Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 25
After months of fretting about gutting myself, I mean telling my story, in front of a room full of strangers, the night is finally here. Despite my father and Arielle’s pep talks, and my vow to remain strong, every nerve in my body seems to transfer anxiety along their synapses.
I dry my clammy hands for the umpteenth time on a hand towel before slipping into an emerald-green gown, contorting my body into unnatural positions just to zip it up. Once I finally manage it, I look over my reflection in the mirror. I don’t even look like myself. I’ll have to thank Arielle again for lending me the gown, as it makes my eyes look piercing and probably detracts attention from the lack of color in my face. I feel like all the blood has drained from it. My hands have been damp since I woke up, and every time I think about the speech I scrawled across an old takeout menu when inspiration struck, my throat constricts.
What am I thinking? Am I really prepared to do this? Not only will I be telling my story to more people than I ever have before, but I’m telling it to people whose lives have been changed forever by similar incidents. What will I see when I look back at them? Stares of accusation, maybe even anger? With my awareness of my lack of public speaking skills in mind, I know my knees will probably buckle if I see those things reflected in the faces of the audience.
I grip the edge of the laminate countertop, taking steady breaths. Whatever confidence I’ve gained in the past months seems to have left me, my former bravery seeming more like foolishness. I try desperately to conjure it back up, before my phone buzzes, announcing that Emily has arrived. My heart immediately switches into overdrive, and I swallow some water straight out of the sink to settle my stomach. I then grab my beaded clutch from my bed and stride out the door.
“Oh my God, you look amazing!” Emily crows, when I carefully shimmy into the backseat of the car she ordered for the occasion.
“I wish I felt amazing,” I croak, and she reaches over to clutch my hand in hers.
“You will be amazing. Trust me. I know it’s scary, but once you speak up there, you’ll be so glad you did.” Emily then spends the rest of the fifteen-minute car ride attempting to distract me with small talk that has nothing to do with the event we’re about to arrive at, but that my thoughts keep returning to.
When we pull up to the venue, a small hotel on the outskirts of the city, my entire body grows hot with anticipation. I already spot a few smartly-dressed guests traveling along the sidewalk or getting out of their cars beneath the porte-cochere. Our car comes to a stop, and I take one last calming breath before stepping out, urging my feet to remain solidly beneath me.
Though I’m experiencing everything firsthand, it feels like I’m hovering somewhere in the upper corner of the room, observing it all from a distance. I accompany Emily as she sweeps into the banquet room and smoothly switches into managerial mode, checking with vendors on everything from the status of dinner to the arrangement of the place settings. All around me, volunteers are putting the final touches on everything just as the early guests begin to trickle in. Time seems to race by around me, though I myself feel stuck in molasses.
Emily introduces me to everyone she knows from the organization, and though I try to pay attention, their names are forgotten almost as soon as I hear them. I only begin to feel a hint of calm when Arielle arrives, trotting dramatically over to me in her heels. I spotted her as soon as she entered the room; the canary-yellow of her gown perfectly complimenting her dark skin.
“Oh em gee, look at you, hot stuff! You clean up nicely!”
“Well, it’s all thanks to you that I actually look presentable.”
Arielle shoots me an “oh, please” look. “You’d look great in a paper sack. The girl makes the gown, Blake, not the other way around. I’m so, so, so glad you’re here. I’ve got about a million people I want you to meet.”
I grip my clutch with both hands in front of me, biting the inside of my cheek. “Could we wait to do all that? Maybe if I’m only a stranger, they won’t judge me as harshly when I fumble through my speech,” I say a little bitterly.
“There will be no fumbling, only touchdowns tonight. Oh, look! The bar’s open! Maybe a drink will settle your nerves.” I go along willingly when Arielle steers me toward the bar.
I limit myself to one glass of wine—just enough to calm my nerves without embarrassing myself—before it’s time to sit down for dinner. Once we’re served, my chicken cools on the plate in front of me while I scoot it around halfheartedly, only partially listening to the conversations buzzing around our table. I’ve been seated with Emily and Arielle, along with five other people I’ve only just briefly met. It’s difficult to focus on anything but the speeches that will take place after dinner, and the anticipation makes it impossible for me to eat.
