The Anarchist's Heart

I sat in my car across the street with the window down, watching two men pound a FOR SALE sign in what was once my front yard. The empty windows of what I thought was my dream house seemed to stare back at me, as if the house itself was asking why I was leaving it behind.

“You’re way too haunted for me now,” I muttered under my breath. I guess I don’t know who I was trying to fool; Charming itself was haunted to me. I was just a haunted person, I guess. I let things get to me too easily and they never left me alone. I felt a tiny ache in my chest over the fact that I had to let my issues infest my home. I kept telling myself it was a normal thing; lots of people moved after someone they lived with passed away. But I still felt bad. The house had been so nice and I’d only just made it perfectly liveable and then it all got torn out of my hands.

As they finished the sign and walked away, I cast one last look at the house, sighed, and drove away.

Taking all of my belongings—and some of Alex’s—out of the house had been a painful chore. I felt like I’d only just done that exact same thing not too long ago, when Alex and I were moving back to Charming. I threw a lot of things out this time, though. Most of it encapsulated my relationship with Alex, and I just didn’t see a point in holding on to a lot of those memories anymore. He was gone and by holding onto all of his things I felt like I’d never truly be able to let him go. The thought had scared me, so a majority of his things went into a bag destined for thrift stores and charity, and if they were too important to fit into one of those categories, I figured I’d bring them back to his family at some point.

A lot of my stuff went into a storage container downtown. Some of it went to Jax’s, but I told myself it was only going there temporarily. I was going to find somewhere else to live, like an apartment or a crappy little one-bedroom house to rent. I refused to stay at Jax’s place, even though he kept telling me it was perfectly fine. But I knew why he was telling me it was perfectly fine, and I wasn’t sure I agreed with his reasoning. If I stayed, he’d have me whenever he wanted me. It was just what he wanted, and maybe what a part of me wanted too, but I still didn’t feel like it was right. I fell asleep next to him every night because he refused to let me sleep on the couch, and every night a part of me just felt detached from the whole scenario. I felt it when he’d roll over and put his arm around me, but I only barely felt it. I knew he was touching me, but I didn’t feel any warmth or comfort from it. I felt nothing, truly. That’s not to say I had no feelings for Jax, it just means I was so fucked up in my head that I couldn’t even feel emotions or touch properly anymore. Every night I wondered what it was going to take for me to feel like I used to. It kind of scared me, to be honest, because I had no clue what could restore me anymore.

The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was only me holding me back. I’d reverted back inside my shell and I was refusing to come back out for anyone. I felt like being with Jax was a terrible thing to do after losing Alex, even though months had gone by. The more guilty I felt about Jax the more distant I became. That was the huge problem: I felt something for Jax everyday—he was the first boy I’d ever loved; my first everything, and I couldn’t ignore that. So the guilt was never-ending, making me feel like I was on a continuous spiral downwards. I tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling that way, like everything was normal, but it was hard to cover up. I guess I was mentally lost and scared for my life. I just wanted to let go and feel whatever I was going to feel but no matter how hard I tried, the same sinking feeling filled me up and brought me down. I felt like I was being tormented.

It was a nice day out today, though, something worth appreciating. It was a balmy sort of heat wave, the kind you like to go out into for a little bit, just to warm your skin, but then you go back inside, grateful for fans, iced tea and air conditioning. I saw a group of little girls, maybe five or six years old, in their little bathing suits running back and forth through a sprinkler their parents had set up on the front lawn. They were all smiling and laughing and screaming as the water hit their little legs, so enveloped in how much fun they were having. I hadn’t had fun in a long time. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even truly laughed in a long time.

I drove the streets for awhile, not wanting to go back to Jax’s right away. Charming held so many memories for me, both good and bad. I eyed the park I used to walk through on my way to and from school, reminiscing on the time I scraped my knees and arms all up trying to play basketball. Mom had gone white as a sheet when I came home after that; she was terrified of blood. But, looking nauseous, she had patched me up anyway, telling me to not play with “those boys” anymore because they were too rough. I tried to tell her it was my fault, which it was, but she was having none of it. Little did she know, Jax had been one of “those boys.” She never did like him though, so maybe that’s why she said it.

I drove past my old dance school, where I learned tap dance until my feet were nothing but blisters from the poor shoes they gave us. I tried ballet too, but I sprained my ankle in the second month of practice and had to quit. “You have weak ankles,” the dance instructor told me. “Not a good fit for ballet.” I can still hear her Russian accent if I focus hard enough. She’d been stern and particular, but damn she could dance.

