54
Alina
Roar!
Roar!
Roar!
My phone is going crazy as replies to my message in the Happenstance group chat continue to earn reactions. Unable to hide my smile, I tap open the app. For the first time in a long while, I don’t worry about what I might find. I know they’ll be happy to have me back.
Paisley: Oh Ali, that’s great news! Can’t wait to squeeze you!!! Are you feeling better?
Siobhán: omg tomorrow? yippee! what time do you land?
Roxie: Yay! Best news ever. Slater and the guys know? Of course *duh*. Day made, Ali. Miss you. Need you back where you belong!
I read each reply to the news of my coming to Montreal a day earlier than I’d initially planned. After my session with Kristie today, I’d felt liberated, my shoulders lighter than they have felt in years. I wanted to get back with my friends and Slater as soon as possible.
Once I was on the TTC travelling home after therapy, I’d messaged Slater right away to see if he could help me arrange an earlier flight. Within ten minutes it was done. I’m not sure Sicken Union could function without the magic of Victoria Vu.
Me: I’m so excited to get back with you guys. I miss you all terribly! Yes, I feel so much better. Ready to end this tour with a bang! I land at 11:15AM
Immediately, I see those familiar three dots.
Roxie: That’s so great, Ali. Mean it, damn proud of you. Can’t wait to get you back!
Me: Sorry I’ve been such a mess, but I promise, I’m in a really good place now.
Shiobhán: going to pretend you didn’t just apologize again. you know we don’t care as long as you’re all right. you’re all we care about! now get back here!
Paisley: Truth!! Hurry up and get here, I agree!!!
Me: LOL I love you guys, I’ll see you tomorrow. Xox
Shiobán: count on it!
Roxie: Yes! Luv u!
Paisley: Do you need a pick up? We can Uber to meet you?
Me: No, I’m okay. Slater is meeting me, and he’s arranged a car.
Roxie: Of course he has ;)
Me: :)
Placing my phone on the carpet beside me, I pull out my journal and begin writing the lyrics to a new song; one I’m calling “Chains”. Sitting up in the treehouse feels different tonight. I feel unburdened and my mind isn’t replaying and analyzing each and every word Kristie and I talked about. Instead, the only lines I keep hearing are Kristie’s response to my finally feeling free.
I reach over to the small bookshelf, and pick up my self-soothe box. It’s the one Slater bought me, and it’s my favourite so I brought it home with me. Opening it, I place the letter inside, knowing this is the box I’ll be taking back with me tomorrow. This one holds memories, as well as things that represent what I hold closest to me now: a selfie of me and Lucky here in the tree; a picture of the girls and I onstage at our show in Whitehorse; Slater’s ticket stub from the space centre in Vancouver; my favourite Vincent van Gogh quote; a few notes and reminders; some grape gum I took from Kristie’s office; a hair tie; a miniature plane Slater gave me before I left Vancouver so I’d know he’d miss me; and, now…my goodbye letter to the bully.
Lucky isn’t home tonight, and Slater hasn’t texted me back since this afternoon. I’m trying really hard not to dwell on that. In order to keep myself from thinking too much about it, because I know he’s just busy, I grab one of the astronomy books, set up the telescope, and prepare to research a new constellation. One I can teach Lucky all about, for a change, when he gets home from work later to join me. When we’d first landed, Lucky had told me he was going to take the next few days off so he could be around in case I needed him, an idea I shut down immediately. Too tired of having Lucky always feeling compelled to take care of me, I got angry and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not taking the time off. After a heated and somewhat long discussion, Lucky finally smiled and relented, telling me he admired the fire he could see in my eyes this time. It was in that moment I knew I really was going to beat Her this time around. Not only did I feel it, but one of the people who has seen me at my lowest could see it, too.
The melody of “I’d Rather See Your Star Explode” by Slaves kicks in on my iPhone speaker. Just as I’m about to try to find the beautiful in the night’s sky, I hear a familiar phrase. And I smile.
“Room for one more up there tonight?”
It isn’t Lucky, though, only his words. Instead, the voice belongs to someone else. Someone who’s come to mean as much to me as Lucky and the stars do.
Slater.