Although every light in the house is on, John and Monster are gone when I return. There’s a note on the table.Be back soon. Monster and I walked to Bear’s. Make yourself at home.
In my bedroom, I notice a small gold lamp on the dresser. It wasn’t there before. And another, placed on the marble-topped bedside stand. They’re both switched on, casting a warm glow in the small room.
John remembered what I said about being afraid of the dark.
I sit on my bed and fumble nervously while dialing Cat’s flip phone. I’m late, and she won’t be in her car, and she’ll be anxious. I let it ring once, hang up, then call again. She answers on the first ring.
“I was worried,” she says, her voice strained. “I was just getting out of the car.”
“I’m sorry. I’m fine. Things got thrown off today.”
“You’re okay, though?”
“Yes.”
She sighs long and loud. “Swear it?”
“I swear it.”
“Swear you’ll call me tomorrow, our regular time, when we’ll have more time to talk?”
“Cross my heart. I love you.”
I pull the shoebox onto my lap. I slide the top off and slide out the next letter in the pile. I study the neat blocky script, run my finger over the faint ring of a coffee mug on the edge of the paper before unfolding it.
To you. Yes, you.
If you haven’t read the other letters yet, then maybe you don’t know but we’ve all been where you are right now. We’re all starting again.
It’s my one-month anniversary of my new normal. But it still doesn’t feel right. This peace that I’m feeling. This calm. Everything good right now feels wrong.
I was thinking about this, about how I grew used to chaos stress, anger, sadness, neglect. My body got used to being hurt over and over again.
My body got so freaking mixed up.
Right feels wrong.
Do you feel that way also?
I think we just have to keep fighting, keep reminding our bodies that this wrong is where we should be. Sometimes I have to remind myself every minute. Sometimes a day goes by and I wake up the next morning, anxiety pulsing through me because something is missing. But what’s missing is the turmoil I got used to. The pain. For some stupid, mixed-up reason, my body wants to scrabble back to it.
I’d say more than half the time, it feels like I’m failing. And that I’m doing this all wrong. All of it. Waking up in the morning to silence, brushing my teeth, putting on my clothes, sitting out on the porch with a cup of coffee, reading in bed, taking a nap, cooking dinner.
When will it start feeling right?
I know that some of the other letters are more positive. Sorry but I’m not there yet. Maybe you need to hear that, to know that if you’re still struggling, it’s okay.
Rachel
I tuck the letter back in the shoebox and curl up on the bed, blotting at my eyes with a fistful of tissues. When Monster noses into the room and cocks his head at me, I reach over and rub his big muzzle.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and stare at my red eyes, thinking about Katrina and Rachel. Wondering where they are right now. Wondering if they’ve found a new, happy normal.
I grab a cardigan from my bag then join John in the kitchen, and I’m so happy to see him that I want to hug him, but I hold back instead, watching him.
He turns and smiles at me. “Is it too cold in here?”
“No. That’s what cardigans are for. I found this in the closet. You think anyone would mind if I wear it while I’m here?”
