Something To Dream On (14 page)

All I can do is pray for understanding while waiting for Lizetta to compose her thoughts. Paul warned me to be as upfront as possible and to give her all the time she needs to digest each piece of my news. He’s right; she deserves that courtesy. Still, watching her chest sag makes me fear she is withdrawing her heart. The pain in her eyes rips at my soul as the stupidity of my past harms another wonderful person.

Finally she takes my hands. “Why?” she asks. “What happened? Why did someone with your talent and intelligence risk throwing his life away?” The betrayal that radiates from her and Etta’s eyes makes me see how I have punished innocents for no reason.

“Before we get into that, I want you to know that I take full responsibility and make no excuses for my behavior. Also, three months before I met you, I stopped poisoning my body, which meant giving up alcohol and all drugs of any kind. I also left every so-called friend that helped me find excuses not to be the person I wanted to be. You haven’t met my friends because I don’t have any. They walked away once I let them down too many times. I don't blame them in the least.”

I give her a moment to absorb that and wait for her nod of acknowledgement before moving on. The poor woman looks ill. I reach out to her and she softly tells me to keep going.

“My older brother, Eddie, started abusing when our dad died. He tried to keep it from me, but when you share a room with someone, it’s kind of hard to hide that you are drinking away your pain. Mom had to work two, and sometimes three jobs, to make ends meet. Her dad tried to help, but eventually Granddad had a massive stroke. Everyone’s life got a lot harder. I couldn’t help but think that maybe Eddie had the right idea to numb himself to how our family was falling apart. It seemed the easy solution. Now I see that it was just an idiotic and dangerous path that only a coward takes, and that the real solution would have been to band together.”
 

She nods. I know she gets it. She’s probably heard this part of the story countless times before from Paul. Did she ever hear it from her dad? The tears build because I already miss being someone who hasn’t caused her pain. “Hey,” I say, taking her hand. “I promise that, if you’ll allow me, before the night is through I will tell you every last thing, but first, I have to know if you are okay. Paul told me about your dad.”

Her sigh tells me the subject holds sorrow that she would rather keep at bay. “Let me guess,” she says with resignation to how things work in her life, “long story short, Paul knew what was up with you. He gave you a chance to prove you were no longer a mess, and then you decided to step forward, possibly because you knew that if you didn’t do it soon, he would have words for you.” She peers up, and I get a hint of a smirk through her tears.

“Honestly, that is part of it, but I swear I would have told you anyway.”

“Sounds just like him,” she says while wiping the tears from her face.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She squeezes my arm and forces a smile of support. I can only begin to imagine what memories are flooding her mind. “I’m okay,” she says. I want to believe her without question, but I sense her guard rising. “Just keep telling me everything. How did it get out of control? What did it do to you?”

Paul warned me about this, too—that she’d likely hear me out while wondering how much I am like her father. But even if our stories are identical in how they started, the similarities will eventually end since I am sober and he is in a grave. I need to remember that, because my immediate reaction to her question about why I lost it is to head to the nearest bar.

The memories begin to flow—horrible memories of the things that drove me into addiction. Memories that bring back images of my brother becoming so ashen, so lifeless, so full of … nothing. I can’t fight my closing throat, because what happened to Eddie was only a step deeper into hell than I went. Laura is as bad as he was.

Etta nuzzles against me, offering comfort and showing me love. It makes the shame over the mess Eddie and I made, and the innocents we hurt, sicken me deeper.

“Eddie’s band was on the verge of hitting it big when their addictions took over so strongly that they sold their equipment to pay for speed. He had just gotten out of a twelve-step program and was sharing his excitement over building new dreams when we were walking down a rural road. A car came out of nowhere and swiped him, tossing him into the air and smacking him onto the shoulder. The driver only slowed for a moment, and then went on as if nothing happened.”

