“The grass was greener.
The light was brighter.
The taste was sweeter.
The nights of wonder.
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever.”
~ “High Hopes” Pink Floyd
Life had suddenly taken a turn for the worse for me; I couldn’t find a job to save my life during the greatest economic downturn since the Great Depression. I had business ideas but was so mentally distraught over my break up, I lacked the drive to put them into action. I became so addicted to Vicodin I’d have dreams about having an endless supply, and now my mother was going back on chemo because her Cancer wanted one more round. The only thing I had left was Anya holding on to the necklace I gave her—the proof of hope. Her letter was only five sentences long on pretty stationary, but it gave me great life. After all we went through on the worst day of my life, the sixth day in the month of October, now over four months ago, she still held on to my necklace—a sign that she still believed in our love. Even my mother conceded that Anya’s response to my letter surprised her. Anya never said it, but her letter represented love and it’s helped me get through the hardest time of my entire life. A moment of time so fragile, I was one bad step away from ending it all.
Finding fault in Anya was as impossible as visiting the sun—my disdain reserved entirely for her husband and his unwillingness to allow her to leave him. Anya’s heart was not a competition, and her decision was made two years ago. Even if she never ended up with me, the fact she was with two other men over the last three years of their marriage was indisputable evidence she didn’t belong with him. How could her marriage survive several transgressions? They both only delayed the inevitable and lying to their kids made zero sense at this point—unless she still loved him.
While seated in my familiar black leather chair after spending a few days away from the cafe, Crazy Dave’s friend took a seat in the armchair next to mine and faced me.
“I’m not in your seat, am I?” he asked.
“Of course not.” I said, smiling. “I don’t own the coffee shop.”
“Well, I thought I’d ask. Some people think they do.” he said, extending his hand out to mine. “The name is Paul.”
“Landyn.” I replied, meeting his gesture.
“Nice to meet you, Landyn.”
“Likewise, Paul.”
I couldn’t help but notice how soft his hand was—as if he bathed it in skin cream. Time had done a number on Paul; he was greatly wrinkled with thin strands of brown hair and a bottom lip that dangled so badly it looked as if his mouth was numb after a trip to the dentist. He had extremely sad green eyes that peered downwards as he quickly wiped the bottom of his chin after a stream of saliva trickled down. Paul wore a red flannel shirt with slightly rolled up sleeves and baggy brown pants with heavily scuffed dark brown shoes. He didn’t look homeless, but he looked exactly like how I felt inside—like he hadn’t slept in months.
“I usually come in here before my meetings.” he told me.
“What kind of meetings?”
“AA.”
“Oh.”
“I turned twelve years sober just a few days ago.”
“Happy birthday, Paul.” I acknowledged with a smile.
“Thank you. It hasn’t been an easy road.” he said.
“Do you have meetings every day?”
“I was an alcoholic for over twenty years so yeah, pretty much.”
“The craving is still there after twelve years?”
“The craving never leaves me.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, Paul?”
“Seventy-two!” he exclaimed with a sense of pride. “I found myself drinking more when I turned forty—after both my parents died unexpectedly.”
“Oh. Wow. I’m really sorry to hear that…I couldn’t imagine.”
“I struggled for years, but it wasn’t until my wife left me that it got really out of hand.” He continued. “My kids even stopped talkin’ to me and that didn’t even stop me from drinkin’.”
“What did?” I inquired, closing my binder to focus on his story.
“Twelve years ago, I ran off the road and into someone’s home—almost killing two people, one person severely.” He revealed. “I got a DUI, went through counseling then rehab—I’ve been sober ever since.”
Although my personal battle wasn’t with alcohol, Paul’s story shook me up. I couldn’t imagine how difficult his days were after severely injuring someone because of something he felt he needed to get through the day—like me. If I removed Vicodin from my life, would I be able to face my reality head on? The timing of his introduction couldn’t have been coincidental. If I had met Paul three years earlier, there wouldn’t be an ounce of empathy for him. Now, I understood his struggle. We continued to talk after all he shared although I sensed he wanted to connect with someone who was in recovery like himself, but I didn’t feel that much different from him at all—having more in common with a recovering alcoholic than anyone else these days. Needless to say, it was easy to take a liking to Paul.
When he left for his meeting about an hour after we started conversing, I took a Vicodin to heave myself back into the world within my black three ring binder. A few minutes in, a female voice disturbed my peace.
“How are you?”
“I’m good, Theresa. How are you?”
“I’m good…haven’t seen you around the last few days.”
“Yeah, I had a job interview and some other things to take care of.”
“How’d the interview go?”
“Back to the drawing board.” I said, shuffling the binder upon my lap.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“We’re in a recession.” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
“Something will come up soon for you.” She claimed, patting my leg. “Just don’t give up.”
“Thanks.” I said, looking down at my binder hoping she’d see I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
“So, are you going to do it?” She asked abruptly, her eyes widening.
“Excuse me?”
“You know…are you gonna do it?” She asked again, touching my binder.
“I’m sorry.” I answered in confusion. “Do what?”
“Write the novel?”
“Oh!” I started to laugh. “I am. I don’t know when but I’ve decided to do it.”
“I would love to read it!” she stated.
“Well, if it’s any good I’ll let you.” I smiled, still unsure if I had the strength to do it. “I’m not a novelist and even the best get rejected—it’s hard to get published.”
“You can post it online you know.” she informed me. “It can get discovered that way.”
“I don’t think my ex would appreciate me doing that.” I told her.
“Why?”
“Well, it would be in the form of a memoir.” I told her. “I’d have to tell people it’s fiction and come up with something that would hide the true story aspect of it.”
“Then why would she care?”
“I want to respect her privacy.” I said. “I’d have to talk to her about it first to see if she’d be okay with it—even offer her a piece of the money I made on it if she allowed me to. Plus we’re on the mend right now and I don’t want to disrupt that.”
“On the mend? Are you getting’ back together?”
“Hopefully one day.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“Not at this time, no.” I admitted. “But I believe in time we’ll be together and I don’t wanna risk that with a book about our relationship.”
“How long have you been broken up?”
“A little over four months.”
Theresa gave me a look that could only be defined as incredulous, and when she started to laugh, I gripped my binder against my lap.
“Where is she?” She inquired, smiling.
“She’s where she is right now.” I told her, bracing myself for her judgment.
“How long did you guys date?” She asked, shaking her head.
“Two years.”
“And you’ve been broken up for four months?”
“That’s right.” I replied, starting to feel a need for another Vicodin.
“Something doesn’t add up.”
“It doesn’t have to add up.” I retorted. “The two years I spent with her were the best years of my life by far and what we shared is special enough to wait and see what happens.”
“Why aren’t you together?” She pressed.
“We can’t be together right now.”
“Is she married?”
When Theresa asked me this, my racing mind came to a sudden stop—I had no clue how to answer that.
“How’d you know that?” I asked.
“I’m a behavioral science counselor, remember?” She reminded me, smiling.
“Ahhhh, forgot about that.” I nodded.
“Did you know she was married?”
“I did.” I reluctantly admitted. “But I only dated her under the condition that she would leave if she fell in love with me—I didn’t jump into this with two feet wanting to wreck a home. She promised me she would be with me if I swept her off her feet so I trusted her enough to give her a chance at happiness.”
“What about her husband?” She shot. “Didn’t you feel bad for him?”
“Her husband had cheated on her several times—once while she was pregnant with her son. He cheated on her with another married woman, eventually wrecking that marriage.” I relayed to her. “He’s abused her emotionally and mentally for years...I only chose to be a part of her life to give her a chance at a better one.”
“How come she never divorced him?”
“She was afraid that if she left him, she would be alone and no one would want to be with someone who had two kids.”
“I see.” she said. “Did she tell you to wait for her? That she would leave him?”
“No.” I said, once again desperately craving a pill. “We had a bad fallout four months ago because I was upset with her for not leaving him. A month ago, I wrote her a letter to smooth things out and she even wrote me back. Eventually I think she’ll leave him. Now is just not the right time.”
“What she say in the letter that makes you believe she’ll leave?”
