Between Two Eternities || Travis Hamonic

(26) Hanging on to the Edge of a Kiss

"I don't know what they are called, the spaces between seconds - but I think of you always in those intervals."

-Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper

I was lied to.

By everyone I care about.

And by those who I don't.

Wyoming lied to me. Aunt Molly lied to me. The nurses and therapists at Highland Ridge lied to me.

Most importantly, and enlighteningly, Travis lied to me.

They all promised me one thing. Differing things, but things I counted on.

Surprisingly, I had found that I liked spending my time at Highland Ridge. It reminded me of an elderly home. Except with therapy. To fix me.

Don't get me wrong, my life in there was governed by rules. I was told when to wake up, when to eat, when to socialize (which I didn't do much of), when to speak, when to sleep. After a while I got used to it.

My time was limited enough so that I only had time to think about what my therapists told me to think about:

The big picture. They said to think of every thought I have as a piece of a bigger personality complex. But all my thoughts are about how I have nothing.

Not anything to look forward to when I get out.

They also took my phone away. But not before the first few weeks. A few dreamlike weeks of sweet texts and late night phone calls from Travis. Those weeks falsely made me believe that I wasn't sick.

I had hid the phone in my plain white pillow case. And every night I would revel in the little sentences he would send to my phone. Or sometimes just words.

I miss seeing you.

I think about you all the time.

I scored tonight. Would you believe me if I said it was for you?

I can't wait until you come back.

I want to kiss you again.

I looked forward to them as much as I looked forward to going home. To actually seeing him.

But then he stopped sending them. After a day of silence, I asked where he was. No answer. He never answered anymore.

For weeks I sent messages to him, until I came to my senses and stopped sending them. It made me feel horrible about everything. I stopped cooperating with my therapists and the other patients, because it meant they would keep me in here longer.

If I was in Wyoming I wouldn't be in New York.

Finally, late one night, I worked up the courage to call him. I had to whisper in case one of the patrollers heard me from the hall. It was around midnight, meaning it was two in the morning in New York. However, I believed Travis would answer, because he always answered when I called late at night.

It went to voicemail.

I sighed, about to hang up but then the beep sounded. What am I supposed to say in a voicemail message to the man I love, but haven't talked to in two weeks?

"Travis? It's me, Arden. Uhm I'm sorry I'm calling you this late," I had to remember to whisper. "I didn't really plan what to say so I'm just gonna ask what's going on? If you don't want anything to do with me anymore, I understand." A moment of silence as I tried to silently push back tears. I didn't know I would cry. "I'm sorry," I manage. Then I hang up.