The Anyway Clause

"Fuck Peyton List!"

Jane

Once upon a time there was a girl conservatively described as spirited. She was a very headstrong independent girl that felt doomed to never find a person that could match her or handle her. She prayed hard and often for a tall dark and handsome hombre to come and take her world by storm with mesmerizing chocolate eyes and black hair that shined in the sun. She thought herself a female Zorro except she'd exchanged the sword for switchblades she used to rule the barrios in Valencia, Spain and most of the chicos were intimidated by her. Then she moved to America and met her prince far-too-charming-for-his-own-good with dazzling blue eyes and wearing plaid. He was not what she imagined and the only thing he had that she prayed for was dark hair. God had a sense of humor. He was popular, had a distinct British accent despite being born and raised in America and he stole her heart. In the heat of a wild summer they eloped at the tender young age of 18. And after their parents stopped yelling, her new mother-in-law insisted her son give his new wife the wedding of her dreams. And a year later, on the same date of their original "wedding" they were wed once again in a vibrant yet classy ceremony.

The happy couple welcomed their first child, a handsome baby boy that was often teased, as little sisters do, by referring to him as "Georgie Porgie" or the "rough draft." The little princess had come five years after the little boy and, unlike her brother, came into the world screaming and fighting just like her mother. And the family lived happily. The couple shared sixteen years together before tragedy struck. War made the mother a widow and their handsome son and wild princess became children without a father. A different type of war, the battle within, tore the family apart further when the handsome boy left home on the back of a tornado of recklessness. And then it was just the princess and her mother. Like her mother, she grew into a headstrong independent storm of passion and stubbornness. They were very much alike and very different; each bearing wounds they didn't know how to heal. But, on the anniversary of the prince charming's death, the two women found their lives torn asunder once again. And when the dust settled, the princess found she was the only one to survive. Their family found its beginnings in the sizzle and burn of a wild summer blazing too hot for them to subdue their love for each other for a more sensible timeline and, in a similar heated night, with a burn too ferocious to squelch tempers, tears too hot to shed and the echo of pain too real to bear, it ended abruptly. The princess was forced to grow up immediately; she knew nothing would ever be the same and she wondered if she would ever know that happiness again.

When I woke up I didn't need to look at the calendar to know what day it was. Somehow, years apart, my parents died on the same date. If it wasn't so unbearably painful I would've examined how curious of a feat that was. But I didn't. Instead, I wallowed. Every year I always ended up at their graves laying between them with my eyes closed, talking until I ran out of words and then just crying because I could never fathom how another year without them had come and gone and, though I was still alive, it hadn't managed to become any easier. Today marked nine years since that man, whose face I would never forget, wearing freshly a pressed dress blue uniform came and told me my daddy was a hero. Nine years and I still wondered how long I would be ashamed of the fact I wished he'd been less heroic and had just come home to me like he promised. And then today also marked five years since my mother had stood strong in her conviction and sacrificed her life for my own. Another year, more time passed and nothing changed. Time had only managed to keep going. It still hurt and I still felt like a little girl needing her mommy and daddy. I imagined that I always would.

Scott left me to deal with my hangover and grief in peace. And for the most part I was dealing with it. I guess. I puked up the entire contents of my stomach, forced down some cereal which I threw up before I kept down some leftover pizza. I didn't want to connect to the outside world because nothing would help. No amount of conversation could take away all my words of misery. There wasn't a joke funny enough to make me smile, food filling enough to calm the rumble in my stomach or a single song good or annoying enough to get stuck on an endless loop in my mind to erase the memory of the way their voices sounded or the way Hailey dumped me. Everything always hurt more on the anniversary but, being made instantly single after all the drama, felt like it was adding insult to injury; it was vinegar poured into an open wound in my soul. I hadn't been prepared this year. It came upon me before I even felt the sickening crawl of misery in my skin as the hairs on my arms stood on edge. I always felt it coming without meaning to but this time was different. I wasn't ready. My defenses were down and, in my drunken dream state, I held them again. They pulled me close and it all felt as true and real as the throbbing in my chest. But I was back in reality. And no matter how real it felt, it wasn't real. What was real was my pain and the fact that they were gone and never ever coming back again. I sat on the balcony listening to the carefree music of the birds, sipping tea like my father used to do when he would just sit and think and I let a fresh wave of new tears just roll down my face.