“Well, just everything she’s ever told me—all we’ve ever shared.” I said, focusing on Anya’s choice of stationary more than her words. “She’s holdin’ onto a necklace I got her and it gives me hope she still believes in our love.”
Theresa put her head down and looked around the café before bringing her wide blue eyes back into mine. She then revealed how she knew I dated a married person.
“I dated a married person too.” She whispered, slightly nodding.
“You did?”
“I did.” She whispered again, pulling a tissue from her black bag and dabbing her eye. “He promised me he would leave her.”
“Did he?” I whispered back.
“After five years, he finally did.” She replied, nodding.
“Five years? How’d you manage that?”
“I really loved the man.”
“Did they have any children?”
“They had two.” She stated with two fingers. “He broke his promise to me a few times but finally left after I threatened to leave him.”
I didn’t want to pry into Theresa’s life but she presented an opportunity to tap into Anya’s possible mind set.
“Did his wife cheat on him?” I asked. “Why did he want to leave her?”
“He told me she was boring.” She explained. “He got bored with his marriage and wanted out.”
“Bored? He was just bored?”
“Yep.” she responded, speaking lowly. “I fell for it, Landyn.”
“Fell for it?”
“After we were married, he then got bored with me too.” she revealed.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I said. “Did that lead you to start studying behavioral science?”
“It all ties in nicely, doesn’t it?”
“I get it.” I consoled, shaking my head and patting my binder. “That kind of shit changes you.”
“Forever.” She said, amending my statement.
It would be unfair to be critical of Theresa. It was very thoughtful and brave for her to share her story. Especially one that led to a great deal of heartbreak and sorrow. If Anya had just been bored with her marriage though, I would’ve never given her a chance. It was “for better or for worse” and “til’ death do you part” for a reason. In my opinion, boredom wasn’t a good enough reason to be involved with a married person, especially in accordance with the Ten Commandments. I felt my love for Anya could be justified since the vows “to honor and cherish” were blatantly broken. She told me she didn’t want to work on her marriage, even telling me there was no marriage and her desire to wear my ring. For me to be involved in an extramarital relationship, the marriage had to essentially, if not officially, be over. If I had known she would equate me wanting to be together with breaking the hearts of her two children, I would’ve never gotten involved no matter how beautiful she was. If Anya had just been bored with her marriage and I pursued a relationship with her, I’d be deserving of the pain I felt without her. My reasons for being involved with a married person though were not the same as Theresa’s. She should’ve seen the writing on the wall, but love blinded us all.
Although I didn’t intend to publish it online, when I left the Good Morning Café, a fire burned inside me to begin writing my novel, giving it the working title of “Beyond Forever”. Both Theresa and Paul showed me there was a market for this story—a tale people could relate to. People who struggle with addiction and those who find themselves in extramarital relationships are the misunderstood and needed a voice—one usually kept silenced by shame. If I could somehow find the strength to tell my story, then maybe it could help those who couldn’t articulate it for themselves and wanted to remain being perceived as a functioning member of society. I was beyond praising this phony society and was ready to bring its hypocrisy into the light of truth. And regardless of the differences of reasoning behind me and Theresa choosing to get involved with married people, it was nice to feel a little less alone in the world. There was someone to talk to now instead of my poor mother who had a battle of her own. Anya still occupied my thoughts all seconds of the day—as if she never left my life. More than four months after our breakup she was still the first thing on my mind in the morning and the last thing on my mind before succumbing to the moon. I likely stopped dwelling in her, but she dwelled in me. At least Theresa provided an outlet for me to work through my emotions and in return, she could confide in someone who shared most of the same experience. We could both learn how our lives have been altered bringing some sense of normalcy during an abnormal grieving process.
The next morning, I had a therapy appointment with Tobey, and when I told her about Theresa, she couldn’t contain herself.
“So, do you see potential in this Theresa?” she asked. “She seems like a special person.”
“Oh, that? Oh no, I don’t think so Tobey” I replied, quickly shooting down any possibilities of interest in her.
“Why not?” she bargained. “You’re single, she’s single. I don’t see an issue.”
“I’m still in love with my ex.” I stated. “I’m not looking to meet anyone.”
“She’s not leaving him, Landyn.” she counter stated.
“She just hasn’t left him yet.” I corrected.
“No doubt she’s unhappy, but she’s not severely unhappy.” She informed me. “At least enough to leave him.”
If I could’ve swallowed a Vicodin down right in front of her, I would’ve—what she said made me feel extremely uneasy.
“I don’t wanna disagree with you Tobey—you’re the expert here.” I told her, leaning towards her while seated on her sofa. “You’ve helped me a great deal, but I’m not ready to believe that…if ever. She responded to my letter and she still holds onto my necklace—she still believes in us.”
“Have you heard from her since she responded to your letter?”
“I haven’t, but I’m sure her husband is watchin’ her every move.” I explained, hoping she’d understand the nuances of an extramarital relationship. “I sent her a CD and another letter a couple of weeks ago too and she never returned them to me.”
“Are you sure she received them?”
“I sent them to the same place I sent the first letter—I’d have no reason to doubt she didn’t.” I countered. “I really believe her husband is eyeballing her every move and she doesn’t have the freedom she used to have.”
“Would you agree to this Landyn?” she asked.
“Agree to what?”
“Would you agree she could go through a friend to contact you if she still wanted to see you? If she really wanted to be with you?” she asked. “What would stop her from going through a friend?”
“I don’t think her friends are as supportive as they were.” I reasoned, but feeling the brain shivers Zoloft left behind. “I don’t know if they would do that for her.”
“Regardless Landyn, as much as this has broken your heart, this breakup is a good thing.” She said, noticing how uncomfortable her line of questioning was making me. “If she were to leave, she couldn’t leave for you, but for herself. You were only reinforcing her decision to stay by being there for her.”
“That I can agree with.” I nodded.
“I think you need to do yourself a favor.” She said, repositioning herself on the chair.
“What’s that? Stop believing she will come back to me one day?”
“Well, you’ll need to figure that out in time.” She answered. “But for right now, don’t just be mad with her husband, but be mad with her as well.”
“I…okay” I replied, reluctantly nodding but knowing it could never happen.
“Let’s meet in another two weeks.” she said.
After nodding and thanking her, I left the session with knots in my stomach. Although I left her sessions at times more haunted than when I arrived, she helped me more than she hurt me. Walking into her office came with great reservations, but over time she proved to me how ridiculous my skepticism was. She helped me learn a great deal about myself, but my mind was fragile and negativity set my progress back right now. Everyone who falls in love believes they have the greatest love story of all time—I understood those are the types of people Tobey dealt with, but she talked to a man who dreamt about love his entire life. A man who dreamt for decades about having a woman like Anya and when he finally meets her, she’s better than the woman in his dreams. Tobey was up against a man who not only lost the love of his life, but the reason for his life and all the dreams that came along with it. If she threw negativity at me, telling me Anya didn’t love me or she didn’t want to be with me, it may cause me to scale a marine green bridge overlooking the Los Angeles Harbor. I put on a smiling face for Tobey because my ego wouldn’t allow me to be sad in front of her, but inside a bomb ticked constantly and could explode at any time, and for reasons that wouldn’t be recognized as normal.
If taken at face value, I could even admit it appeared Anya didn’t love me and there was no chance to us. The problem was that I remembered Anya’s voice cracking on the last day we spoke on the phone—no one else heard her sadness but me. There were countless times we argued, mostly because of me, when we struggled terribly only to figure things out and having a better understanding of each other. For our relationship to last two years alone under the circumstances was astonishing. Like the energy around us we can’t see, touch or hear—her love was still there too—it just had to be. There were only two people in the entire universe who knew all we felt and shared—there was no erasing it. I not only saw her tears, but I’ve tasted them too. Even when I did question her love at the end, she showed me her tears were real and they were for us. She never cried a river, or bawled or wailed incessantly, but her eyes ran a steady stream of quiet and genuine despair enough to believe they spoke to me. Especially the time she was in Seattle for her cousin’s wedding with her parents—I’ll never forget how hard she tried to find her breath that night before my phone battery died.
