38. Chapter 38

Chapter thirty-eight

Kelsey

I asked Caleb if we could go run sprints on the track one morning. "I want to see how much I've improved," I said, stretching my sides. I held out my hand and he handed me his headphones so that I could set them down by the fence with my phone.

"I bet you're going to be shocked," he said as I walked back.

"You know, I really thought I hated running."

"Everyone thinks they hate it because its hard and takes a lot of discipline," he said, pulling out his phone. "Ready? Go."

The balmy early summer air felt good, too good, against my cheeks as I took off and he timed me. When we practiced sprints, I couldn't use my headphones to pace myself. I had to listen to the steady beating of my feet against the springy track beneath me. It had taken me a month to figure out how to breathe in time with my running. When dancing, there are places to inhale and exhale, it's as choreographed as the steps. Running, however, was a lesson in listening to the burning in my lungs.

I slowed down after I passed Caleb and he called out my time.

Not good enough.

"Fifteen seconds is a huge leap for a beginner!" he called out as I caught my breath. He would. He was always finding the good in everything.

We switched places and I timed him. "I hate sprints," he wheezed, doubling over. "I have a stitch," he said, gripping his side. "I'm old. Call the nursing home. I need an oxygen tank!"

"You're so dramatic," I rolled my eyes and settled at the starting line. I needed to beat my time. I didn't know why, but I needed it. Before he said the word I closed my eyes and I tapped the barrel of my mother's memory. Just enough for some of the anger I felt to leak out.

When calling on that shaved another two seconds off my time, I turned the faucet a quarter more to let the memories flow a bit more freely.

When that shaved another two seconds off, I positioned myself at the starting line and let the worst of every memory out.

That stupid letter.

The last time she kissed my cheek before her "New-Year's trip!"

It's for the best.

Self-absorbed.

Self-obsessed.

No-good.

Fucking.

My quads were screaming.

She didn't even say good-bye.

She left me.

She didn't even say good-bye.

But she'd said, "I love you."

My body was going to give out and I only had a few meters left.

The money had always been worth more than me.

Money was more than me.

I was less than paper.

I crossed the line and screamed.

"Holy shit, Kelsey!" Caleb shouted out my time, jogged to catch up to where I was slowing down. I felt a ripple of endorphins push through my veins, knees trembling. My stomach lurched to my throat and I threw up water and the slice of toast I had eaten. I felt his hand on my spine. And I came, finally, undone.

It took my father a long time to realize I wasn't heaving anymore.

I asked the only question he could possibly answer about Erin. "How long!" I asked between sobs. Caleb's hand on my spine stilled. "How long until it stops hurting?"

"I don't know," he replied.

"How long until I forget her? "

"I don't know."

"You have to do better than that!" I screamed. I was facing him, but I couldn't see him, not through the tears. "I'm doing better than that. I'm doing everything right! So, tell me! When will she go away?"

"A long time," he answered quickly.

"No! I can't." The track felt like sandpaper against my bare legs.

He sat beside me, scrambling for words, started and stopping before finding his voice. "I was fucked up for a long time. I didn't trust anyone for years." He was stuttering, stumbling over my sobs. "I stopped thinking about her every day sometime around a year after she left. Then, I fucked up every relationship I had for a few years because I didn't trust anyone liked me as much as I liked them. Then I stopped trying to have a relationship. One day, she was gone. I didn't think about her anymore, ever. But I also didn't get therapy. I think it would have healed faster if I had gone to therapy."

"I want to pack everything up and move it out of the house."

"Okay."

"I want to sell it."

"Okay."

"I never want to see that house ever again."

"Whatever you want, I'm here."

"Aren't you going to tell me to stop crying?"

"What?"

" Don't cry. She always said don't cry." I was beyond myself, answering before my mind could process the words and spit them out.

"Yeah, because she didn't like feeling accountable for the pain." Caleb scoffed. "She said that to me, too." He put an arm around me and I leaned into him. When I found comfort in his shoulder, everything buckled. I buried my face into his chest and hid there for a long time, sobbing violently, my tears staining his shirt.

I'll never remember what was said in his arms, only the feel of him holding me above the surface as the ocean pulled me under.