My hand rests on my chest, my heart so full it feels like it could burst open at any moment. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Throwing my arms around his neck, I bury my head against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around my waist as he lifts me off of my feet, catching my mouth with his as I lift my head. His kiss is gentle and reverent, filling my heart beyond capacity.
The soft clay glides beneath my wet fingers as I pump the pedal of the turntable, molding the grooves of what I hope will be a success this time. I’ve destroyed six bowls already. I thought it would come right back to me but I can see it will take a lot more practice.
As another bowl falls victim to my clumsy hands, I let go of a frustrated sigh and set the horrendous thing aside before grabbing some more clay nearby. Tugging and forming it until it’s the shape I like. Once I’m satisfied, I place it on the wheel, reaching for my tiny sponge to add cold water.
I remember the words my mother always used to tell me.
It’s not about what you’re creating but the person you become when you are creating. When you are bringing art to life, life stirs inside of you. Changes you. Molds you into a different shape. Another form. A rebirth. That is what creating means to me, and for the first time since I lost my mother, I feel like I can take a full breath. My broken soul doesn’t feel quite so broken as her spirit moves through me, guiding me.
Finally, I find myself growing more relaxed, confident, and before I even realize it, I have created something beautiful and exactly what I was wanting. I finish up and turn off the wheel, pleased with myself.
Once I clean up, I fill the claw foot tub with hot water and drop in a bath bomb I found underneath the sink.
I soak for a while, contemplating my life. Where I came from. Where I’m going. Looking forward is a lot less scary than looking back, but looking back is getting easier with him by my side. What he’s done for me, what he’s given me, is more than anyone else ever has. He gave me freedom. Love and protection.
His whole heart.
I get out of the bathtub and put on some comfy clothes, brush my hair and teeth, then grab my mother’s notebook off the bedside table. Bringing along a thin sweater to ward off the night chill, I take a seat on the porch swing, sinking back into the comfy cushions.
Fireflies dance in the distance while locusts sing their night song.
Opening the book, I begin to read.
September 24, 1998
I’ve been horrible about keeping up with this. Things have just been so crazy. Selena consumes so much of my day and by the time I’m crawling in bed at night, I’m too exhausted to lift a pen. It’s gotten easier though. We have a steady routine that we’re both adjusting to so I’m not quite so exhausted all the time. She turned six months old last week. She’s not crawling yet but she’s curious about everything. She knows how to give kisses and she’s always smiling. Always laughing. God, that laugh. Best sound in the whole world.
Teddy’s beard has become her latest obsession. Every time he picks her up, she paws at his beard until he buries his face in her neck, kissing and tickling her until she’s laughing so hard she can hardly breathe.
I love watching them together. I would tell him to shave it but I love the look on her face when her tiny fingers yank on it. And he looks quite handsome with it, too. I’ve been noticing that more and more lately. I never realized just how handsome he was until I watched him with her. How tender he is, how sweet. He’s always been in good shape, but the more time he spends outdoors, the more fit he becomes. Grease stains his fingers and I find myself wondering what they would feel like on my skin. I catch him looking at me sometimes, too. Hard, blatant stares that leave no question about what he—or rather whom—he wants.
Unlike me, he never looks away. I can see the longing in his eyes, the desire. And every single part of me wants to answer to it.
Except my heart.
It’s the only one I can’t convince. Because it’s bled enough to know that this one could very well end me altogether.
January 5, 1999
Teddy and I made love for the first time last night. Well, technically we made love several times. I lost count after a while. Seems he had a lot of pent-up sexual tension. We both did. But after the first time, things slowed down a bit. His touches grew less greedy, more worshipful.
We spent hours in-between talking. More than we have ever talked before. Teddy and I have always been close but there are walls that I refuse to tear down for anyone. Walls I built when I was robbed of my innocence. But I know Teddy. He’s like a jackhammer. Hard, strong, and made to break through solid rock. And the scary part is, I’m willing to let him.
What he doesn’t realize is that if Cesar ever does find me, Teddy’s fate will be the same as mine. But I’m not sure I’m strong enough to tell him no.
October 11, 1999
Teddy’s worried about me. I’m worried about me. I know this isn’t healthy, but I’m so overwhelmed with fear.
Afraid that if he finds me, I’ll lose them both forever. That the only happiness I’ve ever truly known will be stripped away from me.
I find myself asking what would’ve happened if I hadn’t run? Tears fill my eyes each time I look at her because I know what my fate would have been.
And hers.
Sadness and fear grip my heart regularly, and I find it hard to get out of bed some days because I’m always thinking today could be the day. The day I’m torn away from them.