Believing that Anya still loved me was my greatest test of faith. While everyone around me tried to reason against the very nature of God, I had to believe they were wrong. I had to believe and trust in Anya’s tears while everyone saw the pain her loss brought me—and they didn’t even know the half of it. My addiction and suicidal thoughts were only getting stronger. Tobey did what any good therapist would do for their patient and client. She not only cared about the well-being and struggles of this patient, but also every other patient that walked through her doors. After feeling unsettled after this last session, I decided to make it my last. At face value, Tobey was right about the way things were, but I still saw them too differently to continue. If I ended up taking my life, I’d have to send her a note now too—I didn’t want her to feel she failed me when the universe did.
After my therapy session, and once again with my three-ring monstrosity in tow, I went to the Good Morning Café, taking a Vicodin before I dared stepping a foot inside. Without the pill, I’d be too sensitive to deal with anyone’s discouragement. It was getting darkly depressing to know after two months since coming to the café almost daily, that it was super easy to run into people I didn’t want to see but impossible to run into the one I did. When I took my usual spot in the black leather chair, the usual suspects, Paul and Crazy Dave were already there. Although they shared the same space, Dave had his nose in the newspaper and Paul just stared at his cup of coffee. Before I could open my binder, a soft voice touched my ears.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” I replied, turning around to face her. “How are you?”
“I’m great! How are you?”
“I’m doing well, thanks.”
The woman who stood before me was a thin attractive olive-skinned brunette, likely in her late twenties. She had a white smile, almond shaped brown eyes, raised cheekbones and full lips. She wore little make-up and looked like she had just gotten her hair and nails done. She then put her hand lightly on my shoulder knelt down to and whispered in my ear.
“Can I be so bold to ask you for your phone number? I’d like to ask you out for coffee sometime, if that’s okay.”
Both extremely flattered and caught off guard by her interest, I didn’t know what to say. I then looked around the cafe, wondering if someone was playing a prank on me. While scanning the room, Dave’s eyes were peeking behind the top of the newspaper, but quickly disappeared when he noticed mine staring back at him. Paul’s lower lip dangled lower than usual, his eyes no longer on the cup. No doubt this woman was intoxicating and insatiable, but this kind of thing happened to me one time before and the pain was still fresh.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Claudia.” She replied, her nails now lightly scratching the top of my shoulder.
“Do you know my name?”
“How would I know your name?” she laughed, her face fully lighting up.
“Oh, I just thought you might have.” I told her, extending my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Claudia.”
“Nice to meet you, too…Landyn” she said, taking my hand in hers while believing someone at the cafe told her my name. “I come in here for an Espresso and always see you by yourself. I’m sorry for assuming you might be single.”
“I’m flattered, Claudia—you’re very pretty.” I told her.
“Thank you.”
“I have to be honest, but I’m just coming out of a relationship and I’m not ready to meet someone new. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, okay…I understand.” She replied, a look of surprise on her face. “Just thought I’d try.”
“You made my day. Very sweet of you. Thank you.” I told her.
I didn’t care how attractive a woman was—it took a ton of guts to approach a man to ask him for his phone number. Claudia’s interest in getting to know me, just from coming inside the café for an Espresso, was a very kind gesture. If I hadn’t met Anya, we’d both be entered into each other’s phones but my heart was still taken. I didn’t appreciate it when Lexi went out on a date with me while her heart was with another man, and I refused to disrespect Claudia like that. It was just a shame that might deter her in the future so I wanted to make sure she knew the gesture made my day. Although Anya and I were no longer, she still remained in my heart and after all the turmoil I caused in her life, I didn’t feel right about seeing someone else. When I thought of the times she broke down in front of her kids, even threatening Jackson with divorce, dating again was disrespectful to how her marriage was forever affected by me. I still loved Anya and although turning down Claudia would be perceived as the act of a madman; it was the right thing for a widower to do.
After Claudia left the café without a new phone contact, I would soon have some explaining to do.
“Who in Sam’s hell was that?” Crazy Dave said to me, his hand covering his mouth as if we were on a baseball mound. “She was a knock out—a perfect ten!”
“All she did was say hello to me—I don’t know who she was.”
“Do you know her?” Prodded Paul.
“Nope. She wanted to exchange phone numbers but I’m not ready to date anyone right now.”
“She wanted your number? Odelay Holmes!” Dave exclaimed, even putting down his newspaper. “Did you at least exchange numbers?”
“No Sir.”
“There’s no such thing as a bad time with a knock out! She’s a perfect ten!” He announced to the entire café.
“Well, my ex was a knockout—a perfect ten, too.” I told him.
If they had known Anya, they would’ve seen how rational my decision not to exchange numbers was. Without her there though, all Crazy Dave and Paul could do was shake their heads in disbelief. I wasn’t good looking enough to turn down women like Claudia by any stretch of the imagination and was the last man who could afford to do such a thing. What they didn’t know was when my heart was with someone else, there could be no one else. It didn’t matter if Anya knew if I was true to her or not because I was true to myself—I had already met my soulmate.
When I got home that evening, I found myself back on the computer to keep up with the Caiaphas’s. When I came across Katie’s Facebook profile, she posted a new profile pic of herself wearing something rather ostentatious for a fourteen-year-old. In fact, she didn’t look fourteen at all but much older. Was this Katie acting out again like she did during her seventh-grade year? Or maybe I was being too old fashioned and two-piece bikini pics were the norm among teenagers these days? I really hoped Katie wasn’t rebelling against her disciplinary parents, and if she was, I hoped Anya and Jackson both had strong opinions against it. If she was my fourteen-year-old daughter, her Facebook account would be shut down. When I noticed that Katie’s only friend on Facebook was Anya, two things came to mind. Her parents had already disciplined her for the picture or this was a set-up to get me to respond to her.
Giving in to more curiosity than usual, I searched to see what Carolyn and Debbie were up to on Facebook. It only took me a few minutes to find Debbie’s page but it seemed Carolyn had me blocked from viewing her page. The only reason I could come up with Carolyn’s reason for blocking me was because she knew that I knew she was having a relationship too. Debbie on the other hand, was in the clear. Although I felt Carolyn enabled Anya to set up our first date, I wasn’t upset with her at all about it, and definitely not enough to ever make her infidelities known to anyone—it was none of my business. It just didn’t make sense to me why she would block me. Or maybe Anya asked her to because Carolyn and her husband did go to San Diego with her and Jackson one summer weekend and likely hung out together at other times during the year. Or maybe Carolyn’s husband was suspicious too and if I contacted her then it might blow her cover? Although I never had any intentions of reaching out to Debbie or Carolyn again, I could understand why she blocked me. It still bummed me out enough to take a Vicodin—I had hoped her friends would’ve treated Anya’s husband like the monster, and understood why the monster in me existed.
Theresa usually sat at one of the tables outside the café before venturing inside to say hello to me when she came in for a drink. Now it seemed each time I visited the cafe, she was seated in the chair next to mine—no longer soaking in the Vitamin D from the sunlight. After deciding to end my sessions with Tobey, having Theresa there to talk to, someone who shared a similar situation, was a welcomed sight.
“The letter you sent to your ex had to mean something to her if she wrote you back.” Theresa told me during one of our conversations.
“Exactly!” I exclaimed, relieved she saw my point of view. “She wouldn’t have written me back if it didn’t touch her heart.”
“Just don’t stop praying to God.” She advised. “Things that are meant to be will be.”
When she mentioned the “G” word for the first time, it made me feel uncomfortable—He was the one I blamed for all the bad that happened to me. Everything seemed to be going so well with Theresa’s analysis and the last thing I wanted to do was discourage her words of encouragement.
“Are you religious?” I asked her.
“I’m Christian—if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, you’re one of them.” I snickered.
“One of them?” she laughed. “What does that mean?”
“You’re one of those holier than thou people who think they do no wrong yet pass judgment upon others.” I joked, half-heartedly.
“Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m just teasing—you don’t come off as that kind of person at all.” I backtracked. “But I hardly know you, too.”