I allow my gaze to wander the room restlessly. There’s a crowd of people in attendance: from rich benefactors, to dedicated donors, to organizational staff. But among them, according to Emily, sit at least ten families whose lives have been affected by drunk driving. Whether they’ve lost a family member, or have been plagued by the ramifications of someone else’s selfish decision as their loved one struggles through necessary rehabilitation after their accident, I’m unsure. But a fear rises within me at the thought of speaking before them, and I pray my words don’t bring them pain.
All too soon, the servers clear away the plates, and Emily rises and gestures for me to follow her. It’s time for us to go up to the stage, but I’m not sure I can trust my legs to work. I pull the folded menu from my clutch and stand slowly, pushing my chair in with a loud squeak before following Emily to the front of the room. We climb the short set of steps on the side of the makeshift stage, and she introduces me to a few other key members of the organization who’ve joined us, then she takes her place behind the podium.
Emily makes a short opening speech, thanking everyone for attending and crediting the caterers for the dinner I couldn’t bring myself to eat. She mentions a few other names that float in and out of my conscience, finding no place to anchor themselves. My palms have begun to sweat again, and I feel like my stomach is seizing. I’m in the middle of practicing my breathing exercises when I hear my name being said.
I smile in response to what I’m guessing was Emily’s introduction of me, though I didn’t register any of it, and the smattering of applause that carries from the guests seated just before the stage. When I cross to the podium, I pray my knees won’t give out, cursing my decision to wear such tall heels. I draw one last calming breath and clear my throat, leaning closer to the mic.
“Choices.” That one word echoes through the room, louder than I intended, and I realize too late that I didn’t really create an opening statement when I hurriedly wrote down the thoughts that became my speech. Oh well. I lower my voice and continue. “They have the power to change lives, and they have the power to take lives away. It takes one choice to alter the course of the future. Just one to inflict immeasurable pain.
“Regret. Self-hatred. Pity. Sorrow. Those are the feelings I remember experiencing most in the months and years following the accident in which I was the passenger in a vehicle that took another woman’s life. I felt all those emotions and physical pain that had nothing to do with my minor injuries, but they didn’t come close to what I know some of you have experienced following the loss of your loved ones.
“My accident took place on the evening of November 14th, 2012. The man behind the wheel was my boyfriend, who had volunteered to be my designated driver after I had been out at the bars with my friends all night. Little did I know, he was well over the legal limit himself.
“It was a drive that was supposed to be a quick one, but that ended abruptly when our car crossed into the other lane and a young, vibrant woman needlessly lost her life. I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had taken a cab, maybe noticed his slurred speech sooner, or even forced him off the road myself. Yes, in the solemn days that followed that night, I wished I had sacrificed myself for that woman. It took me a long time to realize that I quite possibly could have put my parents in the position that many of you have been placed in.”
Emotion rises in my throat, and I swallow noisily. I can’t lose it now; there’s still so much to say. My eyes rove over the faces of the expectant audience, and I begin again once I’ve gathered my composure. “There were many choices I didn’t make that I assume would have altered the outcome of that night. But the thing is—there’s no telling whether things would have ended any differently. It could have taken one phone call to distract someone else enough to cross the center line of the road into her lane. It could’ve taken someone just off the night shift, exhausted, closing their eyes for just one second, allowing their car to drift.
“The thing is, we never know why things happen the way they do. We can only make the most of the gift we’re given every day. That gift is life. The greatest way to honor a person’s memory is to live the fullest life we can in their absence. It took years for me to realize I wasn’t actually living, and to understand it as the reason why I still hadn’t moved on.
“I realized, then, how many people out there might be in the same situation: stuck in place, going through the motions, while life continues around them. It took assisting in the planning stages of this event and speaking to you all tonight for me to finally take the first, most productive step I’ve taken in four years down the path of healing. I know that words alone cannot heal you all, but before I leave this stage, allow me to leave you with this thought: the world is waiting just outside your door, if you’re willing to take that first step. I’m doing that now, and I hope you’ll join me.
