Perfect Tragedy by Jennifer Miller
8
It’s been several months since the night in the tree house before Blake and Jack left. A night I replay over and over. Everything has happened – like the start of senior year of high school - and yet nothing feels truly significant. It’s difficult not being able to share life with them. Sometimes I feel in suspended animation waiting for them and the life I was comfortable with to return, but I know that things have shifted and are forever changed. I move through life, but have great difficulty enjoying much of anything.
When I shake those thoughts from my mind I realize I’m smack in the middle of my senior year, and things are fine or I guess they are. I think I had it in my mind that my senior year would be this big unforgettable experience. I mean, I always knew it was going to feel strange without Blake and Jack, but it’s altogether different than I had been planning for - they’re not just away at college and won’t be coming home for school breaks. And despite what I thought, I did not appreciate how much a part of my day-to-day life they were. It’s not that we did everything together, but we frequently touched base, checked in with each other; cared about each other.
The house feels different without Jack. It’s strange, I never realized how much of a presence he had, until he was gone. I miss things like hearing his steps in the hallway, his voice in the house, and I never thought I’d miss sharing a bathroom with him but even that’s something I miss - seeing his stupid stuff all over the place. Truth is, it was there that we had some of our most poignant interactions. I don’t know that I’d ever admit it, but I miss having his company at breakfast or when we would do our chores together. I guess the easiest way to explain it is that the house is simply much more quiet, and it feels like a part of me is missing. I’m not sure what he’d reply if I told him how I felt – would he tease me about hormones and ask if I'm on my period, or would he admit that he misses me too?
My mom and dad seem to be doing okay. There are moments when I see my mom get emotional. She always tears up when she receives an email or call from him. He texts when he can but that’s not been too often. They were rarely allowed to use their phone or connect at all during training.
Since they left, they’ve only been back home once. It was after they finished boot camp. They were home for a few days before they had to leave again for more training due to assignments they received. I was so excited to see them both.
I saw Jack first.
He came storming into the house, “I’m home, bitches!”
He surprised us, we had no idea when he would be arriving. My dad and I laughed, my mom told him to watch his mouth before jumping up and hugging him and crying. Then he asked them for money to pay for the ride he arranged from the airport - typical Jack.
“Hey little sis,” he’d said to me before pulling me into a hug which I returned
wholeheartedly. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I looked over his shoulder to see if he was alone.
As if he knew, Jack announced, “Blake will come by at some point.”
“He’s home too?” I ask and hope it sounds merely inquisitive, innocent.
“Yeah. He went to see his family.”
It was a couple days before Blake showed up at our house. I gasped when he came through the door, and my heart flipped in my chest. He looked the same, but different in just the few months he’d been away. His cheeks looked sharper, his posture proper, and his skin was tanner like he’d spent a lot of time outdoors. He was definitely not hard on the eyes, but he never had been.
When he gave me a hug, it was obvious his body had seen some changes as well. I wanted to hang onto him longer than appropriate, and I may have even inhaled a bit with my face buried in his chest, but I tried not to be obvious about it.
I wanted to say so many things. I knew he’d gotten my emails since he’d replied when he could, but he’d never said a word to me about anything that had happened in the treehouse before he left. I sadly followed his lead and didn’t say a word about it in my emails either. So our correspondence focused on military life and the trials and tribulations of boot camp. I wondered if maybe he wanted to wait until he saw me again in person - maybe being home, he would open up and we could talk about that. Perhaps we’d finally have a conversation about it and time permitting, I’m sure I could create an opportunity.
But it never did.
Aside from a night he had dinner with all of us, I never saw him at all. When he was here that one evening, we were never alone. It wasn’t long before he and Jack were leaving again and I was once again waving goodbye while he was driving away.
I shed a few more tears with that departure, but it was better than the first time they left. I was beginning to accept the reality. The last time they left they had no idea when they’d be able to return.
The emails resumed and even escalated in frequency and checking to see if new ones had been delivered to my inbox has become an obsession. We talk about all kinds of things - how his advanced training‘s going, the things he misses about home, my grades, events at school, how the animals are doing on the farm. I give him updates on my parents, my friends - you name it. He will sometimes talk about some of the guys he’s become friends with but it’s nothing more than a mention here and there. He tells me about different places he’s explored and things he’s done on his down time. I devour every detail of his life. I take it all in and am thankful for the tidbits I get, even though we don’t ever talk about anything I wish we’d talk about.
Okay, the one thing I wish we’d talk about.
Us.
Then, one night, that changes.
It’s late and I’m still up working to finish an essay due the following day for history. Diving deep into the details about a postwar America, the sound of an email arriving in my inbox startles me, the sound reverberating loudly in my bedroom.