“Thanks—I think.”
“I’m just not much of a believer in God” I explained while trying not to offend her. “Not after my mother got sick when she’s done nothing but worship Him.”
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“What does she have?” She asked, turning her body to me.
“Stage four Cancer.”
“Oh my God. Really? Stage Four?”
“Yep.” I replied, a bit surprised by her reaction.
“I’ll add her to my prayer chain.” She informed me.
“You can, but that won’t do any good.”
“You don’t believe in the power of prayer?”
“Nothing I’ve prayed for has ever come true—there’s no power in prayer, Theresa.”
“Maybe you’re prayin’ for the wrong things and in the wrong way?”
“I haven’t prayed in a very long time, but I’m sure that had nothing to do with it.”
“If you’ve prayed in the past then you can pray now.” She reasoned; her blue eyes focused on mine. “But you must believe in God to do that.”
“Do all Christians believe in the power of prayer.” I asked, trying to avoid a debate on God’s existence with her.
“Absolutely, that’s why we have prayer chains when people get sick.”
“A prayer chain?” I laughed. “You guys hand out chains, then wear them and pray?”
“No, you silly man. It’s when a group of people get together to pray for someone when someone is really sick. We call ourselves prayer warriors.”
“Prayer warriors? What’s the point in doing that?”
“Well, the more people that pray, the better chance an angel will hear and answer their prayer.”
“So that’s why God has never answered a prayer of mine? Because I’ve been a lone wolf?”
“You can’t say none of your prayers have ever been answered.” she quipped. “Certainly some prayers of yours have been answered; your mom is still here and you’re healthy.”
When Theresa assumed I at least prayed for my mother, it left me feeling shameful. Since I didn’t believe in God, it never occurred to me to say a prayer for her recovery. Even without my prayers, she continued to beat cancer, further proving his non-existence. In fact, I blamed Him for dropping the ball on her—with so much wickedness in the world how was she chosen for Cancer? The teachings of the Bible were a great source to follow morally because the truth was we didn’t know if God existed or not. In case He did somehow show up on the day I died, at least if I followed some of His rules, it’d make it a little harder to throw me into the eternal pit of fire. Reality, the earth, our society, the way people really were, only further cemented my disbelief in God. This reality only proved the Bible’s main purpose was to prevent chaos and to maintain order. Without a guide to determine right and wrong, there could be no such things. There was a lot of good in the Bible, but it couldn’t prove God’s existence to me.
“My mom used to tell me years ago that if I prayed, that things would turn out good for me.” I shared with Theresa. “After giving that a try and having nothing good ever happen for me, I stopped praying twenty years ago.”
“Maybe you were doin’ it the wrong way?” she suggested. “Maybe your heart wasn’t into it like it should’ve been?”
“Or maybe there’s really nobody listening?” I countered. “Maybe that’s why my prayers were never answered.”
“God doesn’t answer everyone’s prayers, Landyn—it’s not how He works. It may take years for him to answer our prayers.” She explained. “Most of the time our guardian angels, or spirit guides, have a hard time coming down to earth because of all the evil souls who are still in limbo.”
“What? You mean, ghosts?”
“Yes, it took the arch angel Michael, twenty-one days to answer someone’s prayer because he was harassed by bad spirits.” She continued. “There are also times that God decides not to answer our prayers at all because he has better things in store for us, but I promise you this—if you pray, he will hear you out. He may even help Anya find her way back to you, if it’s in His plan for you. Stop holding in all that pride, Landyn—reach out to Him. He loves you.”
I nodded and smiled at Theresa, taking her words to heart. I built up so much resentment for him over so many years, I didn’t want to rely on Him for anything, like my own father. If God planned to give me Anya’s heart for only two years, then how could I trust any plan He had for me? No matter how much love I showed her, and how loyal I was, He still deemed me unworthy of her heart? The fact He chose Jackson for her over me made me even angrier with Him. I couldn’t trust in a God who could bring her into my life yet also keep her away from me at the same time—that didn’t sound like a loving God to me. It was much safer for me to believe in the Universe—at least I could see the stars and even the dark matter that surrounds them to know it’s there.
Later that night, after speaking with Theresa for over two hours at the cafe, I visited the social media profiles of Katie, Jackson and Anya. It was puzzling that Anya’s only friend was Katie and that both of their profiles were not restricted—Anya didn’t even have a wall to post on. It also still didn’t make any sense to me why all the pictures on the Company website were down. Did Anya remove them after attaching the picture of her and Jackson together in the letter I wrote her? I could only imagine Jackson demanding her to post as many pictures of them together as possible to hurt me. Then again, maybe she thought if I could get the picture so easily that anyone on the internet could just save it to their computer? If that was the case, it was a good idea—saving my heart from this self-inflicted torture. I hardly left the house and stayed in even on the weekend, but as long as I had a Vicodin, I preferred writing in my journal or reading the contents of my binder. As much as I wanted to believe in Anya’s love, the loneliness was starting to wear me down—silence should never be this loud. I had often felt removed from life before but now I felt non-existent, just a ghost that kept angels away from answering prayers.
Finding myself reflecting upon Theresa’s pearls of wisdom about God, I then came to a sound conclusion—if Anya showed up at my door, then I’d have a reason to believe. But as long as God rewarded people like Jackson, even as his union represented all a marriage should never be, I’d never trust in God, let alone His love for me. God should’ve never allowed Jackson to wear her ring, but that’s the beauty of money—it gets you everything you want in life on Earth. God allowing people like Jackson to thrive in this world, while people like myself suffered would never inspire belief from me. Especially when evil human beings get all they want and the decent ones are left with nothing. What He considered to be “immoral”, in Anya and the eyes of my mother, and probably everyone else, bothered me more than anything. Anya was not in love with Jackson because he had cheated on her several times. They both shattered vows to one another so how could God recognize their marriage and hold it in the same sanctity as two people who have never broken their vows? One marriage was even destroyed by their marriage. How could there be any sanctity left? I didn’t want to hear anything about kids either—not one instance are children mentioned in vows taken during the wedding ceremony. There is no “we promise to stay together for the sake of the kids” vow whatsoever. All I ever wanted from God was equity, and no matter how good I’ve been to others, I couldn’t even get that. He wanted me to pray to Him but never showed up when I did. When my mom needed him, He gave her Cancer and rewarded Jackson with Anya and two beautiful kids? If God wanted my belief, where’s His justice?
Like my mother, Theresa’s belief in God was where she derived her strength from, but still couldn’t find it in me to lie about my lack of faith. If God wanted me to believe in Him, choosing more disappointment was not the way He should’ve gone about it. Any happiness I ever felt was always taken from me sooner or later. If He wouldn’t allow me happiness then I reserved the right to withhold my faith. Constant anxiety along with pain and suffering were not paths to win me over. Only equity would allow me to believe in Him—the same fairness he gave to philanderers. Not one time have I ever asked for proof of His existence—that’s not consistent with needing to have faith. All I ever needed was just one good thing to believe in and what did I receive? My mother getting Cancer followed by losing the only thing I’ve ever truly loved in this world after waiting thirty plus years for it. Not even a year ago, I lost a career job that would’ve set me up for life and now? I’m mere months away from becoming a beggar. Not one single relationship, even the one I poured my heart and soul into, worked out for me—when all I’ve ever wanted in life was what seemingly most people had—a family created of love. Why would the entity who defined itself as love make it impossible for me to have?
I find it hard to believe after thirty-nine years that my future will be any different. If there is a God, why couldn’t good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people? How could you expect me to believe and trust in you, God? When it’s clear you don’t believe and trust in me? Why did Jackson receive all the things I’ve ever dreamt of in life? Why did he get the only thing I’ve ever wanted? God, you’ve gone out of your way to destroy my faith in your existence. You tested me enough—I’ve been unhappy forever, working and loving hard all for nothing. You mean to tell me; you allowed your son to die for people like Jackson Caiaphas? Who lies? Who cheats? Who destroys? Who takes for granted a spouse’s love and goodness?
