Vulnerable (4 page)

            “What’s your favorite memory?” she asked. He had to think about this. He thought back on the days when he and his wife were first married, before she got mentally ill, and the world went fuzzy.

            “One time… when my wife and I were first married… we bought a puppy,” his voice sounded calm but serious, as if he were talking about his wife’s death rather than a happy moment from their life together. Millie’s face concentrated on every word that hung off his lips. He went on, “Her face lit up when she saw that little guy prance around…” His eyes were glistening now and threatened tears; his hose was clogging quickly. “That was before she was… sick… and she was so happy… so innocent… and full of love…” he trailed off into silent cries that he buried into his shirt sleeve.

            There was a moment of pure silent contemplation; Millie knew what place in the heart and mind Michael had to burrow to in order to retrieve such a memory from his subconscious. She remained still next to him, other than the hand she let silently rub his shoulder in empathy.

            “I’m such a woma—I mean—I’m sorry, I’m super emotional,” Michael’s cheeks flushed a crimson color through the reflection of glittery tears.

            “Well, as a
woman
, I can tell you that releasing your emotions greatly decreases your psychological burden as well as making you physically feel a whole lot better,” Millie replied with a hint of smugness in her voice and written lightly across her face (this made Michael blush even more).

            Michael looked down, his face morphing into a lost stare, a
dark
stare. “But… I always thought the feeling of being in love was like the breath of fresh air, you know?” He looked over at Millie, whose face was instantly turned back into the serious mask it wore just moments ago. Michael stared back out into the spangled night sky, “But it ends… and takes that fresh air away from you with your last breath… and then replaces itself with a toxic, noxious gas that forever haunts you and clogs your lungs… so you can never breathe properly again…” The stars were moving in a dance, like small sugary pixies.

            Millie looked up and watched the dance in the black curtained sky. “Well…” she sighed airily, “You certainly are a writer.” He glanced over to see her playful, grinning face. She nudged him, “C’mon, you know a little humor only makes you live longer.” Michael couldn’t help but smile back.

            “Yeah,” he replied, returning his gaze at the stars above. His face grew redder and redder, but his eyes remained dark. “That explains a lot.”

            When Michael and Millie returned to the Withersworths’ lake house, it was straight to bed for the both of them. If only sleep followed as was intended.

Michael tossed and turned all night that night, trying to ignore the echoes of Millie’s cries haunting the already dreadful dreams that pierced his mind at night. One moment he was running away from giant man-eating plants in the African jungle, and then the next he was being confronted at a Mexican restaurant by his late wife and his hopeful romantic interest—whether or not he realized that’s what Millie was.

Dreams are a curious thing. Sometimes they feel like they mean everything in the world—like signs from God—and other times they just feel like complete nonsense that you can’t possibly even begin to imagine any sort of symbolism for.

            Michael slid out of bed with much more ease than he had the morning before. The window glimmered with alluring promise through kaleidoscope-type rays from the sun. He felt so well rested for the first time in months, so he decided he’d take the chance and make breakfast for Millie and him; that is, if she’s even home.

            He walked past her door, tempted by the thought of turning the knob and swooping her off her feet. But life wasn’t like the books he wrote; reality was much more blatant and it took time and patience to get good things. And even though he didn’t even really know Millie yet, there was something inside of him that gave him courage, hope, and the desire to get to know her. And he wasn’t quite sure why.

            To his great surprise, he heard a clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. His stride picked up pace as he made his way towards the sound, where his suspicions had indeed been correct: Millie was here. Her bright figure was dazzling and Michael had to blink a few times and rub his eyes to finally convince himself that she was actually there, which he didn’t exactly know why because it wasn’t like she’d never been there before. Still, he was happy to see her.

            “Good morning!” she said as soon as she realized he was in the room.

            “Good morning,” he replied, still a little dazed.

