here.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in my Jeep, pulling into the parking lot at Loose Park. I got out of the car, pulled my beanie down over my ears, started the music on my iPhone, and took off at a jog.
I’d never been much of an athlete, but I’d always been a bit of a runner, even running cross country in high school, though that was mostly to appease my parents. It had been several weeks since I’d gone for a run, and I found the rhythmic pulse of my feet pounding the pavement soothed the rage I’d been holding on to all weekend. It was still there underneath the surface, but it was a manageable glow of ember rather than a fiery inferno.
As I entered my second mile, I turned my mind over to examine the past week’s events, flitting from one to another in no particular order, assessing each as if it held the secret to the anger burning me from the inside out. In nearly every instance, Jamie appeared in some way or the other. His relentless presence, followed by his worrying absence, and then his assistance Wednesday night, only followed by absence once again. How could one person elicit such a visceral reaction? How had I allowed his scant presence in my life to matter enough to elicit any sort of reaction at all?
