Loved - A Novel (19 page)

             
March, 2005.

              Two of my acquaintances were getting married on the same Saturday. It was odd enough that both weddings were the same day, but it was even odder that both couples invited me despite us only being acquaintances. One of the guys from my Belmont West group was marrying his high school sweetheart, and one of Lacey’s friends was marrying her new love.

              I put on a black Betsey dress and a blue shawl and curled my hair. Chad picked me up in the family BMW convertible. The first stop was Lacey’s friend’s reception, which was downtown in the building where my new church met.  The ambiance was romantic, a very dim room with lots of candles. We danced, first to “At Last,” and then to any other slow song they played, my head on his chest. I loved his height next to me; his solidity made me feel so secure. He had nicknamed me “tiny peanut” because I was always curled up next to him, so small.

              Then, we were off to the dessert reception at a hotel.  We danced some more as if we were the only people in the room. Everyone else could look at the bride and groom; we didn’t need their eyes on us.

              The night had gotten colder and I shivered in the car.  Finally, wrapped up in warm covers in my bed, I drifted off to sleep—a tiny peanut next to the man she loved.

              “Hey,” Chad whispered. I barely heard him and I was awake only enough to make a small acknowledging sound.

“I love you.” 

              “What did you say?” I asked. I was awake now. I turned to him and could see his eyes sparkle. 

“I love you,” he said again.

              “I love you too!” I replied, relieved.

              The floodgates had opened. Now that we could say it, we did—all the time. And we felt it too. Every day was a celebration that we had found each other. 

              He took me to a Titans game where I cheered for them but let it be known that I was a Steelers fan first. We drove to Pittsburgh where he met more of my friends and family and we saw
Dave Matthews Band
play. We had dinner at his parents’ house once a week and would play scrabble with his brother. We went out with his friends to their favorite sports bar and with my friends to a local Steelers bar, and both groups of friends for two-for-one pizzas on Tuesdays.

              He cooked for me or sometimes for his whole family.  He made bacon wrapped scallops or pork tenderloin with some kind of secret sauce that tasted like heaven. We watched
Extreme Home Makeover
every Sunday and made tortellini for dinner together.

              In addition to the beard and the tan, Chad had traded in his oval wire frames for chic brown glasses. Over time and with my encouragement he bought a new wardrobe and his clothes fit his tall muscular body properly now, unlike the baggy Old Navy jeans and oversized fleece he wore the first time he came to my apartment. He was becoming more and more handsome all the time.

              The only downside to his new appearance was that the girls he had grown up with and had known all his life were starting to notice him in a different way. He told me about a girl who kept asking him to come over for a drink when her roommate was out. He kept telling her no. His band started playing other venues and the area in front of the stage would always be full of screaming girls. Most of the time I would sit back and laugh, but every now and then he would do something like take a cigarette from a girl and smoke it for a few minutes. I didn’t know if it bothered me more that he was responding to the girl or because it wasn’t his style to smoke.

              One day after lunch, Chad and I stopped by a jewelry store known for carrying ornate, vintage-style designs. We were just going to look, but the salesman encouraged me to try one on. I didn’t want to take it off, but I knew we weren’t quite ready for that yet. We were in love, but we weren’t going to rush things. We were in awe of each other and we weren’t afraid.

             
June, 2005.

              Chad graduated from college and took a job in car sales to support himself and his music career with the possibility of a master’s degree as Plan B. I took a job in Tour Marketing and Promotions. I missed fashion, but I was getting my foot in the door in the music industry and I was one step closer to my dream of helping artists shape their careers.  I really liked the job, the artists that I worked with and my coworkers.  Things were moving forward at a good pace-one step at a time.

              I got another random email from Chase that he titled “Mr. Brightside,” in which he talked about a band called
The Killers
, his plans to stay with his brother for a while, and nothing else in particular. I didn’t really have anything to say back so again I didn’t respond.

              I kept in touch with one of my clients from Betsey Johnson, who was a real estate agent and who told me about the growing condo market in Nashville.  It would be smart to invest in something now as the market grows, I realized.  Chad was excited, too, so the agent took us to see some of the condos.  We loved the style and location of one near Music Row, and my parents lent me the money for a down payment.  The condo was in my name alone, which I thought was a good thing to do until we were married.  It would be my home first, then our first home.

              Chad and I were sharing our lives.  I could see it like the steel beams that were going up to frame our building.  I could practically hold it in my hands like the contract on which I had signed my name, where we wrote in our choices for granite and flooring.  We didn’t just have dreams, we had an attainable future.

In between the moon and you

The angels get a better view

Of the crumbling difference

Between wrong and right

Counting Crows

             
August 16, 2005. 

It was a normal Wednesday morning at the office. I was talking with some radio folks about the tours that I was promoting and sending posters and stickers out to country music bars. Early in the afternoon, Meredith messaged me online and asked if I was busy or if I was available to talk.  Though we regularly talked from our offices throughout the day, I knew something was different. I went out in the hall and sat on the tan leather couch. My heart started beating faster and my vision was a little blurred. My mind was spinning while I called her.

              My first thought was that something had happened to my first boyfriend who spent most nights at the local bar and then drove himself home. However, when Meredith began to speak it wasn’t his name she said.

              “Chase died last night.”

             
No!

              No no no no no no no!

