Jasmine Thompson—Everybody Hurts
Sara Bareilles—Breathe Again
Demi Lovato—Warrior
I’m locking up the studio for the day when my cellphone rings. I hand Mom the keys to my car and signal that I’ll not be long before I answer the unknown number that is flashing on the screen.
“Hel—”
“Harmony…” Gerry’s voice slurs over the line; he’s been drinking.
“I told you not to call me anymore, Gerry.”
“I know, but I miss you. We were good together.” He hiccups.
I roll my eyes. “Go to bed, Gerry. If you say anything more, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
“No, the only thing I regret is ever giving you up.”
I’m taken aback by his comment, I’ve not heard anything from him since he received the divorce papers six weeks ago. “Giving me up? That’s not how I remember it going down, Gerry. You cheated on me, and apart from that, you gave me years of verbal abuse about my career. You made me feel like—”
He starts laughing but it doesn’t sound joyful, it sounds menacing. “Your career? After I received the asset papers, I researched your little studio.” He laughs again. “You’re kidding yourself that you’re going to be this huge turning point in their lives, that they’re actually going to learn while they’re running around throwing paint everywhere. You need to start getting serious about a career, that’s not a real job,” he jibes, digging a proverbial knife in one more time.
I wince at his words before recovering myself, I won’t let him do this to me anymore. “You know what, Gerry? If you actually took the time to learn about what it is I did and came to the old studio, maybe we’d still be together and you wouldn’t be this… person. I have a real job, I always have.”
“I came once,” he sneers.
“You did. But you also agreed to try and understand what it is I do.”
“And I did, didn’t I?” he deadpans.
“You came, but you left your try.” I clear my throat. “You stopped trying, Gerry.” My voice starts to sound choked up so I pull the phone away from my ear, my heart breaking in two. “What happened?”
He sighs dramatically before slurring, “I couldn’t be a placeholder for him.”
He spits the last word out with such venom that it shocks me. How could he ever think that?
“Gerry, I—”
“Don’t baby me, Harmony, I always knew I was the rebound. I was content with that at first, thinking you’d forget about him and eventually love me the way you did him.”
“I did love you.”
He scoffs. “But you weren’t in love with me, were you? You were happy enough with your consolation prize, but you never looked at me the way that you did with him.” He pauses. “I know you’ve got a place on the right side of the tracks, I bet you fell right into his arms again, didn’t you?”
“Stop!” I shout down the line. “Just stop it.”
“I was never good enough. You left me and ran right back into his arms.” He laughs bitterly. “Don’t come back to me when he throws you to the side again, just like he did the last time.”
Before I can reply, the line goes dead and I’m left standing in front of my studio wondering if every little thing he said was the truth.
What if he was a placeholder? The rebound that I would never love the way I did with him?
No, he’s wrong, he was never a placeholder. Was he?
I startle as a hand touches my shoulder and I spin around, wide-eyed.
“Are you okay, Harm?” Mom asks and I paste on the same forced smile I have been giving her for the last few weeks.
“I’m fine, let’s get home.” I walk past her and climb into the car.
She follows and gets into the passenger side before I start driving toward her house.
I pull up to the familiar house but I can’t go inside. My hands stay clutched onto the steering wheel as I stare ahead, not able to move.
Mom turns toward me as she gets out of my car. “Want to have a glass of wine before bed?”
I hesitate; Gerry and my conversation weighing heavily on me. It feels like a giant weight is sitting on my chest and I could do with sorting through my feelings on my own.
“Dang it, I left something at the studio. You go in and pour us a glass, I’ll be back soon,” I reply, giving her a small smile.
Her brow creases as she frowns. “I could come back with you to keep you company?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you though.” She sighs and starts to close the door until I raise my voice to catch her attention. “Mom?” Her head reappears as she ducks back into the car. “Was… Was Gerry a rebound?”
