To say the least, the two Southern Belles weren't what I was expecting.
They exited the car like they had a personal issue to pick with the Northern States. His sister came up to me and gave me a solid once over. "You're skinny. But pretty."
As if those were the only two important defining qualities.
His mom didn't really say anything to me. She immediately started complaining about the four states worth of bugs on her car which looks fairly spotless to me. She noticed me standing there, holding a plate of sun warmed brownies as if I was a mere inconvenience in her way. In a lilting Southern accent she told her son to take me inside so I wasn't standing around holding the goddamn brownies.
The sister immediately piped in. "She wants to hold them. It's a technique you use when you're nervous. Hold something so you don't have to touch people. I've used it before."
Okay, so she has zero filter. But, excuse you, I'm just trying to be polite and I'm not going to make my boyfriend hold my brownies like he's a slave. So I appreciate the analysis but you actually don't know anything about me.
The brownies are taken inside never to be seen again. When we return outside, his sister immediately attacks him for her 305 Texas cigarettes and a lighter. His mom is already halfway through another cigarette, completely unaware of my presence. I watch as his sister lights the end and inhales. She smokes like she has a personal vendetta against the carcinogens as well as the very oxygen she's breathing. But at the same time, she smokes the cigarette like it belongs against her lips. There's a certain assertive air surrounding her that I both appreciate and am intimidated by.
They're nothing like I imagined.
Full of attitude. They both act like they have the world held by the balls. A little bitchy at first, but in the best way possible. Beautiful, southern accents with overly tanned skin and the southern bling every Texan momma feels the need to don. They're assertive in the way that they know they belong and aren't afraid of anyone's opinion.
I am both fascinated and terrified. In a way, I envy everything they are.
I would prefer to remember the night in fragments. My brain chooses to remember the night in its entirety but soon it'll fade into broken shards that will always slice through the jumble of life. Perhaps I will remember large slices for the rest of my existence because I cannot begin to verbalize how emotionally charged the entire night was.
His sister didn't cry. Neither did he. Instead they leaned against each other for support and frequented the outdoors, sharing shitty 305s ignited by stolen lighters. I stuck to two half friends, whom I rarely talked to. However, sometimes it is necessary to attach yourself heavily to a familiar face in a sea of strangers.
The sun is setting, and the temperature is dropping. We have a heroic plan to save a cat's life on deck, but first come farewells. I am outside with my two half friends whom I have been fake laughing with part of the time, ignored by the other half. They go up to the sister and she feigns friendship with them as she hugs each in turn. I hang back, my hands in the pockets of my ratty work jacket, feeling the all too familiar feeling of anxiety weighing on my chest. For a second I think she's going to walk away; and then she comes over and opens her arms for a hug.
I am surprised to say the least but I gladly accept the small token of acquaintance and hug her back, my hands resting upon the hair cascading over her back. "It was nice meeting you. I've heard a lot about you."
"I've heard a lot about you too," is all I can think to say. Like how you got so stoned you thought you were going to throw up. Or how you got drunk and vomited silently and then apologized to everyone in a whisper while tears were streaming down your face.
I digress.
The hug is broken and I head back inside where people are slowly streaming out and the musician is packing up his instrument. Inside, the mourning family is in a hurry to pack away all of the remembrances and souvenirs. Guest books, boxes full of memories, and flowers are all being hastily grabbed and rushed out of the door. I feel the need to be helpful rather than standing in the way, but honestly I am at a loss of what to take where. Just as I'm about to ask, the mom steps away from her son holding his can of Monster and sees me. "Rachel will you hold this?"
I'm not even really given a choice to verbally answer her, so my 'yes' is hollow as the can is shoved into my hands and I'm left once more with my two half friends who just share a look with me over the Monster can.
I have never hated standing around being a coffee table more.
When it was finally time to depart, neither mom nor sister said a single word to me. They both lit a new cigarette climbing into the pretty little Texan car, complaining about how freezing cold and shitty our state is.
I don't think we've ever had a completely silent car ride until that night.
I could tell he was in pain from the way he focused out of the passenger side window and refused to turn his head toward me. I could tell he was in pain from the heavy silence in the air and the way his hand tensed up on my leg.
When we arrived at our destination, I could feel all of his pain and it was like a freight truck running over my heart. I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over the dash, pulling him into a tight hug. The blue lights from the radio and dashboard illuminated our tears as they mixed together. I let all of his pain rush into my bloodstream and overwhelm me.
He said he couldn't do it. I knew that he had the strength in him. Isn't that true love? Knowing that even when your significant other has hit rock bottom that this still have a reserve of pure strength left within their heart?
Walking into that apartment was like walking into a coffin. I could still picture him sitting at the table, putting out the butt of a cigarette in his ashtray and complaining about how he couldn't fix his computer. Except the apartment was barren. The ceiling tiles were half caving in directly above where I had sat not two weeks ago. There was a certain vibe about the apartment that sent chills into my heart and caused adrenaline to spike in my veins.
He opened the bathroom door and a wave of nausea knocked me off of my feet. The smell of feces and cat piss was overwhelming. In the sink lay a terrified looking tabby cat that immediately hissed at the sight of humans. He coaxed it out of the sink and it immediately shot into the living room, confused at the barren house.
Trying to coax that poor cat into the carrier was too much for me.
Its cries and hissing shredded through the air. It didn't have front claws but it still used its paws to inflict maximum damage. I couldn't handle the knowledge that this beautiful cat was facing death if we didn't save it. My throat has started to swell, my eyes overcome with my emotions.
When he finally captures the cat, it falls silent. All resistance is dropped. Every sign of giving up.
We stand in the middle of the empty apartment, the only noise that of our heartbeats. We hold each other like the world is crumbling around us, like this is the only moment that has ever mattered. His arms are crushing me but the pressure of his love and pain are the only things helping me to hold on. I bury my head in his chest, letting the world go black as my tears stain his shirt.
"I can't fucking do this."
"I know." What else are you supposed to say when the strongest person you know is collapsing in your arms? 'He was a good man' doesn't help and sorry won't bring him back. No amount of words can help ease his pain, only love.
Saving the cat, back at the house, smoking on the back porch: she loves or hates you, this isn't a Disney movie he doesn't get the girl, I think we'll be friends and her sass and brutal honesty
