Dear Chris Ch. 02

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A surprise throws her for a loop.
3.5k words
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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/06/2022
Created 05/12/2014
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MJRoberts
MJRoberts
1,290 Followers

DJ

Sometimes, things work out. The more my Wednesday, in-the-confession-booth visits with Chris continued, the more comfortable they became. Summer turned into fall, and the leaves turned red and gold. With the crisp, perfect weather, came a feeling that everything could be the backdrop for a Disney movie. I took long walks every morning in a park near my house and noticed every cardinal, and robin, and blue jay, every tiny frog, or hurrying squirrel. The all seemed ready to turn to cartoon characters who would sew your dress out of curtains and ice your cake.

I was filled with gratitude. One day I found myself skipping, actually skipping down the path.

I know that I had a lot to be grateful for. The weather was great, and the stores were beginning to stock Halloween decorations. It was one of those falls, that because things were going so well, the entire world was colored by my rose-colored glasses.

I began to view Chris like a writing partner, a first listener to test stories out on, as well as a muse. He also had become a real friend, the Wednesday's in the booth taking on a surreal quality of being alone and together, like sitting in a dark pub with a large ale and talking to, but not being able to see, the person sitting next to you.

So on quite a few days, I let myself skip, and swing my arms, even though that's silly. But it made sense. I had a great boyfriend, who had been healthier for months, and now a good friend who was very supportive, a job that was relatively low stress.

I even started jogging some mornings, something hadn't done since high school.

Considering I was in such a perpetual good mood, it surprised me when I got so pissy on the Saturday before Halloween, after doing a ton of errands, when I came home to find my boyfriend's car in the same place he'd left it earlier, on the street, instead of where it would have been if he'd gone out and come back: in the driveway.

I stomped into the house. I asked him to do one thing. One! Get asparagus. So I could make a nice lobster dinner for us. And he couldn't even be bothered to go out and do that one thing. Jeez.

"Hey, Lazy!" I said as I put all my bags down on the kitchen counter. "What's your excuse?"

My boyfriend didn't answer. I started un-packing some of the things I bought. I put the lobster tails that I'd gotten from the fish market in the fridge, and put away the new package of fancy napkins, and I had the roll of tin foil in my hand when I went down the hall to check on him.

He was lying on the bed, absolutely grey.

I ran to him, dropping the tinfoil. It fell to the ground with an odd thunk noise. I tilted his head back, put my mouth to his and breathed out, started chest compressions, administering CPR before realizing that my lips had touched only cold.

My knees buckled, and I landed on the floor by the side of the bed. Didn't he have a do not resuscitate, anyway? By how cold he was, he might have been dead for hours. Still I felt I should feel for a pulse, because even though I could sense he was long gone, what if I were wrong?

There was no pulse. I put my forehead down on the bed near his hip. "No," I said. He was doing so well. "Why couldn't you just get asparagus?" It was a ridiculous thing to say, as if, if he had been able to go to the store to get a vegetable everything would have been fine.

I took out my phone and dialed 911.

"What's the nature of your emergency?" a female operator said.

It took me a few tries to speak. I guess it wasn't an emergency anymore, was it. But weren't you supposed to call 911 when someone died?

"My boyfriend died and I don't know what to do," I said.

"I'll talk you through it," she said gently. "I'll talk you through it."

---

In a blink of an eye, my life changed. The Halloween decorations looked sinister. I walked through my days as if I were surrounded in a grey cotton cloud, or wading in a murky stream.

I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't answer check my personal email. I wrote the articles I needed to for work, but I felt like I was phoning in the answers from some remote part of my brain, composing blog posts lauding fake Christmas trees with "authentic" tree scents, and finding ten synonyms for high-speed for a new internet company that claimed they would "revolutionize" the world.

There was a word for what I was doing. Sleepwalking.

I was very hungry, but the idea of eating anything was appalling. I found the only thing I could eat was ice cream.

So for months, I ate only ice cream.

It was a diet of Breyers ice cream, chocolate, chocolate chip, and vanilla, and water. My body began to look thinner and more hallow and hollow, except for my stomach, which pouched out, like a soft, distended basketball.

