Authors: Portia Moore
“The person your parents describe isn’t who Cal was to me. Don’t get me wrong, he could be arrogant, mean, and snide… a lot,” she sighs. Arrogant, mean
, and snide, that's my first impression of him.
“He’s so much more than that,” she continues.
“He could be kind…caring…protective,” she adds, and I feel my eyebrow rise. I don’t see how a guy who ruined my life could be kind, caring, or protective, but I try not to let my expression show my disbelief.
“He’
s extremely intelligent, confident, and persuasive. He could talk anyone into doing what he wanted. He was handsome, incredibly sexy…” I try to hide the smile growing on my face. I know she’s technically not referring to me, but well, the one thing we have in common is the same face…
Chapter 6
The meeting with Lauren wen
t better than I expected. I don’t know what I expected, really. But it could have gone worse. Way worse. It’s too weird thinking about how a part of me had this whole life with another person. That’s something I haven’t been able to grasp.
At least she seems nice. I wasn
’t there long, but it went better than our first meeting. Then again, it couldn’t have gone any worse than that. I’ve gained a lot respect for her. She was able to hold it together, aside from the crying, but I can’t blame her for that. I can’t imagine being in her place. My own place is screwed up enough. I feel lighter, though. Like the heaviness that was once on me is gone. I know things are far from fixed, but knowing that Lauren isn’t a screaming psycho and she recognizes me or at least is trying to recognize me for who I am, helps a lot.
My first instinct was
to call Jenna and tell her that this isn’t going to be some awkward love triangle, and that Lauren and I are more concerned with being parents to this little girl. But I know she’s still fuming, and I can’t blame her.
I pass
most of the day silently doing chores around the farm with my dad. He hasn’t said much, and I don’t have much to say to him either. My mom cooked dinner: homemade macaroni, fried chicken, and green beans. I grabbed a plate and headed to my room. It’s the first time I can remember since I’ve been home that we haven’t eaten dinner together.
I’m not mad at them
. Well, I’m trying not to be, but to sit down and act like everything is fine and nothing has changed would be a sham. The next time we have dinner together, I want to make sure I’m genuine. We’re all genuine and not putting up facades. I’ve had enough of that. Today is a day I wish I was called in for work but there’re no classes to teach on a Sunday. After watching an old football game and showering, I ended up where I am now, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. I never minded being alone before all this, just with my own thoughts.
N
ow
I don’t feel like I’m alone. I don’t know how this DID works, but it’s almost like trying to hide what I’m thinking from myself. This Cal guy kept so much from me, and I wish I could hide everything that’s going on from him. I don’t know what he knows or sees or wherever he is, but I don’t feel alone. How can I?
I thought about talking to him when I stood in
front of the mirror brushing my teeth this morning, but I felt like an idiot. And I don’t want to do much talking. Punching him in the face would make me feel better, except that it’s my face. It’d also be hypocritical, considering I always tell the kids I work with that violence is never the answer. It never has been with me. My parents always stressed how important it is to use my words, especially my mom. But just in case that didn’t work, my dad started teaching me how to box when I was seven. I even did Golden Glove while I was in middle school, until football caught more of my interest. I was good enough to have a couple of schools offer me scholarships until my condition started to interfere with things my senior year.
Well I don’t have to say condition now. DID. Now
, I know it was Cal who started to appear and screw everything up. When I think back to each time I blacked out, really believing that I was unconscious or just forgetting what had happened to me during the lapses, I feel stupid.
I spen
d a couple hours reading through endless articles, none of which leads me to an answer that I want: how to get rid of this guy. The other irritating thing I found was that Dr. Lyce’s name continuously came up as one of the most respected in the field regarding the disorder. I can’t see her though, how can I? She lied to me, well she didn’t lie. Instead, she failed to tell me vital information. I didn’t see her much, only a few times. At least that I remember, but I know if she told me my diagnosis, that’s not something I’d easily forget.
I hear a song starting to play
, and I sit up and look around the room. My radio and TV are both off. I turn and see my phone lighting up. I grab it and see it’s an alarm with a song I didn’t put on it. I hit the button to turn it off and sit it back down. I flop back onto my mattress, and it starts again. I pick it up and see its set to go off every three minutes for the next hour. I start to go through, canceling the alerts, and the song starts to play louder and louder and everything around me gets hazy.
When things come into focus
, I’m outside. There’re people all around, and the song is playing loud from my cell phone. But it’s not coming from there anymore; it’s coming from everywhere. The sky is dark but there’re bright lights shining from above me. I’m at some type of festival.
T
hen I see myself. I’m leaning against a building, one hand in my pocket. Another doing something on a phone. I’m dressed in a black t-shirt and dark washed jeans. I have on a watch that looks too expensive to be wearing to the place I’m in. On my arm is a big duffle bag. Something catches my attention, and I push off the building and start to walk through the crowd. And that’s when I know it’s not me.
It’s him.
I can tell by the way he
walks a slow, almost cocky, strut. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and quickens his pace. Then he stops and tiptoes behind a girl and grabs her by the waist, lifting her up in the air. When she turns around, I see its Lauren. Her hair’s longer than it is now but those same wide hazel eyes sparkle for him.
“You scared the crap out of me!” she
squeals playfully and pushes him in the chest. He tugs her towards him and pulls her into a slow passionate kiss—one that makes her stand on her toes. Suddenly, I’ve gone from looking at her from afar, to being the one kissing her, feeling her soft lips before she pulls away. She wriggles against my chest and wraps her arms around me my waist.
“How was the bathroom?” I ask her
, but it’s not my voice. Well, it is, but it’s different. The tone of this voice is deeper than I normally sound.
