Authors: Danielle Sibarium
The pattern went like this: I found trouble; Jordan found me. When I felt like my lows couldn’t get lower, I’d find myself staring helplessly in his eyes, just in time to be humiliated. Jordan had radar that sensed when I made an absolute fool of myself or felt like an emotional wreck.
He jogged through the park while I played touch football with a group of friends, just in time to see me score a touchdown for the wrong team. He drove up to the bus stop in the pouring rain, to find me doing my best imitation of a drowned chipmunk. And worst of all he showed up the night I wanted to end it all.
That night, I held onto the chain link fence as if my life depended on it. It did. Dim lights illuminated the cement meadow of tombstones. I wanted to be in there. A flood of tears streamed down my face. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands hoping to clear my vision, like seeing clearly would absolve me of my sins. It did no good. I couldn’t see and I still wanted to die.
I turned from the tombstones and leaned against the fence, dropping to ground. My knees were pulled tight into my chest. If only I could disappear into the darkness. Knowing I couldn’t, I reached into my pocketbook and pulled from it, another bottle of Budweiser. My third. Luckily I carried a large roomy pocketbook.
Beer and wine coolers were readily available to anyone in Brooklyn over twelve, as long as you could hide them. At seventeen, I wasn’t given a second thought. I had money and a large pocketbook so I could buy. If I couldn’t disappear in the night, I could drink myself into oblivion.
With my head spinning I longed for forgiveness. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” there was no point in finishing. He knew what I did. And he hadn’t forgiven me yet.
I reached my hand down to the bottom of my purse, searching, for the small, rectangular box I purchased at the pharmacy. Clutching my fingers around it tight, I lifted it from my bag and closed my eyes, hoping to wake from my life.
I didn’t.
I opened the box of razors and pulled one out. My hands trembled. I stared at the steel blade, so small and innocuous, sizing up its strength. I wondered if the tiny weapon held enough power to end my life. Did I? I pulled the cutting edge close to my eyes.
This was it. I could make things right. Right my wrong. The only problem, it wouldn’t undo what I’d done. It wouldn’t bring my father back. But if I succeeded, if I died, I would no longer feel. I’d no longer hurt. I wanted the pain to end.
I looked at my wrist and brought the cool blade to it. I hesitated and swallowed hard gathering my strength.
I ran my finger across the periphery. A red drop appeared and grew to a thin line. I licked the blood off, contemplating my fate. What better place to end it than outside a cemetery? There was something ironic, even poetic about it. My mother and Maria thought I was at a friend’s house. They didn’t suspect a thing. They never did.
Chickening out, I tossed the blade. I watched it skid in the dirt before taking another swig of warm beer from the bottle. Once again I let my tears fall freely.
“I’m sorry Daddy. I‘m so sorry.”
I buried my head in my arms, hugging my knees again. Tears streaked down my face, onto my pants. The last thing I worried about were wet spots on my pant legs. I succumbed to the sobs racking my body and cried. Cried so hard, I was lost to the world around me.
I gave way to the guilt I’d been carrying since my father died and let it consume me. It was hard to breathe through my clogged nose. My eyes already started to swell and my chest throbbed.
The crunching of rocks and gravel startled me. I lifted my head out from my invisible shell. A pair of legs stood in front of me. I froze, unable to look up, until bending down in front of me, I found myself looking into Jordan’s eyes. He was the last person I wanted to see. I felt defeated. Life wore me down. Death ridiculed me. And before me stood the one person I most wished to hide my pain from.
He sat on the ground beside me without saying a word. I don’t know how long we sat together without speaking but it seemed like hours. Jordan reached for the bottle in my hand. I felt a tingling warmth rush through my body as our fingers brushed against each other and I released the bottle.
Jordan brought it to his lips. He took a long chug then proceeded to turn the bottle upside down and watch as the brown liquid flowed onto the dirt in front of him.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked barely audible.
“You’ve had enough,” his voice was strong and steady.
“Stop trying to be my father.” I snapped, as I so often did, when he tried to take control of a situation I let go too far.
“I’m not. But he’s forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself.”
I couldn’t imagine how he just appeared and knew immediately what drove me to such an extreme. But that’s how we were. He knew. He always knew. Jordan reached out and pulled me into his arms. He held me, and I cried. He waited until I slowly pulled myself together.
Feeling as if I couldn’t produce even one more tear, I looked up and asked, “How did you find me?”
“I just happened to be driving by and I saw you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just thankful I did.”
I nuzzled against him again, leaning my head against his chest, afraid if we moved he’d disappear.
“What happened?”
I sniffled and my voice cracked, “My grandmother died.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, his voice soft and tender.
