Rage: A Love Story (20 page)

“C
all me Mary-Dean,” she says. I think it’s a weird name for a therapist. I don’t know why I come, because all I do is sit on this hard chair and cry. Mary-Dean says, “It’s okay to get it out. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

I’ll never be ready.

At our third session, Mary-Dean says, “Tell me about your girlfriend. Reeve. Is that her name?”

My brain instantly engages. Tessa’s been talking to her about me. I should’ve known. “Whatever she told you is wrong,” I say.

“Who?”

You know who
. I blow my nose.

“The only thing Tessa told me is that you got hurt.”

“By her,” I mutter.

Mary-Dean says, “How did Tessa hurt you?”

A torrent of tears threatens.

Mary-Dean goes, “Then tell me about Reeve. She seems to be someone you care about very much.”

I stammer out the words: “I-I loved her. I mean, I love her.”

Mary-Dean leans forward. “What does love mean to you, Johanna?”

That’s the question. “You know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Reeve was—is—my girlfriend. I’m gay.” I wonder if Tessa told her that.

Mary-Dean doesn’t look shocked. In fact, she smiles. Not fake, not patronizing.

“I love Reeve with all my heart.”

Mary-Dean says, “That’s a good feeling, isn’t it? Falling in love. Does Reeve love you?”

“Yes.”

Mary-Dean nods and says, “How do you know? How does she show her love?”

I know where she’s going with this. I won’t go there. I can’t. I stare over Mary-Dean’s shoulder at the black-and-white photo on the wall of a mother holding a child. I have to get out of here.

Tessa’s appointments with Mary-Dean are on different days than mine. I don’t think it’s right that she’s talking about me when I’m not there, so I go down to the house to confront her. She isn’t home. Neither is Martin. He’s left her a note on the counter. “Sweetie. Your grief support group mtg is canceled today. Luv U.”

Tessa’s in a grief support group. Of course. She lost her baby. She lost two babies. And her parents. And me.

Mary-Dean tries again. “Tell me what love means, Johanna. I’d just like to hear your take on it.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I’m prepared. “Love is being there for someone no matter what.”

“Even if they hurt you?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Especially then.”

Mary-Dean studies me. “Why?” She removes her glasses and sets them on the table between us. “Why does love have to hurt?”

“That’s not what I said.” Is it?

“Do you think love hurts?”

The people I know who’ve loved and been loved have all been hurt. Mom when Dad died. Novak every time she got dumped. Tessa.

“Yeah, I think there’s an element of hurt.”

“Physical?”

“Sometimes,” I say. “Not all the time.”

“But when?”

“When you let it.”

“Did you let it?”

I say to her, “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

She says, “Don’t you always have a choice? At least about your actions, how you respond?”

These questions make me anxious. Yes, I let Reeve hurt me. No, I don’t believe that’s showing love. But I love her. With all my heart, I still love her.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I say to Mary-Dean.

She smiles and puts on her glasses. “You’ll get there.”

I land a job at the cineplex. I figure, hey, can’t let that Film Studies class go to waste. Mostly, I’m proud of myself for finding the motivation. It’s hard to get out of bed every day and face myself in the mirror. The bruises are gone, but I don’t feel healed.

On my way out one day, I pass Tessa coming in. “I’ve got a job now,” I tell her. “I’ll pay you guys back soon.”

Tessa raises her eyes to meet mine. She says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” I say more insistently, “It matters to me. I need to pay you back.”

“Okay.” She nods. I think she understands.

The next session, Mary-Dean hands me a yellow tablet and says, “I want you to make two columns, or two separate lists. Label one ‘Gains’ and the other ‘Losses.’” I must look confused, because she adds, “Write down all you gained and all you lost, with Reeve.”

“Now?” I say.

“You can take it with you for homework,” she adds. “Sometime soon I want to hear about your mother and father, and your sister leaving. It must’ve been extremely hard to lose them all so close together.”

I break down, and Mary-Dean immediately passes me a giant box of Kleenex.

* * *

It’s a slow night, Tuesday night, and the ten o’clock shows have all started. In the ticket booth, I take out the yellow tablet and begin with Gains. I think, This’ll be easy.

Love. Knowing love. Loving and being loved
.

Reeve did love me. She still does.
Where are you, baby?

Nothing else comes to mind right away. But there’s got to be more. I flip the page and write: “Losses. What I lost:”

Money

My job at Bling’s

Mom’s watch

The hospice where I love to volunteer

These are coming too fast.

I page back to the Gains list. Love. It outweighs everything. Back to Losses.

My car window
. It’s covered with plastic until I can afford a new one.

Martin’s trust
. He moved, or locked up, the loaded potato.

Novak
.

But it’s not really Reeve’s fault I lost Novak. Is it?

I rip out the page. Look at what Reeve lost—her mother, her brother, her home.
You still have me, baby
.

At the next session, I tell Mary-Dean I forgot to do the assignment. She says, “That’s okay. What I really wanted to know is where you would put self-respect.”