I even drove past my old house where I’d grown up. The white wire fence was still surrounding the wide yard, although it looked like my father had been the last one to paint it. The pristine white coating my father had yearned to maintain was reduced to nothing but flakes. The house also looked the same, at least on the outside. The siding was white and it had black shutters on all the windows. Rose bushes surrounded the foundation and the lawn had been freshly cut. A part of me yearned to park my car in the gravel driveway and follow the sidewalk to the door, walk inside, climb the narrow steps and retreat to my bedroom, third door on the left. But as much as I wanted to do that, I knew it wasn’t my house anymore, just like the nice one I’d put up for sale wasn’t my house anymore. It felt like I didn’t have a house. I had Jax’s, but even that wasn’t mine anymore.

I finally figured it was time to give in and stop denying the inevitable. I parked my car in Jax’s driveway, fumbled for the house key in my pocket, and sleepily pushed my way through the front door.

The house smelled the same; familiar. It was certainly a manly scent—there were no Glade air fresheners squirting out a fine mist of “fresh laundry” anywhere in the house. It’s harder than you think to define a smell you’ve become so used to. I suppose the faded smells of morning coffee, old books, and cigarette smoke had grown on me rather quickly. They just smelled natural to me; nice. I welcomed their embrace, especially on that day because it was damn hot out. That was the real reason I’d finally given up and stopped driving around: my car’s air conditioning was a bit touchy, and if I put it any higher than three notches it made this awful scratchy sound that I couldn’t stand. I knew I needed to take it in and get it fixed, but I’d been postponing it knowing the only place I could take it to in town was a place where I was hated more than anyone else. If avoiding Teller-Morrow and its namesakes meant having to deal with less AC than I’d like and an awful noise, then so be it. I’d put up with it if it meant I got to keep my head.

I set my purse and keys on a little side-table and plopped down on the couch with a sigh. I’d finished all my marking and planning early in the morning, since I’d woken up at 5:30 and failed to fall back asleep. Now I was done work, I had nothing to do, and I was all alone in Jax’s place. Well, I wasn’t entirely alone. Felix mewed and jumped up beside me on the couch, nuzzling into my side. I gave him a good, lengthy petting session and had him purring in no time. He had a funny purr. It was loud but kind of squeaky, and I loved it. I love when cats have funny meows or purrs. It’s endearing.

I looked around the living room, at the large fireplace and tacky brick mantle, the aged carpet, and the walls. I remembered when Jax and I had first walked into this house with a realtor. We were young, timid, but so incredibly excited and in love. We were tired of putting up with one another’s parents and living separately. Getting a house together—actually buying one—was a huge step for us, but we had felt so ready. Walking into the house together I remember the realtor saying “It’s a bit of an older place. Hasn’t been renovated since the 1970’s,” but we didn’t care. We loved it. It was a perfect fit for us. Sure, money was going to be tight for awhile trying to pay for it, but we’d done some calculations and figured if Jax got five more hours in a week at TM and if I got the raise promised to me at my waitress job plus tips, we’d be able to make it work. It was the kind of shaky plan you’d expect from a couple of young adults working shit jobs and being completely delirious with love for one another. But what with us being those young adults, we didn’t see it that way. We saw it as the first step in building our future. Hell, we’d even stood in the second bedroom that we used mainly for storage and talked about making it a nursery for our first baby. We were that serious about one another.

I chewed on my lip as I reminisced and looked about the room. No doubt it could do with a good cleaning; the whole house could. So I figured, to occupy my time, that’s what I’d do. I didn’t mind cleaning anyway. It let me do my thinking while I got stuff done, and if I was lucky enough to be alone while I was doing it I could openly talk to myself about how astonished I was to be working up a sweat just from mopping floors.

It went smoothly for a good while. I vacuumed and mopped the floors, changed the bed sheets and washed the dirty ones along with a load of dirty clothes, wiped down the kitchen, shook out the welcome mats and opened some windows to let fresh air through the house. The way the windows squeaked and protested when I forced them open led me to believe they hadn’t been opened in quite some time. It didn’t surprise me; Jax never even opened the curtains.

