Heart on a Shoestring (13 page)

I shook my head. “It’s not that easy.”

“I’m not going to look it up. I feel like that’s your easy way out of not expressing yourself and telling me the truth.” She slapped my knee. “And after all the stunts you’ve pulled I’m pretty sure you don’t deserve the easy way out either.”

“You say I’ve helped you, Miranda, but how? You’re trying to throw this all on me like I need to be saved when you haven’t really changed at all.”

She pulled back and crossed her arms. I closed my eyes.

“That’s not true,” she said. “And why do you have to be such a jerk?”

“Since when is honesty equal to being a jerk? I say these things because I love you.”

The words stung us both like a bee. Love. I said it. Once the initial shock wore off we sat there, rubbing old wounds with our silence. Not sure about her, but I wondered why it hurt in the first place. Why it shocked. Why couldn’t her and I be normal?

She stood and walked to the kitchen, clanked a few things around and returned with two cups of water. Ice and lemon in hers. Just lemon in mine. Exactly the way I liked it.

“I have changed,” she said. “I feel more comfortable. I’m living more, allowing myself to feel things in places I never felt before. I’m nicer to my dad. My hair is brown. I mean, come on, my hair hasn’t been brown in a seriously long time.”

“But your heart is still on a shoestring.” I flicked her laceless converse shoes. “And you still don’t wear shoestrings.”

She nodded. 

“I don’t know why I’m sitting here or why this has happened to me. After Ashleigh I swore off women. Swore off life. Decided to live alone and sulk in darkness for the rest of forever. I even considered ending my life. Ella invited me to her wedding and I knew I’d be the only family she had. So I picked myself off the couch and went. Then I saw you. I didn’t think I’d fall in love with you, but I did. And yes, it freaks me out a little because you are highly unstable and emotionally revved up. I’m afraid of giving myself to you as much as you’re afraid of giving yourself to me. I guess the difference is I am willing to find a stupid shoestring, loop it through my heart, and dangle it in front of your face. Unlike you, I see you as something, I mean, someone, worth the risk.”

“I’m not unstable. That’s just your perspective.”

“Miranda, you can’t sit still for two seconds. You’re hair color may be the same, but your room color isn’t. How many times have you repainted it since you’ve been home? You are not confident in who you are. Otherwise you’d know who you are and what you need in a man. Instead, you fling yourself at anyone who gives you attention, then drop them on the curb when you get bored. You have no intentions of marrying them from the start. You are a flirt and when real love is staring you right in the face you walk the other way because you’re scared of what that might ask of you. You’re afraid to sacrifice yourself. You don’t want to give up your life the way it is, for who knows what reason.”

She waited a few seconds to speak, then said, “You finished dissing me now?”

I stood. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not dissing you. I’m trying to love you, but you won’t let me in. You’d rather play Cinderella with other guys.” I walked to the door. “I’m sorry, Miranda. Sorry I even allowed myself to fall in love with you. It’s obvious it will never work.”

She walked over to me. “Derek, this may not make sense, but I’m letting you go right now because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. And although you like to blame every issue between us on my reserved heart, you’re refusing to accept your own fault in this.” She took my hand and put my palm against my chest. “This heart is not dangling in front of me. It’s locked so deep down. I don’t even know who you are, or who’ve you’ve been. You are locked up like a vault and I’m afraid no one has the key. You can blame me all you want, but I think you’re the one who is still a little boy afraid to become a man.”

She punched me with her words and it hurt. Mostly because it was true and no one ever said it before. What kind of man was I? After everything I did, I didn’t feel like much of a man at all. Or a little boy. More like a monster. And if I wanted to win this woman’s heart, she was right, I needed to kill the monster first. And it seemed damn near impossible.

I opened the door and kissed her cheek, until next time, I hoped. “Goodbye, Miranda.”

I couldn’t ask her to wait for me. I couldn’t ask for anything. So, I left. When she closed the door I heard her slide down to the floor and sob. I stopped, considered going back in, but walked down the stairs instead. When I sat in my car I wiped my face and drove away.

Right to the Philadelphia International Airport.

I pulled my legs to my chest on a lonely park bench in the middle of Philadelphia. Buildings towered above like glistening candles in the sky, mirroring the wispy clouds and jet planes above me. The sun, ready to warm the Pennsylvania terrain, spread its golden fingers on the branches and sidewalks. A morning brushed with the sun. Businessmen and women bustled about. Brief cases tucked under their arms, ties choking their dreams, they rushed to their polished desks and stressful meetings. I didn’t envy them.

Felt good to have my cast off. I rubbed my skin and watched an old woman hobble to the mailbox, kiss a small letter, and drop it into the blue bin. Something magical about letters, if you ask me. A hand-written note that takes time to write and time to ship. So much more beautiful than an email or a text. So much more romantic.

What did I know about romance anyway?

Oliver wanted to meet on Saturday. He insisted. I guess he wanted to prove his love for me after all these years. I didn’t hold my breath. Beach flings never seemed to turn into substantial relationships. 

“Miranda, is that you?” a voice said from behind me.

I turned. 

“Where’ve you been?” Gilbert waved his wrinkled, dirty hand between us. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

I patted the empty space beside me. “Sit down, Gilby. Stay a while.”

He leaned onto his cane, took a few steps, then, after two minutes, managed to sit his butt on the bench. He leaned the cane against the side of the bench, sat back, and pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down over his wrists.

I opened my bag and handed him a turkey sandwich. He hesitated, then took it and bit into it with whatever teeth he had left.

“Maybe you should find her,” I said, handing him a napkin and bottle of water. “You never know.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I can help you.”

He smiled. His gums shining in the summer morning. “You are the kindest lady I’ve ever known. My lady was a lot like you.”

