Thursday, August 29, 2013

Chapter Forty-Nine (Amazing)

Previously, on "Memoirs Of A City Girl":
Ch. 48 (Hurt)
-Instead of driving back to Appaloosa, I decided to stop by
my parents' house. 
-My dad answered the door and I ended up crying in his arms
when he told me how much he missed me.
-He asked for my forgiveness, for not protecting me more
and being more involved.
-I admitted that I never felt like I was good enough, that
my parents loved Naveah more.
-My dad reassured me that he has always loved me but
he just didn't know how to show it.
-When I found out that my parents kicked my sister
out after Brad told them what happened, my mom got
upset and blame me for everything.
-I got fed up and finally gave her a piece of my mind.
-I told my mom that if I ever became a mother, I
hope I never become like her.
-When I went back to work, I had a parent-teacher
conference with Calla and her mom.
-It turned out that Rosie is also the same woman
that abandoned Brad.

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Location: Appaloosa Plains Public School
Date: Friday, 11/11/2011
Time: 4:07 p.m.

Mom. The moment that word leaves Brad’s mouth, my heart stops, and I can feel my blood cells freeze, along with time. The woman that raised Calla is the very same woman that abandoned Brad when he was a child. I quietly retreat back to my desk and brace myself on the smooth polished wooden surface, just to maintain my sense of balance. A part of me is unsure if I should even be here to witness such a private, yet profound moment. Rosie’s once calm and composed demeanor has become stricken with dread and guilt, challenged by Brad’s unrelenting gaze.

“What are you---” he studies her face just to make sure he’s not mistaken, that he’s not seeing things, but he’s unable to vocalize his thoughts completely. In his eyes---I see an emptiness that comes from deep inside---still yearning for a mother’s love and acceptance. It’s the very same thing I see in myself. “How did you---”

“Mom, what’s going on?” Calla’s voice reminds me that she's also witnessing all of this and she’s probably wondering why her mother looks like a deer caught in the headlights. She takes a few steps towards Brad, giving him an appraising look and asks, “Who is this?”

Mom?” his eyes widen, alternating his gaze between the middle-aged redhead and the rebellious 16 year old in front of him. “You have a daughter?”

“I’m sorry…” Rosie fumbles with her purse as she looks down at the floor, unable to withstand the questions and scrutiny of her own children---who apparently have never met. “I can explain everything.”

“Oh, you better. You have 17 years that you need to explain!” Brad shakes his head and folds his arms. I can hear him breathing through his nostrils.

“Calla, this is Bradley…your brother.”

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Silence. The truth finally emerged in its rawest, purest form---leaving no room for any other interpretation or possible denial. I saw it leave Rosie’s lips, harpoon through Brad’s heart and land on Calla’s throat. “I don’t…understand,” she mutters warily, “I thought I was your only child.”

“Honey...the truth is...I left your father and two older brothers 17 years ago.” Rosie sighs, reluctantly revealing the missing pieces of her past. A painful past that she ran away from, just like I did, when I moved to this town. “I was 11 weeks pregnant with you.”

“What?? My dad is alive? And I have two brothers?”

“Yes, baby. You see, your dad was very…abusive.” There’s an undeniable strain in Rosie’s voice at the mention of the man who is the father of her children. Her eyes suddenly become clouded with sorrow---as if the vile memories are flashing in her head---opening up old wounds. “He hurt me and your brothers. I just…I wasn’t strong enough…to deal with it all.”

“And we had to deal with that alcoholic monster.” Brad breaks his own silence. There’s a coldness in his voice, the kind that is almost necessary to contain the dam of anger itching to break free. With a look of disgust, he points at Rosie while his eyes search Calla’s face. “See this woman right here? She left. She didn’t even try to come back for us. Why do you get to be so lucky?”

“Lucky?? I just found out my whole life’s a lie!”

“I kept the right ones out
And let the wrong ones in
Had an angel of mercy
To see me through all my sins
There were times in my life
When I was goin’ insane
Tryin’ to walk through the pain”

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I become increasingly uncomfortable. Like a fly on the wall, only everyone can see me and they know I’m here. Having just dealt with Luke---and my own parents---I’m still emotionally drained. Now this. Having to watch this drama unfold in front of my very eyes, and not knowing how it’s going to end. This is something Brad needs to deal with on his own. I walk up to him and whisper, “Brad, I’m gonna go.”

“No, don’t leave.”

“You need to talk to your family in private.”

“Can I---” he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the floor, before returning my gaze. I know that look. The need for refuge after the storm, when all you have left is bits of your sanity---and fragments of yourself that you managed to salvage. The overwhelming need to share the aftermath with someone---because if you don’t, it’s easy to get lost in the debris---and you may never find your way out. “Can I see you afterwards?”

“I’ll be at home,” I lean in to give him a soft kiss on the forehead, letting him know that he’s not alone. “Talk to them, Brad. They’re hurting just as much as you are.”

He nods morosely. “I’ll…try.”

I flash Rosie an empathetic smile to let her know that I understand---that they need their privacy. She gives me an appreciative nod. I turn to Brad’s sister and say, “See you Monday, Calla.” 

“Bye, Ms. Santori.”

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Location: 1012 Pomona Promenade
Time: 6:05 p.m.

By the time Brad stops by, it’s already past six and I’m actually glad to see him. In the hour and a half that I’ve been home, I couldn’t take a nap. I couldn’t concentrate on whatever I was watching on t.v. I could barely even eat anything, despite my stomach’s complaint that I only had a flimsy salad for lunch. In the silence of my own home and the fading sunlight, Luke’s presence still lingers. Memories of him, of us, of the incessant reminder of what could have been---wondering if he’s thinking of me too. 

As Brad takes the spot next to me on the couch, I force myself to stay in the present as I push Luke out of my mind. “How did it go?”

