Like You to Me

Going home didn’t feel right.

Two hours in a van packed with tension wasn’t anything new. For me, that was child’s play. I’d gone on cross-country trips in a van full of guys that wanted nothing more than to kill one another, so why was it that the drive from Pomona to San Diego was different from those? I kept telling myself it was my environment. No one in their right mind could honestly say it was healthy, not with all the fighting that’d taken place over the last few days. Between Anderson leaving the band and Mike’s new fling showing up at the show, I was left feeling hollow and bitter. Not having a legitimate reason to feel such things made it worse. It mostly just made me feel stupid.

“Can you put the window down?” I asked Luke, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the last row of the van. He turned around to look at me before nodding and obliging my request. He looked back once more but didn’t say anything, although the words were visibly on the tip of his tongue.

The breeze coming through the window did little to calm me down but it wasn’t for lack of effort. My face was still warm with a mixture of embarrassment and leftover tears and the air provided a blanket of fresh air. After a while it grew stale, though, and it did nothing but annoy me. I wrapped myself in my hoodie, hoping Luke would realize I was cold because I didn’t think I had the energy to speak. He didn’t, but it didn’t really matter once signs started popping up for San Diego on the highway. As much as I wanted to be out of the van, away from all the tension and prior scenes of humiliation, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go anywhere.

It was nearing four AM when the van pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. When I came to my senses, I realized I’d dozed off and that I was the only one left in the van. Well, except for Saxon, but he’d been driving. He killed the engine and helped me out, grabbing my bags for me while I dug through one of them for my keys.

“You think I could crash here tonight? I’m exhausted,” he asked as we made the trek to my door.

“Sure,” I shrugged. I was too tired and too apathetic to argue with him. He could’ve asked me to write him a check for all the money in my bank account and I would’ve done it without thinking twice. My mood swings were beginning to become unhealthy.

As I unlocked the door, I pushed Saxon in front of me just in case there was someone lurking about that wasn’t supposed to be. I could barely see him rolling his eyes before he flicked the light switch for the foyer. He set my bags down and made a mad dash for the kitchen, squealing like a little girl as he pulled out a pitcher of iced green tea I’d made before I left. I, on the other hand, grabbed my bags and made my way upstairs.

Most of the time I wanted nothing more than to let my bed encompass my body as soon as I got home from tour, but this time I treated it like a disease. Just knowing it contained memories of Mike and I was enough to push me away from it like the blankets had been infected with smallpox. I could hear my brother rummaging through the downstairs closet, most likely searching for a blanket and pillow to fix up the couch with, and I slid down the door behind me. As juvenile as it was, I was genuinely jealous of my brother in that moment. He’d all but just lost his job and his biggest problem was not having a blanket and pillow.

I guess it’d always been that way, though. Saxon handled situations differently than I did. He set aside personal time to sulk but it was rare that his typical, daily routine was ever effected. He always said it was because what he went through when our mom left scared him. He never wanted to act like that again, to be so depressed that he shut himself off from the rest of the world. “You never realize that the only things that can help you--your friends, your family, things that hold some sort of importance to you--are the exact things you’re shutting yourself off from. They’re out there in the world while you’re locked in a bedroom,” is what he’d said. He was right, though. He usually was about those kinds of things. He’d been there, walked the turf so many times he knew it like the back of his hand.

Saxon, more than anyone else I knew, knew exactly what it was like to be sad.

Cleaning had always been one thing that made me feel better, which would explain why my apartment was always spotless. Or, rather, more spotless than an average twenty-something’s apartment. The office was the same way. If there was even a single paperclip out of place I went on a cleaning rampage, never being satisfied until everything felt better. This was how I found the energy and strength to sort my clothes from my bags. The dirty articles wound up in a laundry bag to go downstairs and whatever was clean got put away in its proper place. It didn’t buy me enough time to slip into an alternate reality where everything was back to normal but it kept my mind at bay long enough for me to get some sleep, even if it was only for two hours.

Watching the sunrise in San Diego was supposed to be a romantic thing, even if you were only watching it by yourself. When you’re not only watching it by yourself but also in a terrible, terrible mood, it loses all appeal. I could see the multi-colored horizon from my spot on my bed. Familiar surroundings lessened my sour mood but there was still no hope for an aesthetically pleasing environment because I could hear the downstairs television blasting an infomercial about the Shake Weight.

