Pieces of a Life

Leila had never given much thought to the rest of her life. She would dance until she thought it was a good time to retire, marry some respectable young man with a chiseled jaw and a yacht, and live in a big house in Connecticut with beautiful children who looked fabulous in J. Crew sweaters. To her, that wasn’t giving her life much thought. For a girl like her that was a future that made sense. Her engagement ring would be from Tiffany’s, just like her mother’s had been, and she’d have two sons and a daughter. They’d take European vacations and her husband would be a future Senator or a choreographer who would write entire ballets for her. Their Christmas cards would be them all wearing matching sweaters on a snowy landscape with perfect smiles. This, to Leila, was not giving her life much thought. It just made sense.

But now she was in a hospital bed with a broken ankle that would never heal back to its full health, a career in the garbage, and a future as bleak as the paper thin gown shrouding her body. A future Senator did not seem likely, and certainly not a choreographer who would create beautiful work for her. All she could see was a tour giving speeches at schools telling kids to plan for the future because you never know what might happen. One day you think you’ll get the Tiffany engagement ring and a yacht, and the next day you have to wear a giant Velcro boot and they’re telling you the one thing you love the most is gone from your life forever. Leila glared down at her foot. She wasn’t wearing that fucking boot.

Evelyn had made herself at home in Leila’s hospital room, coming bursting through the door the second she was allowed with her arms full of magazines and sketchbooks, fabric swatches and various pencils spilling out. Her hair was gathered in a giant clump on top of her head, the 1980’s grandma glasses she insisted on wearing were perched on her nose, and she was ready to move in for as long as she had to. When Leila looked at her now she was frowning into a vintage copy of Vogue, circling things on pages and glancing over to her sketchbook. An energy drink was beside the leg of her chair and Leila sneered at it.

“Those things will give you heart disease,” She complained in a snobby voice. Evelyn looked up at her blankly.

“Leila,” She said calmly. “Shut the fuck up.”

Leila scowled and looked down at her foot again. That giant boot had to go. She didn’t care what it was doing, because they’d already told her that her ankle wouldn’t fully heal. As soon as they let her out, that thing was coming off. Before she could speak anymore grouchy-ness at Evelyn there was a timid knock at her door, and it peeked open. Alex poked his face in.

“I’ll let you two have some time,” Evelyn said airily, gathering her piles of things and breezing quickly out the door before Leila could say anything.

Alex gently closed the door behind him and stood there, looking uncertainly at Leila. All she knew how to do anymore was frown. He knew it was terrible; her life was full of awful events and he felt so sorry for her, but a small part of him that he pretended not to notice was sickly grateful. He’d never admit to it, but there was a sick satisfaction to Leila’s more than unfortunate circumstance. She wanted to know what decision to make, and there it was. She never should have left, and now she couldn’t leave. She’d see what else she could do with her life. And she’d stay here. But, he did feel awful for thinking that way. Leila was miserable, really, truly, miserable—more than she’d even been. Her life was practically over.

“How’re you doing?” He asked quietly, sitting in a chair in a swift movement. Leila shifted in her bed and scowled.

“Peachy,” She seethed. “Just peaches and cream, Alex.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against his fingertips, raising his eyebrows at her. “Lei, I know you’re miserable. Trust me, I know, because I’ve known you your whole life. But I want you to consider something,” Leila’s face turned into a violent storm at those words, eyes glowing furious blue and her mouth threatening vulgarities. “Just listen, alright?”

Leila’s mouth tensed but she was quiet. Alex sighed again, unsure of how to word anything he was about to say. He just wanted Leila to know she could be happy again. “You…you’ve got a lot left in your life, babe. I know it sucks and you’re pissed off at the world and want to scream and cry and crawl into bed for like five years. And you’re entitled to that. But I want you to realize you’ve got so much more in your life. You’ve got Evelyn, you—you’ve got me,” He flickered his gaze up to her and she had softened now, enough to listen and look sad rather than angry.

“Listen, Lei,” He leaned to take her hand and her eyebrows twitched in an unsure frown, but she let him hold it anyway. “You’re pretty much the most important person in my life and I don’t want to lose you in any way, whether that means you leaving or just closing yourself off. I—” He laughed nervously and shrugged, looking at her. “Shit, Leila, I love you.” Leila shrank back, staring at him with wide eyes. “I just want you to know you can be happy again, Lei. It’s important to me that you’re happy again.”