“It was brutal,” he takes a deep breath, somewhat lost in his own thoughts as he blankly stares at the fireplace. It’s almost hard to believe that we made love next to it not too long ago. Now it feels like a distant memory, as if I’m merely recalling from a hazy past. “I blamed my mom for everything. I yelled. I screamed. I cried. She cried and apologized. My sister cried too. It was a mess.”

“You guys finally confronted everything.” I smile as I briefly search his face, reassured that I did the right thing by leaving. Despite the puffiness around his eyes---there’s an unmistakeable serenity that I haven’t seen in a long time---usually reserved during our passionate, intimate moments. “That’s good.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still angry. But I remembered what you said and it helped me stay calm enough to hear my mom out.”

“I understand what you’re going through, trust me. I just confronted my own parents. All my life I thought my dad loved my sister more and I just found out it’s not true.”

“Did you---” he pauses, especially after the mention of Naveah, as if he’s unsure if he should tread that topic, “see her?”

“No. My parents kicked her out.” Strangely, the mere mention of her doesn’t feel like a punch in the gut---the way it used to. Before, I couldn’t even think about her without being consumed by blind rage---and my heart being shanked. Now she’s more like a sore, tender, swollen scab. Almost closed up, still healing, but not as painful. “And my dad told me what you did.”

“There’s not a day that I wish I can change that. I’m not proud of it.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for telling the truth.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

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There’s a moment of silence where neither of us know what to say. I’ve made my peace with my parents, I no longer allowed my anger towards my sister to control me and now---there’s only one other person I need to make my peace with---which is Brad. As I quietly study him sitting next to me, his familiar scent waking up old memories, I become bombarded by a wave of sadness. I put so much of my hopes and dreams in him, believing that he was my soulmate, “the one”. In reality, I was trying to make him into something he’s not.

All of the qualities I searched for---passion, kindness, profound connection and courage---were qualities I found in Jesse. I projected all these things on Brad, not knowing he is just as emotionally damaged as I am. It’s not a wonder he cheated on me, it’s not a wonder he failed to hold up his end of the relationship and it’s not a wonder that he didn’t appreciate me until I was gone. How could I expect him to love and cherish someone when he doesn’t even know what love is? When it’s something that I had to prove to him?

“How did it go with Luke?” He breaks the silence by clearing his throat and looking in my direction. “J.C. told me they had the funeral today.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I reply softly, getting up from the couch and trying to find a way to tell him the truth. In another time, I would have welcomed the idea of us starting over and trying to make things work, a sort of clean slate. But now---knowing Jesse has come back, knowing Luke and I just made love, knowing he’s my other half---I’d just be lying to myself. How can any other man live up to him?

“Oh. What happened?”

“Brad---” I turn around to find him standing in front of me, his eyes emanating a mixure of concern and apprehension. “I’m…I’m in love with him.”

“I see,” he whispers calmly, but even his eyes can’t hide the sharp blow from my revelation, both a harsh and sobering truth. “So why did you come back early? Shouldn’t you be together?”

“We haven’t spoken since I left. He asked why we’re not together and I told him I didn’t know. I just needed time. He got upset and told me to leave.”

“It's amazing
With the blink of an eye
You finally see the light
It's amazing
When the moment arrives
That you know you'll
Be alright”

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“I’m not gonna lie. I still want to be with you.” There’s a tenderness and honesty in his voice that just tugs at my heartstrings, bringing back that old, familiar pull. His pale blue eyes---which I used to get lost in---silently plead in their last attempts to hang on to me, to what we had. “But…if Luke is the one you love…then…there’s nothing I can do.”

Silence.

“I think you should spend the rest of your time with your mom and sister here,” I make an attempt to appease his disappointment. One of us has to be strong and firm. Otherwise, we will fall back into our own pattern of blindly believing that any “love” is better than nothing. Two people who are afraid to be alone---and left with the daunting task of facing their own selves. “They need you. Especially Calla. She really needs a male figure in her life. And who knows? Maybe your whole family can finally reunite someday.” I reach out to cup his handsome face---a face I know very well---and search his eyes. “You had a tough life Brad, but you didn’t let it break your spirit. You actually became a doctor.”

“That’s because you believed in me,” he whispers, the finality in his voice evident by a different kind of strain, causing his eyes to well up. Even though neither of us put it into words, we feel it deep in our hearts. We both know that the time has come to let each other go. “What am I gonna do without you?”

“You’ll…b-be…okay,” I break down, no longer able to fight the impending tears. It hurts---really hurts to have to do this. Brad has been such a significant part of my life, of my identity, that it’s almost like…saying goodbye to a part of myself. Like an alcoholic throwing away the last bottle of liquor, a food addict throwing away the last slice of cake, a smoker throwing away the last pack of cigarettes and a junkie throwing away the last syringe. They know it’s destructive and unhealthy, but it’s a kind of comfort they learned to depend on. “You’re a survivor.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” he leans in to give me a soft, lingering kiss---his tepid tears mixing with mine.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” I pull him close and cling to him for what seems like an eternity; savoring his scent, his voice, his presence and the warmth of his body for the last time.

“Bye, baby.” He searches my eyes as his hand finds my face, gently caressing it. “Be happy.”

I nod quietly. Just as he pulls away, I find myself calling out his name.

“Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you give Luke a call? He really needs a friend right now.”

“Yeah.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

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Location: Hangman's Tree National Landmark
Date: Tuesday, 1/10/2012
Time: 4:47 p.m.

Winter came, bringing Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s with it. The first few weeks without Luke was hard, but I managed to survive by keeping myself busy at work. Everytime I found myself thinking about him or longing for him, I’d just push him out of my mind. And if I couldn’t, I’d wait until I was in the privacy of my home to cry. It helped that I could always call my dad and Adam if I ever got lonely. They would cheer me up and remind me they miss me. For Christmas, they came over. I cooked dinner, I showed them around town the next day and we had a picnic at the lake before they drove back to Bridgeport.