            “What are your plans today?” she asked as she mixed a clear glass bowl filled with what looked like chocolate chip pancake batter.

            “I’m not sure yet. What about you? Do you have plans at the church?”

            “No, actually, I did that yesterday,” she replied, pouring the mixture into the frying pan.
Yesterday,
Michael thought,
that means she was probably in the church when I was going to go in…

She continued, “Yeah, my… uh… friend stopped by… and I’m going over to her place for a couple of nights before the retreat. She needs help with something…” She turned the pancake with a spatula, and it started crisping into a golden brown, but her eyes were trailing away into her mind. Michael decided not to push it.

“So, what are you going to do today?” He asked, quickly changing the subject to bring her back to Earth.

She snapped back, “Oh… I’m not sure…” She brightened up and looked eagerly in his direction, “Hey! We should do something today!” Michael’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Y-Yeah! That’d be great!” He said. He tried to act cool and balance his body against the fridge, but he slipped and jumbled into a clumsy heap onto the floor. Millie shuffled over to him with rapid speed and knelt at his side.

“Are you all right!?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m just…clumsy…”

They looked at each other and smiled; then Millie burst out laughing.

“Ohmigoodness!” she squealed in between roaring laughs. She clutched her abs and was laughing so hard she was nearly hyperventilating. Michael couldn’t help but catch her contagious fit of laughter. So there they were on the floor of the kitchen, laughing hysterically, while the pancake turned black above them, puffing with smoke, but neither of them noticed. Michael hadn’t remembered a time when he’d laughed so hard, and coincidentally, neither did Millie.

And thus began a great day.

After the two of them got ready, Michael insisted on driving them to the park.

“But it’s such a beautiful day,” Millie argued, “Let’s walk!” How could Michael say no to such a sweet smile? So they walked, and talked—about nothing too serious though, just light conversation.

“So what’s this retreat that you’re going to this weekend?” Michael asked when they’d stopped at “The Snack Shack” for something to eat after strolling for a while through the park, which was more like a beach.

The salty air kissed Michael’s throat whenever he’d open it to speak. The mist hovering over the area felt like a soft summer’s day after the rain had just trickled down and left a spicy smell of sweet, clean Earth. It was a beautiful day, and what was more beautiful was the woman he was spending it with. The more he watched her lips move and heard her heart pour out through her lips, the more he found her breathtaking.

“It’s for the youth,” she replied after licking her vanilla ice cream cone, “It’s like a little camping trip. You should come!” Those two sentences were said in one breath, as if already thought out. Michael was caught a little off guard, but luckily, he had his popsicle in his mouth so he had a couple seconds to think before he answered (which was especially good considering he’d been less than smooth recently—something about this girl made him lose any ounce of cool he may have had).

He slurped up the strawberry flavor and swallowed. His face was straight as he thought, but immediately turned into a mischievous smile. “On one condition,” he said, “If you agree to go on a dinner date with me as soon as we get back.”

Millie’s face looked odd at this suggestion, and Michael couldn’t figure out if he’d take it back if he could. Then again, he was never one to conceal his emotions much, which is what made him such a great writer. She looked perplexed, in deep contemplation, and then faintly smiled. Her eyes looked up at him as she took another lick of her vanilla cone.

 “All right,” she said softly through a growing grin, “It’s a deal.”

“It’s a date,” he winked. She looked away, still smiling, and Michael would have given anything to know what was going on through her head. She looked excited… he thought… she was happy, no doubt, but there was some sort of reserve that seemed to be tugging at her heartstrings—something was holding her back.

For the remainder of the afternoon, they laughed and talked like they’d done all day, but Michael couldn’t help but yearn for an explanation. He knew she needed space, though, and that if he at any point crossed a “DO NOT ENTER” zone in her subconscious, his chances with her might be ruined.

When he realized that he was even thinking of sincerely being with her in that way—in a committed relationship—that all too familiar guilty feeling of pain and nausea crept up on him again. It was as if Lindsay’s ghost was ensuring his heart only felt for her forever. After all, she was the one who was truly his first love.

