Page 100 of River & Rue

river

​. . .​

next stop, enlightenment

An hour into the hike, the feeling of having my nuts pulled out of my ass finally subsides enough for me to think rationally about what I overheard.

As painful as it was to listen to, nothing Rue said was all that shocking.

I may not know her full backstory, but between what she told me at the Journey to the Stars installation and the sparse details I’ve picked up over the years, I can connect enough dots to know her trust issues predate her shitty exes.

Her parents were abusive assholes. Her brother—her best friend and world—died tragically in his teens. She hasn’t spoken to her parents or returned to her hometown since she left at eighteen.

I’m missing key pieces still. I feel it in my gut, the same pressure that tells me a bad storm is coming.

Rue’s storm, however, is chaos with no outlet. A sucking, self-destructive vortex of memory contained by fear. Yet like all storms, she can’t help but crave freedom. She wants to be felt and heard.

The night of her acid trip, she said a lot of random things while we were stargazing. Some made little sense at the time, but now I understand why they bruised me.

They were debris escaping the tornado inside her.

“Maybe lost things gravitate to me because they are me. And the babies and animals balance the scales. Sad heart and happy babies, lost things and found animals. Cosmic balance. Or—what’s that law of gravity? No, not gravity. Motion! For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Ha! I can’t believe I remembered that.”

Sad. Lost.

“Teddy and I used to climb out our bedroom window and watch the stars from the roof, but our father came home late one night and saw us. He nailed the window shut. I tried to explain we were just reading the stories in the sky. But fantasies were sins, and our minds lacked discipline. Stand right. Act right. Dress right.”

Undisciplined. Wrong.

“I promised I wouldn’t climb anymore. I meant it. But they cut it down when I was in the hospital anyway. My strong, beautiful maple was mulch and firewood. I didn’t cry, but Teddy did. Even though he was scared of heights and hated when I climbed, he knew they’d chopped down a part of me. The last place where I was me—only me. He started dropping dandelion seeds that summer. King Theodore the Brave.”

Her safe spaces were taken. The only person who accepted her was taken. She was alone. Uprooted. Like Teddy’s favorite character, Lucky St. James, she’s been searching for a place to call home ever since.

“Lenny’s an unwanted stray. Lonely, scarred, and afraid to trust people.”

Lonely. Scarred. Afraid.

Unwanted.

She feels unwanted.

Clarity slams into me. I miss a step and stumble on a root. Dan grabs my backpack, yanking me upright before I faceplant on the trail.

“Thanks.”

He nods, casting me a troubled glance. He wants to ask what’s wrong. Why Rue is at the front of the group while I’m at the back. Why she’s chatting with Kirk, full of energy, while I’m scowling and dragging my heels.

He isn’t the only one throwing questioning looks my way, but he is the only one in the vicinity I consider a friend.

“I fucked up,” I murmur.

“What? How?”

“I told myself I was doing the right thing by backing off, slowing things down. I wanted her to know it wasn’t just physical for me.” I shake my head with a pained grunt. “I was lying to myself. I was a coward, and I made her feel unwanted. Of course she doesn’t think I’m worth the risk or that we have a future together.”

“Shit, dude. That’s why you came out of the cabin looking like a ghost? You heard her say that?”

I nod distractedly. “Granny’s messages almost never stress immediate action; I should have realized how rare it was. She told me flat-out to act fast. To summon the storm, not sit around waiting for rain. Fuck, I’m an idiot. The key is in the storm’s eye. I have to walk in and find it.”