I haven’t spoken to Brad since that day we said our goodbyes. He hasn’t called or tried to stop by the house. I knew that going in, but still---I didn’t expect to be hit with such loneliness now that he’s out of my life. I’ve had to learn to just take it one day at a time. This is how it should be. This is what I need. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

Instead of going straight home from work today, I decide to stop by Hangman’s Tree. The weather hasn’t changed since I was last here. It’s just as crisp and sunny as fall---with a light, cool breeze. As I stand on the spot where everything started---and ended, I’m filled with overwhelming sorrow as the sweet essence of azaleas, roses and camellias fill the air.

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This is the spot where Jesse died in my arms. This is the very same spot where we made a promise to each other 100 years ago. What happened to that promise? How is it that I’m alone again, just like Emma, and left to carry a torch for the rest of my life?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I drop to my knees and bury my face in my hands, lost in my own sobs. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m sorry you had to leave your children behind. I’m sorry you couldn’t be with the man you loved. I’m so sorry, William. I’m sorry I loved another man. I’m sorry you had to catch us together.

“Jesse…oh Jesse. I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you when you left for war. I’m sorry I kept your daughter from you. I’m sorry that I waited too long to leave my husband. I’m so sorry that things had to end so tragically.

“And Luke…my Luke. You came back for me and what did I do? I wasted my time with Brad. I was too blind to appreciate you and I pushed you away. I’m so sorry about your dad. I’m so sorry for screwing things up.

“I need to let you go. I’m sorry it didn’t work out in this life. I should have told you I love you. I should have told you how I felt. And now...you’re gone.

“Goodbye my love,” I wipe my eyes as I take one last look at the barren oak tree---and the bittersweet memories permanently etched on it. “Be happy.”

“That one last shot's
Permanent vacation
And how high can you fly
With broken wings?
Life's a journey
Not a destination”

*Copyright 2013 Lyn C.S.*
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"Amazing" by Aerosmith
Video by: AerosmithSongz

Friday, August 16, 2013

Chapter Forty-Eight (Hurt)

Previously, on "Memoirs Of A City Girl":
Ch. 47 (You And I)
-Knowing I wouldn’t be able to make the two-hour drive
back to Appaloosa, I decided to call sick from work.
-I made pancakes, Luke’s favorite, but we didn’t even
get to finish our breakfast.
-We ended up having a tryst on the dining table.
-Afterwards, Luke and I slow danced, just like his parents.
-He sang “You and I” by Stevie Wonder to me, which
happens to be one of my favorite songs.
-It was that moment that I realized he’s the one I’ve been
looking for all my life---and I started to have dangerous
visions of a life with him---being his wife and the mother 
of his children.
-This grasp of happiness was so close, I could taste it, but
it terrified me. Terrified of losing him all over again.
-He asked why we’re not together, and I freaked out.
-I couldn’t give him answer and the pressure was too much.
-He got angry and lashed out at me, telling me to go back to Brad.
-I lashed back by accusing him of being a scared little chicken
shit who left me high and dry---twice.
-Not only did he tell me to leave, bu he also said he wished he
never met me. I was crushed.
-Even his saying “I love you” wasn’t enough to keep me from
walking out the door.

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Location: 272 Windsor Drive
Date: Wednesday, 11/9/2011
Time: 11:41 a.m.

I must have sat in the truck for an hour, numbly watching the flecks of snow continuously land on the windshield. Instead of turning on the wiper to clear the white layer of ice crystals blurring my vision---I let it accumulate---hoping it will shield me from the rest of the world. I lean against the door, the side of my face pressed against the cold glass as another set of tears leak from my swollen eyes. Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I curl up in a near-fetal position as I try to keep myself warm---and hidden---an injured animal licking its fresh wounds.

Luke…The mere thought of his name hurts. The sound of his voice echoing through my head hurts. His laugh, his smile, the way his lips and hands have the ability to pause time; just enough to let my mind and body absorb the beauty of his touch. What was once a glimpse of heaven has now become the flashbacks of hell. What was once a dream has now become a recurring nightmare. And every moment of passion, every tender memory, every taste of closeness, every recollection of raw honesty in his eyes cuts through my heart repeatedly. With every teardrop---it cuts---slashing mercilessly at old scars.

Luke was my refuge when things went wrong in my life. He was my safe shore during perilous storms, and I crawled back to him for safety. And now…now that I finally felt safe enough to tread the water again, a tsunami knocked me down without warning, leaving me mangled, bruised and all alone. There is no refuge. There is nowhere to go for comfort.

And if I came back to Bridgeport only to be slapped by another disappointment, I might as well try to confront its source.

"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real"

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Taking a deep breath, I gather my courage---and pieces of my heart---and force myself out of the car. The early chill of winter greets my face as I walk towards the front of the house, feeling even more anxious at the sight of the old familiar door. Bittersweet memories---mostly bitter, some sweet---greet me like long-lost relatives I haven’t thought about, but now recognize.

 The five year old girl who wondered why her mother never hugged her. The 11 year old sixth-grader who was punished and yelled at a lot, even when she didn’t understand what she did wrong. The overweight 16 year old high school junior who felt awkward, self-conscious and invisible because she was constantly compared to her older sister. The 22 year old working student who dreamed of the knight in shining armor who would rescue her from the realities of her stunted, sheltered life.

And now, the 26 year old would-be-doctor-turned-teacher who feels just as inadequate now as she did as a child---knocking at her parents’ door.

I take a deep breath, trying to instruct my heart to calm down.

As the door slowly opens, my father’s widened amber-hazel eyes greet me directly. The silence between recognition is brief, but long enough for both of us to notice. He blinks one more time, whispering, “Lyndsey…”

“Hi, daddy.” I haven’t called him this in a long time, but at this point, it seems to be the only thing that gives me solace. It reminds me that no matter how old I get or how far I move away from home, I’m still someone’s daughter.

“Sweetheart!” Without thought, he closes the door and takes me in his arms, whispering, “I’ve missed you.”

