Phone call with Brandon finished and squared away, I decide to give my mom a call. I haven’t talked with her much in the last couple of weeks. Talk to her briefly shortly after arriving at Brandon’s, just to let her know I hadn’t been abducted or kidnapped, or was dead in a ditch somewhere.
In addition to sleeping much better these last few weeks since first coming to stay with him in his cabin, I’m feeling more confident in myself. Much more like self. The person I was before tragedy struck, and I had the worst birthday news of my entire life.
Since sharing some of my history with Brandon — particularly memories of my work in various hair salons as a stylist — “hair artist” as they call them now — I’ve been really thinking about it. Going back. Maybe talking to my old friend Cristina, my boss at the salon I used to work for in Albuquerque, and seeing if she’ll let me come back to work.
I’ve never really felt good about just quitting the way I did. Just up and abandoning them the way I did, but it was just too hard with everything to do with my dad. It’s still is hard to deal with the fact that he’s gone, but after spending so much time by myself at the cabin with nothing of my own to do, I’m beginning to understand why Mom left. Why she went all the way to Denver, even before dad was killed.
Being left to think about yourself too much can drive anyone crazy.
So, needless to say, I’m glad when Mom picks up. “Juju bear,” she says, “I was beginning to wonder when I would hear from you next! How are things going with you? Are you still staying at the cabin with that Brandon friend of yours?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, “I am.” I begin to pace a little bit. I know there’s a couch right there I could sit on, but I don’t feel like I can sit still.
“Well? How are things going with him?”
“Fine, Mom,” I say, sweeping my bangs out of my face. While they still have some of their edgy style, they’re looking more like split ends than anything. Something I should really take care of. Especially if I’m thinking about going back to work at the salon.
“You don’t sound fine,” says Mom in her usual way. Her don’t-you-lie-to-me tone. “Something’s going on with you, juju bear. Don’t think I can’t hear it. I can.”
“Brandon’s working late again.”
The sound of crinkling grocery bags intervenes on Mom’s end. “Hasn’t he been working late most of the week?” A pause. In it, I hear her unpacking cans of something. Little plastic bags filled with other things. Probably herbs, knowing my mom. “And you’ve been down to his worksite a couple of times, haven’t you?”
I wander toward the kitchen, wondering if I should just make up that box of mac & cheese, even though I’m not a fan. “Yes, and yes, Mom,” I murmur. “He has been working late most of the week, and I have been down to see his work a couple of times, but he’s gonna be gone really late tonight. Like, really, really late. And I’m just feeling…” I sigh, not sure what I’m trying to say, or what I even have the right to say, given the circumstances. I’m the one who decide I wanted to stay with him, so I know it’s not really fair of me to be so frustrated with how much Brandon gets to go out and do things, while I’m still stuck around here. It’s not like he’s forcing me to stay at the cabin, but it’s just… I don’t know… Different. “I’m feeling bored, okay? I’m feeling like I need something for me to do. Something from me to put my energy into, you know?” Saying these things, I decide to open up the cupboard and take out the box of mac & cheese anyway. The little blue box of childhood happiness that never really made me that happy.
“Oh, I know what you mean, juju bear.” Mom pauses, and in that pause I hear cupboards opening. Drawers opening. Kitchen tools coming out to play. “I know what it was like to be at home with nothing more to do, after you were grown up and gone out of the house and my husband was away on deployment. I know what it’s like to not have anything to call my own. It’s perfectly natural, juju bear.” I take out my own pot and fill it with water. I also take a moment to take out what’s left of our jug of milk, butter, and extra bit of processed cheese. If I’m gonna have mac & cheese, it’s gotta be the cheesiest. And I don’t care what the little blue box says, it’s not always the cheesiest, no matter how much powder they put in for you. “So? Do you have anything in mind, dear?”
“I’ve actually been thinking about going back to hair styling. Working at the salon I used to work at here in Albuquerque, you know.” I turn on the burner, turning the heat up to high. Just to get the water to come to boil sooner rather than later. While I don’t necessarily like mac & cheese, I’m feeling hungry enough to not care.
Mom sounds legitimately excited. Pleased by the news. “Oh, juju bear! That sounds like a great idea! I think doing hair again will give you something to focus on. Something to ground yourself into the present with. Some way to give back to others.” She laughs tenderly, thinking about something. “Even from the time you were little, you’ve always channeled your emotions through your work with hair. For good or bad.” She chuckles, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. When I was five, I cut all the hair off one of my Barbie dolls because Daddy wouldn’t let me get a boy’s cut to my hair, so I could be like him.