“Self-respect?”

“Would you say your relationship with Reeve gained you self-respect or lost you self-respect?”

“Gained,” I answer automatically.

“How?”

Why? When? How? Reeve would be slugging Mary-Dean continuously.

“I guess… I feel…”

“Did you respect yourself before you met Reeve?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think I’m a good person. My teacher Mrs. Goins said I was kind and generous.”

“Of course you are, Johanna. You’re a wonderful person.”

“So is Reeve.” She just didn’t have a choice.

We always have a choice—about our actions.

She didn’t have to hit me.

I let her do it.

It was wrong. I was wrong. We were …

Mary-Dean asks, “Do you respect yourself more now than you did before?”

This question makes me search my soul.

And I don’t like the answer.

We dash behind the waterfall, holding hands. The rocks are slippery. We balance for a moment, making sure everyone’s secure. I’m awed by the power, the majesty, the roar of water rushing off the cliff
.

Robbie sits on the shore. We’ve just been to his funeral. He removes his shoes and socks, stuffs the socks inside the shoes, and ties the laces together. Reeve says, “Don’t lose those, asstard.”

Robbie says, “The retardo is a high school graduate.”

Reeve turns to me. “Scary, but true.”

Novak takes my arm. “Remember when we used to come up here?” She has to yell to be heard over the falls
.

“No!” I yell back. I say to Reeve, “She never came here with me.”

Novak leans around me. “We came here when Tessa lost her first baby.”

“No, we didn’t.”

Teetering on the rock, she goes, “Yes, we did. We made a little boat and put a pink Care Bear in it. A heart bear. We set it in the river, right here.” Novak indicates a spot in front of us where water is pooling between the rocks. It forms an eddy, then swirls off toward the falls. “Tessa said, ‘My sweet baby girl. Have a safe trip home. I’ll see you when you get there.’“

Reeve stares at the box in her hands. Her mother’s ashes
.

Robbie is wearing his shabby graduation robe. He’s holding the other box
.

Mom’s an angel in heaven. She says, “You’re such a comfort to me.”

Novak screams, “Oh my God, Robbie! You’re alive!” She hurdles rocks to get to him. He stumbles backward but catches her in his arms. Without warning, he kisses her
.

Novak looks stunned
.

Reeve says, “You’re just so damn irresistible.”

That cracks us all up
.

“You really know how to pick ‘em,” Reeve says
.

“Yeah, I do,” I say
.

Reeve’s eyes fall to the ashes. She looks up at me. “Should I just dump them?”

Robbie is climbing on the boulders behind Fallon Falls and Reeve hollers, “Get back down here! You have to do this with me!”

Novak says, “He kissed me.”

Reeve goes in my ear, “Tell her he has herpes.”

I laugh. Reeve bumps my shoulder. I lose my footing and splash into the river. The current is strong and Novak jumps in and saves me while Reeve just stands there
.

Reeve opens the box and says, “How do you want to do it
,
Robbie?” The ashes are in a plastic bag inside the box. “You just want to pitch the bag?”

Robbie lifts out his bag and hauls back his arm
.

Novak bounds back from the river, cries, “No! You have to scatter them. You can’t just throw the bag in the river. God.” She rolls her eyes at me. “That’s littering.”

“You do it.” Reeve snatches the bag from Robbie and slams it into Novak’s chest
.

Novak arches her eyebrows at me
.

Do it, I shrug
.

She removes the twist tie from the bag and, reaching in, grabs a fistful of ash. It’s gray and sort of greasy looking. She holds the ashes out in front of her. She shouts at Reeve, “What was your mom’s name?”

“Gladys,” Reeve says
.

Novak widens her eyes
.

“Not really.”

“Consuela Meaty Loins,” Robbie says
.

We all look at him. He grins
.

Reeve tells Novak, “It’s Jaclyn.”

Novak extends her arm over the water. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Go home to Jesus, Jaclyn.”

Reeve mutters “Bye” under her breath
.

Novak opens her fist and the ashes fly back in our faces. We spit and swipe our eyes
.

Robbie snatches the other bag from Novak and raises it high in the air. The ashes stream out and spread over the rocks and water and river grass
.

They leave a film. It’s gross
.

I look over to Robbie, but he’s gone
.

Reeves gone
.

Novak
.

Mom
.

All gone
.

• • •

It isn’t Joyland; it’s just a dream. I wake up crying, feeling inconsolable. I stumble to the kitchen and almost trip over it—again.

Robbie’s case. I keep moving it from the front closet to the storage room to my bedroom. I don’t know why I haven’t opened it.

It’s time. I thumb up the latches and flip the cover.

There’s a threadbare baby blanket rolled up and paper-clipped. I pull the clip, find the edge, and unroll the blanket. Inside is … junk.

A magpie feather, an avocado peel, a hunk of bubble wrap, two golf balls, a syringe, a rusty razor blade, string tied to string tied to string …

Carefully, gently, leaving everything exactly the way he saved it, I reroll the blanket and shut the case lid.

