I woke from the dream and knew exactly what it meant. I couldn’t leave things a mess with Safie any longer. I pulled out my phone. There was no service of course, but I wanted to draft a message right then, the glowy feeling of the dream still strong. I pulled up our text thread. The last message, sent from her, in December. The night of the Walton Walk, telling me to meet at her office.
Safie, I’ve missed you so much. I’m ashamed of my behavior. The night we broke up, Stephen called me a coward and he was right. I understand if you don’t want to speak with me, but if you’re open to it, I would love to see you. Please know the only thing as deep as my regret is my affection for you.
I slid the phone back into my bag and resolved, when I got home, I would send it.
I drove from the Cleveland airport back to Sawyer. It was a gray and dismal evening after the vibrance of New Orleans and I wondered how that place and this place could exist in the same reality. It felt like all of northeast Ohio had been wrapped in a shroud, blotting out color and life. A rainstorm broke out, battering the windshieldwith a hard torrent. I turned up the wipers. Visibility was shot. Traffic slowed and we crept along.
The storm did not ease up. The potholed parking lot behind my apartment was full of soupy brown puddles. I dashed out, fat drops of rain pelting me. I was drenched by the time I made it around the corner and into the building’s foyer. I stood dripping onto the floor and couldn’t help but laugh. What a welcome home. Fucking Ohio. I climbed the stairs, rewriting the text to Safie in my head. I wanted to make sure I got it right. I reached my apartment and dug around for my keys and noticed—in front of my door, a small puddle. I searched the ceiling—there had been a leak the year before. But there was nothing. It must be the rainwater dripping off me.
I grabbed the doorknob—it shifted under my hand and the door edged open. Had I forgotten to lock it when I left? I waited a moment and listened. Nothing, just silence. “Hello?” No reply. I eased in and turned on the lights.
There on the couch, folded over and unmoving, soaked through.
“Tyler?”
He turned his head but said nothing. His eyes were swollen and though his face was wet with rain I could see he’d been crying.
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
He seemed smaller than I remembered, drawn in on himself. I took a breath and imagined myself cemented in place. The space between us was the one thing I could control: I can maintain this distance; I can keep myself from crossing this threshold.
“I didn’t know where else to go. I had to leave. I didn’t know what to do.” His face crumpled and he started to cry. “I’m sorry.”
I pressed my heels to the floor.
“You can’t just show up like this.”
“I know, I know.” The words stuttered, caught in his throat. He looked small, tender, broken. His body shook, all of it at once. I had fantasized about this moment so many times, his return to me. In these many weeks of silence, all I wanted was to know he missed me more than he could bear. And now here he was.
“Get out.”
He recoiled, like I’d raised a fist.
“What?”
“Leave, Tyler. Go away. Leave me alone.”
“Please. It’s Addison.”
“Addison?” Rage swelled in me. “Your shit with Addison isn’t my problem anymore. I’m done with this. I’m done with Sawyer—”
“Please.”
“You’re not going to fuck this up for me, Tyler. Get out.”
“Mark, please.” He was trembling, face frantic, searching the room like someone else might be there, someone who would help.
“Tyler—”
He cried out—“Addison’s dead.”
“You—wait, what?”
I dropped my bag and went to him. He buried his face, sobbing. He was sopping wet; he must be freezing. I thought back to the last time I’d seen Addison. We’d run into each once after Columbus. I was headed to a parking lot and saw him, walking alone. I froze in place. I’m not sure what I was afraid of, what I thought he might do. He stopped; across the distance, he raised a hand and nodded. A salute, a reprieve. What could have happened to him? I ran my fingers through the back of Tyler’s hair, soft under the wet layers. His breathing slowed. He raised his face, eyes ringed in red, irises twisting green and yellow coils beneath the scrim of tears. He looked rubbed raw, like his skin would be sore to the touch.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not sure—I … We were in our room, hanging out. Things were okay. They were great … And then we got in this fight. It was stupid, I don’t even understand how it started.”