I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of chocolate milk, I laughed at the sight of my brother. Even though I was a few feet away, I could see the drool stain on the pillow he borrowed. On top of that, his newly acquired snoring problem was nearly making my apartment shake.

Again I found myself envying Saxon’s lifestyle. While he hadn’t a care in the world, I struggled to keep my sanity for twenty-four hours. There were obvious flaws in my desire though. I didn’t want to be a struggling musician. I liked my comfortable income and I liked being able to provide for myself. Being in a band seemed like the world’s most glamorous job. I thought so too until I witnessed all the cons up close. Yet people still chose that life because it was truly what they loved to do. It was their dream. I’d never decided exactly what mine was. Fashion design and business wasn’t what I had in mind as a young girl but it paid the bills. At twenty-three that was all I could ask for.

My phone vibrated from the front pocket of my sweatshirt, startling me. I’d completely forgotten it was in there. I dug it out and scrolled through my text messages, stopping at the only new one I had.

I’m sorry was all it said. I knew immediately who it was from and why they’d sent it.

It wasn’t exactly a conversation I wanted to have through text messages. After all the running away I did and all the avoidance he did, it was something we needed to do face-to-face. We both knew that, I think. We only lived a few minutes from one another, making our lack of in-person communication seem weird.

Can you meet me at the beach in 20 minutes? I typed back and a smile appeared on my face once he sent back his agreement. I quickly scribbled a note for my brother and stuck it on the refrigerator. The only similarity I ever found between us was our morning routine. Something to eat and/or drink was always first on the list. No exceptions.

I slipped my feet into the closest pair of flip-flops. They’d be discarded as soon as I was able to dig my feet into the cold sand. Being away from the beach for long periods of time always bothered me. I’d never known any other setting, which was why the thought of my mother moving to the deserts of Arizona baffled me.

Mike always knew exactly where to meet me. When I was sad and needed somewhere to go, it was always the beach. I’d been going to the same spot since I moved into my apartment. The large boulder was always a dead giveaway. Over the last few years it kind of became my “safe place.” Mike always knew where to find me.

Watching the sunrise from the beach was different than watching it from my bed. It was more peaceful, more calming. Some guy who hated his life enough to make everyone else’s miserable wasn’t trying to bribe me into buying a product I’d never use. My brother wasn’t snoring. Nothing, except for the fucked up thoughts in my head, was wrong.

“It’s nice when there’s no one here, huh?”

I looked upwards and to my right, smiling softly as Mike’s giant frame casted a shadow over me. Nodding, I patted the ground next to me. When he sat down, the familiar aroma of cigarette smoke and his cologne filled the air, blocking the smell of salt.

“What were you doing up?” I asked, careful to not tread into any unchartered waters too soon. This was a conversation that’d require time and care.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied with a shrug. “What about you?”

“I slept for about two hours.”

He nodded, but he didn’t say much after that. I wasn’t sure what there was to say. A text message apology wasn’t enough for me to drop everything that’d happened but I wasn’t banking on him offering one again. There was so much I wanted to say, wanted to know, but I, too, kept my mouth shut. Ruining this conversation was bound to have permanent consequences. We were both tired of the same routine of making up and sending everything back to hell. We were exhausted.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Mike took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking my time to answer him as if it was going to matter. I needed to tell the truth, I needed this to be over. I needed the pain to go away and I needed him to know. Everything. “I was scared, Mike.”

“Scared of what?”

“You. Being rejected. Pushing you away.”

“You should know I wouldn’t have done any of those things.”

I shook my head. “But I do know you, Mike. I’ve seen you with other girls. I’ve seen you never talk to them again after you have sex with them.” I stopped to catch my breath. “Do you know how scared I was that I’d end up being one of those girls?”

He laughed quietly, throwing me off guard. “You’re not like those girls, Shea. I care about you way too much to do that to you, do you understand? You’re not disposable. Not to me.”

I started crying then, because he always knew what to say and when to say it. It was like he was in my head all the time. Or maybe that’s what happens when two people are so in sync with one another that not one emotion or feeling goes under the radar.

He used his thumbs to wipe the tears away. When he was finished, he cupped my cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’d never leave you like she did.”