Let Your Heart Drive (20 page)

“She’s got the whole dark forest living inside of her.”

–Tom Waits

Friday night Trey
sends me a picture of the dancing club we’re going to. It looks glitzy, bright and brimming with people. I feel pretty confident with a few things he’s taught me, but I’m not sure about the rest. My talent in that area is about as fickle as the Oklahoma weather.

Chelsea and I sit with our legs stretched out watching videos online. Couples dancing, doing flips, dips, swing dancing, line dancing and the more I watch the more freaked out I get. “I can’t do this, Chelsea.”

“Sure you can,” she urges hitting pause on the video.

I point at my flip-flops and look at her skeptically.

“And what makes you think I can pull off these or sneakers boogying down to
Shake It For Me
, huh?”

She lifts herself from the floor of my room, casts a sideways glance over to my pile of shoes and taunts, “For someone who has such a strange taste in shoes I thought for sure you would have kept your boots.”

I aim my eyes at her and glare. “The Christmas boots?”

She bobs her head agreeingly.

“Chelsea, they looked like Christmas. They had bold garland green and an ugly red on them, plus mistletoe berries at the toes for God’s sake.”

She shakes a skinny finger at me and says restraining a grin, “Okay. Since you’re not into Christmas, I might have picked something up for you this week.”

I flop my head back against the edge of the bed and groan, “
Oh god
, please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did and I think you’ll like them.” She swaggers her perky self out of my room and vanishes somewhere down the hall. I close her laptop and move it out of the way. I tug at the seam of my dark blue jeans and rethink what I’m wearing. My white cotton tank top feels comfortable and matches well enough under my turquoise blue button-up. I roll the sleeves up and then unroll them wondering which way looks better.

“Here…” Chelsea walks in, extending a taupe rectangular box out to me.

I remove the lid and unravel the paper inside, a beautiful pair of women’s roper boots are neatly positioned inside the box. Free from any real animal hide, of course, but no one would ever notice unless you were reading the inside tags. They’re printed and eccentrically stitched with a vintage floral pattern. The creamy white design stands out against the tan and I love them.

“They’re perfect, Sea. Thank you,” I mumble hugging the boots close to my chest and hop up. My arms embrace her and she laughs, startled by my action. It means the world to me that she did this. She’s helping me make the night just that much more special with him.

We pull back and she gently grips my shoulders. “You better get ready.” She glances at her watch and smirks. “Thirty minutes left and I have no idea how you’re going to mend the drapes, mop the floors, and clean the chimneys.”

I crack a smile back and retort, “Well it’s a good thing you don’t have chimneys, no mop to mop the floors with and I don’t sew.”

-

I wave at Garrett in his bedroom as I stroll by, he sends a big wave to me and goes right back to his glowing doodle board. I cart around and prance down the stairs, my hair’s wavy and loose bouncing with my upbeat steps. I glide on a light shimmering gloss as I enter the kitchen, Chelsea looks over the screen of her illuminated laptop and says, “Wow, look at you. City girl to a country girl, amazing what men can do to us.”

I grab a bottled water from the refrigerator and wander around the island. Brett whistles a loud antagonizing catcall and saunters over to Chelsea. Pecks her lightly on the cheek and razzes, “Do you know who this woman is standing in our kitchen?”

She grins proudly and props her chin on her fist, giving me a good once over look.

I wave them off and retort, “Look guys, it’s nice of you to
ogle
me, but a girl can only take so much.”

Brett takes the hint and scats away, probably off to watch Friday night football. Chelsea taps a few quick keys on her keyboard and asks, “I can’t believe you two are so good together that he’s okay with you leaving and…”

I take a drink and stare at her, not comfortable with her tone. “It’s no big deal, Chelsea. I leave, end of story.”

Her graceful long fingers pause as she throws her eyes upward questioningly. “You haven’t told him…
have you?”

I twist the cap back on my water bottle and tilt my head at her like I can’t believe we’re doing this now. “What’s to tell?”

