Where Nobody Hides

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“See you around, Dave,” I said, my voice trailing off when I realized what I was saying. Although I hoped I’d get my book back, I couldn’t believe that I was actually promising some sort of permanence to someone; I’m the kind of girl that will leave at the drop of a hat, usually without much reason other than you weren’t doing enough for me emotionally, intellectually, or socially. It seemed almost obvious, really. Why keep someone in your life out of obligation when you could be spending the time with them on yourself? It sounds selfish, but at the end of the day, all you have is yourself, so why not be happy with the person you’re going end up as?

Yet, there was the other end of this lack of belief in permanence too—the pathetic, basket case version. Throughout my life, I’d dealt with people who meant the world to me leaving when they’d presumably grown tired of my usually depressive mood and tendency to shut myself off from them when things started getting rough at home and I knew no one else would understand what I was going through. Besides, I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, so it just ended up being easier to keep myself distant from everyone. Even after all that, though, I still managed to have quite a few people in my life that fulfilled me socially—just a bunch of people that I regularly got together with to smoke and occupy space on a couch or a bed, as well as one girl named Sydney that would readily become my best girlfriend if I let her.

She was, admittedly, everything I could ever want in a friend: smart, so fun to be around that I never really got tired of her, but most importantly, she put up with my constant sadness and pulled me out of it when it started to consume me. However, as I said before, it was the people like her that were the first to leave, so I always had to keep her at a distance and not grow attached to her. Even so, in that moment after meeting Dave, she was the first person I thought of to talk to about it, so I pulled out my phone and sent her a quick text asking her to meet me at the nearby Starbucks after I’d be let out from work in a couple hours. She responded almost immediately, agreeing, and I sighed with satisfaction, grateful that I didn’t have to go back to my sad motel room immediately after I left my sad job.

The preceding hours passed fairly quickly with the help of my book, and before I knew it, I was sitting on a patio chair with Sydney, drinking an espresso. It was a good moment, and to be melodramatic about it, it was times like those that kept me alive.

“So what did you want to tell me about?” Sydney asked, leaning forward anxiously, knowing that if I called her here, it must be some pretty important news.

“I met a guy today,” I answered, rolling my eyes when her eyebrows shot up in utter disbelief at my words.

“No, shit, really?” she exclaimed. “How’d it happen?”

“Well, he came into my work completely dumbfounded, so I helped him find some books, only he asked me to pick my favorites, which was kind of nerve wracking—you know how I am about my books—but he seemed to like what I’d chosen. I also tried to find The Book Thief for him, but we didn’t have it, and after I told him about it, he seemed really disappointed that we didn’t, and something really fucking weird came over me because of that, so I loaned him my copy of it, and now he has my phone number and he’s going to call me when he’s done reading it, and I’m going to see him again, fuck,” I told her, breathless and rambling by the end of my story.

Sydney let out a low whistle. “Damn, Fiona, I’ve never seen you so flustered. He must be something good.”

I nodded, but shrugged at the same time to display indifference, although I was bursting at the seams to tell her every last little detail about him that I knew so far. I didn’t tell her right away in fear of her making a big deal about it, though. I didn’t want that.

She shook her head slowly with a knowing smirk on her lips. “Tell me about him.”

“His name is Dave. He seems nice,” I said, shrugging again.

The smirk deepened. “Tell me more.”

“He’s kind of short, but I guess that’s okay because I’m kind of short.”

She gave a frustrated groan. “I know you’re withholding information because no guy has ever made you as excited as this dude seems to, so let’s hear it.”

“Okay, fine, Jesus. He’s really attractive. He’s got bronzish-brown hair and it’s kind of, like, shortish on the sides, but longish at the top, and he’s got brown eyes, but they’re kind and it’s a nice brown, and his voice is the kind of voice you want speaking to you late at night when you’re laying in bed together, and he has really nice shoulders and arms and shit, but all of this is beyond the point. What’s important is that he says he loves to read too—maybe more than I do, that he gets embarrassed so easily and he blushes when it happens, and that when he smiles, it always touches his eyes, and it automatically makes me want to smile back at him because he looks so fucking happy and glad to be in that moment,” I told her, avoiding her eyes when I’ve finished.

“Damn, girl, you’re in deep,” Sydney said after a moment of silence.

“Shit. Guess I’m not getting my book back then,” I said.

Sydney crinkles her eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I can never see him again. In too deep, as you said. That’s dangerous,” I answered.

“Oh, please, Fiona. I’m not letting you push another guy away. He seems great, and he does something to you that I’ve never seen before, so he must really be,” she said. “You’re not gonna see him for a little bit, at least. If you’re that afraid—of what, I still don’t know—then you’ve got some time to collect yourself before then.”

I sighed in what seemed like surrender, but secretly I’m glad she said what she did because it would have been exactly what I needed to hear, had I actually decided that I didn’t want to see him again. However, I didn’t. There was no way that I could ever imagine that being the last time I see him. In the time I was with him, I had completely forgotten about all the awful things going on in my life, and instead he made me be present in a moment that brought some happiness back into me. I needed that again.

“Okay, I guess you’re right,” I said. “It’s just, he really does seem great—unusually great—and I don’t want to screw things up with him like I’m so good at doing.”

“You’re getting way too far ahead of yourself, Fiona,” Sydney said. “And besides, you’re not ‘good at screwing things up’, you just push people away, so maybe, y’know, don’t do that with him. Just a thought.” She shrugged, holding her hands up in suggestion.