Leila breathed loudly, still staring at him and resting her limp hand enclosed in his. Her frown returned slowly. “Alex, you—you’re arguing a lost cause,” She whispered, hand twitching between his. “My life is over, and you’re asking me to be happy about it.” Leila shook her head slowly and pulled her hand out of his.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alex replied knowingly. “Leila, I know it sucks, okay? I do. I saw it happen, and I know what it meant to you. But your life isn’t over. Maybe one life is and now you can start another. You can—you can stay, you can come on tour with me, you can model Evelyn’s clothes, shit, you could do anything you wanted!”

It was very quickly that Leila’s mind clicked everything together. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “This—you think this is about you!” She hissed. “This has nothing to do with you! You think—”

“Of course it has to do with me! Because it has to do with you, Leila, and you’re really fucking important to me, in case I haven’t made that clear enough for you.” They were yelling now. They were always yelling anymore. “I don’t want to lose you, and you’re already planning how you’re going to give it all up, I can see it happening.”

All Leila could see in her head was tasteful Christmas cards with her future Senator husband. A gorgeous Connecticut home and European vacations, martinis on their yacht and private tennis lessons for her private-schooled children. And with Alex there would be months and months out of the year where he’d be gone. There would be lonely nights where she’d have to wait by the phone just to hear his voice, or if she didn’t want to be alone, she’d be subjected to a small and smelly tour bus and months on the road surrounded by immature boys who thought they were rock stars. But somehow that seemed far less lonely than the life she’d counted on. She just couldn’t bring herself to give it up.

“You’re always getting in the way of your own happiness, goddamn it,” Alex shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

He left before Leila could say anything else.



Evelyn and Alex were stuck sitting in the waiting room, waiting for Leila to be checked by the doctors before she could leave. Evelyn’s pile of things sat untouched in front of her and Alex sat beside her, frowning ever since he’d stood up and left Leila’s room. Evelyn blinked thoughtfully and looked at him.

“You never do things the right way with her.” She said. Alex frowned more.

“Cool, Evelyn,” He snapped in reply, flinging his hands up in annoyance. Evelyn rolled her eyes behind the large frames of her glasses.

“You know what I mean, you twat,” She looked at him condescendingly, which only irritated Alex more. “You know Leila better than anyone, except maybe me. Yet you always amaze me with how stupidly you speak to her.”

“Oh my god, Evelyn, can you shut up?” Alex groaned, closing his eyes. “I don’t even—whatever.”

“Oh my god, Alex, can you shut up?” She countered with a pointed glare. “Stop thinking about yourself for a second, even though I know it’s all about Leila. You’re doing everything wrong. You’re not seventeen anymore, alright? Think about it. You love her. So prove it. You’re not going to get to her with words.” Alex was still looking at Evelyn with the annoyance of a pestered cat. “Leila doesn’t listen, you and me and everybody else know that. I don’t want to have to spell it out for you, sunshine, so use your brain. You need to use a different approach here if you expect anything to change.”

Another thing Alex would never admit out loud was that Evelyn had a point. Leila was always in her own way, and you had to show her things differently if you expected her to stop blinding herself. And maybe it wasn’t what Evelyn had been insinuating, but when the gears started turning he came to one decision. If he loved her and didn’t want to lose her, he had to show her. If he wanted her to be happy, he’d have to help that happen.

“Okay,” He said, standing up. Evelyn stared at him, suddenly confused. “Yeah, Evelyn, alright.” She was a little afraid of whatever idea she’d put in his head, but he was leaving now and she had no idea what he was about to do. Alex left, mind made up, determined to prove something. And Evelyn sat to wait, confused, until Leila was finally dismissed.

When Leila was allowed out she was in Evelyn’s clothes—a tiny white t-shirt and sweatpants that bagged over the giant boot she had to wear—and her face was permanently set in a frown. It was a sad, Renaissance statue kind of frown. Artistic misery. Evelyn gathered her things and stood up, trying to smile for Leila’s benefit. Leila kept pouting and looked around, and Evelyn knew the question that was coming next. “Where’s Alex?”

She shrugged lazily, swinging her keys in her hand while Leila limped pathetically beside her. “No clue,” She replied honestly. He had been acting weird. But nothing else was new, honestly. Leila gave a dramatic sigh and flinched while she dragged her heavy boot along.