I was just getting to dusting in the main bedroom when my duster bumped up awkwardly against a dark wooden box atop the dresser, far back in the corner. It made a funny sort of noise when I bumped it. Normally I’d ignore it and move on, but for some reason that little wooden box made me stop. I stared it down for awhile, thinking. It wasn’t mine. If I looked inside it, that’d be snooping, and I hated snoopers. I tried to ignore it, push it out of my mind, dust some other things, but I didn’t get very far. My eyes kept trailing back to that box. There was something strangely familiar about it, but I couldn’t remember what. My eyes darted back and forth in the room, even though I knew I was the only one in the house. I set my duster down and picked the box up as gently and quietly as I could, already apologizing to the great unknown for my horrible act of nosiness.

The box felt heavy in my hands and for awhile I just held it there, staring at it, like I’d be able to figure out its mysterious allure that way.

The box felt heavy in my lap as I sat down to examine it. I thrummed my fingers against its top, nervous. What if he came home out of the blue, saw me going through his things? What if it was some club secrets stashed away in that box, or drugs or weapons or dirty money? I was scared I might find something out about Jax that I really wouldn’t like? I was already so freaked out that I worried anything else may push me over the edge. I needed a saving grace, something to make me want to stay, and I had no idea if that’s what I was going to find in the box or not. Still, something had pulled me to it, some old familiarity I couldn’t place. I had to look. I had to. And if it was bad, if whatever was right on top was bad, I’d shut the lid, put it back, and act like I’d never seen it. I could not risk diving into more club business, on purpose or by accident.

I settled myself on the edge of the bed, chewing on my lip till it hurt a bit. I took a deep breath and held it in while I pulled the lid off the box. The contents nearly spilled out as soon as the lid was off, the thing was packed so full. My hand came down on it fast, holding everything in place at least for the moment. My eyes widened and that breath I’d been holding came out in a gasp when I recognized everything I was touching. Slowly I took my hand off it and everything that had been on top spilled out onto my lap or the bed. I was too in shock to mind it. My fingers grasped a worn charm bracelet, sterling silver, with an assortment of little charms hanging off of it; there was a palm tree, a cat, a dog, a seashell, a mermaid, a tiny sun and crescent moon, a tiger’s eye stone, and a little ‘E.’ The charms made a soft tinkling noise when they bumped one another. I used to wear that thing at every special occasion I attended. This included school dances, weddings, benefits, the fair, and funerals. I’d given it to Jax before he’d gone up north with his dad and the Sons for the first time ever on his own motorcycle. He used to poke fun at my charm bracelet when I’d wear it out; he’d say the only good thing about it was if he lost me, all he had to do was listen for the clinking of the charms around my wrist because I used my hands to talk sometimes. Every time he got on my case about that bracelet though, I reminded him I wore it because my daddy had gotten it special for me and it made me feel like myself when I had to be all painted up and pretty—which I was typically not. When I gave it to him before his trip, he’d seemed confused by it. I told him that it made me feel like me, it made me feel safe and comfortable in strange situations, and that I wanted him to take it with him so if he ever felt uncomfortable or uncertain, he’d have a piece of me to keep him safe. It was corny as hell, looking back on it, but I couldn’t believe he’d kept it.

Next was a token from the fair, dated 1995. I remembered that, too. We’d snuck off to go on the Ferris wheel at night, to get a better look at the sky. But really all we’d done was sit in that squeaky, teetering chair and kiss each other like we were going to die the next day. We were kids. It was the most exciting and scandalous thing we’d done. We didn’t even take one peek at the sky, not even when we were right at the very top.

After that came dozens of pictures, which likely were the spring that caused the spilling-out catastrophe, seeing as they were all squished in there. There were pictures of Jax and his dad, he and his brother Thomas at the beach, him and Gemma...I started to chew my lip again, even though it was already tender and a little swollen on the inside. Then I found picture after picture of Jax and I. Us as kids, us as teenagers...I never knew there were so many pictures of us together. I found lots of us hanging out at TM, even one of us and Gemma, all smiling, believe it or not. I found one picture that had been taken in the summertime after I’d just finished high school. Jax hadn’t finished with me. He’d been sad about it, and I know he regretted it for a number of years, even if he’d never say it aloud. But there we were anyway, candidly dancing (if you could call it that—we were just kind of holding one another and swaying to the music coming out of the radio) and looking into one another’s eyes with these great big grins on our faces, the likes of which I haven’t seen in years, on me or Jax. God, the love in that picture made my bite down on my lip so hard it bled profusely for a minute, but I ignored the metallic taste. I couldn’t stop staring at that damn picture. Something fluttered deep down in my gut, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. My face grew warm as I realized I was feeling something. I was feeling something for Jax and for what we had, but I was feeling something!

