Blossom With Clarity

Chapter 5

Alison's POV


"Half-pint," my dad exclaims excitedly as I enter the large, wooden doors to his office. "Come on in! Happy to see my little girl," he beams as he stands up from his desk with open arms, waiting for me to join him in an embrace.

"Hi Daddy," I smile warmly after taking a moment to enjoy his infamous bear hugs. Growing up, I grew accustomed to seeing him in worn out jeans, t-shirts, or plaid shirts. I especially loved the days when my Mother and I would surprise him for lunch and I’d get the chance to see him in his full firefighting uniform. As a child, I never wanted to separate myself from my father’s orbit. The influence of his positive nature and is unwavering love for his family made the Georgia peaches taste sweeter, the sun shine brighter, and the dream for a better tomorrow become the only way I survived some days. Now that he’s a political figure and continuing to climb the ladder, I struggle to accept the suits and ties even though the same man is still underneath the more polished exterior.

"I'll be on my way," Hannah says while heading for the door.

"No Hannah, stay. I want to hear what you have to say as well," he replies gesturing for the both of us to take a seat in the empty leather chairs in front of his desk. Sighing deeply, he continues, "I wanted to talk about your debate performance".

"Girl you kicked her ass," Hannah declares passionately while extending her hand for a high five. As little girls growing up in Lakemont, people often thought Hannah and I were sisters. While we share many features such as voluptuous, blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and peaches and cream skin, Hannah and I are very different people.  Hannah was always the rebel, daredevil, ultimate truth teller, and the biggest dreamer of us all. I on the other hand had a penchant for peculiarities, shyness, and the need to please or fix others.

Reciprocating Hannah’s gesture, I giggle and reply, "Thanks Han. I don't really know what got into me. It all just kind of came from the heart and with ease. Dad, I wanted to make it crystal clear how you were right for the job".

"And that you did my dear. Your words were too kind and your performance is all anyone is talking about," my father states simply while relaxing deeper into his plush, leather, chair.

"He's right," Hannah interjects. "It's all over social media. People are calling you a badass. People think you made them look awful and called them out on their bull. You really boosted his approval points and the polls are showing an early lead,” Hannah adds while handing me her tablet for me to view a compilation of comments from various social media outlets.

"The Walker political camp is now playing defense,” he furthers. "And I intend to build upon the tone you've set. Grass roots efforts," he carries on while jokingly pounding his fist in the air.


After discussing the next steps in the campaign for about another hour, Hannah and I finally leave my father's office and head out for lunch to Lanura's, a hole in the wall sandwich shop about three blocks from his office.

"Ali, I still can't believe how you didn't back down and you buried that bitch," Hannah says suddenly after taking the first bite of her sandwich as we seat ourselves by the window in a more intimate corner of the shop.

"Again, thank you. But to be honest, I don't think she's a bitch," I reply truthfully, looking down at my sub, and suddenly submersing myself in deep thought.

Hannah raises her eyebrows and slaps her hand against my forehead. "Do you have a fever or are you just crazy," Hannah asks jokingly. "She's so full of herself; she insulted you, and she waltzed around like she was better than you,” she reminds me in a more serious tone now.

"I know on the outside it looks like that," I explain removing her hand from my forehead, "But on the inside, I think there is more. You have to just know what you are looking for."

"Oh Ali, don't go down this road again. Not everyone can be saved. It's not your job to try and be someone's savior either. She's a bitch...... to the core.... and she's only going to hurt you if you try and get close enough to fix her woes," Hannah warns.

My thoughts begin to wander again to the memory of our interactions as her words begin to sink into the crevices of my mind. The one thing I keep going back to is the thing I can't get out of my mind. The thing that leaves a haunting feeling in my chest as I look out the window is her eyes. Emily's deep, swirling, brown eyes are incredibly telling. I see so much pain in them. Those eyes tell a story and I can't help but want to know what goes on behind those orbs of truth. But Hanna is right. What if I am just being foolish? What if I am just falling into my old patterns again? What if I’m missing being a therapist and am imagining that she’s in need? The truth is, Emily could hurt me. She could spot my weaknesses and use them against me. Then she'd ultimately be hurting my father, his campaign, his dream. I can't let that happen. No matter how badly I want to peak behind the wall Emily has built up around her.

I know my parents would be worried sick about me if they knew that I was running in Central Park at midnight. Normally I'd be opposed to it as well, but for some reason this full moon has the tides of my body uneasy and in desperate search for peace. I can feel the pull of the moon coaxing me outside to feel the gentle glow of the eerily lit skies.

