Chapter 18
My notebook is still blank. I’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes with my pen hovering over the paper, waiting for a divine intervention that isn’t coming. So far, I have thirty blue lines and nothing else, which feels about right for where I am in life right now.
You’re a failure.
I shake my head, stopping the negative talk before it can run through my mind and grip every part of me.
Then I press my pen down and force myself to write something. Anything. I need to prove to myself that I can do this. I’m not lost; I’m just not found yet.
Day three without—
No. I’m not doing that. I’m not writing about him. This notebook is supposed to be about me developing a creative writing process, not a journal about missing Zach.
I cross it out immediately, watching as the ink bleeds into a dark smear across the page.
Well, at least there’s only twenty-nine lines to fill on the page now.
I bite my bottom lip, feeling overwhelmed.
I want this, don’t I?
Dr. Reeves said I should write down thoughts that run through my mind, and if it gets too hard, then write about other people.
It’s hard.
Much harder than I anticipated.
I flip back a few pages where there are wild scribbles from the day I went down the zip line. It was the first time I felt free enough to write. The sentences barely make sense, but the pages are full, and even just reading the sections makes me feel excited.
He reached his hand out to me...
My feet teetered the edge. “Okay?” he asked...
The first thing I saw when I landed was his wide smile.
Wait.
My brow crosses, and I frown as I read every sentence I wrote from that day.
When I get to the final line, my shoulders slump in disappointment.
It’s all about him...
I was supposed to be writing about the feeling of trying something new. How the wind felt flowing through my hair, how my heart beat so fast I couldn’t hear Jonny talking anymore. Instead, I just wrote about Zach with a few extra steps.
Well, shit.
I know Zach and I have some unresolved issues between us, but I didn’t realize my brain was consumed by everything about him. I snort at my own thoughts.
I do know that I’m consumed by him. That’s why I have my phone facedown, on silent across the room. So I don’t get up and check for any new messages. I haven’t gotten any since the day he left, and I’ve read through those so many times, I can picture them in my mind without a second thought.
Honey: You left.
Zach: I did, but I still love you. I always will.
Honey: I know. I love you too.
I completely understand why he left me here. Does that mean I’m happy about it? No, but that doesn’t change anything. Zach’s gone, so there’s nothing for me to keep running from.
Alright, focus, Honey.
I talk to myself gently, taking deep breaths as I do. Getting angry is only going to make this harder.
Flipping back to today’s page, I put my pen to paper and try again.
He was...
I loved the way he...
Green eyes tore me...
I don’t finish any sentence. I just glare at them in annoyance. It’s all about him again.
I need to stop this.
I toss the notebook onto the bed and let out a big sigh.
Why can’t I write about anything but him?
Because I love him. I’ve always loved him... But I have to be more than him. I have to be more than just a Sanderson.
I just don’t know how to find my voice.
On the side table, the craft book sits where I left it two days ago. Its spine is cracked open to a page that I’ve read four times, but I don’t think I really took it in. I reach for it mostly because it’s there, and I need something to do with my hands.
The passage I keep coming back to is near the middle of the chapter.
Every writer I've ever admired has told me about the same thing in different words: when the page won't give, stop looking at it.
Go do something you've never done. Something that scares you a little, and that your body has to be present for.
The writing isn't lost. It's just waiting for you to bring it something new to work with.
I read it twice, then I close the book, set it back on the side table, and sit with that for a second.
Go and do something you’ve never done.
That worked with the zip line the other day. Who’s to say it won’t work again? Maybe it’ll be even better because this time, it’ll just be me.
Without thinking too much about it, I push the chair back, stand up, and put my shoes on. Grabbing my keycard, I walk out the door before I can talk myself out of it.
The hallway is quiet, with just a low buzz from the air conditioning, and there’s a housekeeping cart parked two doors down. I take the stairs instead of the elevator because I don't actually know where I'm going yet, and the stairs give me more time to figure it out.
I pass Deck 5.
Deck 4.
I'm moving, at least. That's something.
Wedged between the coffee bar and the gift shop is a sign-up sheet that says ‘ADVENTURE AWAITS’ in bold, eye-catching font.
I stroll past it, then slow.
Do something you’ve never done.
I walk backwards until I’m back in line with the sign-up sheet. Tomorrow the ship docks at Grand Turk, and it’s the final day for excursions. I scan through the list to see if any catch my eye.
Snorkeling... Glass-bottom boat... Kayak tour.... Historical walking tour...
I keep going, not feeling any of these options until I get to the bottom.
Cliff jumping at Gibbs Cay. Guided. All levels welcome.
I stare at it. My heart races at the mere thought of jumping off a cliff into beautiful ocean water.
Can I do it?
There's no Olivia on the other end of a text who secretly booked this for me. No Jonny at the side of the platform waiting for me to jump. No Zach to hold my hand as I fall.
It would all be on me.
Fuck it.
I snatch the paper off the board and head straight to the booking desk.
The woman behind the counter looks up. “Can I help you?”
“I'd like to book this one,” I say, pointing at the bottom of the sheet.
She glances at the paper, then gives me a smile. “Great. Is it just yourself?”
“Just myself,” I say.
She prints the ticket and slides it across the counter. I fold it in half and slide it into my pocket, right next to the ring box I've been carrying since Zach left.
I head back toward the stairs with the ticket pressed flat against my palm.
Do Something your body has to be present for.
Tomorrow. I’m doing it tomorrow.