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I glanced toward the crowd. I knew Dad and Sophia were somewhere in the stands. They’d refused to miss this day and booked their flights the moment I was given the schedule for the season. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he was in the audience too. My heart said he was here.
The crowd cheered, breaking my wayward thoughts. My teammates engulfed me in a hug and tears once again filled my eyes. I was my own worst critic and their support meant the world to me. These women were the best part about joining the gymnastics team.
I looked back up at the screen in disbelief. My vision blurred and my jaw trembled. I scored a nearly perfect score. I couldn't believe it. I wondered if I would ever stop getting emotional over gymnastics.
Shortly before I began training again, I started seeing a therapist once a week. I felt it was something I needed to do in order to stay healthy as a whole. I didn't want to kill myself for a medal, and it was so easy for me to. I was older now, still living with life-threatening illnesses. I wanted to prosper and fly, and I wanted to do that by accepting what I was physically capable of and being okay with it. Reaching out for help didn't mean I was weak like I had once thought. If anything, it made me stronger. My score told me I'd made the right choice.
My coaches high-fived me as I dropped down by my duffle bag to remove my grips. My smile faltered a little, my happiness dimming. I was over the moon with my score, but it just wasn’t the same without him here.
It was the ninth of January and I was on edge.
His package should have been here Saturday and it wasn't.
I waited in the lobby by the mailboxes, trying not to pounce on the mailman as he slowly stuffed the slots full. Finally, after an eternity, he closed the metal doors and locked up. And I was right there, opening my assigned box before he even walked away. I rifled through my mail where I stood.
No package.
My heart slipped.
My hope died a little.
Another day went by, and another, and another. The week came to an end and still nothing. I tried to go about my life, putting on a smile for everyone around me when I was crumbling inside. A second week had come and gone, and my misery was replaced with anger. On a whim I opened my messaging app and typed in his name.
I’m going to assume my journals were lost in the mail.
I waited for his response. After ten minutes, I texted again.
I know you read my message. It says read.
I sent him a screenshot and circled where it said “Read” beneath my message. Within seconds, the little dots appeared on the screen telling me he was typing. I held my breath, hoping he'd send a response the size of the Bible back.
Coach: I do not want to interfere with your life.
I groaned inwardly. Of course, he'd be short with his words.
I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. Now send me my journals, Kova.
I looked forward to the package. I read the journals all the time.
The little dots didn’t appear. My chest ached when he didn’t respond. Suffocation clawed at my throat.
I need them. Please. Give them to me.
Still nothing. His lack of response was like a punch to the gut. How could he ignore me? My heart thumped erratically. I tried not to cry, but it was fruitless. My heart still ached for my other half.
They help me. Please.
Another week passed and no texts, or journals in the mail. I tried not to succumb to the darkness. I’d come too far to go backward now—surgery on my Achilles, dialysis a few times a week, balancing my diseases while killing it in the collegiate world of gymnastics and attending school. By all outward appearances I was at the top of my game, but appearances were deceiving. I was good at faking it too.
I was dying inside. I never stopped loving him, but I guess he stopped loving me. That was a hard pill to swallow. He said he would come, and I told myself that I would wait for him. Exhaling, I righted myself.
A couple of my teammates had talked me into attending a party with them tonight. It wasn't something I did normally. I was young, single, why the fuck not go out and act my age for once. I needed to stop dwelling on the package I hadn’t received and let go for once in my life.
After an hour or so, I found myself refilling shot after shot of vodka and fending off horny college guys. I had zero desire in interacting with any of them, even in my inebriated state. There was only one person who stirred my blood, and I was drinking his poison.
He said he’d come for me, but he never did. He lied.
My chest rose and fell rapidly. Tears were threatening to spill. I refused to cry and pulled my phone from my back pocket, squinting at the home screen. I pressed the wrong buttons a few times before I found the message icon. I was sure I’d regret this in the morning, but it wasn’t morning yet and the alcohol gave me the liquid courage to text him.
