Going Back

Today is Different (Him)

I stared deeply into the cheap brown liquor occupying my glass, somehow searching for an answer that I knew it wasn't going to provide me. While it wasn't my drink of choice I found it to be oddly fitting of my surroundings.

A smoky haze filled the bar, slowly dancing between two to of the neon signs buzzing noisily overhead and certainly doing nothing for the ambiance. A voice accented with a deep twang filled the room, playing over a set of speakers that were a little worse for wear. Somewhere on the mostly empty dance floor my two friends were hanging on to every word of a couple local wannabe cowgirls who clearly frequented this god forsaken establishment. I rolled my eyes and returned my focus to the glass in front of me. The desperation in the room was almost palpable.

I sipped my drink, immediately wishing that I hadn't. It burned going down, barely above rubbing alcohol in quality, though I had certainly consumed plenty of it in my day.

I wondered what had even convinced me to come out. I hate cigarette smoke. I hate country music. I hate whiskey. I had been drug along by some well meaning friends who became quickly side tracked by the proverbial catch of the day, as I let my mind wander places it shouldn't. Today was always tough. And it hasn't gotten any easier over the years. I wondered what she was doing now. Was she out with friends, celebrating without a care in the world? Does she have a good life? I hope she does.

And her mother. I should be with her mother, just sitting with her, letting her know I hadn't forgotten. Sure, I sent flowers but I truly felt it wasn't near enough. I should get off of this barstool and run to her, but I know I won't. And honestly I don't think that she wants me to. She's probably better off without me, though I'm certainly a hollow version of myself without her. 

The whole point of this evening's outing was to get my mind off of things. I guess it wasn't working. I slid a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and lay it on the bar. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I knew I wasn't staying here.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver my home address, knowing that's where I should be, even if it wasn't my first choice. As the street lights went by I wondered where I'd gone wrong. I wondered when it got out of hand- and when it all fell apart. I'd never before been here- in this place, in a place where she had so completely shut me out. We'd always been, well, Lindsey and Stevie, for lack of a better explanation. And for some reason, probably naively, I thought that was enough. I thought we had a bond that couldn't be broken. But I've watched her distance herself from me, gradually at first, and now even though I'm practically hypnotized by her every time she's near me, I feel as though she's a million miles away. That I've lost her and she's not even grieving  for me. That she doesn't even miss me. And I can't say that I blame her. I... I have nothing to say for myself, really. I haven't given up on her but good god she has tried her best to give up on me. Deep in my heart through, I know there's still something there.

As I reach my home I walk immediately into my study, reaching into my drawer and pulling out the old cigar box in the back. I was never one for fancy decor, and somehow the old box was a comfort. I flipped the top open, taking out every bit of information that I had on my daughter. An old tattered ultrasound, a photo of her on the day she was born, and my wristband from the hospital.

I held the tattered sheet of paper from the bottom of the box. that I must have looked at a million times. It was mostly redacted, less our names and signatures along with her date of birth. And scribbled in a blue ink pen at the top of the page was her first name. Emma.

Years ago I'd begun my quest to find her. I'd struggled with it, unsure of whether she'd want to know me or not, but I couldn't sit idly by knowing she was out there. And yet with all of my resources I was able to turn up practically nothing. Her first name is all that years of resources and thousands of dollars had found me.

I knew that I should have talked to Stevie about finding her, but I didn't want to give her hope where there was none. And frankly I wasn't sure how to broach the topic with her. She seemed so removed from the situation, so removed from me, that I found myself questioning if our love was even something that occurred a life time ago. Was I the only one holding on to what we had?

I sat in silence for a few moments before I placed the items back into the box, concealing them once again in my desk drawer and turning in. Normally I would force myself to go about my daily activities in a vain effort not to think about either of them. But not today. Today is different. There is no denying that my heart was lonely and broken.