Don't You Remember (9 page)

We lay in silence, both of us in deep thought. “Jen, you know I’ll write always,” Johnny said eventually.

“I know,” I said solemnly. “It just won’t be the same that’s all. We knew this day was going to come around, it’s just come sooner than I wanted.”

“The sooner I get started the sooner I will be set up for you to come and join me. Stick to the plan, remember, we might actually get to where we want to be if we stick to the plan.”

I nodded, staring into the night sky.

He played with my long brown hair. “Two years will go so fast.”

“Mmm, yeah, I guess,” I said reluctantly.

“This is not the end of you and me,” he promised.

I looked into his eyes searching. “I guess I’ll look at this separating as setting you free.”

“You don’t need to set me free. I’m with the person I want to be with.”

“I know,” I said, turning to face him and holding him close.

“It will be all right,” he said squeezing me tight and holding me near. “I could never live without you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I don’t want anyone else. You’re my first love and you’re the last. Know that.”

“Just hold me,” I said, putting my finger on his lips. I didn’t need any more convincing. I was in this relationship too, and I felt everything he felt.

We gazed into the night, holding each other and realizing our time together, as we knew it, was almost over.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I put the last pile of t-shirts into the boot of Johnny’s car where there were mainly clothes stacked up in neat sections, a toiletries bag, a sports bag, his music and his guitar. Johnny shut the boot and stood facing the vehicle taking a deep breath.

“All packed and ready?” I asked, standing behind Johnny and holding onto his jean waist playfully with one hand. My head bent slightly resting between his shoulder blades. I, too, took a deep breath, taking in his imminent departure.

“This is it,” he said, turning around and rubbing my shoulders. “My ticket out of here.”

I smiled, understanding his words. “I’ll miss you.”

“I won’t forget you,” he promised, walking with me to the driver’s car door.

“I’ll be waiting for you to write,” I assured him, standing by the car door window as he started up the car.

“Miss you already,” he vowed reaching for my hand and giving it a quick squeeze. Johnny revved the engine and sped off.

I stood watching the car drive off into the distance even long after it had gone. Suddenly, I felt overcome by knowing I would not see Johnny again for some time even, maybe, for two years. I had to believe our love would be strong enough to hold us together until we could finally be together again.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, trying to find things to do – no school, no Johnny, too much time on my hands, equalled a bad frame of mind.

The evening was the hardest of all. I had been sleeping at Johnny’s for almost six months and had become used to it. Sleeping on my own made me feel lonely. Out of sorts, I tossed and turned and wondered what Johnny was doing. I told myself I would get use to living without him, I had to learn to survive and carry on. I needed a plan, something to help me pass the time. I got out of bed and sat at my desk collecting some paper and a pen. The pen twirled around many times in my fingers as I thought about what I should write. I decided to write about Johnny and me, about our life and our time together, so that I would never forget that intoxicating feeling of surrendered ecstasy he had bestowed upon me the moment we got together.

I began writing and couldn’t stop; there was so much to put down on paper, to articulate into hard copy. Writing it all down made me feel much better. I was completely engrossed in the moment, in the here and now and at the task at hand. It was when I put the pen down I became aware of my reality. I fought with myself to stop feeling melancholy, reminding myself that this was the beginning not the end. Perhaps the nights were just as hard for Johnny.

I was not able to sleep for what seemed like hours. My heart was giving me pain, like the pain of someone losing a true love. Life would be hard, every day a battle to get through. I wasn’t looking forward to the immediate future.

Every morning I woke up reaching for Johnny’s hand but am reminded that he has gone. I ached, my heart felt sad, as if it had been broken. I was having a hard time letting him go, wishing he was still here with me instead of pursuing his dream. How I wished to God he was still here.

The post arrived on Wednesday morning, delivering the first letter from Johnny since he left on Saturday afternoon. He told me about his first gig and how it had gone so well he had been asked to stay on for three additional nights. He was writing from a roadside café on his way to his next destination, Memphis Tennessee. He wrote how much he missed me. He found the nights the worst, saying he had become use to me being a permanent fixture by his side last thing at night and first thing in the morning. He was sleeping in his car, showering at campsites or at the venues he worked in. He knew making this break from me wouldn’t be easy but he had to go and make something of his life, like a husband burdened by the financial woes of looking after his family, Johnny wanted to look after me, I was his family. He gave himself a time frame of two years to make something of himself, knowing I would be able to join him then. Johnny was prepared to work hard, unafraid; failure was not an option and he would do whatever it takes. I kept Johnny’s letter on my bedside table reading it over and over again.

