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I find myself on my daily walk while Ben takes his afternoon nap.
It’s been three weeks, and the turn he’s taken is enough to make me heartsick. But if I sit inside, biding my time, I will
start to resent everything about my situation and feel unreasonably sorry for myself. Or find ways to get back to that other
world, where he was healthy and happy. But I know I can’t do that. So I walk.
Wren insists that instead of walking, I should be painting, but I can’t bring myself to finish the show. I know I need to;
time has never been more of the essence, because this isn’t just any random show anymore. It’s a show for Ben. It’s a show
about Ben. And yet, at its core, I feel it’s still missing something, though I’m not quite sure what.
At the crosswalk, I hesitate, seeing the clump of warehouses ahead where my students are creating. Well, my once-upon-a-time-in-another-life
students. Before I did the full moon ritual, Wren was considering a youth show. I may not have been their teacher in this
new warped reality, but I can still help them, and I don’t have to wait on Wren because I’m part owner of the gallery too.
I am able to give back to these kids I’ve come to know and love in some small way.
After a moment of consideration, I march across the street. I don’t even know what day of the week it is, as each day blends into the next, but I cross my fingers that someone is here. I knock on the door, wait anxiously, and finally Kayla appears.
“Can I help you?”
My heart gives a little tug. Always so polite, even to strangers, though I feel like anything but.
“Hi. My name is Harper Swanson Foster, and I am the co-owner of the Terrington gallery.” I offer her a card, then peer behind
her, but it’s dark. “I got wind that you and some students are doing some art here.”
She narrows her eyes as she reads my card, but I see the flare of interest at the mention of the Terrington name. “Are we
in trouble?”
I laugh. “Far from it. If you’re open to it, I’d like to take a look at some of your pieces. I was thinking of doing a youth
show, and I’d love to see how we might be able to help you get your art in front of collectors.” I don’t even know what I’m
saying. I’m in no condition to make promises to anyone, but I need to channel some of this helpless energy into doing something
good.
She slides the door open, and I’m surprised to find it’s only her here today. She wipes a brush dry and walks me around the
space. When we get over to a corner, I notice a multimedia display.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
“Oh, this is dope. Let me show you.” She projects an abstract painting on the wall, hits some buttons, and music gives the
effect of causing the painting to undulate in waves. The effect is dreamy, almost like floating beneath an ocean.
Suddenly an idea clicks.
“How would you like to help me with something?” I fill her in on my tribute to Ben—a tribute I’m not even confident I can finish in time—and her face softens.
“I’ll talk to the crew,” she says. “See what we can do.”
I scribble down my info and studio address and ask her and her friends to meet me there in a few days. I can only hope that
Leilani and Alejandro will come too. I know that I need to finish what I started, but I’m certain I can’t do it alone. I need
some inspiration and a wow factor that only these kids can provide.
“Hey, thanks for the opportunity, Mrs.Foster,” Kayla says on the way out. “We won’t let you down.”
“Call me Harper,” I say. “And I know you won’t. This is your shot, so take it.” I wave goodbye and feel marginally better
at having connected with one of my former students in some small way. I cannot believe how much I miss being their teacher,
being able to help shape their lives and choices.
Every day that passes I wonder what has happened in this life and what hasn’t; it makes me feel like I’m on a steady decline
to dementia. I second-guess everything. That uncertainty, coupled with Ben’s physical deterioration, is enough to do me in.
Maybe having these bright, passionate kids involved will infuse me with the necessary energy to finish the show. I can only
hope Wren will be on board too.
I check the time and know I need to get back to Ben, but I stop by Wren’s first.
“Everything okay?” she asks when she sees me.
“I have a proposition for you.” She ushers me inside. I tell her about the underground gallery and how the kids might be able
to help with the show.
“I like this,” she finally says. “A youth show. I’m not sure why we haven’t done that before.” She pats my knee. “This is good, Harper. Good work.”
I close my eyes and rest my head against her couch. Ben hasn’t texted yet, which tells me he’s still resting. Part of me dreads
going back to the condo. It’s so sad and quiet there, especially these last few weeks.
“Another full moon tonight,” Wren finally offers. “Sure you don’t want to do another ritual?” She’s joking, but something
she says pricks a deep longing to get back to Brooklyn. Yes, my life was complicated, but I’d found Ben. Healthy Ben. Happy
Ben. Very much alive Ben. Suddenly I sit up.
“Wait. Would that be possible? To go back there and just... stay?” My heart pounds uncontrollably as I think it. Part of
me knows that I can’t bypass grief—that it could find me even there, that the cancer could come back, that it could all fall
apart. But would I give up this life so Ben could be healthy in another?
Yes. The answer is one thousandpercent yes.
Wren scratches her head. “I mean... I’m not sure. Technically, maybe? You’re not really considering that, are you? I was
joking.”
I open my mouth to tell her of course not, but the urge is there. I hate seeing Ben so sick, so small, so frail. I hate knowing
that he’s going to waste away in his bed if a miracle doesn’t happen, and soon. I hate that the Dr.Joe Dispenza workshop
didn’t seem to work in this time line, but I have no idea why. I hate that I’m not a teacher. I hate that I’m an artist and
gallery owner and yet I still long for something more.
I drop my head into my hands and sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Wren. Everything feels so mixed up, and I’m just so exhausted all the time.” Tears well in my eyes as I say it. There hasn’t really been room for my emotions, especially since the doctor told me that all I could do was make Ben comfortable. Here I am, once again trying to keep it together for both of us. I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that I’m not falling apart too.
My phone dings, and it’s Ben. “I need to go,” I say. “Time for Ben’s afternoon walk.” It kills both of us that he’s moved
to a wheelchair because it tires him too much to walk. I don’t know how we got here, but we’re here, and for the sake of my
sanity, I’m trying to adapt and adjust.
Wren walks me to the door. “Harper, you’re not really going to do another ritual tonight, are you?” Her eyes are pensive.
This version of her hasn’t seen what’s possible. She doesn’t know how powerful those “spells” really are, that by saying a
few sentences and setting an intention, I can just disappear somewhere else. And the desire to vanish is so strong, it nearly
knocks me over, but I take a deep breath and steady myself before I answer.
“Nah,” I say. I wave to her and walk quickly back to my condo. Even as I cast the ridiculous idea aside, when I get inside
our apartment and glimpse Ben struggling to get himself into his wheelchair, I truly consider it.
What would Ben want me to do?
Who would Ben want me to save?
“Ready?” I ask too brightly, once again burying my pain.
“Only if you can keep up,” he jokes as he slides himself into the chair and grunts with this tiny accomplishment.
I move into place behind him, tears leaking silently down my face.