It was almost worse than that, you know. I found out that Livia was still so close with you, and I tried to be grown up about it and think "Well it's nice that she has such a good friend." However, I've come to the conclusion that sometimes being grown up is overrated. It amounted to more betrayal that I felt from you - my sister, my own blood, claiming the man who broke my heart as a brother? I wouldn't speak to Livia for three months. I would call home and if she answered I would hang up and call again until Mom answered. I ignored her if she spoke to me, I ignored her if she walked into the room, I ignored her very existence. Fortunately I realized that whatever she betrayed in me didn't matter - she was my blood and I wasn't going to return the hurt. I was mad as hell at you, too. I still wonder if I was justified in that, but it doesn't matter. I wanted to write to you, tell you to stay the hell away from my sister, you stupid bastard. Don't you dare hurt her like you hurt me.
But something changed. Someone taught me that I could call my heart back, and I did it. I called my heart back, I cut the soul-ties to you and I have no interest in mending them. It was so beautifully painful, removing that living, beating mass of fury. As they drew it from me I saw how it had reached into my veins, polluting my bloodstream, the oxygen I breathed. When it was gone, I walked out the door feeling physically lighter, as though I had been carrying a k'ang's worth of bricks on my head.
For two months I carried on with my life waiting for the rage to come back. It seemed impossible that so much poison could leave me in so little time. But it didn't come back, and I decided to test myself. When you left I put everything you had given me, every letter you had sent, every gift I had treasured, every seemingly insignificant memento into a bag and tossed it into the back of a closet where I wouldn't have to look at it. I forgot about it for a long while, but I was determined to test myself, to see if I was really free.
I put the bag in the middle of the floor and rebelliously turned it upside down. I didn't bother to be reverent about it, and I paused curiously. No, no rage. The first thing that fell out was the Coldplay cd you gave me (you dedicated Green Eyes to me, remember? Kind of makes me laugh when I realize that everyone dedicated that song to his girlfriend around the same time.) I almost forgot to wait to see if I was nostalgic. My first thought was "Hey, I've been looking for that!" and grabbed for it to put it in my computer.
Next came the box that looked like a book. I rifled through it, pulling out a beautiful conch shell, a number we stole from somewhere, tickets from prom and South Pacific, the ticket stub from the Ducks game I took you to, a packet of potpourri you sent me in a letter, the mermaid necklace you sent me, the rose you gave me at prom, a wooden bracelet you bought me in Costa Rica, and the little mirror heart we found at the roadside tourist stop on the way to Tambor. I remember you opened the heart and pointed it at me, saying, "Who's in my heart? Why, it's Lizzie!" before snapping it shut and saying "Ha, now you're trapped forever!"
I found the shell necklace you sent me in a letter once - I wore that thing everywhere, I even have an old ID picture I'm wearing it in - broken with the beads scattered everywhere. Pity, I loved that necklace. I would have worn it again had it not broken. I found the first draft of the letter I gave you before you left the first time, a letter you had left in the case of that camera you bought and never returned for, a drawing you had done and written "This is the only way I know to tell you I love you" underneath. I even found that yellow rubber band you used to wear, the one I wore around my wrist for six months after you left, the one I never took off until you gave me the ring.
The last thing in the box took me awhile to remember, because it was a ticket stub for an event you weren't there for. I remembered the event, but not why I kept the ticket. Then it came to me - at the bottom of the ticket I had circled the words "Sunday, March 26th". I kept the ticket to the concert I attended the day you decided to leave. Funny what a girl saves.
A picture frame fell out next. It was the picture you had sent me of you and Brenda. I looked at the picture thoughtfully, almost expecting tears. No tears came, so I shrugged and put a different picture in the frame. An envelope full of letters and poetry I had written to you in the madness of love. I found the polka dot notebook you gave me, and opened it to find letters I had written to you when you were away. I remember now, I wanted to give it to you as a present when we got married. Tucked inside were letters I never sent, letters I wrote when you left. One whole page full of "Why?"
At least twenty letters, all written in the confusion of heartbreak. I'm glad I never sent them, but I wouldn't have anyway. I respected you too much. Mom said you once told her you almost wished I would have fought you, fought your decision when you told me it was over. What good would it have done, Kev? Your mind was made up.