But he couldn’t help but think that Lindsay was cured by death, and that she was an angel looking out for him—the kind of angel she’d been before she got sick. Then he was sure of it.
She wouldn’t want me to feel guilty,
he thought,
so why am I?

Before either of them realized it, the sun was falling across the oceanic horizon, spilling with melting shades of gray and blue and falling with pinks and oranges just slightly above.

            “Well,” Millie sighed, looking at the apartment complex they had just walked to without Michael even realizing, “this is my stop.”

            “Don’t you need clothes or anything?” Michael asked. Millie shook her head.

            “All of my camping stuff is already here—I brought it yesterday.” She looked over at the apartment and seemed to lose her happy expression, again losing herself in thought as well.

            “Well, I look forward to the retreat, and I’ll pick you up Saturday,” Michael said. He leaned over to give her a hug. She took a step back, seemingly out of sheer habit, but then grasped him tightly.

            “Have a good night, Michael,” she whispered up in his ear, “See you Saturday.”

            The next couple of days were a blur—a hazy mess of
did that just happen
and
is this real?
But on the off times where he
did
feel reality, he couldn’t help but feel the guilty pang of Lindsay’s memory creeping up on his conscience. He tried to shake it out, but when he did, he just had the intrusive thought that Millie was too good for him. Then he had the recurring remembrance that he only had a month left to finish the novel he hadn’t even started yet.

It was at moments like these that he wished he could go back into the hazy moments of fantasy. He supposed that this feeling was precisely the reason he became a writer in the first place. It was an exit… and even though he never really had a bad life, he knew that somewhere out there, there were people who truly lived the lives they were meant to escape from, to rise above, and he wanted to give them an escape to fall to until they found the courage to rise above the pain. He wanted to give them the escape
and
the motivation, so that they could make their own lives. Maybe a “fake it until you make it” kind of thing.

He felt that his purpose in life was to encourage others, to help them, and to save them from destroying their lives through the actions of the ones they were brought up with. Circumstances don’t make a person; a person makes his or herself, and then, their own circumstances.

Michael fell asleep thinking about Millie, still trying to push out the nauseating anxiety. And then he smiled, feeling the anxiety fall to the pit of his stomach but ignoring it, and wondered what Millie was doing at that exact moment.

·
       
 

“When’s he coming back?” Millie asked, attempting to hide the trembling in her voice, but Haley knew her better than that.

“You don’t have to hide your emotions from me, Mill,” she said, stirring her cup of hot chocolate. Her thick makeup was dried and looked like it had been crusted around her eyes for more than a few days.

“You just don’t understand,” Millie said through bitter huffs and gritted teeth, “
You
always showed your emotions to… Father…” She looked up hesitantly, “and
you
weren’t punished like I was.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself get so…”

“So
what
?”

“Vulnerable…” Haley’s dark brown eyes grew black; her lips curled in a sinister grimace. Millie’s eyes felt sunken in, hollowed, like her heart, her childhood, and her life. At least, until she met Michael; she felt something in him—something she couldn’t understand; something she’d only felt once before: when she was in the orphanage in Russia.

“What?” Haley asked, clearly annoyed. Millie snapped back into the present.

            “Are you really blaming me?” Millie asked, “We always helped each other; we were each other’s refuge.” Haley’s eyes softened and guilt swarmed her expression.

            “No,” she said, “I just…don’t know…”

            “Well, when’s he coming back?” Millie repeated. Haley looked up and almost trembled as much as Millie’s legs were under the table. Tears dotted her eyes and she turned away to blink them away.  “Tell me,” Millie pleaded, but Haley remembered and she didn’t want to tell. If she told, he’d hurt her… maybe worse… he’d really gotten to her lately. She stared out into the night.

            But she could never betray her older sister.