Whitney
Whittecar
Final
Essay
May 2nd,
2012
The Past Never Goes Away
Jess
“Hey Josh,
can I have another?”
“You bet,
darlin’.”
My old
friend pulls another glass from under the bar, reaches behind him for my
favorite whiskey, and grabs the sweet&sour. I watch as he pours the perfect
proportion of each—topping it off with three cherries. We’ve known each other
for seemingly decades, our old souls finding each other just a few short years
ago. He places the drink on my cardboard coaster, flashing the kind of heart
wrenching grin that makes most girls swoon.
“You’re an
artist,” I say.
“I know.
I’ll be right back—don’t go anywhere.” Josh bustles down to the other end of
the bar to pour drinks for a couple of his regulars. In no time, he’s right
back in front of me with that same grin and stands against the bar, finally
able to take a small break. "I didn’t expect to see you tonight…how ya
been?”
The longer
his eyes bore into mine, the more I can feel my face get warm. Damn that grin.
“I’m
good,” is all I could muster, looking down, nervously stirring my perfect
cocktail. “It’s been awhile...”
His
cheerful attitude fades, super-fast. “Yeah, it has. You never come around
anymore, Jess. Don’t return my calls, texts, the notes I left at your office.
Hell, I had to call Maggie to make sure you were still alive. Like you dropped
off the planet and I didn’t get the damn memo.”
As Josh
rants, I can feel the tears welling up. A few months ago, I did just
leave—skipped town for couple weeks, drove across Washington with nothing but a
small suitcase and a few hundred bucks. Left my phone on the kitchen counter. I
called Maggie from random places every few days to tell her I was alright; she
mentioned Josh went a little crazy. Well, maybe that was me.
“Josh, I’m
sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Aw, Jess.
I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s really good to see you. You look great.” He
leans across the bar to swipe my cheek, his hand lingering longer than it
should. I can’t hold his stare, and as he retracts, my eyes flash to his left
arm. Black ink peaks out from where t-shirt meets skin and Josh follows my
gaze, only to quickly pull at his sleeve. My own hand reaches for my own left
arm, feeling a pang of sadness.
“I’m
getting mine covered,” I blurt. Instantly, I regret it, but the words just keep
spewing out. “I hate it. It’s ugly and wasn’t done properly.”
“Oh yeah?”
This time, Josh is the one looking a little choked up. “When’re you doing
that?”
“Today.
Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
His face falls. Regret.
“Yeah, in
like an hour. I wanted to have a drink or two, you know, to make it hurt less.”
It’s now I realize any chance I have of making things better between us just
evaporated. I can almost physically feel Josh pulling away from me, shutting me
out, even though he has yet to budge. He isn’t looking at me anymore, my face
isn’t warm.
“I’m going
to check on everyone. Be back.”
My old
souled mate won’t come back. He heads to the other end of the bar.
“Josh.
Wait.”
“What,
Jess? What could you possibly want?”
I pause.
Looking.
“Love you,
still. Always have, always will.”
With that,
I slide off my stool. Tears cloud my vision as I drop some cash on the bar.
I
shouldn’t have come here.
Carly
“I’m on
the right track, baby,
I WAS BORN THIS WAY…”
I can’t
help but belt Gaga as it bleeds from my speakers at a red light, running late.
Windows down, the guy stopped next to me even sings along. Phone in the
passenger seats buzzes and I glance to see who could be calling: Jess. Shit.
Before I could answer, it goes to voicemail but she doesn’t leave one. God,
she’s probably pissed.
“Don’t
hide yourself in regret,
just love yourself and you’re set.”
Light
still shines red as I hum, double-checking my reflection. “Damn, girl,” I
whisper to myself. My purple and teal streaked bangs are pinned up perfectly,
contrasting with the brunette mane I inherited from my mother. Make-up is
flawlessly Fifties, dress cocktail style, bright red pumps, coordinating
supremely. I feel fabulous.
“Whether
life’s disabilities left you outcast,
bullied, or teased…”
Green
light! My heavy foot shifts from break to accelerator, breaking first from the
pack to fly down Main Street. I’ve been late before, but damn. Never this late.
Someone should be at the shop to let Jess inside, but who knows what the hell
those boys are up to anymore. I might have to get mean and nasty.
With all
these thoughts, I approach the shop in record time, and my foot shifts again,
this time to the brake. Jess stands outside in the shadows and smiles a tiny smile
as I flounder out of my car. “I AM SO SORRY!!” I yell to her, still gathering
supplies to take inside.
“It’s ok.
I haven’t been here long.”
“Ah,
you’re too nice. Are the guys here?”
Jess
chuckles before answering, “Yeah, but they locked me out. I tried banging on
the door…”
“Shoulda
flashed ‘em.” Only now do I really notice Jess’s face; something isn’t right.
“Lemme just find my keys.” After what felt like eternity, I flipped the
deadbolt and heard the ding of the door as I yanked it open. “Hey!” No answer.
Strange.
“Where are
they?”
