The coffee here is lukewarm. Stale and grainy. It always is. And I drink it. Every last drop. I always do.
I need it. It keeps my hands busy, it keeps my fingers working. It keeps my mind away from this plastic hard chair. Just one out of a bunch in this small circle. This circle that grows smaller with each session. I swear they can all see through me. We're so close now, they can all see right through my dark eyes.
My physical therapy ended just a few weeks ago. I don't need those crutches. I'm strong enough on my own. I can walk all by myself now. It only took me two months. Which, while that's faster than it takes most babies, I still feel so pathetic. I still feel so lost.
I am still so broken.
Maybe that's why Spencer suggested this. These stupid group therapy sessions. I still have no clue why I listened to her. I still don't know why I'm here. Sure I know the technical reasons. I know I'm full of issues. I'm full of depression. I'm here because I lost something huge. I lost myself. And maybe that's why Spencer convinced me to come here. Maybe she's afraid I'll never find her again. Maybe Spencer's afraid I'll never be that girl she never even knew again.
I don't know why Spencer cares. But she does. And I let her. Someone should.
Stacy, the group leader, seems to care as well. This is my third session and I still haven't said anything other than my name. Somehow that was enough. They all nodded their heads, whispered pleasant hellos and then were off on their own again. They all cry. They all speak so privately. They all lay themselves on the floor, and let us all watch them undress themselves.
No one seems uncomfortable with it. No one but me.
Jack, the father without his quarterback son, is on that floor right now. He's curled in complete fetus position, blubbering like a two year old. And here I am, just watching him. His words are sliding across his slippery lips like a car skidding on a icy and snowy road. And like me, we all just watch it. But unlike me, everyone is there to protect him. To stop him from running into that guard rail. To stop him in the way I still wish someone would have stopped us. In the way someone would have stopped her.
In the way I should have stopped her.
I wince as Stacy coos some form of comfort. I can't hear her words. I need to get out of here. My mind is desperately running from this place. From all these blatant emotions. All these brutally honest words. I shouldn't hear them. I can't even voice my own.
I twirl my cool paper cup between my hands. I can hear Jack's manly sobs subside as I take one final sip of my watery coffee. I take the last of what keeps me grounded in this place. The only thing that connects me to this room, these people. It's the only thing I share with them.
One black coffee with two sugars.
I hold onto the empty cup. I'm not letting it go till I toss it in the bin on my way out. I look inside it and see those warm Budweisers from so long ago. The ones Shawn would grab for me before every one of my shows. The ones that made me believe all of her encouraging words.
The ones that made my fingers find each string perfectly. Steadily.
I needed those beers. I needed them just in the way I need this coffee now. In a way they taste the same. Lukewarm, stale, and grainy. And I love every last drop.
I never knew why I got into performing. I've never known what inspired me to pick up a guitar one day. I sometimes wonder if it was because of my father. If it was the way he looked when he held a guitar. The way he cradled it so carefully. The way he paid such close attention to it. The way it sat in his lap. The way it looked so right there. How it looked more right than I ever did.
Maybe I wanted my father to see me. Maybe I wanted him to know me. Maybe I wanted him to love me.
But one day it didn't matter. One day I didn't need anything from him because I gained so much more for myself. I actually genuinely loved playing. I found myself in that guitar. I found myself in my music. I found myself in what I thought was my biggest enemy. What I envied for so long became my closest friend. Six simple strings inside a wooden frame and it never let me down. I could always count on it.
It was a long time before I played for anyone. Before I let Shawn into my world. I'll never forget the look on her face, the awe in her eyes. I can still hear her every word. The way she would tell me how good I was. How "fucking unbelievably good I was". And I still remember when I actually started believing her. When I actually knew I was good.
But It took years before I finally listened to her. Before I took her advice and got out there. Before I set myself out to perform. It was only five years ago that I actually got myself on stage for the first time. Five years of discovering my life passion. Five years of actually acting on it.
All because of those Budweiser drafts. All because of Shawn.
"Anything you wanna add Ashley?"
I glance up from my past and stare at my future. There's Stacy looking at me just the way Spencer used to. Like she's holding her breath on me. Like she's not gonna let it go till I answer. But her eyes show it's only a matter of seconds before she exhales. Before she exhales into silence. And unlike Spencer, I think it might be silent forever. I don't' think I'll ever give any of myself to this group. To this decreasing circle.
My cold eyes stare into her warm ones.
She exhales.
"Well that's it for tonight. Great session guys," She folds her hands in her lap, finally looking away from me "...I'll see you all next week."