I’m not sure if it’s the familiar warmth of his embrace or the nostalgic aroma of Old Spice and pine-scented aftershave emanating from his jacket, but I shrink in defeat and start sobbing. “M-me too…dad…”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, briefly pulling away to search my face, “Have you been crying?”

“Everything has g-gone wrong. Every…thing.”

“It’ll be okay.” He pulls me closer, making me forget the snow falling on our faces, and soon, our body heat won’t be enough to fight off the blistering cold. But it doesn’t matter. In my father’s arms, I am that little girl again; beaten by the world, laughed at by fate and all I can really do is cry. And hope that my father can make the pain go away---perhaps make it all better. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“For what?”

“I should have…I should have protected you more. I should have been more involved.”

“Y-yes,” I reply quietly, burying my face in his neck, “you should have, dad. All my life I felt unworthy. Like…like I can never be good enough. I tried so hard to please you and mom...to be a good daughter…but…you always loved Naveah more than me.”

“That’s not true. I’ve always loved you. I just…I just didn’t know how to show it.”

“Oh, daddy…”

“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” he smooths out my hair and softly kisses my forehead, “I’m sorry I failed you.”

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As I sit on the old avocado colored sofa that spent most of its life wrapped in clear plastic---protected from inevitable stains and permanent human imprint---I become bombarded with the essence of a life I once knew. The dampness in the air, the lingering scent of potpourri scattered in ceramic vases, the almost penetrating aroma of wet lo mein noodles and fish sauce screaming to remind me of half of my identity and sturdy walls cradling family photos---and everyone else’s sanity.

There’s a quiet assurance as I look at my father sitting across me pensively. What I once took as distance and coldness from his demeanor now resonates as a subtle frailty of a man who did the best the he could---with what he knew. There’s weariness in his eyes, in the gray roots overtaking his dark locks, in the deep crows feet hiding behind his glasses and the force of age declaring itself on his face. Even as I fill him in on my life in Appaloosa---my house, Mr. Nunu, Nicki, my job as a teacher---the sadness in his smile is hard to ignore.

“Brad was here a few weeks ago,” he comments unexpectedly after a moment of silence.

I stare at the wooden floor for a moment before returning his gaze. “What did he want?”

“Well, he brought back your car,” he explains calmly before searching my eyes---as if dreading the words coming out of his mouth, “And…he told us what happened. We know what your sister did.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t planned on my family knowing about the failures of my personal life. It’s something I’d rather forget, but here they are, peering into my face again. They seem to be mocking me, basking in my fresh wounds, pointing and laughing, as if I was deluded enough to think that I can actually escape. What are you going to do now, Lyndsey? What did you expect? That the whole world wouldn’t know how pathetic you are? What are you even doing here? You think your parents are going to give you support? They seem to provoke. Even Luke doesn’t want you!

Enough! I’ve heard enough! I scream back at them, their voices morphing into something familiar---a particular shrill voice that I still dread to this day. The sound of my own mother berating me with her thick accent.

“Frank, honey, who’s at the---” Amidsts the footsteps, my mom appears with widened eyes gazing down at me. “Lyndsey…”

“Mom...”

"The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything"

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Without a word, not even a weak attempt at a half-hearted hug, she walks by me and sits down next to my dad. I can feel her brown eyes, which I apparently inherited, flash at me like the abrupt winter air---icy and piercing. A part of me hoped that she would at least acknowledge my return, but a part of me also knew that’s as foolish as expecting the next hour to be sunny, clear and a toasty 85 degrees. Summer will always be hot. Winter will always be cold. Leaves will always fall in autumn. It will always rain in spring. It would take nothing less than a miracle or a practical joke from God to make things any different.

“We also know about the baby,” my dad cuts through the awkward silence---and my mother’s evaluative head-to-toe stare, “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“Yeah…” I look away and shift in my seat in an attempt to control the pain and emptiness gnawing at my insides, threatening to flood my eyes. But I force myself to think of something else, anything that would prevent me from crying in front of this woman, who is a stranger to sympathy---or remorse, for that matter. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry!

 “I’m furious at Brad for what he did,” he adds, “I wanted to kill him. But if it wasn’t for him telling the truth, we would never know where to find you.”

My dad makes a good point. Brad didn’t have to say anything, let alone come here and own up to his actions. But he did, knowing he was risking his ties with my family. And the fact that he never mentioned it…could be a sign that he did it for me. Not necessarily for his selfish glory. “He gave you my address?”

“Yes, I forced it out of him.”

“So why didn’t you ever visit me?”

“I wanted to, but Adam told me to give you more time. You’ve been through enough as it is.”

“I need to talk to Nav. Where is she?”

“She’s staying with her friend Jessica.”

“She moved out?”

“We kicked her out after she admitted---”

“I never kick Nav out,” my mom abruptly rises, her eyes seething with contempt in my direction. “Your father did! You happy now? She was out on streets!”

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 “Xhun, stop! What are you---“ my dad immediately blocks her path, which appears to make its way towards me.

“It’s okay, dad. I can handle this.” I give him a grateful glance before summoning up my own courage to get off the couch and face my own mother. That tender moment of honesty between us earlier (my father and I) gave me a new backbone---a sort of quiet, knowing security that I was not alone---that my father has been on my side this whole time. Taking a deep breath, I look her dead in the eyes and retort, “Are you seriously blaming me for what happened? You’re still defending her? You’re still---”

“You no talk to me that way, little girl!” Her lips curl in that familiar wrath, nostrils flaring, letting me know that I pissed her off even more. “You better know your---”

“No. It’s my turn to talk.” Calmly, I take another step towards her with unwavering gaze, until we are face to face, barely a foot within each other. “And if I have to tie you up to get you to listen, I will do it,” I add, the silent fury boiling within me---a lifetime of unleashed fury---letting it pierce her almond-shaped eyes, her face, her throat, until it forces her to swallow whatever remnant of oxygen or saliva down her throat. “Don’t make me do it, mom.”

Silence.