I can’t look at her as she climbs into the seat, reaching for one of my hands. “You loved Gerry when you married him, both your dad and I saw it. That’s why we let you go.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear before looking up at her. “I might’ve loved him, but was I in love with him?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Being in love and loving someone are two different things, only you know your feelings, hon. You were both so young, but you vowed you were in love with him and who were we to stand in the way?”
“I thought I was at the time, I guess age gives you a different perspective on things.”
I inwardly cringe at the thought that I used him as a rebound, but I know I loved Gerry, especially in the beginning. He helped me through the rest of my college years and kept me above water.
“Age will make you wiser but when you’re finally old enough to realize that you have regrets, you can’t get your life back. All you can do now is change things while you can. You have to move on, sweetheart.”
“I guess you’re right. I just… I feel bad that I made him feel like I didn’t love him like I loved...”
She purses her lips. “What happened to your relationship with Gerry was not your fault. Don’t let him have you thinking that way, he’s on the defensive.”
I nod. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to go and… get that thing now.”
She wraps her arms around me saying, “Don’t let it get on top of you,” before she climbs out of the car.
I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life and my mind going blank. I don’t know where to go, but I know I need to clear my head so I point the car in the direction of my studio, hoping it will give me the same sense of peace that it always does.
I drive toward my destination, feeling a wave of emotion take over me as the darkness of the tunnel looms ahead. The familiar ache of what could have been sears through me like I’ve been branded with a hot poker and I have to physically rub at my chest to stem the pain that flows through me.
I haphazardly park and throw open the door to the studio, but when I’m standing inside, I don’t feel the satisfaction that I should by being here. Ever since Gerry called earlier, I can’t stomp out this primal urge to chase the past. Perhaps I should listen to it?
I fill a crate with canvases, paints, chalks, and paintbrushes, hastily locking the door with one hand as I leave. And without putting any more thought into it, I point my car in the direction that my heart is screaming to be.
When I arrive, it’s dark, the only light coming from my headlights. They give the area a shady ambience, conveying how I’m feeling being back here. Nothing feels beautiful about this place anymore.
I drag the crate of art supplies out of the trunk of my car and sit in front of the hood so I have light for what I’m about to create. I need a creative release.
I pull out the paintbrushes and bottles before squirting out a few dark, gloomy colors into a palette. This won’t be a colorful, happy painting, it won’t be how I normally decorate a canvas; with care and love. I need to let my emotions take over and spill out onto the surface; I know it will be a messy swirl of turmoil.
I begin roughly painting the landscape in front of me, pouring my heart, soul, and unshed feelings onto the canvas, thinking about the last time that I was here. It hurts so damn bad, but why am I letting it get to me so much?
Maybe it’s not the situation I’m letting get to me, maybe it’s the fact that I’m unhappy in my choices and I’m digging up past experiences, looking for an excuse as to why my marriage failed?
I wanted it to work so badly, but I guess wanting it wasn’t enough.
The rough edges of the drawing only fuels my emotions and I spiral out of control. The paintbrush drops out of my hand as I feel rain drip onto my hot skin. I look up at the sky and realize that in actual fact it isn’t raining, it’s unwanted tears. Tears that display the turmoil going on inside me, a turmoil I can’t voice out loud in the fear that I’ll learn that the breakdown of my marriage was my fault. But it wasn’t, I know that deep down. I tried, I tried so goddamn hard! I didn’t force him to cheat, nothing I did warranted being told I wasn’t good enough, yet it still happened.
I always treated him with no less than he deserved. I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of him in the best way, but it was never enough. I wasn’t enough. He’s using my past to excuse his behavior toward me and it’s not fair that he’s bringing it all back up.
I push up off the ground, the canvas tumbling to the gravel as I pace back and forth, taking in big gulps of air to try and calm myself down. My head swirls with conflicting emotions, overwhelming me to the point that I’m hyperventilating.
I can’t go back in time, what was I thinking by coming here?