*****

Two weeks went by. Johnny had called four times and sent three letters with another letter on its way; every time he called my heart ached even more. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape my longing to be with him, feeling there was nothing for me but this dull ache constantly embedded in my heart. I could barely eat or drink and spent most of my time reading in my room trying to find escapism in a novel, something to pass the time. I would do anything to just feel better, but there was nothing that would sooth my heart at this stage. It was during this time that I had first noticed my father was sober.

My dad knocked lightly on my bedroom door. “Jen, can come in?”

“Yes, come in.”

He perched on the side of my bed while I lay on my back reading. Using no words at all my dad combed his fingers through the top of my hair looking out of the window. I registered this was his way of caring, he felt for me, for my pain. I was surprised he had even noticed.

He looked down at me. “It gets easier,” he said, getting up and leaving the room.

I must have stayed in my room for hours, reading, crying and sleeping from exhaustion, from trying to fight my heavy heart. My father had returned with a bowl of tomato soup he said he had made himself.

“You must eat, Jennifer. Try and get something in your stomach,” he said patting me on the head like a pet owner pats their animal for being good, for doing as they say. I shifted myself into a seated position, took the soup bowl in my hands, picked up a soon and sipped on it slowly. I looked at my dad, my eyes expressing the thanks my mouth could not.

“It is OK, my love,” he said, understanding.

It had appeared to me that my parents had not even noticed I had been in a relationship with Johnny. Their wild, partying ways continued without any consequence for me. What had made my father sober up? What had made him change? Too tired to venture from my room, I placed my soup bowl on my bedside table and returned to bed, lying on my side curled up, looking out the window, at the pouring rain. I shut my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

The days and nights were long, longer than I had ever known them to be. I wished the days to go faster but it was like watching a kettle boil, the more you watch the time pass the longer everything takes. My father visited my room at meal times, bringing me food to make sure I was eating. I managed a few bites of each meal, trying to keep my strength up, but I just didn’t feel like food at all.

One morning my father announced he was going to cook me salmon for dinner. This roused me from my melancholy – I was interested in his sudden change. My mother, on the other hand, remained the same, drinking herself silly before passing out.

“Dad, what is going on with you? You’ve not touched a drink for a couple of weeks,” I said, finally venturing out from my bedroom and into the kitchen where my father stood drying the dishes.

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” he said, walking over to me and squeezing my arm gently. “Jen, I want you to know I’m here for you.”

“Why the new leaf?” I asked bewildered.

“Because I can’t stand to see my petal sad. Looking at you the past couple of weeks has broken my heart.”

“How did you know?”

“It doesn’t take the brightest mind to see you are dealing with a broken heart.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said, shrugging off my depression.

“I don’t want you to just be all right. I want you to be happy,” he remarked as matter of a fact.

“I will…” I said, thinking about how I felt. “It’s just too soon, but I’ll get there. I have no choice but to get there.” I smiled a little, realizing I had just spoken the truth. Things would get better in time.

“Well, if you need anything, you let me know. In the meantime I’m going to look after my little girl, make her a nice meal, because she deserves it.”

“I can’t remember the last time you cooked for me. It must be years.”

“Yes, well, I’m ashamed about that. Things will change.”

“So, are you are going to get a job?”

“Yes. I am going to try.”

“And if you can’t? Will you start drinking again? Like you have done so many times.”

“No. I will get a job, Jen, I promise you that. Remember, a new leaf.”

“No offense, Dad, but you have said that before.”

“This time is for real.”

“What about Mum?”

“What about her?”

“She’s still drinking. Can you do this on your own?”

“Yes, I can. Because of you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t need to get it, you just watch me.”

“So, no more drink?”

“None. I’ve even gone to two Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. I have a buddy now and I’ll call him if I need to. I’m doing all right so far.”

“Good for you, Dad. I hope you stick to it.”

“I hope to. I just get through each day and having you to focus on, to make sure you’re all right, is my purpose right now.”

“I’ll get there, Dad.”

“I know you will, Jen. You’re the strongest damn kid I know.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Six months had gone by and Johnny and I had got used to our new, long distance relationship, still holding on to our plan. He wrote once a week and was making progress with his music. He had finally reached New York City where he had lots of gigs fixed for every night of the week; he hoped sooner or later to be offered a record deal. Our last telephone conversation was two weeks ago and was also the first time we argued. I had suggested I visit him in the school holidays, using the money I had saved to get me to and from New York and enough for some food for a week, telling him it would be a treat for both of us. I wanted to see him again even if it was for a short time and thought making the journey to see him would ease the long wait of eighteen months and would be something to look forward to. But Johnny surprised me by saying the accommodation he was staying in wasn’t appropriate; it was a cheap bedsit and he didn’t want me to come. I argued and debated my point of view but he was adamant and cut the conversation short, saying he had to go to work. I hung up the phone wondering if there was more to it.