For a few years now, I've tried to be especially mindful of my diet and how much exercise I incorporate into my week. That being said, I have my many vices and I don't deprive myself. "Everything in moderation," as they say. I usually try and mix up what I use as a source of exercise whether it be running, spinning, yoga, rock climbing, boxing, you name it. I'm game. Tonight though requires my return to the most effective way to clear my mind and ease my troubles. If you think about it, running is a lot like working your way through life's many challenges. When you first start out, your lungs feel tight and uncomfortable. You experience an initial period of struggling to adjust to the increased demand yet you know you have to keep pushing forward. Relief will find you once you adjust. Until then, you do what you can till you can get there, listen to music, think about something else, focus on controlling your breathing, whatever works for you. Once your body begins to relax and compensate, you begin to feel like you've won the battle. You've persevered and you can bask in the fruit of your hard labor.
Thankfully, by the time I reach Central Park, I've already reached the enjoyable stage of running. My body is no longer fighting me and I'm beginning to focus on the even greater task at hand, quieting my persistent thoughts. As I look around, I see that there are only a few people in the park. A homeless man, an elderly man walking his equally elderly chihuahua, a business woman walking home from a long day at work, and two lovers holding hands, aimlessly strolling through the park capture my attention as I pass them. The deeper I run into Central Park, the more desolate and remote it begins to feel. The boisterous symphony of crickets, my methodical breathing, and my feet rhythmically pounding the pavement are the only sounds to fill my ears.

Making my way through the tree covered pathway, I make a turn for the famous, arching bridge where I plan to stop and enjoy the peace and quiet for a little while. Halting my pace at the foot of the bridge, I interlock my hands and rest them of the top of my head, taking in as much oxygen as possible as I slowly try to normalize my breathing. “In and out, in and out, in and out,” I think to myself as I begin to walk towards the center of the bridge, all the while closing my eyes and taking in the smell of dewy grass and the sound of trickling water.

Suddenly, the sound of sniffling captures my attention due to it's out of place nature. Opening my eyes, I realize there's a person sitting on the floor with their legs scrunched up tightly to their chest and their back resting against the bridge wall. Soft cries emit into the hands covering their face and I’m stunned by the person’s overall vulnerable state. I quietly approach this person, completely unaware of my presence. Now steps away from them, I realize a couple of things. Before me is a younger woman and she's clearly been drinking judging by the scent of whiskey wafting through the air. Crouching down to her eye level while maintaining a comfortable distance, I whisper quietly, "Ma'am, are you okay? What can I do for you? You seem upset".

Still covering her face, she croaks pitifully, "I'm fine. Please leave me alone".

Not convinced by her attempt to make me go away, I slowly reach for her hands covering her face. Thankfully she doesn't flinch at the contact and allows me to lower her hands as she continues to cry with her eyes purposely glued shut in a final attempt to keep me away.

Even in the near pitch black darkness that envelopes us, I instantaneously recognize this woman. My heart fell in my chest the moment my mind began to process the image before me.

"I'm surprised you haven't recognized this southern accent that I know you secretly love," I tease still holding her delicate, velvety soft hands.

In a split second, she stops crying and forces her eyes open to confirm the thought in her head. "Are you stalking me? Why are you always everywhere I go," she asks drunkenly as she slowly and defensively withdrawals her hands from mine.

"Emily, I was simply running in the park and saw someone in distress. So here I am. I had no idea it was you," I reply now sitting on the ground adjacent to her. "What the hell are you doing alone and drunk in this empty park? It's not safe for you to be this vulnerable. You know how dangerous the world can be," I add while rolling up my headphones and placing them in my pocket.



"I could say the same thing to you. You're by yourself too," she replies flatly and expressionless.

"Correct, but I'm completely sober and I'm running. At least I have the ability to escape danger. You're a sitting duck," I reply pointing at her and the puddle of misery she's wallowing in.

Rolling her eyes at me as she struggles to stand up, Emily attempts to walk away from me without a word.

Jumping up and catching her just in time before she stumbled to the ground, I continue, "Listen, let me take you home. You're in no condition to get home by yourself and I'd feel awful if I let you go and someone took advantage of you".

Turning her body to face me she replies bitterly, "How do I know that someone isn't you?"

"What are you even saying? That's a ridiculous question," I reply as I wrap her arm around my shoulder and slink my arm around her waist, guiding us to head for the main road.

"How do I know you’re not recording this to send to the media,” Emily mumbles under her breath.