“All my life, you’ve treated me like shit,” I continue. The moment she tries to look away, I grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes. “Look at me, damn you! You made it clear that you didn’t love me and you made it clear that Naveah is your favorite. I was never pretty enough, I was never skinny enough, I was never smart enough, my cooking was never good enough, the house could never be clean enough, I was damn near Adam’s nanny! She never had to do anything. She got away with everything. Me? I had to go to med school just to prove that I didn’t have to marry a doctor.

“Do you have any idea how much you messed up my self-esteem? Do you have any idea how much Nav hurt me when she slept with Brad? Of all people? Do you have any idea how close I was to jumping off the bridge when I found them together? I almost killed myself, mom! Because of what your daughter did! And you have the audacity to blame me for getting her kicked out?”

SMACK. The palm of her hand lands on my cheek---leaving a familiar, burning sting.

“You think…you can t-talk to…me like that?” Her voice breaks, failing to suppress the tears---and lash of truth leaking from her eyes. In a barely detectable flash of time, I painted a picture vivid enough for her to see what she has done. Despite her pride, she continues to emotionally attack---but I know she saw herself in me, gnawing at her forgotten conscience. “Because you move out? You think you grown? You’re nothing…b-but…ungrateful child!”

“You know what, Mom?” I shake my head in disgust. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me see what I needed to see. All these years, I thought there was something wrong with me. The truth is, it’s you. You’re just a sad, bitter woman who took everything out on me. I’m sorry your parents disowned you. I’m sorry you had to leave China at such a young age. I’m sorry you had to abandon your dreams when you married dad. But you have no right to treat me this way. And if I ever become a mother, I hope to God I never become like you.”

Her mouth drops with a gasp---as if that’s the only way to ease the blow of my words, hurled at her like shiny, pointed, sharpened spears---straight into her heart. This shock reverberates all over the walls of the living room, further intensifying the thick silence. I watch myself standing in front of my speechless parents. I watch myself become freed.

I turn to my father, kiss him on the cheek and whisper, “I love you, dad. Come visit me some time.”

I walk out the door.

"And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt"

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Location: Appaloosa Plains Public School
Date: Friday, 11/11/2011
Time: 3:35 p.m.

When I returned to work yesterday, I received a phone call from a parent who preferred to be called by her first name, Rosie. She wanted to set up a conference regarding her daughter’s behavior in class. I told her that I was available today after students are dismissed at 3:15 p.m. When she and her daughter entered my classroom, I was awestruck at this woman’s presence. Flaming mahogany hair that’s graying at the roots, a robust figure draped in earthy colored clothes, empty champagne eyes and heavy make-up. Sitting next to her is the very same girl who called me a "bitch" on my first day of work. She does not look pleased.

“Calla, you owe Ms. Santori an apology,” Rosie turns to her head-strung daughter, the tone in her voice serious and unflinching. “And we are not leaving until she gets one.”

“Whatever,” Calla briefly glances at me before rolling her pale blue eyes and looking down at my desk. “I’m not apologizing to anyone.”

“Do you know she’s the only teacher that actually talked to me first? Before writing you up?” Her mother continues to look in her direction---her disappointment evident---despite Calla’s refusal to look up and acknowledge either of us. “The rest of them send you to the dean with a referral.”

Silence.

I sit back and quietly study this girl in front of me. This 16 year old girl who is failing half of her classes, who is constantly getting in trouble, who is crying out for something---perhaps attention---who obviously feels unheard and invisible in her own way. I’ve been that girl. Calla wants to scream at the world while I shrunk away in self-doubt. The fact that her mother is here, trying to drill some sense into her, shows that she cares.

But where is the angst coming from? Could it be an absent father? Having just confronted my own parents---and my issues with them---I suddenly feel an obligation to this girl. She should not have to wait until she’s 26 years old with damaged self-esteem to try and make sense of her life. She needs guidance now---before it’s too late.

“Calla, I said this to your mom on the phone and now I’m going to say it to you,” I lean closer, carefully choosing my words and the tone of my voice. “I think you’re a bright girl, but you don’t want to show it. You obviously have an influence over the students, but you use that influence in a negative way. Now, I get that I have to earn your respect since I’m new, but you need to understand that there are consequences to your actions.”

“Wait…” She looks up and finally meets my gaze, somewhat bewildered by what I just said. “You think I’m bright?”

“Of course,” I flash her a warm smile, which instantly softens her guarded face. “When you decide to pay attention in class, you actually finish your assignments. And when you finish your assignments, other students do too.”

“Oh…” a soft chuckle escapes her lips as she looks at Rosie sheepishly---who is shaking her head but smiling---before returning to me in a sort of awe. “You notice that?”

“I notice everything.”

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“I’m sorry for disrespecting you, Ms. Santori,” Calla’s voice softens as she sits up in her chair, her true personality finally outshining the loud colors of her watermelon-inspired hair. She’s just like any other teenager---still a child---who needs something to believe in, and someone who believes in her. Some people call this encouragement. “It’s just…none of the teachers ever stick around and we pretty much gave up on learning.”

“I understand. And appreciate your apology.” A wave of warmth and calm washes over me as I absorb what just transpired. The girl who is known as the troublemaker, who was responsible for scaring away former teachers, who refused to apologize even in front of her mother---just opened up to me. They gave up on learning because everyone else quit on them. And it’s this very same moment that I realize where I need to be. Not in a hospital, but in a classroom. I can always go back to finish my residency, but I owe it to these kids to finish the school year. “Listen, I’m going to do my best to help you guys out. But I need your help too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I need you to use your influence in a good way. I need you to be a good example.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a leader, Calla. And leaders need to set an example so other people can follow.”

“Nobody’s ever said good things to Calla, Ms. Santori,” Rosie breaks her silence as she pats her daughter’s back. “She’s always getting in trouble.”

“That’s because they don’t see her the way I do,” I reply with the utmost sincerity, looking at Calla the whole time.

“Thank you, Ms. Santori.” A rare glow emanates from this teenager’s face, a mixture of pride and this thing that can be very hard for teachers to earn---respect.