I noticed, but I barely noticed.

I could only wear my loosest clothes.

This went on, until Christmas Day. I wouldn't even have realized that it was Christmas, except I went to the grocery store to get ice cream, and the store was closed.

I realized that my plans for Christmas dinner, was ice cream by myself.

Again, it was my knees that first had a problem supporting me and I crouched down, right there in front of the closed glass doors, on the pavement, and started bawling and couldn't stop.

What the hell was happening to me?

After I had cried myself out, I decided that I needed to pick myself up. Not just from the huddled, blubbering, tissue-holding mass I was in at the moment, but from my pattern.

This had gone on long enough.

Oddly, my first thought was of Chris. Oh, God. My boyfriend had died on a Tuesday. I had missed my standing Wednesday appointment with Chris, but had forgotten to call and cancel.

Fuck.

And I hadn't checked my emails since.

Oh boy.

I went home, washed my face, and logged on to my computer. Nine emails from Chris. I read them, in reverse order of the pile-up, so I was reading the first one that he sent, first.

*From Chris1970*

I missed you at the cathedral today. I'm hoping you just forgot? I could change some things in my schedule, and make another trip up tomorrow, or we could skip it and just meet next week, as usual.

I hope you're okay.

Of course, at first I figured you were just late. I waited. I had no idea how disappointed I'd be when I realized you weren't coming.

Now I know what the word crestfallen means.

Looking forward to your email. Hope you're all right.

–¬C.

The next emails varied in tone, conveying a wide range from jocular needling to get me to write him back, to overt worry. He speculated on the cause of the silence, siting everything from problems with my boyfriend to being abducted by aliens.

The ninth email had a heading in the subject, 'A Rose in Winter'.

*From Chris1970*

Dear DJ,

I can only guess from the silence that I've done something to upset you. I've gone over every email from you, every conversation, every moment from that first post, to the moment of listening you breathe during our first meaning, to everything we said that last day. I've wracked my brain. I can't think of anything.

Although I know in the way of women, they are mysterious, and I am dumb, so who knows? Maybe I said something and didn't realize it. If so, I apologize.

If I thought begging you to reply would help, I'd beg. Hell, I am begging. Groveling. You wouldn't think that something so little could mean so much, but to me, it did.

I have to assume, by your lack of response, over and over, that you don't want to hear from me ever again. And if you don't write back, I won't write you again after this one, I promise.

I wanted to give you something. Something half, a quarter, a tenth as precious as you gave me. But what? I don't have an address or even a last name for you.

I'm not like you. I'm not a writer. But I looked up every poem I could find on the internet, and took all the ones that made me feel something, anything, a string pulling my insides in ten different directions, like what's happening now, and I took phrases and lines from them and mushed them together, to write a poem for you.

So I could at least give you something, no matter how short of any mark, anything I would write would possibly be.

So here it is, my one and only attempt at writing ever.

A ROSE IN WINTER

When I think of you, a see a huge, untouched field,

Buried under deep snow,

That sparkles like thousands of small, sharp diamonds,

Reflecting light.

And in the middle of all that brilliance,

I see one thing and nothing else.

Strong.

Vibrant.

A rose.

Thick stem.

Sharp thorns.

Blood red leaves unfurled.

Thriving, in the middle of winter.

Completely unique.

Creating massive beauty,

Total difference,

In the middle of a barren wonderland.

Thriving.

I see you.

I see that rose.

A glorious, loud, fantastic, unstoppable, riotous bloom of outrageous life and color.

Flourishing.

In the depths of winter.

I blinked a few times. Closed my laptop. Went on automatic to the freezer, took out a pint of Haagen Daas, and had the spoon halfway to my mouth before I stopped. I put the ice cream away. Went back to my computer.

That email was sent November 15th.

Shit.

I emailed him back.

*From DJtruewriter*

I'll write you when I can.

–DJ

I pressed send.

I wanted to say, 'I loved your poem, it broke my heart.' But my heart was already broken, wasn't it.

Or was it?

Something was broken, that's for sure. And it was winter all right, the bleakest of seasons. A long dark night that felt like it would never end.

