Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GEORGE MICHAEL, “ONE MORE TRY”
Gabby
Matt and his parents went back to Asheville the following day, and Sarah and Isaac went home too. I spent the rest of my break acting like everything was fine, putting together puzzles with my mom and playing Scrabble with my dad. Every few days, I took a drive to make my parents think I was visiting my best friend Ben.
I wasn’t a fan of school and homework, but I couldn’t wait to go back to Michigan. When I got there, Olivia was gone, and I had the dorm room to myself. Just me, my thoughts, blank journal pages, and a large supply of tissues.
The first of February, I wrote Ben a letter. In hindsight, I should have left my thoughts as a journal entry, but something inside of me needed to send those specific words to Ben, even if he never read them. He was going through the stages of grief after losing his hearing. I was going through the stages from losing him.
Dear Ben,
How’s your room? Are you making fun Lego creations? I heard a song the other day and thought of you. I’d tell you the name of it, but what does it matter? You can’t hear. That’s your new job, right? Being deaf? Does that pay well? Or do you have a part-time job working for Hallmark? You really should since you have such a way with words. You could write breakup cards.
Did I tell you that Olivia moved out? I have the dorm room all to myself, so when I want to have sex with Matt, no one interrupts us. Speaking of sex, I’ve taken two pregnancy tests and they were negative. I bet that makes you happy.
I hope you’re doing well. Say hi to Tillie and your parents.
Regards,
Gabby
I reread it at least ten times, and all ten times I contemplated wadding up the paper and tossing it into the trash. It was a cruel and hurtful letter that I would undoubtedly regret later. But he was cruel and hurtful. Did he take even two seconds to think before he said mean things to me? No. So I sealed the letter in an envelope, stamped it, and carried it to the nearest mailbox. After all, he wasn’t going to read it.
When the letter dropped into the metal mail bin and there was no taking it back, I blew out a long breath that plumed in the cold air and smiled. It felt good to get that off my chest. Is that how he felt? Did saying mean things to me feel good?
I continued to write him letters with no response from him. And when I talked to my parents on Saturday mornings, they made no mention of the letters, so I assumed he either didn’t read them, or if he did, he didn’t share them with his mom.
Dear Ben,
What’s the newest Lego design? Maybe you should build yourself a girlfriend since no woman will ever want to be with you because you’re just mean. I thought by now I’d be better, less angry, but I’m not.
I saw a blind student on campus the other day, and I stopped them to ask why they were there. After all, they can’t see. I told them they should go home and give up on their life. You would have been so proud of me. I mean, how dare they think they can pursue a college degree when they can’t see. How dare they feel deserving of happiness. How dare they seek any sort of purpose in life. Right?
Did I mention I walked in on Sarah and Isaac having sex early Christmas morning? He was giving her oral sex. She really seemed to enjoy it, so that’s what Matt does to me now and it’s AMAZING!
I bet you’re glad you had so much sex before you got meningitis because you’ll probably never have it again. Who wants to have sex with a deaf person?
I hope your family is doing well. Say hi to Tillie and your parents.
Regards,
Gabby
Did it occur to me that I might go to Hell for writing such awful things even if they were written in jest? Yes. But it felt so good to jab him back. I really hoped he was reading them, even if he didn’t indulge me with a reply. I thought if he could see how ridiculous he was being, he might reengage in his life again. But mainly, I was desperate—desperately missing my friend.
Dear Ben,
Did you have a good Valentine’s Day?
Matt got me two dozen roses and he sprinkled the petals from another dozen all over my bed and we made love all night on the petals.
I set my pen down and ran my fingers through my hair as my eyes filled with tears. Everything was a lie. I hated the lies, the silence, the vast space in my aching heart where memories of Ben slowly died with each cruel intention. The ugly was winning so much it made me nauseous. I crumpled up the paper and threw it at the trash bin. Then I opened up my journal and started ripping out the pages of poems I’d written about Matt, giving up halfway through and slamming the whole journal into the trash even though there were other journals.