              A million questions followed and Meredith didn’t have many answers for me at that point. She knew it was a drug overdose but didn’t know how or what. She knew his mom had been the one to find him. She didn’t know whether it was suicide or accidental. She, of course, assured me she would do anything I needed and to please call her later.

              I left work immediately and called Chad, Sophie, and my parents. I didn’t cry until I left the office, at which point I sobbed violently all the way home to the apartment that I was now sharing with Sophie.

              I got home before she did and crumbled to the floor.  She found me an hour or so later, sitting in the laundry basket. I wasn’t sure how I got in there but I realized then that I’d been folding my underwear over and over again. There was now a neat stack of pastel cotton and lace next to the laundry basket. She helped me out, sat me on the bed, and let me talk and cry and talk and cry. We were both in disbelief.
How could this happen
, I kept thinking.
This can’t be real. Can’t I just wake him up and tell him how much we all love him and we don’t want him to go?

              On the phone earlier, Chad told me that he had some things to do and he would be over later. I was hurt by his obvious failure to be there in a time when I needed him badly, but I considered the possibility that he didn’t understand what a big deal this was. He knew who Chase was, but rarely did I mention Chase to Chad. He did come over that night and sleep in the bed with me. He held me while I cried, a kind of crying I never wanted to experience again. It felt like a dark hopelessness had taken over me. It felt like someone had turned out the lights in my heart.

              The darkness that I felt was palpable. I didn’t sleep for days. I dreaded bedtime because that was when I was alone with my thoughts and when the awareness that he was gone, really, forever gone, became acute and unavoidable.

              I did find out that Chase’s death was an accident. He had been on Methadone, a drug designed to curb the urges of heroin addicts, only that it is lethal when mixed with heroin.  Chase gave in, just one time, and it killed him.

              I went back to the email he had sent me just the week before. Was he reaching out to me? I hadn’t answered him yet and now I never could.

August 10, 2005 “He was trying”

Everything has turned to shit, to be honest. I am seeing someone and she is very sweet and laughs at everything I say and she thinks I’m cute, so that’s good. Other than that I’ve been struggling with addiction. I won’t say to what, so you won’t think I’m shit, but I ended up going to rehab for a month and am fighting urges, and sometimes losing to them every day. I go to meetings and have a sponsor.  The light at the end of the tunnel, though, is if I can get 6 months clean (God willing) I will be able to go back to school, which is what I really want to do.  How are you?  I’m sure you’re doing fabulous and I hope you are happy nowadays.

Take pains, be perfect.

Chase

              I couldn’t get off work to go to the funeral. If I had insisted on going, I’m sure my boss wouldn’t have fired me but I knew that at the funeral I would be there with a crowd of people who were sad that Chase was gone but never truly knew him. I wanted more than that. I knew him better than anyone. I wanted to be with the family, not the crowd, so I decided not to fight my boss about it. Instead, I planned to go up there on his birthday to spend that time alone with his mom, and to grieve the way I needed to grieve.

              Didn’t he know how important he was? I could not come to terms with the fact that I would never again talk to him. He would never make me laugh again. He would never introduce me to a new band that would take my life in a different direction and he would never hold my hand or stare into my eyes with his bigger blue eyes.  One little slip—a mistake! My heart was absolutely broken.

              I spent some time staring at the picture in which we looked so alike, thinking about how similar we really were.  We were both ruled by passion and creativity—only his was met with desperation and mine with caution. His darkness tried to claw its way out while I had to purposely stir mine. I decided I didn’t believe in soul mates. If there was such a thing, I wanted to believe he was mine, but where did that leave Chad? It wasn’t fair so I rejected the concept.

             
October, 2005.

              When I went to see Chase’s mom, she cried a lot while I cried a little. The house looked and smelled just as I remembered it and I could not believe Chase wasn’t waiting in his room for me to come in. I told his mom this. She got up and walked to the mantle and asked if I wanted to hold him, then she handed me a very pretty urn.

              She told me how much Chase loved me, how she knew that he and I were meant to be together, but she was happy for me that I was doing well in Nashville and that I had found someone special. I promised her that I would help her to keep his memory alive, and that I would never forget him, not a single thing about him.

              I didn’t ask to go into his room that day. I couldn’t bear it.

              On the drive home, I tried so hard to imagine him in the passenger seat next to me. I thought that if I could remember the details clearly enough or beg God or Chase’s soul or whatever convincingly enough, that just for a moment he would truly be sitting there beside me. However, that’s not how it works. I was left here, in this world, to drive on alone.

              He was sixteen when I met him and he was twenty-one when he died. Roughly sixty-three months I knew him. Some months he commanded and others we didn't even speak at all. Sixty-three months is something I could map. I could see it. I could take it apart and put it back together like an engine, studying it inside and out. But I couldn’t pinpoint a singular source; the impact that those sixty-three months would have on the rest of my unfinished life would always seem mysteriously huge.

              Every day got a little easier. They say grief is only relieved by the replacement of the thing that’s been lost or if the griever adjusts permanently to accommodate the loss.  Chase could not be replaced, though that’s not to say I couldn’t be truly happy and in love with someone else. I suppose I did begin to adjust to the loss the longer I lived with it.  That’s how it felt—that the loss of him had a life of its own. I lived with it as I could have lived with him. Some nights it was quiet and sometimes it pounded on my door. Some days we would argue and some nights we would dance.