I want to rip myself out of the memories, bury them again, even deeper this time, but I know I have to stay here another moment. Stare this down to strip its power and reclaim my own.
The truth is heavy but not as heavy as I would expect. It seems it’s been living in my body all this time. I didn’t really block anything out; I can see that now. It was always all there somewhere, simmering in the subconscious, coating the ceiling of my life in black mold, the kind that the inspectors never catch until it’s too late, making me lash out at my parents and my sister because no one understood. And all those people I slept with over the years, hoping the new touch would erase the old, or at least coat over the filth on my skin. All the relationships I sabotaged because it was better to never let anyone get close. All the hate and blame I spewed at my family and other people to deflect it from the true target: myself.
My cheeks are soaked. I look up expecting to find rain clouds, but the sky is still clear, piercingly clear. The star is still there, piercingly there. I’m crying, crying hard. They’re my first real tears in years. Everything’s coming up and out of me and I wonder what’s going to be left of me, if anything, when this tantrum settles down. The thought terrifies me but carries some hope all the same.
The decibels build; the vibrations strengthen. Pure rage pours out of me, extra loud and guttural to compensate for how long it’s been locked up.
But it’s free now. I’m free now. Laughter tumbles out too, braiding with the rage, metamorphosing into something new, medicinal and militant all at once.
The laughter gains in proportion, wild and uncouth until I can taste my own hypocrisy and giggle at the absurdity of it. Here I’ve been praising myself as some grand leader leading people intothe light, when really I’ve been controlled by the darkness. I’ve espoused liberation while keeping my friends chained to my side, forcing them to conform to one small definition of womanhood. I’ve stripped their choices and slashed them out of my life when they dared to disobey me, all to overcompensate for my own fears and try to create a relationship structure that would keep me safe. Maybe my intentions weren’t all bad, but I’m really no better than the dictators who came before me, trying to oppress everyone around them.
Talk about a plot twist I didn’t see coming—though maybe I did and I’ve just been too stubborn to admit it. That’s my defining characteristic after all, but perhaps it’s not the only one. Perhaps some other traits can hold me together even if I let that one go.
The sound of the piano has softened. It’s not making me writhe in pain anymore. It’s just accompanying a trumpet and some lyrics for a jazz melody. And in the gap of the bridge, it all clicks.
It turns out I didn’t actually have to seek out the divine woman; I just had to recognize her. She’s been inside me all along, that pesky feeling I used to call my intuition. It makes me feel pretty dumb but also very brilliant. Most people go their whole lives without making this connection.
The divine woman breathes a giant sigh of relief that I’ve finally connected the dots after all her hints. The star is dancing now and I’m its partner. I let it twirl me around and dip me to places I’ve never been, places I’ve never let myself go. The pain and shame shrivel up to a raisin that I toss into the woods for the birds to eat.
There’s a stirring within me, and it’s so obvious now how I’m not the center of the universe after all. I’m just a tiny speck and there’s a greater force swirling all around us, creating us and dropping little bits of herself in each of us. Strangely I don’t feel threatened about being invaded by an outside force. It’s comforting, liberating, like aweight has been lifted and I don’t have to be my own god anymore. I just have to stand on the shoulders of the higher power and let her carry me through the trials, the triumphs, the tributaries.
I’m aware of my smallness, but not in a way that makes me feel unimportant. It’s the opposite actually. I’m enmeshed in the infinite, vast as can be as I roll around on the earth’s soil, no longer soiled, never soiled.
In the morning, I wake up to the sight of the mother deer emerging from the trees, nuzzling up to her baby. It makes me think of our old family dog, Melon, and how he would comfort me after my piano lessons, climbing up onto my bed to sleep with me even though that was against the rules.
The fawn stands up, gingerly like she’s still getting the hang of it. I can relate because I, too, feel jittery and shaky, like a newborn. Mother and gangly-legged baby amble off together. As they go, the mom turns back to me just for a moment, gives me an appreciative look. It’s the best thank-you I’ve ever gotten. Then they’re both gone and I’m by myself again but not alone. It’s weird, in a good way.
Everything feels crisper and brighter and it’s clear how much I’ve missed out on looking at the world through plastic lenses. I’m never putting those colored contacts back in. I’m keeping these boring gray eyes forever. And besides, boring is in the eye of the beholder, as Chris says.
Usually I would tell myself that I feel nothing at the thought of him, but now I can admit I do feel something. I feel a lot and that’s okay; that’s beautiful actually.
“Hey, divine woman,” I say, like I’m talking to an old friend. “Thanks for staying with me all this time. It probably wasn’t a walkin the park, what with my delightful attitude and all. If the situation had been reversed, I probably would’ve left you a long time ago. Just being honest.”
She chuckles at that. I make my way down the mountain slowly, going on a back trail without any rocks to minimize the risk of plummeting to my death. Everything feels raw—newly precious, newly fragile. It would be a real shame to pull a Humpty-Dumpty now that I’ve finally been put back together. Or at least now that I’m putting myself back together. I’m still a work in progress—always will be.
Chapter 35
I’m worried the feeling will wear off once I’m back in the city, but it doesn’t. It’s not as potent as it was under the stars, but there’s this quiet understanding that the divine woman will never leave me, no pact needed.
Tara can sense something different about me right away when I walk into the Inn. “What happened to you?” she asks, tossing leftovers in the skillet to give them a makeover. “Are you still high?”
“I climbed outside of myself,” I tell her. “Only I burrowed down deeper too. It’s all very meta.” I give her the gist of what happened on the hiking trip.
“Who are you and what have you done with EJ?” Tara says once I’m done, appraising me like I’ve been abducted by aliens, which I pretty much have been.
“I’m the same EJ I’ve always been,” I say. “Just without all the parasites inside.” I lay a hug on her and hold on longer than usual. “Thanks for sticking by me all this time, Tara,” I say. “Even with all my tyrannical antics.”
Still looking uncertain, Tara softens and reciprocates the hug. “You don’t have to thank me,” she mutters. “You’ve stuck by me too.”
“Guess that’s true,” I say with a grin. “We’re both pretty great. And the best part is that it isn’t even bragging because we can’ttake credit for our greatness. Only the divine woman can. So it’s not hubris; it’s humility.”
“Sounds like you found the perfect religion for you,” Tara says.
“Oh no, it’s not a religion,” I say. “It’s the exact opposite really, a living and breathing spirit. No dusty old dogma for me.”
Tara frowns. “I don’t think I’m really following.”
“Of course you’re not following,” I say. “You’re leading. We all are.” I pause. If it were anyone but Tara, I would probably just stop there, but I keep going, just a little. “Also, I realized or rather remembered something else in the woods. I’m not ready to talk about it now, but I will be soon.”