But I had to take a hold of myself. It would never end if I acted like this. It would never end if I continued in my living underwater state.

'I will make one positive step today,' I said to myself.

I looked up the yoga schedule at the yoga studio I used to go to. They had a class tomorrow. I would go.

"I'm going to live," I said out loud. "I'm going to do everything I've always wanted to do and never done, I'm going to live like..." but I didn't finish, I didn't know what to say. "I'm going to live like I care," I said.

Because I do, I added silently.

It occurred to me then that I didn't know Chris' last name either. We weren't Facebook friends, I didn't have some way of sneakily following his activities on the internet, which I very much wanted to do. I didn't even know where he worked. I just knew he was in sales.

January dragged on, and February. I forced myself to volunteer once a month at the library, just to be among people a little bit. I guess I didn't realize, but caretaking had taken over not just my identity, but a lot of my life. Friends had drifted away. With my boyfriend gone, the only time I talked to an adult was when I went to the store.

This wasn't healthy.

I wrote Chris.

*From DJtruewriter*

I'm free this Wednesday if you'd like to meet.

I was going to write, same bat time, same bat channel, but I wasn't ready to be cute, or funny, or flip, even a little bit.

The answering message came back less than a minute later.

*From Chris1970*

I'll be there. With bells on.

–C.

DJ

Wednesday came around and I was a weird combination of nervous and numb, mostly numb. I dressed with care, the way I used to, you know, before. Walking into the cathedral was strange, everything that had seemed so calming before just seemed eerie and foreign.

I got into the same confession booth, but I had nothing to say. One tear rolled down my cheek. I took slow deep breaths as I felt like my feelings were attacking my like fire crackers exploding in my chest. Remorse, grief, happiness, sadness, relief.

"DJ?" Chris said. "I don't mind driving two hours just to listen to you breathe."

That reminded me of the first day we met. I guess that was reasonable, this was like starting over, a first day again, in a way.

"DJ, will you tell me a story?"

"I don't think I'm going to be telling any stories for a while," I said.

"Is it your boyfriend? Is he sick?"

I shook my head, even though Chris couldn't see me. "I really don't want to talk about it," I said.

"Okay," he said.

We sat in silence for a while.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?"

"Sure," I said.

"Let's see," he said. "I'm not much of a story teller." He paused for a minute. "One of my cousins had a baby on Christmas day."

"Oh, congratulations. A boy or a girl?"

"Girl."

"What did they name her?"

"Chris."

I laughed. "Chris. Christmas."

"Exactly."

"You weren't born on Christmas?"

"No, I was born on July 4th."

I laughed.

"Kidding," he said.

He told me stories about his work, and co-workers, about news articles he read, about a signed first edition book he wanted to buy, but was on the fence about, feeling that it was too much money for a non-necessity.

It was the best day I'd had in a long time, although I didn't tell him so. When I left I felt the sun on my face, really felt it, for the first time in months.

That night I emailed him when I got home.

*From DJtruewriter*

Next Wednesday?

*From Chris1970*

You bet.

–C.

And so it went. He gathered little stories from his week to tell me on Wednesday. About TV shows he watched, or fairs and festivals he went to, or second hand stories he heard, or he told me about traffic jams caused by construction. It got to the point that I looked forward to Wednesday all week. I couldn't wait to hear his voice.

So it was, the last Wednesday in March, when he was in the middle of telling me a story about a concert he went to and I burst into tears.

"DJ? What's up?"

I sniffled. "That was my boyfriend's favorite band," I said.

"Was?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.

"Deej. Did you two break up?"

"No."

Complete and utter silence from his side. Like a wall of silence. Bricks of silence. And then, "DJ. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

I looked into my purse for Kleenex.

"Is that why you stopped writing me? Over the winter?"

"Um-hm," I said. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"I just wish I could hug you right now," he said. He let his voice infuse with hug, full of comfort.

I opened the door to my booth and just stood there. Then I walked the one step to the door of his booth and knocked.

He opened the door a crack. Then slowly more. Then peeked out. I saw mostly the top of salt and pepper hair. "You sure?"

