Edrie

You Left My Heart in Pieces
- A story


When I went to the lawyers office, in that fancy federal street building all glass and gold, I passed the downtown church where bums sit outside and ask for money and go inside once a day for food and blessing.

On the way to the office I did not pause, did not even look at the priest outside or the woman whose teeth she held in her hand hoping the priest could put them back for her � He didn�t mean it, she slurred.

On the way back from the office, after hearing the straight and scary story and after writing a check for the retainer (what am I retaining?) I did pause. I paused so long the homeless men stopped asking me for change, stopped telling me to have a nice day. There are 4 doors, all open; I held the handle of one as if it were holding me up. I meant to go, to turn back to Summer street and the T, but the young priest opened it, beaconed me inside.

I was familiar with the chapel, I had been there once before � with Steve � when he needed to dip his fingers in holy water and to genuflect at the alter. I remember being scared to do it myself. Not this time, this time I needed to. I ran my fingers in the bowl of water; cool, somewhat slimy (should holy water feel slimy?). I brought my damp fingers to my head and then to my heart and then back to my head. God, please stop this dream � I whispered to myself.

When I had been in NYC the Sunday (or was it 2 Sundays now) before, I had lit a candle at that famous cathedral and said � God please let everyone be happy. I had no idea that that prayer and candle would bring so much unhappiness. Was there a reason? And now I was asking God to stop this dream, let me out of my life. I lit another candle and simply said � I mean it this time.

On the way home that night to a house full of stuff that I did not want, I thought about all what had happened. Why did I work so hard at things only to have them go so badly? Some people don�t work at all at relationships and they go on for years and years. I remember being so happy to go to NYC. He told me (texted me actually � I still have it in the phone he had shut off but I don�t carry it around because I can�t bear to look at it) that I should not worry � that I was to have fun � that everything would be happy.

I drove and thought about God and about the candles I had lit. About my life and where it had gone, about the house full of meaningless everything, about Steve and what he had done and what he was doing and about the fact he probably wasn�t thinking the same of me. I thought about the fact I had two friends coming over Sunday to help me clean out the house and a dumpster coming the following Friday to get rid of the rest of my life. Why wait I thought and I did what I longed to do which was drive into oncoming traffic under the wheels of a semi.

In situations like that you are not thinking clearly. You think that all you have to do is turn the wheel and magically a truck will appear on the other side of the road. Rt 2 is two way and I turned the wheel and no one was there. No one but the other side of the road and the ditch and a ruined car and a nearly broken wrist.

I was avoiding a crazy driver I said � I was crying so hard and so loudly the police didn�t ask questions. The ambulance took me the short ride to Emerson. I cried the whole time. No one asked me much of anything, not even how it happened. I was afraid they would keep me, take me to that ward and not let me out. Perhaps that would be safe; perhaps I would feel safe from this situation, safe from myself. But I knew that wasn�t me, I could not be there, in there. I lied over and over until I believed it myself, some guy, cut me off � going so fast � I had no time to think. They just nodded, asked me about medication, drugs, alcohol. X-rayed my wrist and ribs, checked me for concussion, was I tired did I know the date? The president (that poser � a smile at least). Hours later � Who can you call to get you? I called the insurance company. No rental car until the next day � no way home. I called a taxi company � sorry we don�t go that far in, here are some more numbers. I called everyone who was not associated with me until there was no one left. I was discharged. I could wait until the next afternoon and the insurance company would send a car there, but that was hours. Who would drive to get me at midnight and take me home so I could get into my bed and finish the crying I had started two weeks ago.

I didn�t want to tell anyone. They would look into my eyes and figure out the real story. They would know it had not been some other crazy driver � it had been me and I had failed yet again. Though I did find out that the exploding airbag would not break my nose in an accident as I had always feared. Irrational fear disproved.

That was the first time I called him for help. I knew he did not have a car, but maybe he would talk to me, he would understand. I found him at work, closing the store after his promotion. He borrowed something, left there and came directly to me. He didn�t speak, just picked up my affects and brought me to the truck. Took me home without asking for directions, put me in my bed, made me tea. He knew the pain too. He watched over me for two days, called in sick for me, checked messages and made phone calls. I was OK, no I was just a little banged up, I just wanted to rest � I couldn�t talk very well. I�m just a friend.

By the time I thought to thank him, he was gone and my friends were about to arrive to help clean out the house. I could not lift anything with my right arm, which made that cleaning ridiculous, but they were OK with me just directing � probably better one step removed. Did you want this porn? One of them brought her kids; they took the games and movies I did not want. They took some of the books I could not bear to look at. We donated or tossed the rest � it�s all in the garage awaiting the dumpster.

It would make a nice book if this story ended with the happy clean out, but I still felt the same inside. None of this would really matter. I could clean and try and start over, but every time I thought of it, the world would get black. I was waiting for one more thing to happen, it always does, but would it be just one more thing. Why hadn�t that truck been there like God had promised. I so want everything to be over.

You cannot sell a house without a septic system inspection. I told everyone of the inspection on that Monday morning when I went to work. I said � cross your fingers for me � a failure is very expensive and I don�t have the $. I dreamed of starting over. The only thing I had left was that possibility � of taking some of that cash and moving somewhere. Tuesday morning all hope of anything but burden was returned. A failure. Could he show me � I could live there forever and he wouldn�t tell anyone but if I had to sell, I had to fix. Oh expensive, I couldn't even say. Low 20K high 50K - it all depends... Why was God trying to keep me in that empty house with all of those empty feelings? I wrote Steve a letter. Desperate now, but what can he do? Ultimately I will have to do this. He did call his sister - said we could split the loan. I made me feel both better and worse.

Tuesday night I had to call again, he was sick with a soar throat, not at work. He told me not to do it, that no matter what I was to remain alive because there was good in the world even if I would have to wait a long time for it. I talked to him while I was immersed in the bath, thinking of all of those movies and cop shows where they find the victim in cold red water, pickled fingers and toes, blue lips, closed eyes. The finders always looked sad, but the findees never did.

Write about this Edrie. Don�t let it overwhelm you. They don�t think about what they did, only you are thinking these things and you said he will help you, take that help, why not. Even if it costs you money � it will be over.

But I don�t want it to cost me anything, my heart is in pieces, my soul is gone everything I thought was true was a lie � were all those cards I found written to me over the years lies? Was his secret heart always hidden to me, even at the most connected times?

None of that matters Edrie. The truth is now � you have to take what that was and put it in a secret place where it can only make you stronger. Now you have to do this, please don�t take yourself away from the world, it�s not worth it. Think of all of the things you like and will miss. Those things we will miss without you.

He stayed on the phone with me for hours. Convincing, talking, and napping. Several people called during that time. My mother three times, Steve�s sister twice, my sister, my brother a friend from Texas. I didn�t answer any of them; I watched the caller ID flash and waited for the message beep and then switched to hear them say one thing or another.

He was always there when I returned. Finally the sun rose and I felt I could hang up. And I am doing this now. I am not healed or cured, I am not feeling much better, but I made it. One more night at a time. One more obstacle to put behind me � though this one is so big.

Before he hung up.

Edrie � Listen, first get some sleep, second leave that house, and third always know you can call me. I might not have the right thing to say but I can be very quiet and let you talk. You deserve to talk and you deserve to work through this and look forward to what you want. It might not come right away, but it will come. Look at me, you and I share this pain, perhaps we can spread it out in a thin layer and break through it.

Get the system fixed, take whatever loan you need and hope that you make at least that back on the house � breaking even is not bad. You will figure it out. This is not all your burden.