She shoves her laptop roughly over to the side and says sharply, “Everything, Sinead.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not doing that. Don’t you get it? It really is better this way, for the both of us. It’s my burden not his.”

“You love him?”

I redirect my gaze and refuse to answer her.

“Do you love him?” Her voice floating higher and higher by the second. She must have raised off her chair a bit because she plunks back down on it hard and breathes out, “You do. Oh my God, Sin. You do. You
have
to tell him.”

My tears are burning, stinging my eyes and threatening to expose my fear, I grip the water bottle tighter and tighter making it crackle and pop.

“I don’t have to do anything, Chelsea. Stop it.” My hands shake and I’ve licked off most of my lip gloss, my anger’s mounting with each prickling word. I turn and face her, bending over the island and warn, “He doesn’t have to know anything, Chelsea. He doesn’t have to know that I have terminal cancer, he doesn’t have to know how much time I have left, because
this is my life
, Chelsea. Mine!”

The tears spill from my eyes like a dam, I haven’t said those words out loud since I was first was diagnosed. Every day I have fought and tried my best to not let this disease rule my life, and now, Chelsea’s is pushing it right back in my face. I wipe a tear away and jump when Brett and Trey appear, standing in the entranceway of the kitchen.

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

–Buddha

My eyes land
on Trey, he hasn’t said a word and by the grim expression on his face, he’s heard everything. An eerie beat passes and his beautiful mouth no longer carries a tenderness. It quickly absorbs all of him and he spins around and walks out.

“Trey!” I yell and bolt after him. The front door slams rocking the entire house and I feel like it’s my heart that crashes, shattering like glass inside.

As soon as I swing the door open my feet race quickly down the front steps and I reach out trying desperately to grab on to him, trying to keep him from leaving. “
Trey, please
…
please
don’t leave like this!”

He jerks away from me and it devastates me to have him act so harsh like my touch angers him more. His back is to me, one hand clutches the driver’s side door of his truck and he stops. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me, Sinead?”

I let go of his arm, letting my hand fall from him, I can’t find the words to explain and all I can do is stand motionless and cry. I never wanted him to see me this way, lost, afraid, and stubbornly hurting to let someone in.

“
I—It
wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

He whirls around so fast it takes me a second to realize he’s facing me. “Then tell me how it
was
supposed to end.”

Suddenly I’m having trouble finding the strength to meet his eyes, they’re cold, vacant and fueled by something that terrifies me to the core.

“Not like this…” I answer struggling to find my certainty in myself. I didn’t tell him because I had my reasons. I wanted to keep him safe, far away from my nightmares, from my pain, and from my sickness. I’ve seen what it does to the people around me, how it wears them down and changes them into a ghost of themselves.

“You didn’t think I had a right to know, Sinead? Is that it?” he shouts and slams his fist against the driver’s door. I jump, shocked at his abrupt exertion, the pained emotions reeling from him. Emotions he’s trying to keep in check, but it’s critically tapping the boiling point.

“No, I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to see
me
when you looked at me. Not sympathy, Trey. I never wanted this to be a burden on you, don’t you understand?”

He jabs a finger at his chest and growls, “Not my burden? You mean to tell me that the girl I’ve fallen in love with is dying and I’m not supposed to care? Not supposed to fuckin’ know?”

“I never wanted to hurt you, that’s why I never told you.”

He careens around and grips the handle, his knuckles whiten, his jaw grinds back and forth as if he’s searching for an ounce of control. And then he barks out, “You lied to me…
you lied
.” He shakes his head disgustedly.

“How did I lie, Trey?”

He scoffs and slowly looks at me. “I gave you my everything, my heart and you gave me yours. But you kept something from me, something that means I can’t keep you forever,it’sdeception, Sinead.” Before I can respond he opens the door of his truck and peels away and I can’t do anything to stop him.