Carefully, I set the photo aside. I’d put it somewhere safe, so I could look at it again. It had been the last photo in the stack; underneath all of that was folded up, faded lined paper with words penned all over them. I opened the first one and realized it was a letter to Jax from me, dated May 18, 1990.

Jax,
The cabin my parents got is really nice. It has two fireplaces, four bedrooms, and three bathrooms! It’s right on the lake, too, so I can go for a swim without having to walk very far. The weather’s been really nice and sunny so I’ve been in the water almost everyday. I’ve caught six fish so far, but only three of them were good enough to keep. It’s really nice up here. I wish you could’ve come, but my mom wouldn’t let me invite you. I’m still mad at her about that. I hope you’re doing well and staying out of trouble. I miss you so much.
xo Ella

I stifled a laugh and shook my head. I remembered that summer. My parents had rented a massive lakefront cabin on Lake Tahoe, taking us away from Charming for nearly two months and thus taking me away from Jax. I was sure my mom was using it as an effort to separate me from him for as long as she could. I’d barely spoken to her at all that summer. I’d been so stubborn back then. Then again, not much had changed.

There were more letters under that, notes we’d passed to one another, little drawings and a track list for a mix CD I’m not sure ever got made. Then there was a change in the quality of paper. Suddenly the lined paper was more crisp, firm, and much whiter than the others. It looked a lot newer. But then I wondered why it was stuffed all the way in the bottom? Had Jax been in and out of the box more often than I thought? I took the top page out and unfolded it. The writing was definitely Jax’s. He was always a good writer, even in school. I just didn’t expect to find any of his stuff in with old relics.

My eyes scanned the page and I soaked in every word. He was writing about the Sons, about Clay and how he didn’t like where he was taking the club. I looked at all five pages that were stashed in the bottom of that box and they were all pertaining to the same subject matter: Jax’s frustration and sense of entrapment. I felt sorry for him, and bad that I never really picked up on his issues with the club. Clearly he needed to vent about it but I was so convinced things were the other way around that I never really noticed. On the last page, at the very bottom, it said “I was scared when she came back, scared of what it’d do to me, to her. But I feel like she might just be my saviour. If anyone can help pull me out of this self-inflicted disaster, it’s Ella. It’s always going to be Ella.” He really thought that about me. These were his personal notes, probably never meant to see the light of day, so I knew his words were authentic. It both thrilled me and worried me at the same time. He was serious about getting out, but what if I was more of a hindrance than a help? I mean, I’d already screwed things up, what if I only pushed him further into the club instead? I tried to convince myself I could and would help him get out, but still I questioned it.

Carefully, I replaced everything I’d pulled out of the box. I had to force everything down just to close the lid again, but I managed nonetheless. I set the box back in its place, as though I’d never even touched it, and walked back to the bed. The photo was laying there and I picked it up as I sat back down and pushed myself up to the pillows. That fluttering sensation kicked up in my gut again and I smiled, gently brushing my thumb over our faces. It had been such a happy moment that had been caught on camera, and it made me realize for the first time in months—no, years—that I could be happy like that again. It may take some time, but I would get there. And no matter how hard I tried to deny it, Jax was the only person able to take me there.

I rested my head on the pillow, still smiling, and tucked the picture underneath. My body relaxed, physically thanking me for taking a minute to lay down, and before I knew it my eyes were closing on me. Sleep came like a heavy blanket being put on me. I dreamt of nothing I could remember, and it was absolutely amazing.



I awoke to the sound of the front door closing. I sat up so fast my vision blurred. Quickly, I made sure the picture I’d taken from the box was tucked away in my bedside table. I didn’t want to have to explain myself to Jax about that. Slowly, I walked out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen, where I could see a patch of light. Jax was standing in front of the fridge, the open door casting the only light in the house on him. He was drinking from the carton of orange juice. I turned the kitchen light on and he gave a little start, turning around to look at me as he was wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.”

I shook my head and gave him a little smile. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for waking me up, not that it wasn’t easy these days. I woke up to just about any little sound and every one of them scared me.

He put the orange juice back in the fridge and sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. I noticed how tired he looked. His face was drawn, his facial hair hadn’t been tended to in weeks, his smile was weak and his eyes were darker than usual. He had new patches of dirt on his leather jacket and on his pants. I wondered, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask how they’d gotten there. I sat down as well when he beckoned me to.

