17. “Let My Love Open The Door”
Chapter 17
“Let My Love Open The Door”
Taz - Age 18, 1988
T his past week has been a surreal blur of reality. What should have been an uncomfortable situation is instead the most comforting and natural experience I’ve had in a long time.
Living with the Bell family feels like slipping into a warm, cozy cocoon where everything is handled. When I arrive home late, exhausted from practice, I find a plate of delicious food waiting for me in the refrigerator. My clothes are always washed and neatly folded on my bed each evening, as if by magic. But beyond the material comforts, the presence of love in this home sets it apart. It’s a feeling I haven’t experienced since Gram took us in all those years ago.
Despite my injury, I’m slowly returning to daily activities like driving and skating. My coach has limited me to non-contact drills, but even those simple exercises are enough to keep me going. The satisfying thud when I shoot the puck reminds me of why I fell in love with hockey in the first place. I’m not fully back, but I’m getting better every day.
Despite the chaos and uncertainty, settling into some semblance of routine has been a relief. This includes carpooling with Sascha on days when our schedules align. Her band practices often run late, while my hockey practices are close by, making it a practical arrangement suggested by her mom.
Personally, I don’t mind it. However, Sascha is noticeably less enthused. My presence causes her some serious internal turmoil. I know this because she told me I was “annoying the bejesus” out of her last night. I don’t know who bejesus is, but apparently, he’s gone now, thanks to me. I guess I just have a natural talent for getting under her skin.
A perfect example of this was the note I found next to my folded clothes this evening. The front reads “Michael” in bold letters, with a black heart colored beside it. I was momentarily excited until I opened it.
DEAR DICKBAG,
STOP USING MY SHAMPOO OR I WILL FILL THE BOTTLE WITH NAIR!
Not quite the love note I was hoping for, but it’s progress. Now, I could get my own shampoo, but would I? I love smelling like an afternoon spring breeze, and now that I’m aware of how much it bothers her, that’s a bonus.
As I contemplate my response to her note, exhaustion washes over me, and I realize I’m too tired to come up with anything clever. So, instead, I make my way into the bathroom to wash off the hockey stench.
The steam from the hot water fills the bathroom, creating a hazy mist that clings to the walls and mirrors. As I lather my hair, a loud knock on the door startles me.
“Come in!” I yell. “You know you want to.”
“Um, Michael?”
I realize it’s Mrs. Bell is at the door, and I mentally curse myself for being careless.
My voice catches in my throat as I stammer. “Yes? One second,” I manage to choke out in utter humiliation.
“The phone is for you. It’s someone from Rose Meadows.”
It’s unusual for them to call without reason unless Gram wants to chat, but we have our scheduled times since I’m busy with school and hockey. “I’ll be right out,” I say hurriedly, knowing they must be waiting on the other line.
I quickly rinse and dry myself before throwing on a sweats and a t-shirt. My mind races with possibilities as I walk into the kitchen, where the phone sits on the counter. With trembling hands, I pick up the receiver and bring it to my ear. “Hello?” I answer tentatively, trying to sound calm and composed despite my racing thoughts.
“Hi Michael, this is Patricia. I’m a nurse here at Rose Meadows,” the voice on the other end says. A sense of unease washes over me at her introduction.
My grip tightens on the phone. “Uh-huh,” I reply, trying to steady my voice.
“I’m calling because your grandmother sustained a fall this evening.”
“Is she alright?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry.
“She’s fine,” the nurse reassures me. “She didn’t fall as much as she slid to the floor. She said she tried to get out of bed too fast and got dizzy.” I let out a sigh of relief but still feel uneasy.
“She didn’t sustain any injuries, and she’s refusing to go to the emergency room, but honestly, I think she’s fine.”
“So what happens now?”
“We will keep an extra eye on her and run some lab work just to be safe,” the nurse explains calmly.
I take a deep breath and try to push away my worries. “And she’s okay?”