Alex knew it was stupid, he knew it was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever do, but once the idea sprouted in his head he couldn’t get it to go away. Maybe it would be the stupidest thing he’d ever do, but it’d be even stupider to be a little mouse like Leila and scurry away when something was unsure and scary, then think back later and wonder what if I had…? So he sat in his car in the parking lot, repeating to himself over and over that he was an incredibly stupid person, but maybe he was a special kind of stupid and this would work. Maybe Leila was stupid, too, in the same way that he was. He was stupid when it came to her. He was weak when it came to her. Hopefully, he thought as he looked at the bag in the passenger seat, she was the same way. He was a little bit sure—not entirely sure, but a little bit—and he counted on that to work in his favor. Maybe the idea had been there all along, but Evelyn pulled it out of the cracks. He loved her, and whether or not she spoke it aloud he knew she loved him. And things were very, very different. So maybe it was time for a little bit of stupid. Maybe this little bit of stupid would save them both. God, he hoped it would.

This wasn’t a small task. It wasn’t little at all. It was huge, it was the rest of her life he was playing with. But the rest of her life was important to him, and he didn’t trust her with the rest of her own life. He loved her. He’d tell her a million times if it’d make her understand but of course it wouldn’t. So he had to show her, had to prove it. And he had to get her to come past her own stubbornness. She had so much left in her life, but she was stuck on what made her unhappy. If he made her happy—and he knew he did—he’d go to hell and back to make sure she stayed that way. It was reckless, unplanned, messy, and dangerous. Opposite of everything about Leila. But that was what she needed. Maybe that was what would make it work.

Evelyn hadn’t wanted to leave Leila alone, because she knew all she would do was mope and be miserable. Of course she was in pain, in the physical sense and also the emotional and mental sense, but Evelyn just wanted to help her feel better. She needed to smile. It wasn’t healthy to frown this much. If she expected to get better, she seemed to be needing some help. But what Evelyn didn’t know was that Leila had no intentions or expectations of getting better. So Evelyn left, and Leila ripped the Velcro buckles of her boot off, and pulled her foot out. She muttered curses through her teeth because Christ did it hurt, but she wasn’t going to swallow her pride and keep that fucking boot on. She took the boot off and pulled Evelyn’s sweatpants off to throw them across her room, and limped like a zombie to her closet to put on a pretty camel colored skirt so she could drink like a lady on her back deck.

Leila knew from classes at school that she had a flaw that was noted in all sorts of tragic historic characters. Hubris—extreme overbearing pride to the point of fault. She was a proud person. She knew that. And she wasn’t going to let go now; this little inconvenience wasn’t going to stop her from looking fabulous and mixing herself a Cosmopolitan to lounge on the deck. She would keep going, she would soldier on, and she’d be as fabulous as ever. This girl had just broken her ankle and seen her future disappear in front of her eyes, and she turned up her nose and put on a nice skirt, pulled her hair half up in big curls, and mixed a drink. She was certainly proud to the point of fault. But she couldn’t be brought to give a shit.

Alex parked in her driveway, and Leila heard the car pull in but didn’t get up. It would be useless, anyway; if she were in a race against a rock, an abandoned car, and a corpse, she’d lose. She just sipped her drink and thought flatly that she had the makings of a future alcoholic, and that was terribly upsetting. When Alex sheepishly wandered out the glass door, his guitar in tow, she hardly even looked at him.

“Drowning your sorrows?” He joked lightly, sitting across from her and resting his instrument in his lap. Leila scoffed and pursed her lips in reply. “How tragic of you.” He mumbled.

His mind was racing, but he told himself to stick to the fragile and hardly thought out plan. At least it was something. Leila kept sighing heavily, sipping her drink and looking forlornly out into the distance. He took his time to talk himself up, hands shaking just a little bit, because as much as he’d performed in his life this was nothing close to being on stage. It was painfully personal, and it was Leila. She was a tough one, and this was a tender subject.

“I know you don’t want me to say anything, but please just listen,” He tried, looking at her pleadingly. Leila humored him with a skeptical look. “I—I was thinking, I didn’t think about it much because that’s the beauty of it all, but this is all I’ve got.” Leila frowned. He was making zero sense. “Alright, Leila. I love you. But that’s just a phrase to you and I think that you think it has no meaning. You’re not a person who’s good with words because you’re all about passion and beauty and expression and—and inner fire and whatever,” His voice was shaking but he was thinking you can do this, you can do this and he kept going. “So I’m trying to do this in a way you can understand, because I just want you to see how I feel, and maybe then you’ll realize what you mean to me. Because I would live through a million of these shit days before I go through another without you.”