I sink to my knees and drop my hands to the ground, allowing the tears to wash away my agony. The pain is worse than a thousand needles stabbing through my broken heart and ripping each redden layer away. Raw and laid bare, the pouring tears don’t cure the aching inside me and I hang my head utterly defeated. Not caring if the neighbors hear, not caring if my clothes become filthy or the new boots Chelsea bought me kiss the cement.

I kept a secret.

To protect him.

Us.

And now there is nothing left to protect.

I feel my sister’s loving arms hold me, gently rocking our bodies in her perfectly trimmed front yard with the rumble of thunder vibrating the hollow starless sky. The wind shifts, a whispering breeze chills my tears and I shudder from the change in the air.

“I’m sorry, Sinead. I’m so sorry…” she repeats over and over.

-

Saturday night, I haven’t heard anything from Trey. By Sunday morning, nothing. I’ve picked up my cell phone more than a few times and thought about calling him or texting. But I don’t, the thing I’m finding out about loving someone so much, and it’s something I’ve learned the hard way. It’s better not to be in their life knowing you were causing them suffering. Realistically I knew at some point I would have to let him go and try not to harbor any negative feelings. But God is it hard.

I’ve become a legendary hermit in my room over the weekend, sleep, mess around on my vlog, pack and unpack and sleep some more. I keep thinking that once I get back on the road maybe it will help, maybe refocus my mind a bit.

I crawl out of bed and start to put on a pair of shorts, but realize my legs aren’t shaved. So I stuff them back into the dresser and pick out a pair of jogging pants, I yank on a clean Free State cropped tee and rummage through the closet. I move a box and come face to face with that damn Rubbermaid container again. Only this time, I drag it down and open it.

Cross-legged I clear my throat and look inside. Scarves, beanie hats, knit hats to cute and slouchy hats, in just about every color and style you can think of. I dig down a little deeper, finding pictures, one’s flipped over and written in neat cursive penmanship, definitely not mine, it says,
My sister—My hero.

I turn it over, it’s me when I lost my hair during chemo. I looked so pale and so different it’s hard to believe that was me. My tears fall silently as I shuffle through the rest of the photos, some are after surgery with Dad and some are with me and Chelsea wearing two of the crocheted hats inside the container.

I hear the creak of the bedroom door pry open and then a knock. Chelsea peeks in and asks, “Do you want to come down and watch a movie with us?”

She notices what I’m digging through and quickly steps in. “Here, let me take that into my room.” I grab her hand and shake my head.

“It’s okay,” I reply and flick the photo of us. “Hero? Really?”

She smiles and sits beside me and starts plucking out scarves. “Do you remember that lady—”

“That brought handmade scarves and hats to the chemo center? Yeah, I do, she was really funny.”

“I think she was homeless,” she states flippantly and sorts through one picture after another.

“How could she be homeless, Chelsea? Then how did she make all the crocheted crap, hmm?” I drum my nails along the edge.

“She probably stole it or…”

“What?” I ask laughing, she smiles, but doesn’t answer me. “You’re so full of it, besides I think her dirty trench coat and lopsided hat made her look sexy and kinda hip.”

I nudge my elbow against hers. I play with a tassel on a clunky purple knitted wrap and look back on all the people I’d met there and all the drugs that were administered. Some young like me and some much older, but we were all there for a reason and a part of me, when I finished my chemo treatments, missed being there strangely.

Maybe it was the connection, the bond, and understanding the fear that we all knew so well, no one judged. Most were supportive and talked about TV shows or whatever kept their minds occupied at the time and then I thought about that life altering evening.

“Chelsea…do you remember the day you went with me to one of my treatments and we drove over to the grocery store afterwards?” 

She stops, rests an arm on the container thinking for a moment and then finally she says, “Yeah, the day you said you had chemo brain. I never understood why in the world you would say that.”

“Because my brain felt like oatmeal, I couldn’t keep track of anything…” I lower my eyes and twirl the ragged fringe piece around my fingertip.

“And we drove over to the store, you walked up and down every aisle and couldn’t remember why we were there…yeah, I remember,” she says, her voice delicate and full of empathy.