“Yeah,” I say, reminiscing with her. I let my mind wander down memory lane a moment before continuing. “Thinking about going down there to the salon tonight after dinner and talking with them. Seeing if Cristina is still the boss lady around there, and if she’ll give me my job back.” I pause, opening up the box of macaroni, taking out the pouch of powder, and picking up some strange noodles that always jump out. “What do you think, Mom? Do you think I should go for it?”
“Of course, juju bear! Of course, I think you should go for it. While you’re feeling confident, you absolutely should!” In between these words, I hear her chopping something. “Just be careful if you’re thinking of going tonight. It’s quite dark out now, and still a little cold out. Don’t want you to run into some ice or something.”
I smile. Both at my mom’s words, and the fact that the water is beginning to boil. Enough for me to put the macaroni in and get it cooking. “I’ll be careful. I let you know how things go when I get back, okay?”
“Sounds good, baby.” Mom puts whatever she’s been chopping into a hot pan. I hear it sizzling away.
I pour my dry macaroni into the pot, and set a timer. “Okay. I’ll send you a text or something later then.”
“Looking forward to it, baby. Bye-bye now.”
“M’bye.”
With that I hang up, and make plans to eat and then walk carefully down to my car, still parked (hopefully) at the foot of the mountain.
***
Thankfully, my car is still there when I reach the foot of the mountain after dinner and after leaving the cabin. Sure, it was scary as hell to make the trek down away from the cabin by myself, but I just remind myself that I have been here enough times to find my way down blind if I needed to. Luckily, though, I didn’t have to do it in complete darkness.
I had a flashlight app on my cell phone, which I wasted no time in using.
Once in the car, I make the 10 or 15-minute drive from the mountains back into the city limits. From there, I follow the roads and streets like destiny back to the hair salon I worked for. Desert Stars, is what it’s called. And even now — even at 7 PM at night — the place is still popping. Hopping with customers.
From the moment I park and walk up to the door, I already see Cristina. Of course, she’s surprised to see me. As are a few of my other friends, who, amazingly, are also still working there. Before I’m even in the doors, they’re already out to greet me, even though they have customers waiting. In various stages of cuts and dyes.
“Oh my God, Juliet!” That’s Amy. She’s blonde and bubbly. Looks like something out of an anime. Her clothes are always cute, and her hair always perfect. This time she’s got it in pigtails. “What are you doing here? Where have you been at, girl?”
“Just trying to get my head straight, Amy,” I say.
Amy pulls me inside, just as Cristina, my boss, throws her arms around me. “Jules! I’ve been hoping I would see you back on my doorstep one of these days!” After the hug, both her and Amy drag me into the salon. The moment they do, I’m seen by another friend of mine, Bridget. She’s a bigger black woman, but her hair is always on point. Always curly and full. And today it’s got turquoise and purple highlights in it.
“Told you she’d be back. Told you she wouldn’t stay away forever,” she says, dusting her hands free of bits of hair.
Cristina gets my attention as Bridget turns back to her work. “So, Jules. What brings you back to us so suddenly?”
I straighten my shoulders. Clear my throat. Settle into the confidence that I’ve been able to grow back over the last couple of weeks. “Well, Cristina, I was hoping I could come back to work here. I know I left suddenly. I know I didn’t really handle myself in the way I should’ve, but things with my dad were” — my voice breaks here, but I fight to keep my composure — “hard. Difficult. Confusing, but I need to come back now. I want to come back. I need something to do. Something to help me to continue to feel normal, so I was hoping I could…”
Cristina and Amy both let me see tears. Even if it’s in front of customers. “I’d be glad to hire you back on, Jules.” Cristina hugs me again, as does Amy. “I left your chair open for you. Your station, hoping that you would return to me.”
Amy celebrates, hugging me. “I’m gonna put you on the same shift as me,” she says. She looks at Cristina. “Can I? Is that cool with you?”
Cristina nods. Smiles. Ties back a bit of her unruly ponytail. Without that, she would look a little like G.I. Jane. Tough. No nonsense. But beautiful in a strong, chiseled kind of way. “Okay with me. Just make sure you’re here tomorrow afternoon to start your first shift back, okay?”
I nod, feeling warm and fuzzy. Cared about. Loved. Not left to fall off a cliff. “That sounds great. Wonderful,” I say working every muscle in my face to not collapse into tears again. “I’ll be here. You can count on me.”