"What did you say," I ask trying to clarify if I heard her correctly.

"Nothing" she groans angrily.

“You know,” I begin insolently, “Not everyone and everything is awful. Not every part of life sucks. Despite what you may think, I’m not one of those people that you have to keep your eye on. I’m not out to get you Emily”.

Silence creates a space between us while I continue to stabilize her as she drunkenly stumbles along. When we finally meander to the city streets, I hail a cab for us.

"Get in. I'll drop you off at your place," I order as I place her in the car. To my surprise, she doesn't fight me or spit a snarky comment at me. Slipping into the seat next to her, I ask her for the address to her apartment. To my surprise again, after a few seconds of silence, I realize that Emily is passed out with her head against the taxi's window. My attempt to coax her awake fails and I'm left with no other option but to give the driver the address to my apartment.

"Oh Emily," I whisper to myself as I shake my head at the sight of her drunkenly passed out in this taxi.

Thankfully Karen, the middle aged woman that lives across from me was walking her dog when we pulled up to my apartment. When she saw how much I was struggling to drag Emily out of the taxi and carry her inside, she immediately offered a helping hand. Fumbling through the door, we make our way to my bedroom and gently tuck Emily in my bed.

Quietly closing my bedroom door behind me I whisper, "Thank you for helping me. I don't think I could have gotten her up here by myself".


"Oh honey you're welcome. I hope she can just sleep this off and not be too sick in the morning. Or embarrassed for that matter," Karen replies with a small smile as she picks up her dog and heads for the front door.

Pausing at the doorway, she turns around and adds, "By the way Alison, I think it's great that you're showing her such kindness even though she was so rude to you. When you look at her, you can't help but feel awful for her. She looks so damaged. She needs a friend Alison".

Even after Karen left, I couldn't help but feel like she was right. Hell, I could use another friend. Between the two of us crippled souls, Emily does appear to be utterly broken almost to the point where she can't keep it together anymore. As I quietly open the door to my room, I notice Emily is still sound asleep in the same spot I left her. Creeping to my dresser, I quietly begin to pull out my pajamas and begin to strip my skin of my smelly running clothes. The turn of a knob, quick hiss, and the rush of warm water from the shower head begins my cathartic process of reflection. Trickling water delicately coats my skin and rises of soap suds as I transfix my focus as I wash away the day. I pray for sleep to welcome me in its arms. I pray that my long run will inspire my body to cease its internal struggle even though once again, the enigma that is Emily Walker is infesting my waking thoughts.

Stopping myself at the side of my bed, a thought enters my mind. Should I be sleeping on the couch to give her some privacy? Should I sleep in here just in case she wakes up and freaks out because she doesn't know where she is?

Ultimately, I decide to sleep in my own bed so she doesn't get any crazy ideas. I need my bed. I'm feeling tired now and I'd selfishly not like to wreck my neck and back by sleeping on the couch. As I settle into my bed and stare up at the ceiling, I whisper softly yet loud enough for her to hear if she is in fact awake, "Emily? Are you still asleep?" Passing seconds of silence and nothing but the humming sound of the air conditioning spurs me to continue even though the risk of her secretly being awake to hear what I'm about to say raises a red flag in my mind.

Nonetheless, I continue boldly, "I just don't even know what to say to you, much less what to do with you. I've never met anyone like you and it's causing me to question everything I do around you. One minute I'm afraid of what you'd do to me if I tried to get close to you. Would you unearth my weaknesses and try to exploit them for the benefit of your mother's campaign or for your own sick pleasure? I don't know if I could handle that kind of betrayal. But when I look at you, and keep running into you like this, I can't help but want to be your friend. When I look at the weak spot in your defenses, I see the truth. I know I'm not imagining the pain and loneliness I see in your eyes. You're going through something and you need someone to depend on. Even if you can't admit it to yourself, I think deep down you know in your heart of hearts that you're breaking into a million little pieces. I don't think you can maintain this front for much longer. You need a friend. Whether that person is me, I don't know. I can't answer that. But I think I'd like to try. If only I knew with absolute certainty that you wouldn't hurt me. Because if I'm being completely honest, the truth is, I need a friend too. I've always needed a friend other than Hannah. I need a constant in my life that completely understands me. I need a friend that will love me and support me unconditionally. I need someone that will be able to accept my problematic and challenging past. I need someone that I can feel comfortable around enough to be my true, unfiltered self. Now is that person you? I don't know. The real question is whether or not you are you open to the idea of being my friend with no malicious or duplicitous intentions?"