My body sags as I come to a stop, completely exhausted. I decide to climb into the back of my car and lie down with an old sweater tucked under my head. I’ll rest my eyes for a few minutes before I head home and put all of this behind me once and for all.
I wake up with an ache in my neck and a dry, raw throat from all my crying. I climb out of the car so I can stretch my sore muscles out, my gaze traveling over the landscape. In the morning light, the scene in front of me provides me with a different perspective than the one I’d painted last night.
I bend my knees and pick up the canvas, sighing at the gloomy scene I’ve depicted. It looks nothing like the bright, softer paintings I normally create, and I can’t leave here without showing the true beauty of this place. It makes me feel angry being here, but I can’t deny that it’s beautiful. And even with last night’s emotions still swirling around in my head, I feel like I need to do this to calm the storm raging within.
I collect the paintbrushes that are strewn across the ground before pulling out a bottle of water from the car, cleaning the brushes off and wetting my parched throat.
I sit down in the same place that I did last night and pull a blank canvas onto my partly raised legs, sighing in contentment as I find the colors I want to use and touch the bristle of the brush to the surface for the first time.
Looking up and breathing in the early morning air, the gentle sway of the willow tree’s branches catches my attention, making me see how truly beautiful it is here. The oranges and pinks of the sunrise mixed with the lush green grass makes for a stunning palette. My hair falls in my face and I sweep it over one shoulder, feeling the calm of a new day wash over me.
The morning has opened up my perspective on the situation with Gerry. I know that I never treated him with anything less than the love and support that a wife should show their husband, and I need to remember that. I let my emotions get the better of me last night, I let him weave his way into my psyche again, making me feel like I wasn’t good enough, making me second guess myself. I won’t do that again.
Happiness is fleeting, I should know this more than anyone. When times are dark and I feel like I’m drowning, I know that happy times will always come around again soon. I need to wait things out and get this divorce over and done with.
Gazing at the looming willow tree in front of me, the notion that this place of all places has given me the courage to try and move forward with my new start in a positive way, makes me laugh. It was once a place I associated with deep rooted pain. It still hurts, but I think I can manage it and move on with my life. Instead of locking it up, I need to let myself feel so I don’t get so overwhelmed again.
I don’t stay long after I’ve finished the painting, I don’t need to sit and reminisce any more than I already have, so I pile everything into the back of my car and drive back to Mom’s, feeling content with my new outlook.
I park a few houses down, not able to go inside the house. I watch the door, trying to muster up the courage to go and have an adult conversation with her about where I’ve been, she’s bound to have been worried.
Deciding I’m being stupid because my mom has never judged me before, I drive the short way to the driveway and park, hesitating briefly before walking up to the crimson door. The smell of coffee invades my senses as I walk into the hallway and I follow it into the kitchen, seeing Mom at the table reading a book. She looks up from the pages and gives me a sad smile as I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit next to her.
“Where were you last night?” she eventually asks, but not in a pushy way, in a concerned mom way.
“I needed to clear my head.”
She nods slowly before tucking a bookmark into the book she’s reading and closing it. “I was worried when you didn’t come back. I thought…”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Seeing the worry in her eyes makes me feel awful for not calling her. I should have at least let her know where I was.
She sighs and a real smile graces her face. “As long as you’re okay?”
“I feel much better,” I reply, smiling back.
“I’m glad to hear that, you don’t look great though. Go and get showered, I’ll make you some breakfast before I go to the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“The babies,” she says in way of explanation.
“Oh, yeah. The babies,” I mumble.
“You could come with me, you know? They’re always looking for volunteers.” I shake my head emphatically, she knows I can’t do that. “Harm, I know you and Gerry—”
“No.” I stand up, effectively ending the conversation. “I’ll be back down soon.”
I walk out of the kitchen before she has a chance to reply, I don’t want to get into that conversation when my emotions are still so fragile. I feel like a china plate, teetering on the edge of a table, waiting to crash to the floor and shatter.