The glass slipper had slid off the pile a bit, and I almost didn't see it hiding behind my books. I remember receiving it; it came about a week after Valentine's day. The box didn't have a return address, just my name, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out who could have sent me a present. When I opened it I couldn't stop laughing in surprise and joy. How thoughtful, how clever of you, Kev. By then I'd forgotten all about my wish for glass slippers. If I couldn't have ones to wear, a girlish fancy, then at least I could claim to own one. I used to dust it every night, even though it had its own plastic case.
Next I saw that beautiful drawing of a hibiscus you drew for me, the Birthday note you wrote on the back. It had been framed in my room until I put it away. I laugh now because I remember when I was putting all these things away I stormed into Livia's room and told her she had to take down that drawing you made for her. She refused and I was so angry. I don't even see it anymore. You really do have an incredible talent with a pencil.
My photo album slid towards me and I grabbed it, knowing that if anything would make me remember the rage it would be the pictures. There were pictures of prom, my birthday party, and finally Costa Rica. But instead of that familiar constricted feeling that used to come, I started to laugh. There were pictures of the volcano we visited, the one I can't pronounce and apparently erupted recently. The one favorite picture of us laughing at something. (You have a great laugh.) A picture of Brenda and Antonio (was that his name?) where Bren looks mad at something. The two of us standing soaking wet in the spray of a waterfall. (White skirts are just as bad as white t-shirts when you're getting wet.) Pictures of you smiling your fake smile, your real smile, your Pirate smile. Pictures of me and your mom on the boat to Tambor. Pictures of your mom climbing that tree and falling off. The two of us trying not to fall out of the same tree. I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. I found some pictures of Brenda's trip here, too. I might send her some for old time's sake.
Last in the pile was the fat manila envelope that holds all the letters you sent me. A couple postcards fell out, and a bunch of the letters were bound with a rubber band. When I picked them up I realized what they were. Remember those silly emails we sent at the beginning? The ones about eggplants copulating with mayonnaise? I have all of them. I tried to read them but I forgot that they read from bottom to top so I got confused and gave up. We were ridiculous, but we cracked ourselves up.
Your letters made me smile. I remember how you used to put your cologne on them. I loved the smell of your cologne. Remember when you put so much on before Mom picked you up it rubbed off on the seat belt in the car? It didn't wear off for a long time, and whenever I sat in that seat I would press the belt to my nose and smell it. I found the letter where you thanked me for your cookie-cereal. Remember that? I baked you a humongous cookie and sent it to you, but by the time you received it it was crumbled to pieces, so you ate it as a cereal. I found a poem you wrote, letters where you talked about how Vincent Price was your favorite and Knox had anemia and the way you made Fabio's belch a ringtone for your phone. How I used to wait for your letters. I drove Mom crazy because I checked the mailbox every ten minutes.
I'll bet you're wondering what happened to the ring. I was wondering that myself, actually. I don't know what I did with it. I wore it for a long time after you left, but mainly because it was always too small for my finger and I couldn't get it off. One day in class I made up my mind and ripped it off, leaving my knuckles raw and skinned, and I remember being furious at the band of white skin that remained and reminded me of what had been there. I wore it to Europe, thinking at every river we came to "Just throw it in. There are probably hundreds of rings like yours down there." But I didn't. I did cry myself to sleep every night, thinking you should have been there with me. I'm glad you weren't. That trip made the pain a little less invasive, I think. There was so much to take in, and the extra six thousand miles between us somehow made it bearable. So I don't know what happened to the ring. I still have the little teddy bear you gave it to me in, though.
I put everything back in the box and sat back on my heels. No tears. Not even a catch in my throat or that awful constricting feeling in my chest. In fact, I had smiled and even laughed at some of the memories. I thought about that song we used to sing, "Till Kingdom Come". I would have waited, Kev. You just couldn't wait around to find out.
Luke told me I could call my heart back, so I did. Mandy told me to cut the soul ties, and I did. "But," they said, "Hold on to your memories. They are precious things, and though they remind you of painful things, they don't have to be painful." So I did. And now I'm free.
It feels like flying.