I’m forever distrusting of God if he allowed Anya into my life to never be with her. If there truly was a God, we would be together—it was that simple. A loving God would’ve never allowed me to feel this anguish, not needing a pill to get through it for a few minutes a day. If God had so many people in my life imploring me that He was real, the least He could do was be fair. I gave Him plenty of chances to show Himself, yet time and time again, He failed to make a cameo. Instead, phonies like Jackson Caiaphas were in His good graces. And what do the people that truly love get from God? Cancer, loneliness and the prosperity of evil.
Whenever the sound of rain found my ears, or I witnessed a sky with its potential, it broke me down. Something I fell in love with because of Anya now only teased me, like the promise of us being together one day. Like my dreams, the rain showed no mercy on me--inspiring me to swallow a Vicodin to help ease the memories it brought with each drop. All the things Anya inspired me to fall in love with now frolicked with my emotions. She may have been upset with me, but by forcing her hand, it was intended to feel like being bitten by a vampire, like Bella was in “Twilight”. It would be painful at first, there would be anguish and suffering, but in the end she would be free. Born into a whole new and better world—everything worked out in the end. If my love for her was considered a crime, then consider me guilty.
I believed against all hope that Anya still loved me—she never returned my “thingie” and she never returned the CD I burned for her full of love songs. Although she also never responded nor thanked me for the music, and maybe she could’ve gone through Carolyn or Debbie to do so if Jackson confiscated her phone and computer, but maybe he also had their husbands watching them too? Jackson had to make them aware that Anya had met someone, and they should be on the lookout as well. Also, I wouldn’t have wanted her to come back because I complained about it. I would’ve only wanted her to seek me out if she couldn’t live without me in her life, and not because I couldn’t live without her. All I wanted was for her to face the truth and be the honest person I took my greatest leap of faith with. She needed to be an honest person so I could substantiate why she allowed and encouraged me to be in her life. We shared too much for us to ever be apart like this. The true sin in all of this was Anya choosing to live a dishonest life. I really did understand what I put her through—it’s why I sent her the thirty plus page letter. And who knows? Maybe I sent the CD and letter to the wrong address? I didn’t put a return address on the envelope and for all I know it could have gotten lost. I just needed to do something that brought out an emotion in her, like the rain brought out emotions in me. I had to somehow give her another good memory, but wasn’t sure how to do so. If only the rain outside my window could offer advice instead of memories.
I visited my mom the next day, wanting to share with her a chapter of the story I worked on the previous night. After she spent the next twenty minutes with her eyes on my words, she looked at me in disbelief when she finished.
“What is it?” I wondered, pacing her room. “Was it too much?”
“I feel like I’ve just been hit by a freight train.” she told me.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s the best thing you’ve ever written.” She replied, removing her glasses.
“You’re not just tryin’ to cheer me up, are you?” I questioned, sitting down on her bed next to her. “I want an honest critique.”
“That was great, Landy.” She reiterated, rubbing her eyes. “It blew me away.”
My mother has read many things I’ve written over the years for school projects. From essays to short stories, to poems to failed novel attempts, but this was the first time she used the word “great” about anything she’s ever read by me.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Is there more?”
“Nope, that’s all for now.”
“Would love to read more. Are you gonna try to get it published?”
“I was just writing it for fun—to help me get through what I’m going through.” I told her. “I’d need Anya’s permission first before publishing it. I’d have to include her in some way—she inspired me to do this and even gave me titles. I’d likely have to self-publish it if I ever did.”
“I hope I live long enough to see that.”
“I’m sure you will, Mom.” I smiled, rubbing her back.
“I don’t know, Honey.” She replied, her eyes falling to the floor. “They wanna take me off the Vicodin.”
“Wait…what? Why?” I asked, a sudden anxiety washing over me.
“My doctor said it’s not good for me because the cancer is in my liver.” she explained. “They aren’t givin’ me anymore refills.”
After noticing only about fifteen pills remained in the bright orange bottle on top of her dresser, anxiety washed over me in the form of sweat. It was at this very moment when it felt like I was addicted to Vicodin—the news she gave me would not go over well. Ideally and what should’ve been a beyond easy thing to say like “I think that’s a great idea, Mom” was now impossible. The news made my life flash before my eyes, robbing me of the ability to put my mother’s health concerns over my own—now dependent on painkillers to get me through the agony of my reality. The pills allowed me to face a world I didn’t want to face at all, even making my loneliness tolerable. Without them, I’d never want to see the rest of my life through. This Landyn Lastman I now knew, I didn’t know. All I knew for certain was I loathed my life without the pills. Without them, I’d only leave the house to scale a bridge.
“Is there any way you can still get em’ and just give em’ to me?” I asked, trying to hide my desperation.
“No, I will not do that—absolutely not.” she shot me down. “I’m not going to enable your addiction.”
“Listen, just hear me out…”
“It’s out of the question, Landy!” She yelled. “If they take me off of em’, I can’t get em’. End of story.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out some other way to get some then.” I selfishly countered.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “What other way could you get em’?”
“I’ll just ask my friends or somethin’.” I explained, unsure how I’d go about it. “I’ll pay em’ if I have to.”
“You’re sick you know that!” She barked. “You need your head examined!”
“I’m not well right now.” I reluctantly admitted. “Take a look at me—I’m lost. Both a failure and a loser right now.”
“That’s just stinkin’ thinkin!” She scolded.
“I have no job and can’t find anything—my bank account is dwindling. I’ve been on unemployment for eight months now.” I continued. “I just lost my medical insurance so I can’t see my psychiatrist anymore at a time I’m broken mentally. I lost the love of my life after I put my heart and soul into their happiness for two years that ended up only costing me my own.”
“You lost your medical insurance? Things will get better…”
“Every day just waking up is the day’s hardest chore. Even when I’m awake I’m having a nightmare.” I told her. “If it wasn’t for the Vicodin, I don’t know where I’d be right now. As pathetic as this is to admit, those pills are the only things helping me get out of bed in the morning and movin’ in the right direction. Without em’…I just don’t know about life.”
“This is what I was afraid of.” she replied, shaking her head. “I only gave a you a couple here and there for your back.”
“It’s not your fault, Mom—they were always honestly only taken for my back pain. I just wasn’t expecting my life to take the dive it did.” I clarified. “I’m going through a lot right now.”
“You’re so young, Landy—you have your whole life ahead of you.” She stated, trying to reason with me. “You have a lot to look forward to and your health—be thankful you have your health.”
“The fact I can’t see those things should only tell you how unwell I am right now.” I told her, shaking my head disgusted at myself. “I shouldn’t be the one complaining about life’s unfairness in front of someone who’s experienced her fair share of it—that should tell you how messed up I am. And don’t blame Anya for this—please don’t. I know you’re looking at me right now and it’s easy to do because your son is broken, but don’t blame her. This is not her fault and something I need to figure out—I will. I’m not lookin’ for you to agree with me on this, Mom. I know I’m not doing the right thing in regards to the pills, but please understand they’re helping me much more than they’re hurting me.”
“I can’t promise you they won’t take me off it.” she reiterated. “I have to follow the doctor’s orders.”
“I want you to follow the doctor’s orders—but, if you can prolong it without takin’ it, please keep the prescription available for me until I can piece my life back together again. That’s all I’m askin’ for.”
After my mother shook her head then walked out of the room, I couldn’t believe how low I’ve come in a little over six months’ time—I was losing all control. My mother never intended for this to happen, but I did by using them to deal with what life threw at me—truly becoming a matter between life and death. If I couldn’t feel love, a Vicodin high was the next best thing. To go from the greatest feeling of natural euphoria being with Anya to the greatest sadness was too debilitating mentally to live with. Like a soldier who returned home from a war that he brought home with him, the trauma couldn’t have been too much different. The memories of my relationship with Anya haunted me as much as a battlefield could. I lived with the memories of battle every day and without the pills, it would eventually consume me enough to end this post traumatic stress disorder. In fact, I didn’t even realize I had PTSD after losing Anya—it hit me out of nowhere. Little did I know that using Vicodin to fight the war inside my head would turn me against myself and my platoon. I was losing more ground each and every day to what will eventually be with until there would no ground left—a doubtless fate.