I kicked the bin, sending it across the room. Then I swiped my arms along my desk, sending everything crashing to the ground. Grabbing my pillow, I covered my mouth and screamed into it.
Memories of us in his bed flashed through my head. I felt his hands on my skin, his breath along my lips, and I couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of my conscience. Our connection caused everything else to fade away. That’s what I saw in his eyes. I was enough.
Ben made me feel like we were greater than anything that was lost, and he did it without saying a word. Everything beautiful about our friendship came together in what felt like the most pivotal moment of my life. I didn’t think about Matt. He blurred into the background. There wasn’t a moment of regret.
At least … not in my mind or heart.
I wiped my face, picked everything off the floor and put it neatly back on the desk. Then I took a deep breath and started another letter.
Dear Ben,
Remember how you used to find a new song and listen to it over and over until you knew every word and beat? You said those songs kept you awake at night and popped into your head first thing in the morning. You called them inspiring, and one day you wanted to write something that consumed another just like that.
You are my song. I know every word and every beat. You keep me awake at night and pop into my head first thing in the morning. You inspire and consume me.
I’m sorry if I held on too tightly when you needed to be set free. I’m sorry if you felt like I was making everything about me. It’s just that my love for you makes it hard to distinguish where you end and I begin. For as long as I can remember, it’s been us—Gabby and Ben.
It’s going to take time for me to see myself in this world without you by my side. And maybe it’s just selfish of me to tell you all of this. It’s not your fault. I should have been there for you. I’ll spend eternity wondering what if. What if I would have swallowed my pride and been there for you when you were sick? What if I would have taken you to the doctor? So many what-ifs.
Maybe you love me too much to blame me, but what if you need someone to blame? What if letting go of your need to protect me is what will set you free? Free to move on. Free to dream of something new for your life? Free to love yourself and perhaps someone else again?
I’m truly sorry.
Gabby
* * *
Not getting any replies from Ben sucked the life out of me. I lost focus on everything except my ASL classes. My grades plummeted. And I had no friends.
On top of all that, I had missed three days of school. By the fourth day, I went to the emergency room. Something was wrong, and I wasn’t going to be like Ben and wait until something awful happened to me. I didn’t have a roommate to save me.
“Hi, Gabby. I’m Dr. Leighton.” The woman with a long, gray ponytail greeted me, pulling the curtain shut behind her. “Your labs are back. Everything looks good. Were you aware that you’re pregnant?”
I squinted for several seconds before blinking. “Um, I took two pregnancy tests. They were negative.”
“Perhaps it was too early to detect. It explains the fatigue and nausea. Do you know when you last started your menstrual cycle?”
“He pulled out,” I said just above a whisper.
Dr. Leighton smiled. “The withdrawal method is about twenty percent less effective than condoms. And it doesn’t protect you from STDs. Even with perfect timing, you can be exposed to pre-ejaculatory fluid which contains sperm.”
I nodded as if I knew that, but I couldn’t recall hearing the words “pre-ejaculatory fluid” in junior high health class.
“Do you have an OB-GYN you see? If not, I can give you a referral.”
“I don’t have one.” I stared at my hands folded in my lap because I was too embarrassed to look at her.
Nothing had gone as planned. I was supposed to be in love with Matt. We were supposed to have sex on our wedding night, and a doctor was supposed to congratulate us on our pregnancy without using the words “pre-ejaculatory fluid.”
“Just stay hydrated and have small snacks on hand like crackers. I can write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins if you’re planning on keeping the baby.”
Was I keeping the baby? Of course. My parents. God. My conscience. All would be in favor of keeping the baby.
My parents.
I was the good child. The only one to go to college. I was saving myself for marriage. The disappointment in their eyes would kill me.
“If you need time to think?—”
I shook my head. “I’m keeping it.”
“Very well. Before you leave, I’ll get you a prescription and we can set up your first appointment with an OB. If you don’t know the date of your last period, they’ll take an ultrasound to determine how far along you are.”
I heard nothing but the echoing of her voice.