Page 89 of Yearning Difficulties

A few people giggled and Sterling’s face crumpled with fury. Cherry ignored her, pushing past them all to walk towards the stage. She mounted the small platform with ease and took the microphone from the confounded committee member.

She turned to address the swing band. ‘Do you boys know “Witchcraft” by Sinatra?’

They enthusiastically confirmed that they did. She smiled approvingly at them and they began to play an up-tempo version of her request.

And Cherry sang.

She sang with all of her indefatigable talent. Her hips swayed as she flirted with the audience, who were all delighted by the number.

Or maybe just relieved that the awkwardness had passed, that Cherry had refused to be brought down by any of it. I watched Sterling stamp her foot but no one was paying any attention to her any more. Logan was staring up at Cherry on the stage.

It would have made a great painting.

I realized we’d all just witnessed a very special sort of magic.

Cherry had refused their narrative. She’d made her own. Now the whole room was dancing and gazing up at her with appreciation. She’d rewritten the story. Recrafted the night. She sang and twirled on stage with a voice that sounded like something from another era. She was a siren in the flesh.

A real kind of autistic witchcraft.

Thirty-One

Do You Remember the Shire?

Today’s Track: ‘Come On Up to the House’ by Tom Waits

As Cherry bowed to rapturous applause, I found my heart breaking for her. I couldn’t make sense of the cruelty, the darkness, the ugly work of jealousy and insecurity.

I watched Sterling storm from the room and Logan didn’t even glance her way.

I felt the one thing I chose never to look at gnawing at my heart.

Halloween.

I’d been tipsy this time last year. Tipsy because I’d been trying to forget.

Two Halloweens ago, everything had fallen out from beneath me. I tried never to think of it. But now, I tried to do what Cherry had just done. I tried to rewrite it. Reimagine it. Pretend it was something that it wasn’t. Tell myself that the walk into hell had ended with a different outcome.

I could feel Killian holding me to him and I was faintly aware of his voice asking me if I was all right.

But I wasn’t. I hadn’t been all right since that night two years ago.

A group of friends were dancing to Cherry’s voice. They stood in front of me, four of them happily bumping and grinding to Cherry’s rendition of ‘Dead Man’s Party’.

They were all dressed as hobbits.

The sight of it undid something in me.

Suddenly the memories flooded in like ghosts who’d been waiting for the veil to drop. So many quotes that we’d cheerfully yelled into each other’s faces. The late-night texts. The world we made that only needed the two of us.

I whimpered in pain and broke free from Killian’s arms because love felt so permanent until it wasn’t. I stumbled towards the exit. I heard him call my name, as I shoved people out of my path. Everything was blurred and unfocused. My heart felt broken all over again. My emotions had crept up on me and I hadn’t heard them coming.

Saying your heart is broken is such a cliché.

But when it happens, there’s no other way of describing it.

I found a closet and shoved myself inside, slamming the door behind me. I heard the locking mechanism click as my legs gave out like ribbons and I pressed myself into the darkness. Like a wounded animal who’d found a dark den to hide away in.

I tried to breathe but sobs came instead of breaths.