After visiting my mother, my nose was back again deep within my binder at the Good Morning Cafe. While reading, I couldn’t help but worry about my mother being taken off Vicodin. I didn’t know anyone who was taking them or where I could find them. The last thing I wanted to do was to track down an unknown dealer for them, but I’d lose the war against this darkness without them. As I pondered the possible remedies, Paul sat down in the chair next to me.
“He’s driving me up the wall today.” he said to me.
“I don’t think you’re the only one.” I replied while we watched Crazy Dave bark a greeting to someone who he believed looked like one of the Jonas brothers.
“They’re gonna kick him outta here again.” Paul predicted.
“I’m surprised he’s even still allowed to come in here.” I laughed. “He’s entertaining but not everyone that comes here is in the mood to be entertained.”
“I agree. Hey, where is that blonde girl that talks to you?”
“Theresa?”
“Yes, Theresa—forgot her name.” He said, rubbing his forehead. “Are you interested in her? Are you guys goin’ out?”
“Oh, no.” I replied, surprised. “What made ya think that?”
“She looks really into you…” He stated. “I thought maybe you guys were datin’.”
“We’re just friends.” I assured him. “Do you wanna date her? I’ll put in a good word.”
“She’s a little too heavy in the lower body for me.” he claimed, then pointing a finger at Dave. “I know that’s his thing.”
“I’d like to put in a good word for him.” I told Paul, then shaking my head. “But I don’t think she’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah, she probably wouldn’t talk to you again if you did that.”
Both Paul and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of her reaction if Dave suddenly became amorous towards her because of my “good word”. I considered talking to Paul about my dilemma, seeing if maybe he was taking any pills, but before I could say a word, Theresa walked through the door. Upon seeing her, we both waved and she waved back at both of us before standing in line for a beverage. Paul then turned to me.
“I think that’s my cue.” he said, slowly standing up from his chair then walking away from me before I could tell him to stay.
After Theresa purchased her drink, she approached me but didn’t take the chair Paul left open for her. She instead stood next to me, stirring her drink with a thin straw.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m hangin’ in there. How are you?”
“I’m good—you should come outside. The vitamin D is good for you. Plus, I’d like to talk to you in private.” She coaxed.
I hesitated only because I feared people in the café would get the impression we were dating. If Paul believed we were an item, I’m sure anyone else who saw us together would think the same thing. The last thing I wanted to inspire within her were any romantic thoughts of any kind, fearing she’d get the impression I was interested. Then again, she had to know how much I still loved Anya, and maybe my fears were only imagined.
“Okay, give me a minute or two.” I told her.
“Sure, see ya in two.” She said, clinging to her books under one arm and holding a drink in her free hand.
As I closed my big black binder then tucked it under my arm, I looked up to see the curious smiling faces of Paul and Dave looking up at me from their seats.
“It’s not what you think.” I told them, shaking my head.
“Odelay Holmes!” yelled Dave. “Take care of your business, young man!”
After giving him a sideway glance, I walked away leaving them to their own imaginations. It was just nice to have someone to talk to who understood what I went through with Anya—how it felt to deeply love someone who was married to someone else. Whether it was fair to her or not, I counted on Theresa like I counted on Vicodin; especially if my mother was unable to get them anymore. The most amazing thing was for thirty-seven years, a total of thirteen thousand five hundred and five days, I lived my life without Anya, but now I struggled living one day without her. I kept my memories of Anya alive through Vicodin and losing that pill equated to a death sentence.
With privacy and a little shade, I took a seat at Theresa’s patio table. When the sunshine made me feel a little uneasy, it was the biggest sign yet how love sick I had become. Upon sitting, Theresa smiled at me, her white teeth gleaming brightly in the sun. Although she carried a few extra pounds, she appeared to be in good health, and it made me envious of her. Working out and caring about my health disappeared when Anya left me causing whatever attractiveness the opposite sex had for me away. But for the first time in my life, I just didn’t care—there was only one woman whose opinion mattered and she wasn’t around.
“It’s nice out.” I said, looking up into the clear blue sky.
“See, what you’re missing?” she replied, smiling more widely. “I always come outside to soak in the sun—it’s great for the skin and for your overall sense of being.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I can teach you a lot about havin’ a good sense of self—it’s what I do for a living.”
“I could use some of your wisdom for sure.”
Theresa smiled then reached into her purse, pulling out a small book along with a card in a light blue envelope.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I picked this up for your mom.” she said, handing it to me.
““Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff”” I read off the cover of the book. “I think I’ll keep this for myself! I’m kidding! Thank you, Theresa. That’s very kind of you—I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“I know she’s going through a lot right now—your whole family is. I just wanted to help out in some small way.” She told me. “I think there’s a reason we met.”
“Thank you.” I said, nodding. “I think so too.”
“How are you coping with everything?” she asked. “Have you heard from her?”
I made no secret to Theresa how much I missed Anya—how the sleepless nights chased away the days in my life. She also knew I still believed in our love and that in due time she would come around. It was beyond difficult to feel all I did to reveal so much to a stranger about how I felt emotionally—someone who could easily judge me, but I trusted Theresa. She has been where I am on some level, and it was easy for me to appreciate that about her. Regardless of the difference in our religious views, like my mother, she gave God a good name.
“I haven’t heard from her.” I admitted, shaking my head. “I guess I’m ok.”
“How long has it been since you sent her the CD now?”
“It’s been just a few weeks—I’m actually thinkin’ about sendin’ her somethin’ for Mother’s Day…we’ll see.” I revealed. “You know, and I don’t know if it was the most difficult thing for you too, but the unknown factor at home broke me down. I knew she cared for me so much that she would hide the truth from me in fear of hurting me. The constant wondering was just too overwhelming.”
“Oh Yes! There was so much unknown—I worried and wondered about things for five years!” she exclaimed. “He used to tell me he would leave her all the time, and it made it really tough, but what I learned in the end was that it was all a waste of my time—a waste of my thoughts. All it did was steal the light from me.”
“I’m thankful my ex never promised to leave her husband if she was going to leave me hanging by a string like he did to you.” I responded, shaking my head in disbelief someone did that to her. “She never misled me in that sense but after all we shared, I just can’t believe she’s still there. We shared way too much for her to remain married to a philanderer.”
“She never promised you to leave her husband?” she asked, wide eyed.
“Not once…it’s why I struggled so much.” I elaborated. “My ex wouldn’t make a promise unless she was sure she could keep it though—I respected her for that especially after hearing about all the seeds of doubt it sows in that kind of relationship. The day we broke up was as ugly as ugly gets—I didn’t take it well at all. I tried desperately to not give her grief, but the lack of a promise devastated me.”
“The ugly only existed because of the situation.” Theresa retorted, nodding.
“I totally agree. Remove the situation from the equation and there would be nothing but the beauty in our love left.”
“How old was she when she got married?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“How old was he?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Really? How old was she when she met him?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? That would’ve made him…thirty, right?”
“Your math skills serve you well.” I teased, smiling. “He may have even been thirty-one.”
“What’s a thirty-year old man doin’ dating a nineteen-year-old?” she asked incredulously.
“He runs a child trafficking ring?” I joked. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“That’s gross.” she told me, shaking her head. “On both sides.”
“Well, she was older when she got married to him.” I defended. “Teenagers can be impressionable so I can understand her side of it.”
“Still seems weird to me.”
“I thought it sounded bizarre too.” I replied. “But to each their own.”
“So, she’s fine with her daughter datin’ a man eleven years older than her when she turns nineteen?” Theresa posed.
“My ex was likely a more mature than normal nineteen-year-old.” I told her. “I don’t think either of them would be fine with that, but their daughter is precocious for her age too.”
“I would hope not.” she shot back. “She doesn’t even know who she is at nineteen yet—just a bundle of raging hormones. I think it’s pretty disgusting.”
“I don’t think either of them believed much in love back then. The relationship was likely based on the wrong things.” I explained. “I think she came to realize it after he cheated on her.”