After that, I give Cristina and Amy hugs. Bridget one as well, though I can’t get one of her famous bear hugs because she’s covered in hair dye, but all the affection is there nonetheless.
Before I leave, though my boss and Amy still have a question for me. “Where have you been?” It’s the same question they asked earlier, but didn’t think I would have to answer. But now it looks I’m gonna have to answer it before I leave.
I blush, wondering if they’ll think me crazy after I answer them. “I’ve been staying with a guy up on the mountain. Went there after my dad died. Tried to clear my head, and he ended up finding me. Helping me. Thought I was gonna commit suicide or something, but whatever. His name is Brandon, and I guess he’s some kind of ex-Navy seal or something.”
Cristina’s eyes immediately light up. “Oh yeah! I know Brandon. Brandon Whitley?” I nod, thinking that sounds super familiar.
“Brandon’s the greatest,” Amy says, as if she’s gotten to experiences charms firsthand. Down off the mountain, obviously. “He’s like a local hero around here.”
“He is,” confirms Cristina. “Gathered up a lot of veterans. A lot of serviceman and helped them out with his charity work. His speeches at the conference as he goes to and everything. Really an amazing guy.” She pats my shoulder. “Amazing that you found him, or he found you. And that he’s been able to support you and look after you.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly, I’m feeling uncomfortable. Selfish. Horrible. Not only for feeling so frustrated at being left alone at home while he’s off at work, but not going to any of those conferences. Not being open to any of the things he was suggesting a couple weeks ago about his charity work.
After hearing what a local hero he really is, I feel like the antihero. The villain. Someone keeping him back from his superhero, superstar status, and because of my own insecurities.
I shuffle uncomfortably on my feet, wondering why he’s bothered with me. Why he’s put so much energy into me, when I’ve actually been holding him back from all the things he would normally do, if he didn’t have to look after me.
“He’s a great guy,” I say, suddenly feeling even more terrible. Dirty. It’s the same guy I’ve been having unprotected sex with. The same guy I’ve been begging to “heal me” with his cock and his tongue. All without really caring or taking the time to get to know how much more of a life he must have outside of me. “Really great.”
Cristina pats my shoulder again. “Well, tell him we said hi. Hope we get to see him off the mountain sometime soon.”
“Sure,” I say make my way towards the doors of the salon. “I will. And I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, right on time. Thanks for being willing to take a chance on me.”
With that I leave and go get in my car.
The drive home, back to the mountain is an uneventful one. Though not as happy, now that I’ve begun to realize how much of a burden I probably am to him.
My walk back up the mountain is heavy. Difficult. More so than the trip down, but that’s because Brandon’s on my mind. How much he sacrificed for me, and I’ve just taken without giving much in return.
When I finally make it back to the cabin, it really is dark and cold, even though it’s early March now. I decide to do dishes and some cleaning once inside, and then make plans to be showered and dressed for my first day back at work tomorrow afternoon.
I send my mom a text, as promised. But it’s much later than I intended, and right before I go to bed for the night. Which just so happens to be right after 1 AM.
***
Whatever fears I have about being a burden — about holding Brandon back only get worse a few days later. Despite the fact that I have been able to work successfully at my job for those few days, I’ve also been getting sick. Feeling tender and nauseous in my stomach. Which has meant that I can’t eat what he cooks me for breakfast. And if I do, I end up throwing it back up shortly after eating it.
But none of this seems to matter to him. No nausea. Not a million trips to the bathroom. Not the long hours of holding my hair out of my face as I puke. None of that. He just is right there, taking care of me. Nursing me. Nurturing me, as if I’m a new guest at his house all over again.
And even though I feel grateful for his presence — for his love and attention to my mysterious sickness — I also feel incredibly guilty. Incredibly self-conscious, as this just means even more of his energy is going to me, and not to his work out in the community. His work with the veterans, his friends or their charity. Which just makes me feel lower than dirt.
But I don’t tell him anything. I just continue to accept all the warm tea he makes me. All the toast and cottage cheese he brings me to eat, when I’m not going into work.
Each time he brings me these things he says for me not to worry. And every time I tell him I feel like a burden, he just says, “You’re not. You’re my special guest. My most important priority, Juliet. If you’re feeling sick, it’s important for me to take care of you.”
I know you want to believe that, I think. But we both know I’m holding you back. You just won’t say anything. You’re just too kind.