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget, we have a test next week so you need to study. And I’ve been checking on your grades from your other classes. You’re failing half of them. If you want to graduate next year, you need to start stepping up.”

“Yes, maam.”

“Come on, sweetie. Your teacher needs to go home too.” Rosie gathers her purse as she rises up from her chair. “Thanks again, Ms. Santori. I’m really glad they hired you.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, but my heart stops at the sight of Brad coming in. I told him that we needed to talk when I returned from Bridgeport, but he insisted that we do it over dinner. And I certainly didn’t expect him to show up in my classroom. Dr. Benson must have told him where I work. My eyes return to Rosie as I add, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions.”

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“Oh, I’m sorry.” Rosie mutters when she turns around and sees Brad standing behind her. “I didn’t mean to keep your husband waiting.”

“It's okay, this is Brad. He’s… a friend of mine.” I give a brief but somewhat awkward introduction as I step away from my desk. “Brad, this is Ms. Clem---”

“Brad?” She repeats his name almost reluctantly---as if it just triggered painful memories---but her eyes widen in undeniable recognition. “Bradley?”

“Mom?”

“What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end”

*Copyright 2013 Lyn C.S.*
--------------------------------------

"Hurt" Cover by Johnny Cash
Original by Nine Inch Nails
Video by: GCBeep

Friday, August 9, 2013

Chapter Forty-Seven (You And I)

Previously, on "Memoirs Of A City Girl":
Ch. 46 (Love Won't Let Me Wait)
-The sight of Luke in such pain overpowered my ability to reason.
-I knew that once we crossed the boundaries of our friendship,
there would be no turning back.
-The moment our lips met, nothing else mattered.
-We made love like there was no tomorrow---
raw, without inhibitions, without reservations, finally surrendering
to lifetimes of desire, need and separation.
-He brought me out of my shell, I cradled his broken heart.
-Together, we bridged the past and present through 
emotional, physical and spiritual release.
-Luke proved to me that he was better than Brad in every way.
-He showed me an assertive, dominant side of himself, which I loved.
-I taught him that I was there no matter what,
 even when he got emotional, even when he struggled to keep going.
-Everything, including the history and feelings, 
came back---along with Jesse.
-I found myself falling in love with Luke.
-I found myself completely terrified.

*Graphic sexual content, strong language*

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Location: 1557 Memorial Parkway
Date: Wednesday, 11/9/2011
Time: 7:25 a.m.

When I open my eyes, I find myself sprawled out on the wooden floor, in Luke’s arms. I smile to myself as flashbacks of his fervent hands and mouth on my body resurface, and my heart does little tumbles. When I glance at the alarm clock next to the nightstand, it’s already past seven. I hadn’t planned on staying this long, let alone the night, but there’s no way I can make it back to Appaloosa on time. It would take me over two hours just to drive back. By now, I’d be in my classroom setting up the lessons for the day, grading assignments or making last minute copies. 

After peeling myself off his beautiful, naked, sleeping body, I tiptoe towards his computer to create an emergency subplan that includes today’s assignments and classroom procedures. Luckily, I already planned out my lessons for a whole month and they are accessible online. Immediately after letting the school secretary know that I’m not feeling well, I email her my instructions for the substitute teacher.  I feel a pang of guilt for not showing up for work, but Luke is more important right now, and he needs me. All I want to do is spend the rest of the day with him.

After searching his fridge and cabinets, I find enough ingredients to make his favorite: pancakes. I remember him telling me that there’s nothing hotter than a girl that can cook. In her undies. So here I am, waiting for the bubbles to appear in the batter, before I flip it on the buttered pan---in the same bra and panties that I showed up with yesterday.

 “Mmm,” a deep, velvety voice brushes the side of my neck as strong, warm arms envelop my waist, pulling me against an oh-so-familiar muscular body. “Morning, babygirl.”

“Morning daddy,” I whisper, trying to control the swarm of butterflies circling at the pit of my stomach. Did I just call him daddy? Lord help me.   

“God, that’s hot.” His lips slowly graze the length of my collarbone; planting impossibly light kisses on my bare skin, making me nearly collapse in weakness. “Say it again.”

“M-morning daddy,” I stammer, leaning against him as my eyes close shut, savoring the way he naturally smells in the cool dew of fall morning---with nothing but his boxer briefs on. His just-woke-up voice sounds even deeper, nearly vibrating through my eardrums with just a hint of baritone. And need. Impatient, aching need.

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Somehow I finished making the rest of the pancakes despite the agonizing distraction of Luke’s body against mine. If his hands moved any higher…or lower…that would have been it. I would have been bent over the stove again and I wouldn’t have cared if I burned myself. With the sweet aroma of toasty vanilla lingering in the air---reminiscent of a bakery---I watch the pat of butter melt on my plate of hot, golden brown, crumbly little cakes.

Quietly, I break off a piece with my fork and drag it on a small moat of maple syrup before dropping it in my mouth. For the first time, I am at a loss for words, knowing Luke is right in front of me. Usually there’s a comfortable, playful energy between us; allowing us to talk about everything and anything. When we’re on the phone, the words practically burst upon hearing each other’s voices and we have to consciously say ‘sorry, go ahead’.

But now…now that we’ve bared our bodies and souls to each other, now that we’ve seen a glimpse of each other’s vulnerabilities through unrestrained physical passion----I find myself nervous---and helpless in his presence. It’s like slowly sinking into quicksand and all I can do is watch myself submerge, with no one in sight to lend me a hand.

After taking another bite, he carefully studies my face. His mouth curves into a smile as he asks, “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little bit, you?”

“A little bit.”

“I hope you feel better this morning,” I return his sexy smile, which just absolutely melts my insides.

“Yes…I do.” His pale green eyes light up, unveiling the dark clouds of grief contaminating their clarity, and for a brief moment, they glow in silent gratitude.