I shook my head, searching for an answer, afraid to tell the truth. How could I possibly tell him I didn’t think he’d cared anymore. That since he started dating Madison, I felt like I’d been evicted from his life.
“I thought you’d be busy.” At least it wasn’t an outright lie.
He pulled back to look at me. His eyes were full of concern and pain. Had I just done that? They didn’t look so sad a few minutes before.
“I am never too busy for you. I thought you knew that.” My teeth chattered, and he slid out of his leather jacket and slung it over my shoulders. “Never.”
I waited expectantly for the tirade I knew would come. It never did. Jordan helped me to my feet and insisted on driving me home. He didn’t insult or mock me for my poor judgment.
He was just there for me.
Here again, after crying my eyes out, with eyeliner and mascara spread over most of my face like Indian war paint, came my knight in shining armor.
Nineteen
I watched Jordan approach the table from a booth in the back of the small pizzeria. I stared, seeing nothing, as people entered and exited in pairs and groups of three.
He came bearing a tray of everything we might possibly need. Methodically he removed the items, pizza first, then drinks, napkins, and garlic powder. He slid a paper plate with a slice of pizza in front of me.
“I promise you’ll feel better after you eat.”
“Aren’t you home early for a Friday night?” I asked in an attempt to shift the attention from me.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said with a smile raising one eyebrow.
“You first.”
He picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Stalling?” I accused.
“Call it what you will, but I won’t talk until you start eating. Deal?” he offered.
“I thought we already had a deal?”
“Take it or leave it.”
I picked up my slice and took a bite. I chewed very slowly, hoping this would placate him and he wouldn’t bother me about eating any more.
“Madison and I had a fight.” He let out a frustrated sigh, “I took her home.”
“About what?”
“She wants to go away with a friend and I don’t want her to.” Jordan wasn’t usually the jealous type, so I knew he was editing. He unfairly skirted around the particulars. The gory details were what I was interested in.
“You need to eat more,” he motioned toward the slightly nibbled slice on my plate.
I didn’t want to eat, and I couldn’t believe he paid so much attention to the stupid pizza. “Why do you do this?” I asked.
“What? Infuriate you?” He wore an impish grin.
“Take care of me.” I felt myself flush. Why did I just say that? Could I make myself look any more pathetic in his eyes?
He shook his head, “I don’t take care of you. I just understand you.”
“You think so?” I challenged.
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “It’s just, we’re so alike, Stephanie.”
I sat captivated, elbow on the table, chin in hand.
“We’re both introverts, always keeping the world at bay. That’s why we hide our true feelings behind sarcasm.”
“So does half of Brooklyn.”
“We both jilted our other halves on a Friday night, while we’re out together enjoying pizza. Although, it seems I am, much more so than you.” He held the crust of his pizza like a prop. “And we both carry the pain of being fatherless.”
That last comment rocked me like a rowboat in the wake of a cruise liner. He rarely spoke about his father, and never kindly when he did. Almost as fast as the words left his lips, he changed the subject.
“Your turn. What sent you crying on the curb?”
“Not so fast. You never said it bothered you. I mean, like, miss him bother you.”
“It doesn’t. I don’t. I just meant . . . never mind.”
He shut down. I didn’t push. There was a time and place for that discussion, and it wasn’t now. My mind focused on a much more relevant issue. Madison.
“You still owe me an explanation about why you don’t want Madison to go away.”
“I don’t like her friend,” he answered.
I wanted something solid I could sink my teeth into. “Is this friend male or female?”
“Female,” he answered.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t trust Madison. I’m not sure where her head is at.”
“Why?” I focused all my attention on listening to him without showing any emotion. I certainly didn’t think he’d understand if I did a happy dance.
“She gave me an ultimatum. She wants to get engaged or see other people.”
“But, you don’t want to get engaged?” I had to clarify before I allowed myself to hear happy bells chiming in the background.
“I’m not ready for that.” Relief washed over me. I didn’t think I could handle him admitting he wanted to marry her. Not tonight. “I mean we’re still young and neither of us finished college yet.”
“What’s her hurry?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She says she wants to know where her life is going. Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with her. I mean there’s no reason why we can’t wait a year or two.”
That’s it? A year or two? Why not five or ten, I wondered, “You’d consider it then?”
“I guess. But not if she wants to see other people. If that’s the route she takes . . . ” He didn’t finish his thought.
“If she’s pressuring you, why not break up with her?”
It made no sense. He could have any girl he wanted. He could be with someone who would love and cherish him and give him all the time in the world. Why couldn’t he see how patient I could be? I’d already waited years. What’s another one or two?
He looked down, “I care about her. And we have fun together.”
Not missing the fact he didn’t use the L word, I held my pounding head between my hands and rubbed my temples. I didn’t understand.