“You suggested we head over to the apartment and maybe it would jar my memory, but I didn’t have a grocery list and by the time we arrived there I still had no clue.”

“So where did you get the list then?”

“I went upstairs, bumped into Ms. Nelson, she griped about the banging, mumbled about God knows what else and I rushed inside trying to get away from her.”

I think about my next words, wondering if Chelsea would understand where I’m coming from. Trying to give her a glimpse into what is was like for me and why I never wanted Trey to find out.

“I roamed the kitchen aimlessly, I’d already forgotten why I was there. Standing, gawking at a carton of eggs, a gallon of milk, lunch meat, and Tupperware bowls and I couldn’t figure out why I was in front of the fridge with the door wide open. It petrified me, I thought I was losing my freakin’ mind.”

Chelsea reaches over and squeezes my hand, I see the pensive tears in her eyes. I’m not telling her this for her to run and tell Dad or to make her feel sorry for me. I swallow the lump delaying my next words.

“I panicked and hurried toward my bedroom finding the lamp already on, lights shining beneath the bathroom door and then I saw the bed. The sheets twisted, the comforter on the floor. I walked over to the nightstand and picked up another woman’s watch and that’s when I realized Jake was living a different life than mine, living life whether it was right or wrong and all I was doing was time. So I questioned myself, if I am going to die, is this the way I want someone treating me?”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me that day, Sinead?”

I shrug inexpressively. “You know I think at first it was denial, that’s why I tore off the first piece of paper I could find and scribbled something down to make it seem like I had it together and fabricated a list.”

“But wait…that means Jake had been screwing around during your entire chemotherapy sessions?”

“It doesn’t matter, Chelsea, the whole point is that I had to figure out a way to make my own life, mine again.” She wraps her arms around me and I hug her back with the exact same fierceness. She would always shield me when the monsters and imaginary creatures would scare me at night when we were little girls, now she can’t beat away or safeguard me anymore from my own demons. I release a little from our hug and tell her, “You were always my hero, Sea.”

It’s Monday and Dad’s flying in two days early, I pace the baggage claim in circles. Chelsea’s staring at me from across the carousel even though she’s wearing sunglasses, I can sense her. I’m starting to feel like the weather here, segmented and unpredictable. I cry on a whim like the sudden raincloud today tumbling in, out of nowhere and splatters drops of rain with the sun still shinning. No rhyme or reason.

I scroll through the songs on my phone waiting for Dad to arrive, his plans have apparently changed and it has me on edge.

What if they’ve decided to reassess my road trip? Maybe they’re going to abduct me and keep me here?

The throng of people bustle around, snatching up their luggage. I throw a glance toward my sister, and she motions to the terminal. The sea of bodies part instinctually and our dad strides through, everyone scampering, producing a safe distance far away from him. And rightly so, he’s intimidating just to look at. For tapping the fifty mark, he’s in impeccable shape, he has to be. His broad muscular arms carry two black bags and it makes me chuckle at his whole persona, bald, bad, and menacing.

Except when he sees us. His imposing frown turns and shapes into a small smile. Chelsea greets him first, wrapping her arms around him.

I send a tiny wave. “Hey, Dad.” 

“Sinead,” he returns and takes me into his massive arms.

I pat his chest and tease, “LAPD, huh? You had to let the whole world know your occupation?”

“It’s good to see you too, Babygirl. Come on let’s go get some real food.”

I slip my sunglasses down, peek behind Dad and taunt Chelsea, “I know a really good burger joint, Dad. I know you’ll just love it.”

Chelsea tugs her Jackie O styled sunglasses down to the bridge of her narrow nose and tsks. “I’ve already made reservations for us.” She shoves her glasses back up and ignores my teeth-baring-snarl. We pass couples holding hands and it makes me think about Trey, curious if he’s somewhere thinking about us. Did he regret any of it? Was I too much of a complication for him, for his sister, for his family?