“Tonight, you can make the choice to tell your stories and to share your struggles. You have the power to touch the lives of these guests—to influence the future decisions they make for the better. It is your gift to the world, and the world’s gift to you, and I think that is the greatest reward we can take away from this event. Tonight, I hope you choose wisely, and I hope you take back the zest you had for life before it was taken from you. Thank you.”
The applause that rises at my back when I turn away from the mic shocks me with its intensity. I can feel a flush rising in my chest, and I have to focus most of my attention on not stumbling off the stage, but something like happiness swells in my heart. I give Emily a hug where she’s waiting off to the side of the stage, before excusing myself to go to the restroom. When I push my way through the door, the emotion overflows in the way of tears spilling over my cheeks.
I’m not even worried that I might ruin my makeup; I’m too overwhelmed by the scope of it all. This night has turned out to be so much more than I imagined, and the gratefulness I feel after being able to express what I’ve held inside for so long is entirely unexpected.
The door swings inward, and I step aside to give whomever it is space to enter as I dab beneath my eyes with a paper towel. I can see in the mirror that it’s a woman clad in blue silk, her gray hair arranged into an elegant chignon, and she reemerges from the bathroom stall with a wad of toilet paper in hand. When our eyes meet in the mirror, we both smile understandingly at each other’s telltale mascara tracks, and I emit an embarrassed chuckle.
When she places a hand on my arm, I tear my eyes from our reflection to look at her where she’s smiling at me with pursed lips.
“I just want to say thank you. Thank you for such a beautiful speech.” Her gray eyes fill with fresh tears as she speaks. “I lost my son a year ago, and I didn’t want to come to this thing just to mourn in public with all the other people who have lost their sons and daughters and loved ones. Now, I can see why I felt the urge to come. It almost feels like it was Nick’s way of telling me I’m being completely miserable, and that it’s okay to move on.”
The tears I’ve tried to hold back now return, unleashed, and I nearly crumple beneath the emotion as the woman wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper to her before we separate. “It makes me really happy to hear that.”
When I walk out of the bathroom with the woman, Arielle is striding toward me faster than I thought her stilettos could ever allow her to go. “Finally! There are people waiting to speak to you, you know,” she says lightheartedly. The woman pats me gently on the back and returns to the banquet room. Arielle just observes silently, and when she takes in my expression, she reaches out a hand and squeezes mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, although you probably can’t tell from my face. I feel like I’ve needed to do that for a long time. I just didn’t know how.”
She nods, her mahogany eyes kind. “I’m so happy you did. It was moving, what you said up there. I know I’m not the only one who thinks so.” Arielle squeezes my hands reassuringly. “Are you ready to come back inside?”
I swipe beneath both my eyes one last time and nod. “Do I look okay?”
Arielle reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Better than okay. Come on.”
Once we reenter the banquet hall, more guests approach me than I anticipated, but I am only met with praise and well-wishes. I spend the majority of the night chatting with the guests as servers meander through the room with platters of miniature desserts and champagne flutes. Meanwhile, guests buzz around the auction tables that are arranged in a horseshoe shape around the room. When I finally make my way over to them, I’m stunned by the amount, and content, of the gifts that have been donated.
There are baskets filled with fine wines and cheeses, spa packages, booklets illustrating the details of exotic vacations, framed photographs, paintings, and even a photo of a car in the parking lot someone has donated. Behind the tables are beaming attendants waiting to inform or assist the people interested in bidding. I’m pleased to see that many guests are waiting to put down their information.
My eyes skate over all the contributions until one of the photographs halts me in my steps. It’s not something I procured from one of the donors, so it’s unfamiliar to me. It’s a black and white photo of a mountain lodge, surrounded by trees and bedecked in undisturbed snow. Just the sight of it evokes a sense of profound silence, as only a good heavy snow can bring on.
The attendant smiles understandingly. “It’s beautiful, right? It’s from an anonymous donor, and it is called Serenity.”
I can see why. I look down at the clipboard beside it and see that it’s currently going for over a thousand dollars. It’s too much for me to spend on a photograph, but it fills me with gladness that the proceeds will benefit a worthy cause.