I'm the first one up. I always am. I slide my bag over my arm, tossing my empty friend into the garbage bin. I hear the door close heavily behind me. Shutting me out from all the others. Shutting me out of my third week of therapy. Three weeks of worried eyes on my cheeks and comforting hands on my heavy shoulders.
All because of those dark coffees. All because of Spencer.
I get into my new car. I can still smell the leather. I used to love that smell. Now it just reminds me. It just reminds me of how much can change. Of how much can be lost. Of everything that will never be found again. No matter how many new cars you buy. No matter how new the leather smells.
I drive silently through the buzzing streets of LA. I don't listen to music that much these days. I don't need anything else to distract me. To remind me. It's been a long while since I've lived here in LA. A long while.
I pull into my apartment complex and spot Spencer's car.
I exhale.
She's on time. She offered to cook dinner. She offered to help paint the walls. In other words, she offered to keep me alive.
I climb each step slowly, my hand glides along the railing, feeling every drop of condensation. I'm still getting used to these stairs. I'm still working on the timing and rhythm of them. I'm still a long way from jumping the steps blindly, just knowing where each edge is. And as I get to the top of the platform, I need to remember my apartment number.
I still need to remember so much. I still have so much to learn.
But as always Spencer's here. She's here and she helps me remember. She's standing outside my forty two. She's leaning against the door with a nice smile on her face. As every other human being, she's enjoying her Friday night.
I walk slowly to her. As if it were the first time. As if I didn't expect her to be here. And in some way, I didn't. I never expect her to follow through. I mean why would she? What fun could be held on this Friday night if it's shared with me.
"Hey there."
"Hey" My eyes flick from her to the door, too scared to look anywhere else. I don't know why I'm still scared. I can see her tilting her head as she brings a plastic bag in front of her.
"I thought Chinese was in order."
She's still smiling. She's always smiling. And as always, I cough out a laugh, whispering "sure" as I push open the door.
I lead us into the silent front hall. We walk further into the bare rooms of this empty apartment. Every wall looks the same as the next. Big, bare, and white. Blaring white. Everything looks so clean. So perfect. So shallow.
This is nothing like the home I left. There's nothing here to remind me. But in some way, it all still does. It still feels like the house I've always known. And still shows I'll never have that home again. Shows I'll never be able to forget it. No matter how hard I try to hide it. No matter how hard I try to mask it with perfectly white walls, and pretty wood floors.
Spencer rounds me to the kitchen, already getting to work with laying out food. She knows where every dish, every fork resides. She's the one that put them there in the first place. She's the one that did everything I could hardly do.
Kyla was here for that particular fun day. She brought along her boyfriend. Some Aiden character. I couldn't bother remembering his name; there's always a new one. Whoever he was he helped them put together my new apartment. They laid out every couch. They set every table. They turned on ever lamp.
Once again I merely watched. Once again I held my crutches in my hands. I held them so tight. I let them take me away from this place. I let them hide me from all that I couldn't do.
They stayed for dinner. I think we even had Chinese again. Well they had it, I merely twirled my food around a fork. I found comfort that I didn't have to talk. I could just sit there with wide eyes and watch them all. Watch how they tried to find safe ground. Watched them try to find something, anything to talk about. Whatever was appropriate.
Somehow Spencer guided them through it. As always she talked about everything possible, and never once did anyone lose their way. Everyone stuck right beside her on the safe path she provided.
Even me.
"You want some wanton soup?"
I glance up from the mail I was apparently shuffling through. I see her holding the plastic bin my way, as if further inviting me into it. As if it would make it more tempting somehow.
"No..." I keep my eyes right on her hands "...I'm good, thanks."
"Your loss."
It's so simply said. Said with such cheeriness that's so outside of this situation. She doesn't even wait for my response before spinning around. I just watch her. I watch her baffled. As always. She catches me watching her but it doesn't deter her. It doesn't make her uncomfortable. She finishes her bite from a large soup bowl.
"How was therapy?" I can tell she's still chewing her food.
I shrug my shoulders. "Same as the other times."
She's looking at me strangely, I can't read it. She's not disappointed. She's not upset. It's more like she understands. It's more like she's been there. Like she's been the girl sitting on the same stool I'm sitting on now. It becomes silent for a while. I can smell the food. It smells good. I'm almost tempted to have some.
I pick up the fork Spencer laid out for me and dig into one of the few containers.
I swear I see Spencer smile. Like really smile.
"So you ready to get this place in shape?"
I chew my food, another excuse not to talk, and give my shoulders another shrug. I think I see her smile fall somewhat. I think it's because of me. And I think I don't like it.