“Not as a disgusting as I thought it would be,” she
teases. I take her hand, and we make our way through the crowd. We go through a ticket gate at the very front of what looks like a park. It’s a concert in the park. We find a spot, and I sit the duffle bag down. She pulls out a blanket, and I help her spread it out.
“It’s so beautiful out tonight,”
she says excitedly with a smile so bright I feel my heart speed up. The sky is black, but stars are out, shining bright. The band on the stage is already playing. There’re hundreds of people out but enough room where everyone isn’t piled on top of each other. After we smooth out the blanket, I sit down my legs apart, resting my elbows on my knees. Lauren’s rummaging through the bag looking for something.
She finally pulls out another blanket
, wraps herself in it, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pull her between my legs, and kiss every inch of her neck. She looks back, giving me a playful warning glare but then kisses me softly. When she pulls away she shows me a smile that causes one to spread on my face.
S
he then crawls out of my embrace, and she’s back searching through the duffle bag. She pulls out a sketch pad and pencil. She draws through a couple of songs while I sing to the music. Songs I don’t even know, but I seem really excited about being here. When I look back at her sketch pad, I see she’s drawn me. It’s not completely finished yet, but done enough to where I can tell.
“You weren’t supposed to look,” she
teases, her cheeks flushing, her hair falling in her face. I pull her over towards me, and she settles between my legs again and rests her back on my stomach. I cross my arms over her waist, and she starts to sing along to the song playing. I lean down to her ear and kiss her right below her lobe. My heart starts to beat faster. My stomach is doing flips, and I’m not sure why. A second later, I take her hands in mine.
“I love you,”
I whisper in her ear, and I feel her body stiffen. She looks back at me her eyes wide and a small smile on her face.
“
I love you too, Cal,” she says before turning around and kissing me like no one else is around. Everything fades out around me and I’m back in my room this time.
Chapter 7
They don’t tell you about things like this on the websites. In the articles, they talk about symptoms, possible treatments. I’ve found a couple of online support groups, even a few that meet in person; although none are in my great state. But nothing I’ve read about so far in the limited time I’ve known about this tells you what to do when you start to remember. How to deal with these memories, or better yet how do I stop them. I thought I’d want to remember, to know, but now I don’t know if that’s the best thing. Of course it would be absolutely perfect timing. If I wasn’t nervous around her before I definitely am today. He did this, and it definitely wasn’t to be noble. He wanted to freak me out, and that’s exactly what he did.
Right when I start to feel a little comfortable in the predicament he’s gotten us in, he has to shake things up.
That dream, vision, or memory—I don’t even know what to call what I saw. It was like reading someone’s diary or listening to their confessions. It felt too real, way too personal, and what’s worse, I don’t know if it was real or a dream.
The other
was like little snippets I could ignore or pretend didn’t happen. But this was different, and I’m having a hard time shaking off. I want to know if it was real, really a memory, but the only way I’d know is to ask Lauren, and I’m not diving into those waters. I bet he’d love for me to stroll down memory lane with her. Keep him alive in her memory. That’s the last thing she deserves.
For about an hour last night
, I tried to think of Cal as me but it’s too strange, it'’ easier thinking of him as someone else entirely, but Caylen voids that argument. And aside from all of that as if I wasn’t anxiousness enough already, today is the day I meet the third woman in all of this. My daughter.
She’
s only a year old. Hopefully, I can make up not being there for her birth, first word, and first steps. I don’t have a clue on where to even start being a father. Yesterday, I went with my mom to pick her out a present. She literally bought the whole isle of toys, but out of everything, the one thing that stood out was this singing stuffed penguin. One of my friends talked me into going with him and his kids to see
The Penguins of Madagascar
, and they loved it. I loved it too, to be honest. At least I know we can watch cartoons together. I look at myself in the mirror, wearing a white button up and khaki pants, the third set of clothes I’ve tried on today. Now I look like I’m getting dressed for an job interview.
“Knock,
knock,” my mom says, entering the room with a smile on her face, the widest I’ve seen in a long time. She’s so excited about meeting Caylen. It’s all she’s talked about. I had suggested to Lauren that maybe I could drive there to meet her, but she said she didn’t mind coming here. My mom would have been so disappointed if she had to wait another day to see her. After everything calmed down, she gushed over her picture.
“What
are you doing Chris?” she says, a hint of amusement in her tone, seeing the three outfits I’ve changed into.
I sigh.
“Trying to look like a dad,” I admit with a laugh. I’m failing miserably.
“Honey, there isn’
t a certain thing to wear to look like a dad. I’m sure a one year-old isn’t going to grade you on your outfit.” She picks up the blue t-shirt and jeans that I was going to put on earlier. “This is you,” she says, handing it to me. “Be yourself. She’s going to love you. I’m sure of it.” She says it in a way that makes me believe her. She picks up the tie on my dresser I was about to put on and giggles as my dad walks in.
“Am
I interrupting?” he asks, putting his arm around my mom’s waist.
“Just
me being nosey,” she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder. They’ve been married over 30 years, and it’s like they just met.
“Can
you give me a minute with Chris?” he asks.
“Sure,
” she says before pecking him on the lips and leaving the room. I take off the white button up and slip on my t-shirt. My dad and I haven’t said much to each other since he picked me up from Lisa’s. He was disappointed in me, and I felt the same way towards him.
“Are you doing okay?”
he asks as he sits down at my desk.
“Yeah, I’
m still here so it’s a good day,” I say nonchalantly. Both my parents hid the truth from me, but my dad, I hold him more responsible. I know my mom wanted to tell me, and she didn’t because of him.