Arielle accompanies me for most of the night, only flitting off when she sees someone she hasn’t spoken to in awhile, or to thank the donors she recognizes for their contributions. She makes it a point to introduce me to what seems like the entire population of the city, and every so often, she returns with a handsome bachelor in tow. I take it all in stride, thanking whom I need to and exchanging niceties. It all passes by in a blur until I hear a familiar voice behind me and Arielle noticeably stiffens.
I look over my shoulder to find Paul standing just a few paces away, looking dashing—and slightly apologetic if I’m not mistaken—in a crisp suit. His hands are stuffed firmly in his pockets as he gives me a stiff-lipped smile. “It’s good to see you, Blake. I thought your speech was incredible.”
Arielle edges away from me, but I barely notice. I catch a whiff of Paul’s cologne on the next inhale, surprising even myself when I conjure up a smile. “Thank you, Paul.” Though that night back in December ended catastrophically, I have no desire to discuss that here. Forgiveness now occupies the spot where anger once dug in its claws.
Paul looks around the room in awe before his dark eyes settle back on me. “I heard you had a big hand in putting on this event.”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I helped, but Emily is the one who did most of the work. I wasn’t even planning to speak until a couple months ago.”
“I’m glad you did,” he says, nodding. “It helped me realize what an asshole I was to you, though that was apparent pretty soon after I confronted you. It’s not often that I regret the things I say, but I regret every word I said at your place that night. I had no right to do that—not when I wasn’t fully aware of what I was talking about. I should’ve had a mature conversation with you instead of showing up like that.”
I take a slow, shaky breath, feeling the invisible tugs of my subconscious trying to take me back to the events of that day. I’ve kept myself so busy that there’s been no time to dwell on that subject for a long time. I think about Landon often, but not of the hurt I felt—the hurt I often blamed Paul for.
“It’s fine, Paul. Really. You didn’t have a right to tell Landon the things you did, but it wouldn’t have been an issue if I had been honest with him from the beginning.”
“Well, I wanted you to know. You trusted me with your story, and you didn’t deserve for me to share it so carelessly like that. And I hope that whoever Landon is, he was able to forgive you for what I said.”
It’s been long enough since I’ve heard someone mention him outside of my own mind that just the sound of his name sends a splinter of ice through my heart. I smile wearily, not intending to make him feel guilty for bringing it up. I haven’t seen or spoken to Landon since that day, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Anyway, I should let you get back; I know I’m not the only one who wants to voice my admiration. It was good to see you, though.” As if he decides it’s worth the threat of rejection, he pulls his hands quickly from his pockets and draws me in for a hug, and I let him. I still believe that Paul is a good guy.
“It was good to see you, too,” I murmur as we separate, and he smiles a little forlornly before walking away.
Arielle returns to my side from where she’s been keeping a respectable distance. “Was that as awkward as I imagined?” she asks discreetly through the side of her mouth.
“No,” I answer honestly. “It was just fine.” And it is, and for the rest of the night, I don’t try to repress the smile on my face.
A knock on my door Monday afternoon draws me out of the kitchen where I’ve been washing dishes. When I pull the door open, I’m greeted with the sight of an immense bouquet of white and pink lilies. The deliveryman hands them over, and I stand in my doorway long after he’s gone, struck by the randomness of the arrival. When I finally carry them into the kitchen, I spot a little white card nestled between the blooms, and I pluck it out. I read the words inscribed inside, then turn it over to see if there’s more. There’s not. There’s just “Take life and live it. I will if you will” in typewritten font on the inside.
The inscription tells me nothing about whom the bouquet is from. The words resemble some of what I said in my speech, so any number of people from the event this weekend could have sent them. Their arrival is perplexing, but I put them into a vase with water and set them atop the bar to enjoy while they last.
I plunge my hands back into the soapy water in my sink, scrubbing at a coffee mug. And though I’m alone, doing something so mundane as washing dirty dishes in my mostly bare apartment, I feel contentment settle over my heart and decide that I’m really and truly happy.