When I get home from work, there’s a box at my door. I know the handwriting and my heart leaps. The first item is a picture postcard. This fat, hairy guy in a Speedo at the beach, snarfing a hot dog. A voice bubble is drawn in: “Eat my wiener.”

I crack up. Classic Novak.

On the back, her note says: “Banana, I met someone. Her name’s Cate. She’s a lez and she’s into me. What’s her damage?”

She met someone already?

“Miss u, you crazy bitch. Come to CA. grlz, grlz, grlz. U’ll never go hungry here
. U R 4 Evah my BFF. I wanted to give you this for grad, but I didn’t get it done in time
.”

It’s wrapped in tissue. I lift out the bundle and open it carefully. Oh my God. It’s a jacket, all different colors, soft as cashmere. I put it on and feel Novak next to my skin. A pang of loneliness stabs at my heart.

Miss you, Novak
.

A quiet knock sounds on the open door. I turn and see Tessa.

“Oh wow. She finished it.” Tessa walks in and runs her hand down the sleeve of the jacket. She steps behind me. “She picked the hardest thing to knit, this Meg Swansen Round-the-Bend. When she said she was going to modify the pattern to make it a hoodie jacket, I thought she was insane.”

I twist and our eyes meet. “I wanted to say—”

“Johanna, I—”

“Tell Martin I have your IOU money, with interest, and I’ll have your insurance money to you by the end of the month.”

Tessa nods and smiles. “Thank you. May I?” She indicates the divan.

I slip off the jacket and fold it tenderly, feel the love Novak put into it.

“Johanna, I wanted to talk to you about your, um, revelation. Long before now. But I just didn’t know how. That’s not
true. Well, it’s sort of true.” What’s Tessa talking about? She pats the place next to her and I go sit. She says, “When I got your letter, honestly, I was shocked. I’ve always considered myself open-minded; I’ve had gay friends. But when it’s your own sister? When it hits so close to home?” She looks at me and I see the lost look in her eyes.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m ashamed of myself. I should’ve accepted it immediately and embraced it and been happy about you finding yourself and having the courage to come out.”

“Yeah. You should’ve.”

“You’ll laugh”—she shakes her head—”but I thought it was just a phase.”

I’m not laughing.

“I did write you back, but I didn’t know what to say. If I didn’t mention it, it’d seem like I was avoiding the subject. Which, I guess, I was. And I knew how important this was to you. I ripped up so many letters. I could never find the right words.”

I know how that feels. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about? You should be mad as hell. Here I am, your sister, your only family, and I’d already deserted you once. I know you needed me. And before, with Mom. I’m sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Her eyes pool. “I just want you to be happy, Johanna. It’s all I ever want for you.”

I tell her, just so she knows, “It’s not a phase.”

She lets out a short laugh and sniffles. “I got that.” She swipes her nose. “I love you no matter what. I want you to know I’ll always be here for you. From now on.”

Finally, at last, we hug. We rock each other for the longest
time and this huge sense of joyfulness infuses my whole entire being. I have my sister back.

Tessa says, “I want to ask you something. You can say no.” She leans away from me so she can look me in the eyes. “I want to sell the house and move back to Minnesota. I want to finish my master’s in social work and get certified there. And I want to try to have a baby.”

My heart soars. “Tessa, that’s great.”

She drops her head. “I don’t know. Martin’s settled here now.”

“He’ll do whatever you need to make you happy. You know that.”

“You’d come with us.” Tessa looks at me. “I wouldn’t go without you. You’ll love Martin’s family; they’re insane. The university’s right there and you could go to college, live with us, or in the dorm. There’s a large gay and lesbian population in Minneapolis.”

This tiny trickle of excitement burbles inside me.

“Think about it.” Tessa lifts a hank of my hair over my shoulder. “We’ll make a fresh start.” She holds my eyes. “Johanna, can you ever forgive me?”

I just hug her again. She hugs me right back. I feel this weight lift from my shoulders. Then Tessa says, “Why don’t you ever wear the watch?”

I let her go fast and push to my feet. “I lost it,” I lie. “I’m sorry.” I head for the kitchen.

“You lost it?”

“It was loose,” I say over my shoulder. “It fell off.”

Tessa sighs. “I should’ve taken it in to get it adjusted.”

That stops me in my tracks. “It’s not your fault, okay? It’s
mine. I let it happen. We’re both on these major guilt trips. We need to get off this stupid treadmill and move on.”

Tessa stands. “You’re right. We do. But that’s not the only reason I came up here.” She approaches from behind and touches my hand. She turns it palm up and sets something in it. A folded piece of notepaper.

“To be honest, Johanna, I’m against this. Every fiber of my being says I shouldn’t do it, I should keep you safe, but Mary-Dean insists this is something you need to do for yourself.”

What could it be? I unfold the paper and see it’s an address.

“She’s living there,” Tessa says. “At least, she was.”