“I’m glad,” I reply softly before I look away and focus on my barely-touched pancakes. I know there’s nothing I can do to bring his father back. If I could, I would. But if I can take away his pain even for just a moment, it makes everything worth it. Even if all I can be to him is a good friend.

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I can feel his gaze burning through me; stirring the loose, elecrtrically charged particles flittering around us before sucking them in our vicinity; buzzing around, condensing---until it feels like the air is solidifying, it’s so thick. As my pulse steadily climbs, ordering my lungs to catch up, our eyes lock in an infinite dance; yielding, beckoning. A sudden craving for him, for his body, for his skin, for his touch, for his mouth. A desperate need to dive into a hazy ocean of muffled breaths, deep moans, hasty thrusts, gyrating tongues and sticky, salty sweat.

“There’s…” I manage to voice my thoughts as my shyness dissolves, but my thighs continue to press together; shifting in my seat, feeling my panties getting soaked. “There’s one thing I didn’t get to do last night.”

His Adam’s apple slowly moves up and down his throat. “And…what’s that?”

Holding his eyes captive---which are now a slick forest green---I leave my seat, quietly moving towards him until my breasts are level with his face. Now looking up at me, his hands reach blindly for my hips. I nearly jump at his touch, sending shivers up my spine before they escape my mouth as a soft moan. Breathlessly, I cup his handsome face, briefly tracing its symmetrical contours with my fingers before they run through his thick, brown hair.

“This.” I lower myself until my knees make contact with the hard wooden floor, until I’m the one looking up at him, nestled comfortably between his legs.

“Oh, shit.” He lets out a quick breath, sitting back languidly in his chair, completely caught off guard.

“I want to feel you,” my hands slowly roam up and down his thighs before tugging at his boxer briefs, freeing his substantial erection. “Taste you,” my fingers circle him at the base, squeezing as my hand gently moves up and down his hard length. “Suck you,” my eyes continue to probe his as I lean close enough to bury nearly all of him between my breasts.

“Mother of---” he bucks, nearly whimpering, “Lyn, you don’t…have to do this.”

“I want to. I want to so bad.” I continue to stroke him, pleading with my eyes, with my most angelic voice, until the only vocabulary that can possibly come out of his mouth is ‘yes’. “Please, Luke. Let me.”

He nods quietly.

I give him a gratified smile before I lean in and slowly run my tongue up and down the whole length of his shaft. The mere whiff of his slightly musky scent---mixed with his sweat and undeniably masculine pheromones---sends me over the edge. With my fingers holding him at the base, I slowly engulf him with my hot, moist mouth; one thick inch at a time, until I can feel him tickling the back of my throat. As his breathing quickens, so does the movement of my mouth, squeezing him, licking him and tasting his sweet saltiness. “Mmm…so hard…so smooth in my mouth,” I whisper as I alternate between gently sucking the head and swirling my tongue around it, “you taste better than I imagined.”

“Oh my God, Lyn...” he cries out in a nearly inaudible gasp as he reaches for my head and takes a clump of my hair in his hand.

“Don’t hold back. Come on, Luke. Say it.”

“Yes…yesss, suck it. God baby, that tongue,” he presses himself deeper into my mouth, nearly pulling my hair, “Keep swirling it like that…holy fuck!”

“Mmmm,” stroking him even faster, I watch my saliva drip down his balls, getting insanely turned on at his response, at the steamy heat radiating between us, with the way his body reacts to my touch. My tongue returns to the head, licking and flicking it around the edges like a cone of melting soft serve ice cream. “Like that?”

“Just…l-like…that…”

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His breathing deepens as he slumps back in the chair; throbbing and pulsating in my mouth and hand, knowing he’s approaching his release. In a dizzy state of nirvana, I steal a glance at his face---head tilted back, mouth parted, thighs trembling, eyes closed, chest heaving mixed with guttural cries of pleasure. That’s it. That’s the glimpse of heaven. That’s the place he took me to last night. Just the sight of pure, unadulterated bliss on his face ramps up my senses, and I get ready for his climax. “Come hard for me, daddy. In my mouth.”

He murmurs, “I wanna come inside you.”

In savage impatience, he effortlessly lifts me up and places me on the dining table, right between our plates of cold, half-eaten pancakes. He pulls my panties down and enters me hard and fast; in frantic bursts, his hot breath on my face, until his mouth finds my breasts and frees them from my bra. Licking, sucking, biting the nipples hard. I cry out in pain, moaning, urging him to go deeper…and deeper…and deeper…until there is nowhere else in this universe he can possibly call his home. As the table shakes, I can hear the subtle clink of the forks and ceramic plates until they meet their inevitable descent on the floor with a loud crash.

“Do you…feel me?” he whispers raggedly as he pumps faster, shooting a copious amount of hot, thick liquid inside my swollen walls.

“Yes…I feel you,” I whimper, caressing his flushed face, “I always f-feel you.”

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After the aftermath of our unexpected breakfast tryst, Luke picks me up from the table and holds on to my shoulders as I try to regain my balance. In a daze, I slowly pull my panties back up. "Um…our breakfast is all over the floor,” I observe, completely taken aback at the sight of mangled pancakes, sticky syrup, plate fragments and forks under the table.

“Yeah,” he lifts me up and takes a few steps back, away from the crime scene. “Sorry about that.”

“You are sooo not sorry.” I snicker, turning my face slightly until our eyes meet, his lips only a breath away from mine. I reach over to caress the angle of his jawline---feeling the stubble of facial hair---before pulling him in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. My heart. Oh, my poor heart. How it aches for him. What a terrifying, yet enchanting feeling this is, to fall in love with my best friend. To feel so much passion for someone that I trust more than anything. To feel completely safe, yet it feels as if I’m being dangled in the middle of a giant fire pit, and all I have to hold on to is a thin string of trepidation.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he chuckles, squeezing me even tighter, “I’d much rather have you for breakfast.”

“God...”

“I can’t help it. I want you so bad.”

