Chapter 3 – Hannah
Exhaling a deep breath, I look back up at him. I feel like he can sense my embarrassment. No one likes to run into their ex. Even more so, no one likes to admit the reason why they’re an ex. It’s moments like this that remind me, not for my lack of trying; I failed to see the signs I swore up and down I’d never turn a blind eye to. That’s what stings the most, and it’s self-inflicted. I have no one to blame but myself.
“I have some things to work on,” I put my hands behind my back and start to pick at my skin, giving me something else to focus on besides the embarrassment coursing through my veins.
“You and I both. But hey, your worth is not tied to anyone other than you and God. It’s certainly not tied to any man or accomplishment. From where I’m standing, I see a woman who acknowledges she has some things to work through. That right there requires a hefty dose of bravery and self-awareness. Do you know how many people go through life blaming others for their own issues t hey won’t even acknowledge, let alone attempt to work on?”
I scoff. Not tied to any man or accomplishment, my ass. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to prove a dead man wrong.
“Hit the nail on the head, did I?” Okay, checkmate, Mr. Wilder.
“Don’t worry. Being able to read all your deepest, darkest secrets is a superpower of mine. I’ll keep them to myself, though.” He winks and, who makes a wink look that good?! I try to wink, and people ask if I'm having a stroke. This has crossed the line of friendly into flirty, homie don’t play that.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back. “Thank you for not judging me on all that.” I wave my hand in front of me, trying to cut through the tension building here. I don’t need to be spilling my life problems to someone I just met. He nods his head before shoving his hands back in his pockets.
“I will gladly listen to you word vomit anytime, Kitten.” The palms of my hands start to itch. I’m out of my element here. I should have just gone home after work. My ex, rearing his ugly head, brought a catalog of issues to the forefront, one being my clearly awful decision-making skills. I should probably quit while I’m ahead.
“I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Greyson.” I turn and quickly walk toward my car before he can say anything else. Always a runner, Hannah. Shut up, brain.
My mind is still reeling when I get home. I grab the leash for my beautiful furry princess, Harley, and attach her harness. I’ve been conditioned to internalize everything. Need help? Forget it, figure it out yourself, or let it go. Someone hurt your feelings. What is it that you did to cause them to do that? Oh, your ex-boyfriend cheated on you. You must have been neglecting him.
My brain's default setting is “What did you do to provoke this? What didn’t you do that resulted in this outcome?” It’s exhausting, the constant run around, chasing my own tail trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why am I not enough for anyone to stick around? Why am I not enough for someone to want to stay? Blah, whatever. I don’t have the energy to dissect the trauma wounds caused by good ole’ Dennis Lowery right now. But dang, if I don’t want to slap him from beyond the grave.
Jolting me out of my internal mental spiral, Harley yanks on the leash, pulling us both towards something I can’t see. “AH!” It comes out ridiculously high-pitched as I see what she’s darting after: a mouse or maybe it’s a rat. I’m not sure, but it’s gray with a long tail and I am not about it.
Digging my feet into the ground while pulling her leash in the opposite direction, we fight for control. She’s a lab and border collie mix; she’s made to hunt and herd. I, however, am not. Therefore, I’m going to do everything I can to keep her from getting the mouse–rat into her mouth. I love slobbery puppy kisses, dang it, don’t ruin it for me, Har. Garnering questioning glances from people walking by, I finally get her away from the animal in question, and we continue our walk around the block.
The sun is setting, making the sky resemble the most beautiful cotton candy. Hues of orange, pink, and red with thin, wispy clouds weaved throughout. It’s one of my favorite parts of Tampa, getting to witness God’s artistry every night when he puts these sunsets on display. It’s a gentle reminder that every day is new, different.
Just as you never see the exact same sunset twice, you never have the exact same day twice. That fact comforts me on a primal level. Like the sun putting the day to rest, I’m choosing to put my past and all its drama aside .
By the time we get back inside, I’m covered in a fine layer of sweat; my cheeks are flushed, and I’m a bit out of breath. I unclasp Harley’s harness, hanging it on the hook by the door. I rub behind her ears as she presses her head into my hand, making me smile. This girl is my soulmate, so in tune with my emotions, always there with those brown, beautiful puppy eyes, my heart on the outside of my body.
I may have rescued her from the shelter, but she rescued me more than she will ever comprehend. Just her presence is comforting. Running my hands through her fur brings me peace. Megan, my therapist, says it’s a hit of endorphins, and who am I to argue with a professional? She’s always there, always ready to listen when I need to sort my thoughts out. She’s always there to catch my tears, and even better, she never gives unsolicited advice–you’re familiar with the types. My guardian angel wrapped up in black and white fur.
Hopped up on an emotional overload, I head into the kitchen and start cooking. What exactly am I cooking? I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out as I go. I dance and sing as I throw Italian-seasoned chicken and balsamic-coated broccoli into the oven. Moving on to taco bowls, the music does a drastic one-eighty from A Day To Remember to Brooks I plop down on my bed, grab my journal from my nightstand, and start to write out my feelings about today’s events. While mindlessly rubbing my left hand down her back, I drift off to sleep.
I woke up in a haze, confused about where I was for a second. I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I stifle a groan. I look like a raccoon — a full-on trash panda. My day-old makeup has taken on a life of its own, clearly deciding the 80s hair band look is the direction it's going today. Kiss has nothing on the black circles under my eyes at the moment. My hair fits the bill, too. Score!