Leila could’ve melted right there, but when he breathed out a nervous breath and hovered over his guitar she got nervous too. What was he doing? As soon as his fingers began to pluck the strings she recognized the song and she could’ve keeled over dead at any given second. Was this real life? Was he really doing this? His voice was scared but perfect, and she knew he meant the words he sang although they weren’t his own. She still couldn’t believe it. She felt like an asshole, sitting outside her presumptuous house with a condescending stare and a martini glass in her hand, while Alex was sitting there baring his soul to her, trying to make her understand that he loved her—and she still had trouble with that concept, despite his current actions. It was a little cheesy, but it was also beautiful, and in her opinion Alex should record that song so she could listen to it every day if she wanted to. She felt like Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You, and Alex was Heath Ledger serenading her with Jason Mraz. He had to know she loved that song. It was perfect to a girl like her, because that was what she needed: she needed someone to tell her that no matter what she was going through, they weren’t going to declare her a lost cause and give up the way she did with so many things. She was proud and weak, stubborn and reckless and flawed in some of the worst kind of ways. But she needed someone not to give up on her when she wanted to give up on everything. She almost cried, but she scolded herself out of it. She cried too much.

His hands were still shaking when he finished, even though he felt a little more assured now that he had gotten that over with. Her face looked like a mother seeing her baby for the first time, and that was a good sign. He thought he noticed a little glisten of tears in her eyes, but she was doing a good job controlling them from falling. Still, though, he was nervous. This was such a stupid idea. But it had to work.

“Leila, I—” He paused to try and slow his heart rate. He had to get this right. She looked at him with that angelic glow on her face, waiting for whatever he had to say, and he put his guitar aside. God damn, this was hard. He ran his hands over his face and leaned forward in his chair to hold her hand with one of his shaking ones. “Leila Abigail Willows, you are without a doubt the most infuriating person I know,” She smiled and crinkled her nose. “You hate having to solve hard problems, and hate it even more when someone else tries to do it for you. You stand in your own way and you tend to pout and sulk, and you can be a spoiled brat, honestly,” Leila rolled her eyes but knew it was all true. “But I really do love you, and I want you to understand that. And I—I…I want to know, Leila, if…if you’d let me spend the rest of my life with you.”

Well, there it was. He said it. His heart was pounding because this wasn’t something you come back from, you can’t say “Just kidding!” and call Ashton Kutcher to come out of the bushes and tell her “Kidding, Leila! You’ve been Punk’d!”

Leila stared at him more terrified than he’d ever seen her. “Wh—what?” She squeaked.

If you love her, you have to prove it, he thought. You have to prove it. And even though he couldn’t get her father’s permission or anything, he had to do it the way her parents would’ve liked. And her mother wouldn’t have settled for anything less than the vision of perfection in the turquoise box he held in his miraculously steady hand.

Leila’s hand flew to her mouth and she just stared at the ring he’d presented her. She felt lightheaded. Alex mumbled, “Oh, uh, I guess I should get down on one knee, right?” like the goober he was and ungracefully knelt down and held her left hand, waiting with the Tiffany’s box popped open in his other hand. It was perfect, all of it. That ring was a gift from the gods, surely, and the little child princess in her wanted to squeal and slip it on her finger. But that wasn’t an accessory. That was a promise. That box held the rest of her life in a question. And she was not at all prepared for that.

“Alex,” She breathed, raising her watery eyes to look at him and praying she couldn’t see his heart break. “Alex, I—” It would’ve been a lie to say I can’t because she very well could’ve. She loved him, she knew she did, she knew it more than she knew anything else in her life. But this was not right at all.

“You don’t have to answer now,” He said quickly, wobbling down there on his knee. “You can think about it, you don’t have to tell me right now.” He knew it’d scare her, but he couldn’t bear to hear her say I can’t do it. He’d rather her say nothing than say no. He closed the blue box and placed it in her hand, taking her fingers and folding them around it and patting on top of her hands reassuringly.

She knew he was being too generous. She couldn’t tell him no, because that was simply not a thought that crossed her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, or that she couldn’t. She knew she was scared. She knew he was being too generous. Because she also knew she couldn’t give him an answer. She loved him. But she couldn’t give him an answer.