Immediately I switch screens and my heart begins to race when I see Blake’s name in bold. It’s not uncommon for me to receive emails from him late at night, but usually if he sees I’m on my computer at the same time, he’ll instant message me. I don’t know why, but I hesitate before opening the email.
Double clicking to open, I begin to read and the tone immediately feels different. Usually his emails begin with him asking what’s new and exciting and then he tells me about his day and catches me up on whatever he can before asking me questions. But this time, he’s immediately personal and direct.
Hello Sienna,
I see that you’re online but I’m not brave enough to have a ‘live’ conversation with you. The guys and I went out tonight and I fear the few drinks I’ve had are making me bold. I think if I knew you were readily accessible on the other end, able to be in realtime with what I‘m writing I wouldn’t say this, and I want to say this. I want to tell you that you’ve been on my mind constantly. It’s not just your emails, though they always seem to come when I need them the most - after a long hard day, or when I’m missing home the most - but it’s more than that. I find myself often wondering things about you like how your day is going, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s thinking about the way you look when you smile. How your nose wrinkles in concentration when you’re studying hard. The way your face lights up when you take care of the animals you love. The sound of your laugh when you’re gossiping with Vanessa. My favorite though is the night of prom. Remember when we were driving you home? It was a beautiful night, but what was gorgeous was the sight of you during that drive. The windows down, the wind in your hair and on your face. You looked free, happy, content. It was beautiful. I think about that often when I feel homesick. They’re things I have no right to think about, things I shouldn’t think about, not ever. When I do, I usually push them into the back of my mind, burying them as deep down as I can. Tonight, the alcohol helps them float to the surface I think. So I’m letting them come. I’m exploring them, devouring them. I’m letting myself think about the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the feel of your skin when I touched your face that night in the treehouse. And Sienna, I’m letting myself wonder. I wonder what would have happened the night before I left. The night we were interrupted, and you know what? I’m letting myself need. I’m letting myself want. If it’s wrong, I don’t care. Not tonight. And I just needed to tell you that.
I stare at his email for a long time. I reread it more times than I can count. I even pinch myself to verify I’m not dreaming because there is no way, no way, that this is happening. I hit reply and only type a small reply.
Dear Blake,
I think about it too.
Yours,
Sienna
That’s all I say. I could go on and on but that just seems like enough. After I send it, I sit for a while, waiting to see if he responds. Part of me feels panicked and wonders if I should have waited, or said more, or let his words digest further before replying, maybe gotten Vanessa’s advice first. But it’s too late to take it back because in one word I had put my heart on the line. Yours. That word left nothing to wonder about how I feel.
It takes one whole week before he replies. Seven days of stress, doubt, and just plain freaking out. A week of constant email refreshing, checking on my computer, my phone, feeling sick to my stomach, second guessing and wondering how he perceived it, what he thought about it, if he’d even interpret in the manner it was intended. Maybe I hadn’t said enough. His reply was short, but it held one hell of a punch. There was no room for misinterpretation of his intent.
Sienna,
If I could take that email back, I would. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I can’t lose you, not ever. You’re my family. I let alcohol make me stupid and none of it even matters - it’s too late now. Please, pretend it never happened.
Blake
Tears instantly fill my eyes. If it were possible to feel my heart break, I know I did. The pain in my chest is so intense, the sob in my throat immediate. Did I say something wrong? Kept it too simple? Had I left too much unstated? Had my response repelled him? Should I have let him know I thought about the moment often? Should I have confessed that I frequently close my eyes and still feel his hand touching my face, his lips at the corner of my mouth. I didn’t tell him that the intensity in his eyes is forever imprinted in my brain and it’s one of my most cherished memories; that I dream about him and spending time together and fantasize about what could have happened if only. I may be young but I know how my heart feels. Perhaps he needed me to confess that I wanted to be his; that I would wait for him forever if he only said the word. In the end, I merely reply that there was nothing to forgive and I ask if we can please talk about his response I want so desperately to keep the opportunity open.
I never receive a response - not really. Instead his approach is to carry on the conversation as we had before - as if the interaction never occurred.
It breaks me.
Now, it's a month later.
And everything that happened before is the reason why I’m now dating. I realized my hope was just that - hope - and not supported by fact or substance. There’s no reason to hope - all of it was nothing more than a girl’s wish - a fantasy. When I pulled back and looked at it all as objectively as I could the last month, I actually felt embarrassed. It was past time I move on and let go. I had wanted to believe we could be together, but what proof did I have to support that? None. Nothing. Not one thing. I needed to stop reliving one stupid moment over and over because clearly, while I had thought it had meant the same thing to him as it did to me, it didn’t.