My forehead tightens, and I close my eyes in hopes of shutting out the vision of the past. “Eddie was not only covered in blood, he wasn’t breathing. His pulse was faint, so I gave him CPR, even though each press brought up blood. It was probably hopeless from the start, yet I couldn’t abandon him. Every breath I gave filled my mouth with gore and made me feel powerless. Being powerless while someone you love suffers is the most soul-scraping thing that can happen. You pray to switch places. You act in desperation. You swear that you will surrender everything good you have just for them to take another breath.”

The bile burns its way up my throat, and it’s gulped back down. My hands press into my temples, trying to push out the hurt. I’ve never been able to fight the desperation I feel when it comes to that moment. “Do you have any idea what it is like to watch someone you love suffer while they teeter on the verge of death? To be on your knees, praying and doing everything you can to help them, while knowing it is futile? When do you stop praying for salvation and start praying for mercy? When do you just hold the person in your arms and tell them you love them and wish them happiness in whatever the next step holds?”

Tears flow down my cheeks and onto my hands that Lizetta now holds. Etta’s whimper of compassion and Lizetta’s eyes that radiate love into mine offer comfort, but the dizziness builds. Sobs break my words as I plea for answers, because someone has got to have them. “How do you forgive God for letting your brother lie there, suffering, and knowing he is dying? It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t save him. Still, the shaking in my soul whenever I think of Eddie won’t end. All I could do was keep pumping on his chest and praying—afraid to admit that it was useless. Then I felt his ribs give, and …”

 
My breath shudders. After years of denial, it’s time to face the unthinkable. “No one has ever said it, but I probably broke his ribs, sending bone into Eddie’s lungs and ending his chances for revival.” She reaches out and draws me close. “Dear God, Lizetta, I know that he seemed dead anyway, but what if he could have lived? Were his ribs already broken from the fall or did I push too hard? Were the pulses and breaths I gave keeping him going? What if I could have kept them up a little longer? I can’t help but question all of that.”

Her grip on me tightens, and she rocks me gently. “Jensen, it is not your fault.” She pulls back and looks me dead in the eyes. Finally someone is giving me what I have needed for years. “You were doing exactly what you were supposed to do. Every second of it. You have to accept that.” She pulls me back into an embrace, and I catch the gleam of love in Etta’s eyes that makes me lose it all over again. She is a pillar of hope in my life.

Still, “I just can’t escape the thought that I—”

Lizetta draws my eyes into her’s again. “Jensen, if that is what happened, what you did was give him mercy. Practically every day I have to show mercy to animals that aren’t nearly as sick. That is done out of compassion for their pain and the desire to give them the highest quality of life possible. Know that in your efforts to save him, you gave Eddie the precious gift of love.”

Tingles blanket my skin, bringing about peace to my soul. At last, redemption is upon me. Her words paint my soul with a comfort that no drug could ever match. “I am so grateful for you and Etta. This sounds crazy, but I swear that right after he died, I heard Eddie’s voice saying to let the universe be my guide. I tried to understand, but I couldn’t get it until I saw Etta on the side of the road. I thought I was living my nightmare all over again, but an angel in scrubs appeared and gave me hope.”

“I looked such a mess that day,” she chokes out.

My hands cup her cheeks so I can capture her gaze. New tears form because more than ever I see what a gift she was. “You looked like a savior whose only concern wasn’t her own. You were the beacon of light that showed me I would be okay. I was so afraid that seeing Etta would send me begging for a needle and a spoon, but instead you both brought me deeper into salvation.” I squeeze her hands again to emphasize my plea. “You ground me. For months I have stayed on track because I had this dream that there was something better for me, something that could make me feel rooted. That dream is you.”

Lizetta’s tears mirror my own. Her eyes are so puffy and red that I worry for her all over again. When she grips my hand, both fear and anticipation fill me over her upcoming words. “Time and again, my father hurt me. When you first said that you were fighting an addiction, my mind went to the time he smacked Jimmy across the face so hard that blood sprayed. After that, every time Mom and Dad fought, Jimmy and I cowered together. I’ll also never shake Mom’s expression while trying to hide why the cops had come to the door on the day Dad died.
 