“Yes, I believe so,” the nurse replies with confidence. “She’s eating a piece of peach pie with another resident right now.”
I allow myself to exhale the tension I had been holding onto. “Can you please tell her I’ll come by to visit tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she replies dutifully. “And while I have you on the line, may I have your father’s updated information? We tried calling him but the number has been disconnected.”
I’m sure he didn’t pay the most recent bill. My frustration bubbles to the surface. “He doesn’t need to be contacted,” I state firmly. “My grandmother made me her power of attorney when I turned eighteen.” There’s a brief silence on the other end before she apologizes for not being aware and makes a note in my grandmother’s chart.
“In fact, if he or my brother, Brian, try to visit, please notify me immediately,” I add.
“I’ll make sure to add that to your notes as well,” she confirms before saying goodbye and hanging up.
As I put down the phone, I’m hit with a mix of emotions—irritation toward my family, concern for my grandmother’s well-being, and gratefulness for being trusted with such an important role in her life.
I notice Sascha’s mother standing nearby, having overheard our conversation. She wears a kind expression as she speaks up, concern evident in her voice.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Just got a little dizzy and ended up on the floor. But no injuries.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that,” she responds with relief. “I’ve experienced something similar before. Getting older comes with its own set of challenges.” A wistful smile crosses her face before she addresses me again. “Do you need anything before I head to bed?”
“No, I’m good,” I assure her. “Just some studying in my room, and then I’ll turn in.”
“Alright, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything at all,” she says warmly before heading upstairs.
For the next two hours, I stare intently at my physics book, my eyes tracing the equations and diagrams, but none of it makes sense. It’s not that the subject is inherently difficult or beyond my understanding. No, the problem lies within me—I can’t seem to focus.
A gnawing fear and loneliness creep up on me, causing my hands to shake and my heart to race. I despise these feelings; I hate not being in control.
In a desperate attempt to calm down, I reach for my headphones and Walkman. Music floods my ears and body, but its usual calming effect is absent tonight.
And that’s when it hits me, a thought so reckless and dangerous that it might end me. The idea to end all ideas, or perhaps, end my life altogether.
I cautiously open my bedroom door and listen for signs of life, but all is quiet. Everyone has gone to bed already. I inch toward Sascha’s room, my steps light and careful. I twist the doorknob and slip inside the dark space with trembling hands.
A soft sliver of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a dim glow over the room. My eyes strain to make out the objects in front of me, trying to navigate my way without making a sound or eating shit and waking everyone up.
I tip-toe closer to her sleeping form, holding my breath, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. At this moment, I can’t help but wonder if this is how it all ends for me—silently sneaking into her room under the cover of darkness. She may actually kill me or, at the very least, kick me in the dick, which I’d also prefer to avoid, if possible.
I stand beside her bed, gazing down at her peaceful face as she slumbers. The moonlight dances across her features, highlighting the gentle slope of her nose and the curve of her lips. For a brief moment, I forget about the impending danger that awaits me inside these walls. Instead, I am consumed by the beauty and serenity of this scene.
My body moves on its own accord as I am compelled to lie on the bed beside her. I resist the urge to slide under the covers or touch her, afraid of crossing boundaries. Yet just being near her and listening to her steady breathing brings a sense of calm over me that I haven’t felt in a while. The warmth emanating from her body envelops me like a comforting embrace, and I feel truly at peace in this moment.
A few minutes after I settle in, her voice echoes through the darkness. "Is everything okay? “I had a scare with my grandma, but everything’s fine,” I reply.
She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. It’s a tacit understanding that I’m in need of something that she’s willing to offer, but I better not dare push my boundaries, so I spend the night lying next to Sascha in her space. I relax, warming in her energy and scent, and I fall asleep and sleep better than I have in over a week.
As morning creeps in, I gently lift myself off the bed and exit her room, but not before I leave the note I wrote last night when I should have been learning about inertia.