“Is he well off?”
“You could say that.” I answered, feeling the sudden need for a pill.
“How many kids do they have?”
“Two. A girl and boy—ages fourteen and twelve.”
“I bet they’re spoiled brats.”
“They spoiled them sure, but I wouldn’t classify them as spoiled brats—they work hard and excel in school.” I further explained. “They do have a pretty good reward system in place and I think that helps.”
“Did you ever meet them?”
“I never did, but she told me so much about them, I felt I knew em’.”
“There seems to be many barriers there for you.” She deducted.
“There were…obstacles I felt she should’ve made me aware of when we first met—just so I’d know what to expect so I could be more understanding if she couldn’t promise me anything.” I told Theresa. “I found out about these challenges after I had already fallen deeply in love with her—when it became virtually impossible for me to understand how she could stay after allowing our love to exist.”
“Their whole family sounds whacked!” She announced.
“I wouldn’t say that but will say her husband is more whacked than anyone.” I retorted.
“Sounds like she’d need a lot of therapy to sort out all her issues.”
“She’s a victim of emotional abuse, and she’s only out of sorts because of him. It’s why I fought for her.”
“How’d you meet her?”
“Have you ever been to Sonomas?”
“The bar in Newport Beach?”
“That’s the one.”
“What’s a married woman doing there?”
Her attacks on Anya were starting to annoy me. If she thought my lack of Vitamin D was the reason for still believing she would find her way back to me, Theresa was in for a rude awakening.
“She was under a lot of stress with her kids and work—she was actually at the bar with other married mothers.” I informed her. “She never went to close the place down but just for a spill with her girlfriends—she lives an extremely stressful life doing a lot of things on her own, because her husband runs a business. He’s also running for a seat on the House of Representatives this year. His name is Jackson Caiaphas—you might’ve heard of him.”
“I think I may have.” She answered. “The name sounds familiar.”
“He’s in the paper quite a bit these days—I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“She could also go to other places to unwind.” she pressed on, refusing to give up on her attack. “I don’t think a mother of two should be hanging out at a bar—don’t ya think?”
“She’s a great mom, but she’s not well, Theresa.” I countered. “It’s one of the many reasons it’s hard for me to give up on her. I felt staying with her husband didn’t allow her to be the best mother. With me, she’d never have a need to frequent a bar to unwind.”
“Why isn’t she with you, Landyn? You’re a great man.” she said.
“That’s why she’s a great mom—she’s afraid to hurt her kids.” I reasoned. “She’s afraid they could be affected by her decision. I think her Korean culture influenced her decision as well.”
“That culture influence is HUGE.” she stated.
“I’m sure she always felt the pressure to marry well and she did, but she also didn’t wanna face her family if she ended her “well to do” marriage—she’d have to face the folks that frowned upon that sort of thing. It’s why she felt the need to run away, but I’d never let her end things that way. If she loves me, like she always told me, she would be willing to face them.”
“It’s easy to say things, but another thing to mean them.” Theresa stated.
“Even though it was easy to question her love in the end, I believe she still loves me.” I continued. “The kids were just too great a barrier for her to be with me. It didn’t mean she didn’t love me—it just meant she was afraid she’d have to give them up.”
“Why would she believe she’d have to give them up by choosing love?”
“Well, she found an essay her daughter wrote for her seventh-grade class that left her feeling guilty—finding out in the essay she wasn’t there for her daughter to help her through a rough time she was having in school.” I revealed. “She tried to end our relationship over the essay, but I disagreed with her, telling her she shouldn’t shoulder the blame and that her daughter would have gone through it regardless of our relationship—the marriage was to blame for it. If she wasn’t there for her daughter, it was because of her unhappiness with the marriage and she needed to be happy in life to fix it—going right back into her unhappy life wouldn’t help her daughter.”
“Wow, you told her that?”
“Of course, I did—I loved her. We spent nearly two years putting our hearts and souls into our love, and she even told me she couldn’t quit me. She asked me if I would fight for her and this was what I promised her to do, even at times she didn’t want to hear the truth. All because her daughter blamed herself after overhearing her mother threaten her father with divorce, wasn’t the right reason to stay for the sake of the kids. It wasn’t fair to her daughter, letting her go to bed at night blaming herself for the unhappiness my love felt in her marriage—especially when it was her husband’s infidelities and emotional abuse over many years that led her to fall in love with me. I questioned what she was teaching her kids by staying because it only reinforced her daughter’s belief that her struggles in school caused the trouble in her parents’ marriage… and nothing could’ve been further from the truth.”
“I agree. She should’ve felt an obligation to tell her kids, through her daughter, that the arguments didn’t come about because of them in any way, shape or form.” Theresa specified. “They shouldn’t have to go to bed blaming themselves for any problems in their mom and dad’s marriage. Does she have a degree?”
“She does—she also has a nursing license and was getting caught up on her continuing education while we were together.”
“She would be well taken care of if she left her husband.” she informed me. “She’d get alimony, child support, half the assets—property and the business including her income from nursing. The kids would be more than fine and there’s no way she would’ve lost them to him.”
“Her narcissistic husband put it in her mind that she would be breaking up a family and hurting their kids if she left him.”
“I think she’s every bit of a narcissist too, Landyn.” She told me, smirking.
“I think we all are in some instances, but I don’t believe Anya ever lied to me about anything.” I fought back.
“But she didn’t tell you everything you needed to know too.”
“I agree, but I don’t think that’s necessarily lying.”
“Omission of anything in this situation is being dishonest, Landyn.” She affirmed, patting the black binder in front of me on the table. “Especially considering how much you feel for her and how much your feelings grew.”
“She loved me though, Theresa.” I reiterated. “In my heart and mind, she’s the greatest.”
“Can I ask you one question then?”
“Sure.”
“And consider what I told you about her receiving alimony and child support on top of her nursing income.”
I nodded.
“Would you have left?”
Blindsided by her back door question, I didn’t find any appreciation in Theresa’s analysis of Anya’s “love” for me.
“Personally, I would’ve left.” I told her. “But all because she chose to stay doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, Theresa.”
“She may have loved you at one time Landyn, but it doesn’t seem to me she loves you now.”
Theresa’s harsh analysis left me craving more than one pill. Did she find it a good idea to make a severely depressed man feel even worse about himself than he already did? Did she ascertain I easily fell in love with just anybody who showed me love? That any woman could just pull the wool over my eyes at any given time? I wouldn’t have fallen deeply in love with someone, especially after Denise and all the other women before her, unless I felt absolutely confident that they loved me. Theresa’s queries and judgments broke me even more inside that I already was, after hoping she’d connect me to the love I longed for. Instead, she turned it into such a ruse, it made me believe the woman who wanted my phone number was a setup to test my love for Anya.
“We did have a really bad falling out four months ago.” I said, trying to fend her off. “About three months ago though I wrote her a thirty-page letter to express my sadness and to apologize for that day. My ex didn’t have to write me back or even acknowledge she even read the letter yet received it, but she did. My mother thought the same way you do and she even told me my ex wouldn’t write me back because it would require love from her to do so, yet she did.”
I waited for Theresa to say something, but after she nodded her head I continued my case further, as I tried to separate my emotions from my words.
“Would she had really put the future welfare of her kids at risk if she didn’t love me? Would she have ever threatened her husband with divorce if she didn’t love me?” I countered. “I think ninety-nine-point nine percent of women, after the fallout we had which even involved a cop, would’ve never wrote me back. And I also don’t think ninety-nine-point nine percent of men would’ve swallowed their pride and written her back to apologize.”
I paused for a second to give her a time to respond, but when she nodded again, I decided to offer her my conclusion.
“Yes, I would’ve left and yes, she should’ve left too. It’s why we had such a bad falling out because I felt I deserved a promise, but I didn’t just deserve it—we both did.” I stated. “And believe me, I questioned her love a ton, much to her chagrin, but I don’t anymore. As crazy as it is for people on the outside looking in to believe, I truly believe she loved me and she still does.”