“My dad was a shameless bastard whose womanizing gave Mom Gonorrhea. Thank God she cut him off for good then and there, because eventually a hooker, a fling, or a needle infected him with HIV. The killing blow to our hearts came when Dad’s last day was spent in a motel room, dying alone with a needle in his arm. For years I have carried those images of my father, a man who couldn’t be bothered to shake a habit—not for his wife and certainly not for his kids. I grew to love Paul because he showed my family that we were worthy of happiness. Now you have basically told me that you got clean for yourself, but are willing to fight even harder for my sake. Do you have any idea how that sounds to a little girl who was hurt by her father, only to go to school each day and be ridiculed about her body? You too, Jensen, are a savior.”

I am truly at a loss for words, awestruck by the beauty this woman brings into my life. I’ve prayed to find salvation and forgiveness, but never have I dared dream to be seen in a light similar to how I see this angel.

Fear ruled me when I began this conversation. Now our hearts entwine through shared tears. How I wish it could stop here, at a moment of perfection. I curl her in my arms, still not knowing what I could possibly say in response to her poetry except for the simplest of words, “Thank you for seeing me as I long to be.”

She pulls back, and her eyes go straight into mine. Her hand lends a gentle caress through my hair as she tells me in no uncertain terms, “No, not as you long to be. I see you as you really are.” Just when I thought things could not possibly go any better, this phenomenal woman proves me wrong. “With that being said, I need to know if there is anything else you should tell me, be it big or small. I need to know and trust all of you.”
 

She’s so sweet that my heart falls for her all over again. I so badly want to say that all is in the open. We’ve both had enough, and we are at the perfect place to end this conversation. However, she’s asked to know everything, and Paul has already warned me that if I add on more at another time, she will wonder if the bad news ever stops. It’s either tell her about Laura now or risk losing her trust later.

Why won’t Laura go away? I left all my other problems behind, yet she is the ghost who haunts me. “I’ve walked away from it all. I met you on my ninety-first day of sobriety, and I swear I will never go back to my former life but …
 

“You are such a sweet and wonderful person that I don’t want the one thing that carries over to hurt you, but you need to know.” I take her hands and am sure to look her square in the eyes. “I’m not like your father. Yes, there have been times when I wasn’t exactly a one-woman man, but I swear I left that behind with the drugs. However, there is a girl who I keep pushing away. She’s had a hard time accepting that my new life doesn’t involve her. Please believe that I want nothing to do with her. She's a walking time bomb that's half ex-pseudo girlfriend and half groupie whore that letting back into my life, in any capacity, would be the stupidest thing I could do.”

Lizetta gives a demure nod. “So, what does this girl have to do with you now?”

She sounds so broken that I want to swoop her up and fly her off to all the good she deserves. I raise her chin, bringing me into her view. I’m as insistent as can be. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except that she won’t go away.”

But that is not entirely true, and my remorse builds just thinking of how I left someone I care about behind with all the other junkies. There is no disguising the guilt in my voice. “My compassionate side tells me I should help her, because I’m the only one she’s ever trusted with what’s at the heart of her issues, but I won’t subject myself to that environment anymore. She won’t take the guidance I have offered, because all she wants is for things to go back to the way they were. If she shows up again, she’ll do it in a way that will make you question my fidelity, so I need to be certain that you know my heart is only with you.”

The weakness in Lizetta’s voice guts me. “But you are telling me this because you want to help her, or because you are afraid she will show up again?”

I cup her face in my hands, drying her tears with my thumbs, and being damn grateful that she is letting me. “Hey, it's okay to question if you can trust me.” She looks up with those big green eyes, and I hate who I once was more than ever. “I would wonder the same thing, but I am telling you about her because her suffering rips me up inside. Even though her problems are not my fault, I hold guilt that I don’t think I’ll ever get over. With or without you in my life, I can’t and won’t get involved with her.” Her eyes drop. I thought she would at least show a little relief. “Lizetta, please, tell me what you are thinking. What can I do to help you? Do you have questions for me? What about your father? Do you need to talk about him?”