DEAR PSYCHOPATH,
PLEASE DON’T PUT NAIR IN THE SHAMPOO. I LIKE TO USE IT TO JERK OFF. THAT COULD CAUSE IRREPARABLE DAMAGE.
The icy glare I receive over breakfast tells me she read the note. The way she stabs her pancake with her fork tells me she didn’t find it amusing. I wasn’t lying, though. That’s become my favorite lube, and the fact that it smells like her makes it all the more appealing.
We don’t talk about anything of consequence on the drive to school. Sascha sits stoically in the passenger seat of my truck while we listen to the current hits. New Kids on the Block are singing about “Hanging Tough,” which sparks an idea about our upcoming talent show at school.
I talked the guys into doing it, even Landry, that broody fuck. I love the guy, but I’m never sure what he’s thinking. He says he doesn’t have to talk when he’s with me because I do enough talking for everyone.
“What are you smiling at?” Sascha asks, giving me a side-eye from the seat next to me.
“I didn’t realize I was,” I offer. “If it offends you, I can stop.”
She scoffs and continues looking out the window, probably weighing the odds of her survival if she jumps out of the truck.
“I was thinking about the talent show,” I reply.
“Ugh. I’m not going. I hate that stuff.”
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s the same people doing the same boring shit. And the talent part is sorely lacking.”
“So why don’t you do something?”
“I do. I play my flute. No one ever comes to our concerts.”
She’s allowed me momentary access to a piece of her life that she keeps hidden—her vulnerable side. She acts like she doesn’t care, but it bothers her that people don’t pay more attention to things that matter to her—like the band. Unsurprisingly, sports like football and hockey drive the booster money and get more attention than extracurriculars like band.
As soon as we park, Sascha jumps out of the car and makes a beeline for Ivy, who’s marching toward her. People have begun noticing that we’re arriving together, so I’m sure Ivy wants to know what’s happening. I haven’t told the boys what’s been going on, and they’ve been patient, but I will need to be honest.
“What’s up, boys?” I say casually as I saunter over to my group of friends. Delzy tilts his head toward Sascha with raised eyebrows, indicating he wants to know what’s happening.
“So, yeah. I live with Sascha Bell now,” I say, and then walk away, leaving them standing there with their mouths gaping open.
Corey and Landry share a look at lunch when I decide to put them out of their misery and explain what’s been going on.
“I’m going to beat your brother’s ass,” Delzy offers.
“No, you’re not,” Landry says. “Because I am.”
I shake my head. This is why I wanted to keep things under the radar for a while. “Neither of you are going to do shit. Do you understand?”
Landry leans back in his seat and meets my stare. Of all of us, he’s the last one I’d ever want to fuck with. It’s always the quiet ones, you know? “I’m serious, you guys. It’s not worth it. I’m out of there. I want it to be done.”
“What about your dad?” Corey asks.
“Haven’t heard a word from him,” I reply.
“Piece of shit,” Landry says under his breath.
“Look,” I say. “I’ve made my peace with the hand I was dealt regarding family. It’s fine. I’m lucky to have you and the Bell family helping me. I don’t need anything else.”
“If you’re sure,” Delzy says. “But if they fuck with you, you better tell us.”
“I will,” I say.
“So, what’s going on with you and Sash?” Landry asks.
“Nothing,” I reply with a shake of my head, which causes him to narrow his eyes.
“I like her,” I admit. “I always have.”
“Longest. Foreplay. Ever.” Delzy chuckles.
“At least you’re finally admitting it,” Landry says. "But don’t mess around with her, Taz. She’s a good girl. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“I have no intentions of hurting her,” I say.
“Keep it that way,” Landry says, leveling me with an icy glare.
“Calm down, Chewbacca,” I reply with a nervous laugh. “I know what I’m doing. Which reminds me, we’re going to the band concert next Friday night.”