“Mmm…I want you too.”

He gently nibbles on my earlobe and whispers, “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

“T-tie me up and…” The words barely form from my thoughts as his warm breath melts my neck, causing shivers to trickle down my arms. “Drop…melted candlewax…all over my naked body?”

“Um…no, but that sounds hot as hell.”

I shake my head and laugh. “What then?”

“I’ve always wanted to slow dance with you.”

Be still my heart. My poor, foolish heart. It just exploded into a million unsuspecting pieces. “Really?”

“Really. My parents used to…all the time.”

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“My dad would sing this Stevie Wonder song to my mom,” he reminisces as he turns me around and pulls me close to him, until our bodies are pressed cozily against each other. Our eyes meet again. Slowly, I wrap my arms around his neck, following the silent sway of his body, a sort of hypnotizing pendulum of our heartbeats alternating, knowing we’ve done this before in another life, possibly many lives. The familiarity is so astounding, yet so new, because it is in fact our first time. “The song that…that they danced to...on their wedding.”

I nod quietly.

“And you know my dad…he can’t---couldn’t sing worth a damn tune. But…he’d pour his heart out to my mom…and…and…they would just get lost in each other…and---”

“Everything else disappears?”

“Yes,” he nods.  His eyes become heavy and misty as they search mine; a loneliness so overwhelming that it grips my heart, nearly suffocating me. I know that feeling. I’ve known it all my life; that search, that inexplicable void, that need to find someone I can share all parts of myself with---the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. As if it’s the only way to survive the realities of this cold, harsh world. I thought I was just being a hopeless romantic, but I was wrong. It was Luke that I was looking for all along. I somehow knew he existed, even if he was a figment of my naïve imagination. And somehow, as if reading my mind, he sings, “Here we are on earth together, it’s you and I.”

“Oh, Luke,” I smile, deliriously haunted by the tenderness and vulnerability in his voice, “That’s one of my favorite songs in the whole world.”

"God has made us fall in love, it's true." He continues, his forehead touching mine, an exchange of static energy between our skins, "I really found someone like you."

“I only pray that I have shown you a brighter day,” I add, kissing the tip of his nose. Of all the songs he had to pick, it’s the one closest to my heart, with lyrics I know like the back of my hand. Without warning, I become bombarded with dangerous visions. Marrying this man, sharing a home with him, having his beautiful children and loving him; trying to make him happy---until death temporarily parts us again. I can feel it. I can taste it. Being this close to that kind of happiness, it hurts. It hurts to want it, and it hurts even more not to have it. A warm tear trickles down my face as I continue, “Because that’s all I am living for, you see. Don’t worry what happens to me.”

“Lyn…”

“Hmm?”

“Why aren’t we together?”

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Why aren’t we together? This question echoes in my mind over and over again. It’s so simple, I almost don’t trust it. Not even the strong gust of snow peeking from the windows can distract me from the truth of this question---perhaps even the sharp truth of the answer. It’s almost like the sun peering into my face and asking what would I would do if it stopped shining. What would I do? I would die. I would slowly freeze in bleak darkness. "Luke…”

“After everything we’ve been through, we found each other again,” he gently grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, “What are we waiting for?”

“I just don’t want to rush into things.”

“Lyn, I’ve waited two years and God knows how many lifetimes for you! How much longer can I wait?”

“I don’t know, okay?” I look away, feeling angry at him for putting me on the spot. A myriad of thoughts run through my head, crashing into each other in conflict. So much has happened. What I went through with Brad, what I went through with William and Jesse, and now this. So, so close to my happy ending, yet mortified that I might lose it all. Can I survive that kind of pain again? “I just…I don’t need all this pressure right now!”

“No,” he murmurs as he pulls away from me, allowing the cool draft of air to wedge itself between us, “not this again.”

“What?”

“Why are you making it so complicated?”

“I’m not! I just need time!”

“If you don’t want to be with me now, you’ll never want to be with me.”

“That’s not true!”

"Will it say
The love you feel for me
Will it say that you will
Be by my side
To see me through
Until my life is through”

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“Go back to Brad! Marry him! Have his kids!” His eyes---which were filled with warmth and tenderness just a few minutes ago--- are now piercing me with brutal contempt. His once gentle words now swarm me like sharp icicles, burrowing through me unexpectedly and deliberately. This sudden change in energy is quite unnerving, further fueling the growing distance between us. “I really don’t give a shit anymore!”

“Luke, that’s not fair!”

“Just leave!”

 Just leave? Just leave?? He won’t even give me a chance to explain myself. After everything that’s happened, after what we just shared, he pushes me away, making me feel like a damn fool. I’m so immobilized by my own shock that there’s nothing left but anger. Seething, boiling, throbbing anger from a place I can’t even remember, making me cry out, “Oh, so you want to put all the blame on me? YOU left for war! YOU left me pregnant and all alone! YOU left the next day when we got too close and almost had sex! When I needed you the---”

His eyes widen. “Lyn---”

“Let me finish!  You were a scared little chicken shit. Instead of staying with me, you left. That’s what you do. I fall for you and you end up leaving me!”

“You know what? Just go! I wish---” his voice breaks, followed by flooded eyes, “I wish I never met you!”  

“You sure about that, Luke?” I find the strength to keep my composure, despite the daggers and knives and razor blades attacking my heart like a pack of wild hyenas, ripping it to bloody shreds. It takes whatever ounce of pride I have left not to let my voice falter. “You really…want me out of your life?”

Silence.

“F-fine,” I mutter, quickly slipping into my jeans and top, unable to control the hot tears dripping down my face. “I won’t b-bother you again.”

I grab my purse from the nightstand and head towards the door.

“Lyn…”

I pause.

“I love you….”

Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to turn around, I open the door and walk out.

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"Cause' in my mind,
You will stay here always
In love, you and I
You and I
You and I"

*Copyright 2013 Lyn C.S.*
------------------------------------

"You And I" by Stevie Wonder
Video by: kcamowje