I take a makeup-removing wipe and clean my face, making sure to take extra time under my eyes. Then, I brush my teeth and hop in the shower to address the hair situation. After a deep conditioning session accompanied by a shower concert sponsored by 2000s Alternative, I get out and wrap my hair in a towel, letting it soak up the water until I finish getting dressed.
I run a brush through my hair as I walk into the kitchen to start making coffee; I see Abby already there with one in her hand. “Consider this my apology for not kicking Kyle in the balls.” She reaches her arm out towards me; I chuckle while I shake my h ead and take a sip. A low hum comes from my throat. Iced coffee with four pumps of peppermint, three pumps of white mocha, and, of course, cold foam on top. It’s my favorite way to consume caffeinated bean water. Like a candy cane in liquid form, a Christmas hug every day of the year.
“You don’t need to apologize, Abs. I wasn’t mad at any of you; I was embarrassed.” It’s the truth: eighteen years of being told by the man who’s supposed to love you no matter what that other people’s reactions are the result of things you do or don’t do, say or don’t say. At some point, you start to believe it.
There hasn’t been a single relationship of mine that ended where I haven’t found a way to put the blame on myself, even though logically, I understand that it wasn’t my fault, especially in the Kyle situation. The man was exactly like my father, gaslighting me every time I stood up for myself, blaming me for everything when something went wrong in his life while putting me down because he couldn’t stand me being happy or doing well. It’s easier to control a person when you break them first.
“Kyle is an idiot. He wasn’t enough for YOU, not the other way around.” She’s right; I’m well aware of that. It doesn’t, however, negate the emotional toil he contributed to at a time when I was already vulnerable. Her arms wrap around me in a way I’ve come to associate with home.
“Do you think I’m chasing after something I’m not meant to be chasing?” I ask softly. She watched me go through all the stages of grief when my dad died. She stood by me when I got so drunk I couldn’t remember my own name. She watched me self-sabotage relationship after relationship, just trying to fill the void in me .
“What do you mean?” She rubs small circles on my back as she waits patiently for my answer. She’s always held space for me to talk through my feelings; it’s one of the things I love most about her.
“Do you think I’m chasing this dream of ‘making it’ for nothing? I mean, what’s the definition of ‘making it’? Some would tell me I’ve already made it.” I sigh; I’ve been so back and forth on this lately. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I just don’t get any fulfillment out of it the way I used to. It’s almost like I’m chasing someone else’s dream.”
“I think you’re the only one who knows the answer to that, Han. I get the motivation behind it all, but have you factored yourself into any of that? Are you happy, or are you just trying to prove yourself? And where does it end?” My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the right words to answer her. I don’t have them, mainly because I don’t have the answer myself.
Pulling out of our hug, I cross my arms and rub circles on my biceps with my thumbs as I walk to my room to get ready for work. I repeat my affirmations in my head: “I am strong.” “I am loved.” “I am worthy.” “I deserve happiness.” “I am more than a conqueror.”
“Hey, Abs.” Stopping just short of our front door, I turn to look at her. “I made you meals for the week last night. It’s all in the fridge.” She darts to the kitchen and slings the refrigerator door open, jaw-dropping at the sight.
“You’re my favorite person in the history of ever! Thanks, Han. You didn’t have to do that.” I just smile.
“Figured you could read your new book instead of wasting away in the kitchen. It is your day off, after all.” Her smile grows, and she snap s a finger in my direction before firing off a couple of finger guns.
“You’re right; I’m going to do just that. Have a good day, bestie!” She sings as she skips to her room. Hmm, it’s going to be a good day.
Walking into Tampa Today on Thursday, I stopped by Nora’s office before making my way to my desk. “Morning, boss!” A smile is plastered on my face because I have the best idea for our charity event.
“Hey, Hannah. I read through your interviews; they’re very well done. You really captured their personalities; the fans love it. I had a good laugh over Brett Wilson’s recurring dream about him wearing a tutu and wings with a wand instead of a stick and skating around the ice for the entirety of a game.”
“I would pay good money to make that a reality.” These guys are built like brick walls; the thought of them wearing tutus and skating around will forever be my sunshine on a cloudy day.
“What do you have for me?” She asks as she steeples her hands under her chin, giving me her undivided attention.
I dive into my idea. A Charity Carnival held on one of the piers, complete with games, local food, and, of course, professional athletes. Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline as I tell her what the projected cost would be, and it’s under the budget she gave me. I give myself an internal high-five as I watch her piece it together .
“I like it. I think we could get some of the athletes to sign and donate signed jerseys. I’d like them to participate in the event itself, I also understand they can’t change their schedules to be there. Let’s cast a net and see which teams will be here that weekend and see who we can recruit to help.” I nod as I make a list of those to invite and make a note to check their schedules before I do that.
“Thanks, Nora, I’ll get right on that.” As I walk back to my desk, I set some reminders to bring this up when I’m at the arena next. I started to pull some stats from the Hawks' season last year, putting together a chart to compare to the season that will start in a few months. One of my favorite parts of this job is I get to wear fifty different hats. I’m a journalist, data analyst, and promoter all wrapped up in a shiny, sarcastic package.
The readers of Tampa Today’s Magazine aren’t looking for numbers and a brief overview. No, they want to know where their teams were last year, where they can go this year, who the players are, and what each of their strengths are. Articles like the one I just did help with reach. Ticket and jersey sales went up in the first two days after it was published. They want to know what they do in their free time to help the community and how they can get involved.
I think they’ll go crazy over this Carnival, too. I can’t wait to watch it come to life.