So when Jesse asks me out for the third time, at Vanessa’s urging, I finally say yes. Initially I thought of him a bit as my rebound, a chance to help me push Blake out of my mind, and decided that it was okay. But the truth is, we are having fun together. We’ve been on more than a handful of dates, alone and with others and we genuinely have a good time together.
Tonight, I’m going to his place. I’m meeting him there and we are going to have dinner together and watch a movie.
His parent’s aren’t home. We will be alone. I have a feeling things may escalate and while I feel nervous, I am willing to do whatever it takes to push Blake out of my mind once and for all and be open to other possibilities.
I’m nervous as I get ready, selecting my outfit carefully, taking great care with my appearance. I’m nervous when I drive to his house, nervous when he answers the door and places a soft kiss on my lips. We’ve already kissed, several times, and I like it. It makes me feel wanted, desired.
He’s ordered take-out from my favorite restaurant and I can barely eat any of it. When we finally move to his family room and he puts a movie on, I don’t even realize what it is we’re supposed to be watching. I look at him, he turns and looks at me and before I know it, we’re kissing.
It feels nice, the sensations running through me are pleasant. I know he’s taken off guard when I pull him down on top of me. He hesitates and pulls away from me looking into my eyes in question and then for confirmation and approval. I put my mouth back to his and he kisses me fiercely. I squeeze my eyes shut and lose myself in the feeling of Jesse’s body against mine, in the taste of his kisses. When his hands brush against my breasts and a place more intimate, I like the feelings it evokes.
Our intimacy progresses quickly. I remove his shirt, he removes mine. He pauses, “Sienna?”
“Hm?”
“What are we doing?” He asks with humor in his voice.
“I mean, if I have to explain this to you, it’s a problem.”
He chuckles, “Are you sure about this?” He pushes my bra strap down my shoulder and kisses it.
“Are you complaining?”
“No. Hell no.”
“Then shut up and touch me.”
I need this. I want to feel desired, wanted, needed by someone. On some level I know this is wrong. I know that this isn’t who I really want to do this with; who I want to cause these emotions within me. The realization that I’m trying to fill the emptiness in my heart, in my soul, with something else mixes in with what I’m experiencing physically, but I can’t choose to stop myself.
In no time, the rest of our clothes are gone. A condom has miraculously become available out of nowhere and I stare in wonder as he rolls it on himself. As he begins to push himself inside of me, I feel almost disembodied and as panic starts to rise in my chest, I tell myself it’s okay, that I’m okay, that I want this, I need this.
There’s a flash of pain and I grit my teeth.
A tear rolls down my cheek.
It’s over fast. The most anticlimactic moment of my life.
I go to the bathroom and clean myself up quickly. It’s when I glimpse myself in the mirror that I begin to become unraveled.
I take in my disheveled appearance. The glassy look in my eyes, the flush of embarrassment in my cheeks, the chapped state of my mouth, the dots of red on my throat and chest and I feel a heavy wave of shame rush over me and I begin to drown in it.
I fly out of the bathroom and grab my things.
“Sienna?”
I can’t reply. There’s a sob clogging my throat.
“Sienna, what’s wrong? What did I do?” The concern in his voice calms me a little. The fact is, Jesse is a nice guy. A really nice guy. In a different time, a different life, I could see myself really liking him. If only I was able to let my heart be with someone else. Instead it’s hung up on someone I will never have.
“I’m sorry, Jesse. I have to go.”
“Wait,” he grabs my arms. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted-”
“I do… I mean, I did. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know it was fast. I didn’t mean to… I mean I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s not you, Jesse. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
He calls my name but I’m out the door, in my car and driving away in record time. I cry all the way home. Sob. I hate myself. Hate that I’m so messed up that I’d resort to giving my first time to someone I don’t love. Hate that I’m so wrapped up in Blake that his hot and cold attitude toward me is making me this out of control.
Jesse calls me several times over the next few days and tries to talk to me at school, but I break up with him giving him the worst excuse of all time, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
I couldn’t even blame him for laughing bitterly in my face.
I know he’s confused. So am I. I have no doubt I’ve hurt him and I hate myself for it.
It’s just that I have this small mustard seed of hope inside of me that Blake and I still have a chance. That whatever it is that drove him to send that original email has not evaporated and will keep insisting for recognition and acknowledgement, pushing at him until he breaks again. That he’ll see that we are supposed to be together. He’ll let go of this stupid notion that I’m off-limits. Because whether I like it or not, I am his, I will always be his.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.