Hesitating and Suffocating

Cally stood in the mirror of Garrett’s bathroom, tempted to enter the kitchen where a band she knew and loved, The Killers, were playing on their Pandora as the boys cooked her breakfast. She stared at a picture Gemma had given her where she stood with John. She noticed the way her arm was linked around his waist and his around her shoulders. Gemma, the photographer, had caught her mid-laugh and John in mid chuckle, and Cally wanted to cry as she stared at John’s face.

It wasn’t because he was so handsome, or because his face was so innocent and kind looking. It was the way he looked at the Cally in the picture. She, more than anything else, missed knowing that someone looked at her like that. Everyone she had seen lately had looked at her with pity. It was another reason she couldn’t see John again. This was the only way she wanted to know him.

She then snapped her head up to look at her reflection in the mirror, still foggy from her shower. Her eyes were dark and clouded than picture Cally, and she chewed her lip. She had started wearing makeup again, less than she ever had. She liked her hair black, and she liked how her skin was starting to tan the way her old skin never did. She was starting to wonder if she even wanted to remember this Cally who had it all. She never liked girls like that.

A soft knock brought her from her self-loathing, and Pat’s calm voice came through the door. “Cally? I know you’re in there. Can I come in?” Cally said nothing, her hands white from gripping the sink as Pat gently came into the small bathroom, taking a seat on the floor next to the porcelain sink. “Hey sweetie. You okay?”

Cally nodded, not convincing. “Yeah. Fine.” She unraveled the towel from her hair and began to beat the water out of it, looking blacker than death wet. Pat raised his brows, not saying a word, and it all felt so familiar to Cally but she couldn’t place it and that was what frustrated her. Everything felt right and in its right place but she couldn’t figure out why or place it and sometimes it made her angrier than anything else. “I’m just thinking.”

Pat looked at the picture on the floor, and gave a small chuckle. “I remember this picture,” Pat said, and Cally sat beside him, her hair tied back in a braid down her back as she leaned her head on his shoulder, tears beginning to form as he began to tell the story. “John came home from England, having just dropped you off, and I thought his lips were going to fall off from all that smiling he was doing. And he pulled up this picture of his phone, showing us how beautiful you were, how perfect you were, and gosh, Cally, how much we all loved and missed you.” Pat looked at Cally, whose tears were falling faster than rain. “It’s not supposed to make you cry, love,” He whispered, brushing her tears away.

“I know,” She whispered, tucking her knees up to her chest. “I just wish I could remember you. Because it’s hard not knowing our history, not knowing what was and what wasn’t and where we stood before I got hurt,” She whispered.

Pat smiled. “Before you got hurt? I’d like to think we were the best of friends. We used to hang out at the bar you worked all the time, and we’d laugh and I’d get drunk and you’d make John drive me home.” He gently touched her nose. “And I’d like to think nothing’s changed.”

“But it has, Pat. Everything has changed,” Cally said, leaning her head against the dirty white tile and staring at the ceiling, giving herself a headache from all the thinking she’s been doing.

“Some things have,” He said, like he was afraid to. “But others ... they’re right where you left them,” He said gently.

And Cally knew exactly what he was talking about.

Garrett tucked the blanket around Cally’s sleeping form, tucking her hair behind her ear before sneaking back into the kitchen, where The Maine, minus John Oh, were gathered.

“What are we going to do about the tour we have coming up to the west coast?” Kennedy said in a hushed whisper, the words everyone was thinking. “We can’t leave her here to her own devices and we can’t exactly bring her on tour with us,” He said, and he had a valid point.

Jared shook his head. “John has a new girlfriend,” He pointed out. “Her name’s Jamie. Total bitch, and the opposite of Cally. He drinks a lot but he promised me he’d shape up for tour and he never breaks a promise-”

“But with Cally there, isn’t that a tad bit stressful?” Pat said, leaning against their worn fridge, covered in various pictures from tours and parties and other events. Garrett nodded thoughtfully, like he was cooking up a plan.

“What if we let John bring Jamie? Then he can’t openly question Cally, or privately either, if one of us is always with her. And you know he hates explaining past relationships, especially serious ones.” Garrett chewed his lip. “And we’d have to bring Cally, obviously. Besides, maybe it will jog her memory, bring her back-”

“Do you really, truly, believe that, Garrett?” Jared said quietly, voicing something they all had been wondering. “Do you honestly think one day she’s going to wake up and remember all the good times you had? Garrett, she got hit with a semi. She’s lucky to be alive, and it would be a miracle if she got her memory back. We have to be realistic here.”

Kennedy nodded gravely, and so did Pat, though slowly. Garrett was adamant. “I believe that someday, she’s going to remember us and remember how much we all loved and cared about her, even if we’re no longer here to witness it.”