“It’s hard to let people in,” I said quietly, closing my eyes as if the admittance physically tired me, and it did in a way. “Everyone leaves.”

Sydney nods. “You’re right, but such is life. If you’re lucky enough, you could get years with a person who really matters to you, but beyond that, you just have to appreciate and get the most out of your time with someone while they’re still around, and find acceptance when they’ve left.”

“You are so wise beyond your years,” I said, shaking my head in amazement.
She snorted amusedly, but I knew she was flattered. “What can I say?”

I smiled. “Thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” Sydney said, smiling in return. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on hearing about my little FiFi meeting a boy.”

“Damnit with that nickname,” I said, groaning. “Could you be any less creative?”

She started to say something, but was interrupted by the chiming of her phone, to which she sighed heavily.

“Work calls,” she said, standing up reluctantly, and I stood up with her, having no reason to be here if she wouldn’t be and because I still had to stop by my mother’s place to pick up the rest of my stuff. “Wanna come over later? Patti, Dan, and Coby wanted to smoke.”

I shrugged noncommittally, knowing that I’d probably be pretty drained after what I had to do. “I dunno, we’ll see. I’ll text you.”

“Of course,” Sydney said, afterwards reaching out to hug me goodbye, then parting ways with me.

I walked over to the trashcan and tossed my empty cup into it before leaving the patio area and heading over to my car, unlocking it, and getting inside. Sitting quietly in preparation for what I had to do next, I found my mind constantly returning to the thought of Dave. It was annoying, to say the least. I needed to be as on top of my game mentally as I possibly could. Returning to my mother’s house would be taxing, and that wasn’t even including the possibility of her actually being home, which I hoped with all that I had, that she would not be.

After another moment, I started my car and drove the short distance to her house. When I arrived, I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car, so I just sat there staring at the house blankly, trying not to let myself recall any of the bad memories that occurred there, which was hard because there were so many. I allowed myself another second of that, then forced my body to get itself out of the car and walk up to the house—a nearly impossible feat, but the desire to have my things outweighed my hesitation.

I turned the doorknob, unsurprisingly finding it unlocked, then stepped inside. The silence was deafening, but welcome, because it meant she wasn’t here, or was passed out drunk somewhere, which was almost as desirable. Immediately, I made my way upstairs and to my room, wanting to spend as little time there as possible. I pulled open the door and, much to my relief, found my room the way I had left it the previous day. It wasn’t unusual to find it having been completely trashed by my mother when I left home after a fight.

I went to my closet and took out the stack of unfolded boxes that I had collected for this very reason, and put them on top of my bed. Taking one from the top and refolding it, I scanned my room in search of a place to start, eventually deciding that my first grouping would consist of the things that were on top of any surface in the room: my nightstand, dresser, etc. When that category was finished, leaving me with two stuffed boxes, I moved to packing things in drawers that weren’t clothes. Next came my books—three boxes—then the things on my walls—one box—then the things in my closet that, again, weren’t clothes—two boxes—and finally all the clothes and shoes that I could fit in the remaining four boxes before moving onto my suitcase, into which I also put my pillow and comforter. The whole process took nearly two hours, and I was left with nothing but the purposefully shitty furniture I had gotten with this very thing in mind because I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it with me. Satisfied with my work, I began the dreaded second half of this: taking the boxes out to my car. Although it nearly killed me numerous times due to my lack of fitness, I managed to get it done.

I wish I had the foresight to know that I did not need to step back in that house for the last time, that I hadn’t left anything behind in my room, but I didn’t, so I found myself back in there, unaware of what waited for me upstairs.

“What the fuck happened to your room?” a voice said once I had made it to the top of the stairs, causing me to jump with surprise.

“Like it matters to you,” I said in a low, flat voice, brushing past her to get into the room.

“Of course it matters to me. I’m your mother,” she said, following behind me.

I turned around to look at her, taking in the dismantled updo that took over her dyed platinum blonde hair, the makeup smeared around her grey eyes, and the dirty cocktail dress that hugged her curves and. With her fake boobs and perfect acrylic nails, she looked so stereotypically whoreish that it was almost a joke. I shook my head in disgust and turned back around and began surveying my room for any stray items of importance.

Ignoring her last statement, the irony in her words hurting more than I cared to admit, I said: “Isn’t it a little early for you to be looking like such a goddamn mess?”

She lunged forward and grabbed my arm, jerking me back so I’d face her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said that you look like shit,” I spat, pulling my arm from out of her grasp.

She paused for a moment, then reached out and slapped me so hard across my face that I fell to the ground. Although I was quite accustomed to that pain, tears still sprang to my eyes as I sat there in a daze. However, I knew I couldn’t just let her have this one, so I lumbered to my feet and met her furious eyes, my mouth spreading into a cold, emotionless smile.

“I’m leaving,” I said. “You can’t keep me here any longer.”

She snorted in malicious laughter. “And where do you think you’re gonna go? You have no one and nothing to sustain you. I’m all you have.”

My smile widened to a point where it likely reflected insanity. “I never had you. Not when it actually mattered.”

With that, I walked past her and out the door, going at a leisurely pace because I knew that she wouldn’t follow. I hadn’t left her with too profound of final words, but the fact that the last family member who still talked to her was leaving would be enough to stun her into a paralyzed state.

When I made it to the front door, I stopped, realizing with overwhelming relief that it would be the last time I’d walk out of this house. With a sense of euphoria so strong that it completely erased my awareness of the sharp, stinging pain in my cheek from her blow, I stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind me, the click it made so unbelievably satisfying.