“It’s
Man-Merkin Monday. So who knows?” I scan my new friend’s face. “Gimme a few to
get set up and we can get started, mmk?”
Sir Charles
With one
fierce motion, I’m jolted awake.
She wraps
her gloved hands around my neck, prodding and fondling, sticking the needle
right in my nose. I quiver in protest. The usual pain runs the length of my
body but I fight her to the bitter end. Persistent, she wiggles until I can’t
hold off any longer. It’s in place.
Now comes
the worst part.
Her arm
moves quickly; before I know it, she has my ass-end gripped in one hand,
malicious prongs in another and I’m suddenly attached to the machine. Knobs
adjusted; she pops her foot up and down. I can hear the electricity before I
feel it. Then I’m hit with almost twelve volts. Knobs readjusted, foot down.
Just over eight this time. That must be sufficient because she lets me be. Still.
I wish she’d wipe that evil grin off her face.
I know for
fact she isn’t done; we’re just getting started. Talking, talking, blah, blah,
blah. White towels are torn and folded next to me, the bottle of green solution
stands in its spot. I’m overwhelmed with anxiety. I really do hate being
involved, even though it’s my job.
Let’s just
get this over with.
Jess
“What was
I thinking?” I yell to no one but myself and slam my hand against the steering
wheel. “Going to see him like that. And then I TOLD HIM my plan.” This time,
it’s my head that makes contact, right where the airbag is located. I leave it
there for a few minutes, letting the tears fall. Without moving much, check the
time on my phone.
Shit.
I’m going
to be late.
“Pull
yourself together, Jess.”
Wipe my
face, check my mascara; reapply one coat. No, two.
I take a
deep breath, “Remember. You want to do this. Carly is waiting for you.” With
that, I shove my keys into the ignition and fire up my old clunker.
It’s a
manual, but I’m on autopilot. Minutes later, on Main Street, in front of the
shop, I park. She’s nowhere in sight and I find myself grateful for the few
minutes of solitude. Looks like a couple of the guys are inside, but I decide
to wait here. Gaga plays from the radio, I listen to “Born This Way” and think
of Carly: this fun, confident artist that just does what makes her happy. She
has a great husband, three gorgeous children.
I almost
had a baby with a great man.
Another
tear squeaks out of my left eye but I catch it before it goes very far. Carly
pulls up a few spots away. I shake my head as if the memories will be erased,
as if my brain is an etch-a-sketch. Grab purse, leave phone. Plaster the best
fake smile across my face.
Let’s do
this.
Josh
Damn her!
Jesus, I didn’t need that. She comes walkin’ in here like she never left, lookin’
better than I remember, only to leave again.
I shoulda
known she wouldn’t stick around.
Now she’s
off, lettin’ some scumbag cover her work. Wasn’t done right, my ass. Mine looks
fine!
*smash*
Dammit.
Another glass.
“Are you
ok, Josh?” One of my regulars, who happens to be my best friend, looks at me
funny.
“Yeah man,
I’m good. No worries.”
No fucking
worries.
Sir Charles
Ah! I had
just nodded off again when she picked me up, and without any warning, shocked
the hell outta me.
I guess we’re
starting.
Carly
“Hey Jess,
I think I’m ready for ya. Come on over lady!” As she sits in my black leather
chair, I pour ink while still keeping an eye on that face of hers.
“So, my
dear, how are ya?”
Silence. Man,
I have to get this girl talking.
“What did
you do today?”
“Went and
saw Josh.”
Josh. That
name sounds familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “And..?” Hopefully she will
keep talking.
“It didn’t
go that well. Are we still adding filigree to the top half?” she asks, looking
at my stencil of her new tattoo.
Subject change.
Oh well. I won’t make her talk about if she doesn’t want to. “Yeah, of course!
I was going to freehand it, if that’s alright.”
“That’s
cool.”
Jess watches
my every move as I place the stencil, draw the extra parts, and get approval. She’s
unusually quiet, but maybe the pain will open her up a bit.
“Are you
ready?”
“Yes.”
And with
that, me and Sir Charles begin.
Jess
The pain
is excruciating. Almost unbearable.
But I have
to watch. If I look away, it hurts worse.
Carly is
doing her best to make small talk without being too nosey. I didn’t mean to mention
to her that I saw Josh earlier, but I don’t think she remembered the story and
that’s fine by me.
Turns out
whiskey doesn’t help with the pain.
If this
keeps up, I might tell her that I didn’t want to leave his bar tonight, that I wanted
to stay there just to hear his voice, even if he wouldn’t talk to me. I might
tell her that when I left a few months back, it was to go to a clinic in
Washington, not because I was sick, but because I couldn’t have a baby right
then. Not right now. I might tell her that no one—except for Maggie—knows the
truth. I might tell her that Josh would be pulverized if he heard, and I can’t
walk around sharing the same ink with him. I might tell her that doing this
will hurt him less, will allow him to eventually, to maybe, forgive me. Maybe.
I might tell her that I still love him, that this pain here is nothing compared
to what’s inside of me.
Yes, turns
out whiskey doesn’t help with the pain.