"Yeah..." The word leave my lips before I even realize my eyes are on her again. "...I am."
She looks down on me. She's happy again. I like it.
"Good." The word is happy. The word is relieved.
I like making her happy. It's been a slow realization, but one that means a lot. There's something I can still do. I still have someone who cares. I still have someone I care about. But once again I'm clueless as to why. I'm still baffled as to how we became these people for each other. The thought is getting to me more and more. The thought won't go away now.
It's Friday night. We're young. She's young. She has a life. Why is Spencer here?
"I mean..." I just can't help myself, "...as along as there's nothing else you'd rather do."
My eyes are trained down, they're carving zig zag patterns into the dark green counter top. But just cause I can't see her, doesn't mean I can't feel her. I know where her eyes are. I know they're not drawing any patterns. Nope. I feel them drawing one single line. A thick line from her to me.
"Of course I wanna be here Ashley." Her hand comes across mine, forcing my eyes to look into hers. But I flinch. I blink and pull away.
I catch her nodding. I feel the air surround us. I feel it so heavy. I just created this moment. I'm the reason for the sudden tension. I've never felt it before with her. But somehow, in the last few seconds, I planted something inside this room. I don't know what it is. It's not something I can see. But it's something I feel. It's something we both feel. And I don't know when it'll go away. I don't know how to make it go away.
We continue eating. We continue to eat around the issue. We clench our forks and spin our food. We do anything to keep from looking. It's the first time she's ever kept from doing anything with me.
Time crawls by. It ticks across the floor. I watch her place her dishes in the sink. "So..." her voice sounds familiar, sounds friendly. Sounds like Spencer. And when she faces me again I find her smile. I find the comfort again. I feel whatever was inside here before dissipate.
"...my friend Anthony is having this like dinner party thing next weekend and I thought maybe you'd wanna go?"
Her fingers are crisscrossed before her. It reminds me of the church and steeple game my father would play with me as a kid. The one that never got old. The one I loved for so long. The one I still love today.
"Oh..." The word trickles from my lips. The word is bouncing on the ground, waiting for someone to pick it up, waiting for more.
A party. The last time I went to one of those I never needed to remember. I never needed to forget. I didn't need anything cause I had everything. I had her. I had her right by my side.
"Come on, It'll be fun, I promise you'll have a good time. And..." she stops, smiling wider, "...I'll be there."
I don't know how she does this. How she gets inside my head every time. How she reminds me I'm not alone. How she knows exactly when I need to remember.
"Ehh...I don't..."
"If it sucks we can leave. Promise."
I look up to her. Fork sitting tightly between my rolling fingers. I exhale.
"Ok."
Her hands clasp below her chin, the smile spreads across her face like wild fire. I can feel it's heat radiating right off her body. I feel it so warmly. I feel it spreading to my own body. My own face.
"Excellent." She looks down to the floor for a second, before she whirls past me. "Onto the nights duties then."
I start picking up the left over containers, putting them in the fridge. I can hear her down the hall. I hear her ruffling through the closet. Doing God knows what. I don't even care. She's running this show. She's guiding this ship. I'm merely a clueless passenger. I'm merely putting the leftovers away.
"You play?"
I don't need to see her to know I'm no longer that passenger. To know I'm far from it. The pilot just thrust his gear into my amateur hands. Right into my shaking, unsteady hands.
I slowly turn around and find just what I expected. I see her holding my sticker covered guitar case. I see her holding the one thing I carried into this apartment. The one thing I had to hide before anyone saw. The one thing that's mine.
She has a bright smile on her face. A smile that just asked something far too powerful. Meaning more than it could ever realize. I'm completely frozen. I try to form some words. I try to get anything out.
"I...um..."
But I can't. My lips fumble. My words skid just like Jack's. My hands need that coffee cup. My hands need those Budweisers. They need my crutches. They need Chinese food and forks.
I can't see that guitar case. I can't see my childhood and my life passion. I can't see my best friend. I can't see what i've always counted on. Because it's not there any more. What I see before me will never be what it was. Those stickers. Those six strings. That wooden frame. They're all strangers.
My hands are bunching together now. They need so much. They're drowning in their emptiness.
And then I feel it. I feel two hands unclasp the tight fists inside my own. I feel them hold onto my empty hands so tightly.
"It's ok."
And for once, I almost believe her. I almost believe Spencer. Because I feel her filling my emptiness. I feel her giving me what I need so much. I feel her reminding me of everything I almost forgot.
I grip her hands tightly between my own. I feel my coffee cups. I feel my Budweisers. I feel my crutches and forks.
I remember I'm not alone.
I exhale.