“Gilby, you made some mistakes, but it’s not too late to go back and find your daughter. She may want to know you.”

“Would you want to know your biological father if he was the reason your mother was murdered?” He sucked in the air and exhaled. “They took her away from me because I left her in the apartment alone while I went out to get high. What kind of girl wants to know the truth when it’s that bad? I ain’t trying to be ugly, Miss Miranda. Honest.”

“Gilbert.” I held his hand. “Your health is getting worse. You should find her. Do you really want to die on the streets? Alone?”

“You know how ridiculous these sidewalks are? I can’t believe they don’t put more money into getting these fixed up. Cracks and holes. I trip everywhere I go.”

“Gilbert.”

“These streets are all I’ve known for thirty six years. I ain’t got it in me to leave it all behind.”

I listened to him rant about the price of bread, the mean bus drivers with lead feet, and how good organic food is. Ever met a homeless man who refused to eat anything that wasn’t organic? That’s Gilbert. Good ole Gilby.

I watched him talk as boys and girls, men and women, walked by us, stamping life with their footprints. Poor Gilbert. Couldn’t seek his only family. He truly believed the city streets and vacant stairwells had become his home. His family. Occasionally he pocketed enough money to stay in a hotel. When I could, I helped. Especially in the winter. But I wished I could do more. I wished he’d listen.

He glued himself to the past like frozen gum on the bottom of a park bench. Kind of like Derek. Kind of like ... me. I guess that’s the common denominator between all broken souls. We’re all stuck to dirty benches and afraid to pry ourselves away. Is it because the future is unknown, unpredictable? Or is it because the present is about as unflattering as the uniformitarian idea that the present is merely a key to the past?

Gilbert swigged the water and rambled as he limped away. Another homeless person wandering the land of plenty. Never quite made sense. I asked him to stay with me once, but he refused.

My phone rang. I picked up. 

“Miranda, it’s me,” Heidi said. “Can you come over?”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been crying?”

“Can you come?”

She opened the door, then ran upstairs to get Riley. A few seconds later she returned, her daughter in tow. 

“What’s going on?” I said. “Thought it may have been Riley, but she looks fine.”

Heidi sat on the couch and snuggled Riley beside her. I sat on the opposite couch, leaned forward, and motioned for her to spill the lima beans.

“It’s Patrick.”

“What? Is he okay?”

Her eyes were puffy and red. Hair falling out of her bun. Sparkly engagement ring on her left hand, missing. Something definitely happened and I couldn’t imagine what.

Heidi clenched her jaw and held back tears. “It’s my fault.”

“What is? What happened?”

“I think I pushed him over the edge. After all he’s done for me.” Her lips trembled. “I pushed too far.”

“You pushed what? You guys were doing so good. He proposed. You accepted. Both of you had enough stars in your eyes to fill the universe.”

“Sometimes the universe is smaller than we think.”

I shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head. “Nothing is ever normal for me.”

I laughed. “Is life ever normal? For any of us? Life is filled with more drama than a Lifetime movie. Most people just ignore that. You ever think it’s odd how people say a book is too unrealistic when it’s actually softened from reality so that people can digest it better? If I typed out my life story, word for word, including every detail around me, people wouldn’t like it. Life is too real for fiction. People want to feel good all the time, but life is messy and sometimes it doesn’t feel good. Like my neighbor who just committed suicide and the woman with four kids who crossed the street the other day and never made it to the other side. Not every story has a happy ending, so maybe you should change your definition of normal. To me? Normal is messy. Real. Ups and downs and in-betweens. I’m normal, weird as I may seem. And so are you. It’s what we do with this mess that matters most.”

“Well, you must’ve been writing again.”

“Haven’t in a few days. Just thinking. Wondering what to do with myself. Sometimes it’s easier to sit here in the mess just because it’s comfortable. But I’m starting to wonder if I stood up, drank some coffee, and found some inspiration, if I could turn this mess into a work of art.”

“Do you ever speak like a normal human being?”

I smiled. “Oh, Heidi, Heidi, Heidi. Did you hear anything I said?”

“Kinda hard. You always speak in poetry or parables and I’m a simple person. Just say what you mean without all the science and art.”

“I, my friend, am an old soul.” Standing, I twirled around the room and Riley laughed. “And old souls appreciate when things are more complicated. Makes it worth figuring out. And when you figure it out, you’ll realize the challenge was worth it.”

She sighed. “Anyway, I got jealous. You know Pat has all these girls as friends. I get that. I know he’s more sensitive than most men. He’s a teddy bear kinda guy and girls go to him for advice. He’s always been that and I don’t want to take that away from him, but Nora texts him all the time. Sometimes when we’re watching a movie. The worst part is he will ignore whatever we’re doing and respond to her. I even catch him smiling and laughing at the phone and when I ask him to put it away, he gets defensive. Maybe I’m overreacting, like he thinks, but I see Gavin and Ella and after being married, pregnant, all that, he still refuses to look at his phone screen when she’s in the room. Whether it’s a man or a woman.”

I sat beside her and put my arm around her. “Take a deep breath.” She did. “Look, first of all, stop comparing anyone in the world to Gavin and Ella. If we all did that we’d either end up better people or hopeless and suicidal, and since the better people thing sounds as far-fetched as they do, let’s stick with comparing ourselves to normal people.”

“I’m not sure I agree.” She put Riley on the ground and reclined on the couch. “I think we should always compare ourselves to people who are better than us so that we are alway improving. Not in appearances or superficial stuff, but I don’t know, I want to be a better person. If I compared myself to people who didn’t challenge me I’d never grow.”

“Okay, well, that’s fine. Compare and contrast and grow, but you can’t force that on Patrick. You need to love him regardless.” I looked around the room. “Where’s your ring?”