“So, did it go up for sale today?” he asked.

I blinked, too busy thinking about his appearance than actually listening. “Hm?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Your house.”

It registered with me then. “Oh! Oh, yeah. I watched them put the sign up after work.”

“You okay?”

I shrugged. “I guess. It was a really nice house.”

Jax looked down at his hand that sat on the table. His rings shifted as he clenched it into a light fist and relaxed it again. “So…have you found another place yet? In town?”

I fiddled with a piece of my hair. He’d asked me that question a few times since I’d told him I’d be putting the house up for sale. I couldn’t tell if he was asking to see when he could get rid of me and get his house back. But every time he asked he made sure to clarify that he was directly asking if I was going to live elsewhere in Charming, and his voice always dropped a little bit. So, that kind of made me think not.

“I’m still looking,” I said, giving him the same answer as the last time he’d asked.

He nodded. I chewed my lip.

“I know you probably want me gone already,” I said. “It’ll be soon, I promise.”

Jax gave me a surprised look. “No, no, no,” he said hurriedly. “If it was up to me you’d be staying here, but I understand you wanting to live elsewhere.”

“Are you sure about that? About wanting me to stay here, with you?”

He nodded and his tired face softened a little. “Absolutely.”

“Do you think that’d be a good idea?” I asked quietly.

He smirked. “What, don’t think you can handle it anymore?”

“I just wondered, after everything that happened…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. You paid your due. If anyone wants to come to my house to start trouble with you they won’t get very far, I promise you.”

I looked away, pretending to be more interested in the piece of hair I was still playing with. I had something to suggest, something kind of scary, but my efforts to get the conversation to the right place kept failing. I wasn’t saying the right things.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jax rub a hand down his face with a sigh. He blinked hard afterwards and his jaw clenched as he stifled a yawn. He looked so exhausted and worn down, and about ten years older.

“Long day?” I prompted, bringing a knee up to my chest.

He nodded, tapping his fingers slowly on the tabletop. “Yeah.”

Gently, I put my hand over his. His fingers stopped tapping and his eyes moved over to me, with an oddly forced closed expression on his face.

“Is there anything I can do?”

For a moment he appeared to be thinking about it. But it wasn’t very long before his eyes fell to the table again and he shook his head at me.

“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.”

I looked at his expression again and chewed on my lip. I couldn’t keep him awake just so I could stammer out an idea he wouldn’t want any part of. Besides, he clearly wasn’t in the mood to handle much else. So, defeated, I said “Oh, okay…I’ll be in to join you in a bit” and stayed rooted to my chair. Jax stood up, his chair legs scraping against the floor, and walked past me towards the hallway. I could hear his footsteps getting farther away. They were hitting the carpet…my heart started beating harder against my ribs, sure of the regret I was about to feel.

“I want to stay here, with you,” I blurted out. I scrunched my face up in embarrassment afterwards, wanting to run out the front door as fast as I could. Jax’s footsteps had stopped. It was quiet.

It was quiet for a long, long time. I almost did get up and leave. I was getting ready to push up off the chair when he finally spoke, forcing me back down onto my seat with his words.

“In this house?” he asked. His voice was strange; quiet, but slightly higher-pitched than normal.

Slowly, I turned around in the chair to look at him. His face was shadowed by puzzlement and curiosity.

“Yes,” I murmured, “in this house.”

He opened his mouth as if he was about to speak and then shut it again. It was torture. I had no idea what he was thinking or what he was going to say next. Part of me wanted to just yell at him to say something, but I couldn’t. I was too scared.

“But…why?” he asked after what felt like a hundred years.

“I-I…” My voice was shaky; I couldn’t get the words out. “I just…don’t want to go anywhere else.”

What I meant to say was, living anywhere else in this town wouldn’t feel like home, no matter what I did. I was scared of having no home. If Jax was my home, and I’d found out through trial and error that he certainly seemed to be, then I wanted to be around him. I knew it put me at risk for so many things, but I just couldn’t bring myself to actually look for any other place to go. I didn’t want to leave my home.

He nodded after a moment. “Okay,” he said, “if you’re sure.”

“I am.” I’m about 90% sure I am.

“Okay.”

He walked away towards the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard the shower turn on. I didn’t move from the chair. I was lost in thought over what I was getting myself back into.