“I agree that the letter had to mean something for her to write you back.” she concurred. “To meet her at a bar though? I think she was just out looking for fun because she felt neglected at home by her husband who was buried running a business that left her taking care of the kids pretty much on her own. Dating you was her way to get his attention. She never had any intentions to leave him but planned to give him a warning through you.”
She paused to give me a chance to respond, but I assumed her role and nodded.
“You should know I think you’re a great guy and you’ve actually helped me out a lot in just the few times we’ve talked.” She confessed. “In my opinion, she’s not great at all and you deserve better.”
When Theresa said this to me, I could see why she had such strong feelings about Anya and the love I believed she still had for me. For the first time, I saw what Paul and Dave did—Theresa seemed interested in more than sharing our stories of heartbreak.
“I appreciate that, Theresa.” I replied, but a bit on guard. “I’m sorry, but I have to run.”
“It wasn’t something I said? Was it?” she asked. “I was just tryin’ to help.”
“Oh, no. I have to be back in town early today.” I lied, tucking my heart, that bulky black binder under my arm and rising up from my seat. “I have a meeting with my entrepreneur group—I’m hosting.”
“Alright, we’ll talk soon then.” She told me. “If you would Landyn, could you please say a prayer for my friend? She’s in ICU and not doing too well.”
“Oh yes, the power of prayer.” I reluctantly nodded, both sad to hear about her friend and annoyed she imposed God on me before leaving. “I’ll do that. Have a good day and thanks again for the thoughtful gift. Goodbye.”
“You’re most welcome. Talk to you soon.”
No doubt Theresa was a great person, a much better human being than I was, but her words struck me like several bolts of lightning from out of the sky—even imposing God on me for good measure. From her side of the fence, she made very strong points and quite frankly, I couldn’t disagree with her. But when she hit me with “Would you have left”, she nudged me off a ten-story building, and although I would’ve left, that didn’t mean Anya didn’t love me or she never did. She was in such a special situation, I don’t think anyone, even myself, could relate to all she faced. I just trusted that she was willing to do so because she allowed and encouraged me to fall deeply in love with her. She only started to pause things after she secured my love for her and to me, that was the greatest argument against her staying. I did nothing special but love her and it never stopped her from loving me. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, love was everything to Anya if she was willing to allow and encourage herself to fall and allow someone else to.
It was crazy how I questioned her love less when we were apart than I did when we were together, leaving me to question my sanity. I couldn’t blame Theresa for trying to make me see how inaccurate my beliefs were. Why was it okay for me to question Anya’s love for me, but when someone else did, I jumped to her defense? At this point, Anya had to have loved me—she was just afraid I’d tell Jackson about us and that’s why she pulled away. If I had told Jackson about our trips together, and she had no idea what I’d tell him, he would only use it against her in court and she’d never get the things Theresa claimed she would receive. It wasn’t fair to Anya if I questioned her love after threatening to tell Jackson—something Theresa didn’t know about. Still, she shouldn’t carry such strong opinions about Anya’s love for me because if made me feel like I had an inability to know what love was. I believe Anya would be the first to tell Theresa that I held her to an abnormally high standard. The sadness I experienced after losing Anya was so acute, I contemplated jumping off a bridge because it consumed me so much. The black three ring binder I walked into the coffee shop every day with should’ve told her to tread carefully. Like an animal sensing disaster before it happens, I was ultra-sensitive to everything around me. I didn’t confide in her to be criticized and analyzed, but to make better sense of everything I needed five Vicodin a day now to deal with. Not one time did I say anything negative about how she fell for a man who only left his wife because he got bored with her. Anya didn’t make me any promises, but she didn’t break any of them constantly like Theresa’s paramour did. How much more evidence did she need that the man she chose to give her heart to was selfish and indecent? Not one time did I tell Theresa he was using her for five years, or give her my opinion, but for some reason Theresa couldn’t help herself—needing to play God by passing judgment on others.
Theresa’s words bummed me out at a time I couldn’t afford to be more depressed. My views on marriage and love changed so drastically that I felt no excitement or the slightest desire to have kids one day. Before meeting Anya, it was my biggest dream—a huge reason why I went to school and worked so hard. The promise of love and marriage gave me such a spirit, I willingly confronted any adversity or barriers in achieving that dream. Now that the dream was taken from me, Vicodin helped me to keep pushing through, using it to not only mask, but mimic the feelings of love Anya gave me. My belief in Anya’s love was all I had left, and I thought Theresa wouldn’t dare criticize the way I dealt with my profound grief—especially after telling her the contents of my binder. Telling me my ex-girlfriend wanted nothing to do with me ever again wouldn’t brighten the darkness inside me. I’m certain Theresa never meant any harm, but how many people did she know walked into a café with a binder full of memories? She should look at that as something deeper than a guy walking into a café with a black binder. Taking five horse sized Vicodin pills a day just to escape emotional anguish was a real sign I didn’t care much about losing my life anymore. Even in my darkest moments, I never did anything to jeopardize my physical health, even using the gym more as an outlet to cope. Anya used to tell me she was on the fence about us and anything could set her off, now I was on the bridge about life—anything could set me off enough to climb its highest point to end it all.
My relationship didn’t exist on the same level as Theresa’s did. The only common characteristic we shared was that both people we fell in love with were married—the comparisons ended there. If Anya had never been greatly disrespected, and was just bored in her marriage, I would’ve never gotten involved and if I did after knowing that, I’d deserve this heartache. I’m no man of God, but I even knew better than to do that. All I asked from Theresa was for her to not minimize what I considered to be love. I know she means well, but she made me feel like all I felt over the last two years was child’s play and could be easily solved by simple questions and observations. I would advise any aspiring behavioral therapist to not play devil’s advocate with the clients they are trying to help—they might not be in the right state of mind to deal with it. When Tobey told me I needed to build positive relationships, this was what she was referring to.
Upon returning home, I went online to search for the meaning and reason for my pain and suffering. I took two Vicodin then absorbed myself in a search to find something to prove Theresa wrong about Anya’s love for me. When I found myself yet again staring at Katie’s Facebook profile picture, I could have sworn the account belonged to Anya. Upon seeing her beautiful face, tears fell unabated from my eyes—an unexpected yet natural reaction. After examining the picture, a little more closely, it freaked me out—it wasn’t Anya, but Katie. Yet, the tears continued to fall—I got to see her mom through her. I felt protective of mother and daughter from afar. Katie finding the love that eluded her mother one day was something I wanted just as much as Anya leaving her marriage to be with me. They both deserved faithful men who honored and respected them for a lifetime. I always believed I was fighting for Katie as much as her mother’s happiness one day. I just wished Anya could’ve seen all I was fighting for. When I thought the pic was Anya, and how it elicited emotions in me, I realized how much my heart beat the same way it did when I first met her, and even more intensely being trapped within my own sadness and the reality she was not even near me, and hasn’t been for five months. A huge part of me wanted to believe her mother approved this Facebook picture because she knew how much I missed her—the heart never forgetting what it always will feel.
Since she received my letter, there were no more pictures of her and Jackson on the internet—they all disappeared after she wrote me. Katie’s picture just blew me away, making me miss Anya even more. After writing a novel to apologize to her, she now knew I went online to try and fill the emptiness without her. If Jackson wouldn’t allow her to post a picture of herself, then Katie’s profile was the only way she could give me a glimpse of herself knowing how badly I struggled. Katie’s face was expressionless, emoting sadness in the picture, allowing me to fantasize of Anya trying to communicate her sadness to me through it. It even made me dare to think that Anya told her daughter about us, even providing a reflection of her mother’s pain through her Facebook account hoping I’d see it. Or maybe, it was just another desperate and delusional attempt to justify all this heartache.
As I tried dealing with the emotional turmoil the day brought with it, at about a quarter to nine that same evening, I received a call from my parent’s home line. Although the call was about an hour later than usual, my mother called me most nights since my breakup. What made it different this time though was that my father’s voice was the one I heard—a father who never called me.
“Hey, Son.”
“Hi Dad. What’s goin’ on?”
“I just wanted to let you know your mother is in the hospital.”