HEAL YOU | JENLISA

THIRTY-FIVE

JENNIE

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THE FOLLOWING DAYS GO BY IN A STRANGE BLUR. I FEEL LIKE I sleep away most of my time, but it’s not a good sleep that leaves me feeling rejuvenated and well rested. It’s fractured, an hour here, two hours there, and I toss and turn through most of the night, soaking my pajamas with sweat.

I should be caring for my dad, but I’m an outcast now. I can’t return to the house. Ironically, it’s a relief to be away from Priscilla, my mom, my dad, that room, and the E-flat moans. But guilt and a deep sense of rejection plague me constantly. I’m not better off than before. I might even be worse. Food doesn’t taste good. I can’t focus enough to read. I can’t escape into music.

I miss Lisa.

When I’m awake, I watch documentaries so David Attenborough’s voice can keep me company or I look at pictures of me and Lisa on my phone. I want to, but I don’t let myself message or call her. I hurt her. I let my fear of people’s opinions control me.

And what good did it do me?

My life is in ruins now. But that’s because it was built on lies in the first place—my lies. Perhaps this was always going to happen. Perhaps it needed to happen. I can’t bring myself to apologize to my family for speaking up for myself when they finally asked for more than I could give.

If there’s someone I need to apologize to, it’s Lisa. I said the words the night of the party—“I’m sorry.” But I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t claim her in front of everyone the way she deserved, and I’ll regret that forever. If I could do it over again, I’d be proud to tell everyone she’s mine.

Except she’s no longer mine.

I can give her a better apology, though. The more I think about it, the more certain I become that I need to do it. I fixate on it until one day—I’m not even sure what day it is; a glance at my phone says it’s Sunday—the need for action propels me into the shower, where I scrub two weeks’ worth of grime from my body.

When I’m clean and dressed in fresh clothes, I do the fifteen-minute walk to Lisa’s apartment. It’s a boxy eight-story building that I’ve only been to once before, and that was the underground parking garage the first night my dad was in the hospital. I’ve never seen the inside of his place. There’s probably a list of Bad Girlfriend Attributes with that on it.

I’m building up the courage to call her and ask her to let me into the building when a guy in sweaty exercise clothes opens the front door and gives me a double take from the doorway.

“You’re Jennie,” he says.

“Do I know you?” I’m not good at remembering faces, but his is pretty enough that I feel like I should know if I’ve met him before.

“Ha, no. We’ve never met, but I’ve seen pictures of you. I’m Michael.” He doesn’t try to shake my hand, but he does offer a guarded smile. “Here to see Lisa?”

I duck my head self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“Why?” he asks.

I squirm in my shoes for an uncomfortable moment before saying, “I need to apologize to her.”

After a short hesitation, he smiles at me and steps aside to hold the door open for me. “She’s in 8C, since you don’t look like you’re familiar with this place. Knock. She never hears the doorbell.”

“Thank you,” I say gratefully as I run inside.

The elevator ride is short, but it feels long because my heart beats so hard. I know what I need to do to show him how I feel, and it’s terrifying. But if it works, if this makes a difference, it’s worth it.

When I reach a door labeled 8C, I straighten my dress, tuck my hair behind my ear, and lift my chin before knocking. Three times like I mean it.

Because I really do mean it.

I’m not just going through the motions. No one pressured me. No one pushed me. I knocked on the door because I intended to. I’m standing here because this is exactly where I mean to be.

It’s me, Jennie. There’s something I need to say.