I nodded.

Chris threw the door open. I got an impression of a long tan coat as it flapped behind him and then around us, as Chris enveloped me in his arms. He smelled fantastic, some comforting, expensive, forest, smell. He was taller than I expected. He held the back of my head and the middle of my back and pressed me into his chest.

I continued to cry, soft muffled sounds as I soaked his shirt.

"I just didn't expect him to die," I murmured into Chris' chest. "He was so much better. I mean, I know everyone dies, but one day he was fine, he was there, and then he just wasn't."

The tears built up inside me like a raging river bursting over a dam and I sobbed onto Chris, soaking him.

"I'm sorry," I hiccupped.

"It's all right. I got you. It's all right."

It took me a minute to calm down. I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. I felt better.

He put his hand under my chin and gently lifted my head up toward him. It was the first time I really got to see him head on. It was the first time I got to see his eyes. They were a hazel color, filled with intelligence. And compassion. For me.

I broke into tears again.

"Ssh, baby, I got you."

He used his thumb to wipe my tears away. He rubbed one hand in small circles on my low back and I quieted.

"I guess I just needed to get that out. Thanks."

"Any time."

I was silent for a second, taking in the newness of seeing him, being in his arms, soaking in his heat and stability.

"My parents died a few years ago in a small plane accident."

I blinked up at him.

"Here one minute and then—" he snapped his fingers. "Gone."

"Oh, God," I said.

"It was senseless, and unexplainable. Of course I was upset, but I felt like I should be able to handle it. I was an adult. A guy. I felt like I should be tough. Everyone loses their parents eventually right?"

I just looked at him. I wasn't close to my parents at all, but I couldn't imagine them dead.

"But it was hard. It took time. You know what helped?"

I shook my head.

"I went to a grief support group."

Somehow that surprised me. I hadn't even thought of such a thing. I certainly couldn't picture Chris going. I always viewed him as a loner, like me.

"I couldn't imagine talking to a group of people about this," I said.

"I couldn't either," he said. "I went. And I didn't talk. I just sat there. I listened. When something like that happens, you feel like you're the only one in the world who feels that combination of freezing cold numb and burning sharp pain. But as I sat there, week after week, and month after month, I got that it didn't matter if it was a car accident, or a plane accident, or a disease, or a murder. When a human experiences loss it's like a part of us is ripped out and stomped on. But what I saw in the group is that even though the memories of the person, or people, we're missing never go away, the... torn edges of ourselves smooth over a little, grow back."

"Wow."

"And after awhile," he said, "I began to talk too. Share my story. Not even so much for me by then, but for the new people who came in. I went twice a week for... oh, almost a year and a half."

He stroked my hair. My breathing slowed and I calmed down.

"Then I started reading your stories and it was like they filled the last little part of that aching hole that was still an empty gap. I started emailing you. That's about when I stopped going. I felt complete with it. I didn't need it anymore."

I gave him a fierce hug and pulled out of his embrace.

"I recommend it," he said. "Even if you don't feel like going, and there were plenty of days I didn't feel like going, believe me; I'd say go. I'll help you through this as much as I can, but it's not something you should do alone."

I nodded. I looked down at my boots.

He titled my chin up again. "It's going to be okay. I know it doesn't seem like it now, and it takes a lot of time, but it's going to be okay. You're going to be okay. I promise."

I nodded. "It's already been awhile. The shock and numbness and anger are wearing off. It's learning to build a new life, be tethered and functioning and real in my new life, with grief and laundry and mowing the lawn and whatever that's throwing me."

"I'll be here for you as much as you let me," Chris said.

I suddenly wanted him to be there for me in many ways, very, very much. I wanted him to be there for me, A LOT.

I looked up into his hazel eyes and saw more than a lifeline, an open heart, salvation.

"I have to go," I whispered.

"Next Wednesday?"

I smiled at him. It was the healing, bright, balm, of the first fully right real smile I'd had in a long time.

"You bet. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

#

MJRoberts
MJRoberts
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  • COMMENTS
3 Comments
DearKaryaDearKaryaabout 7 years ago
Next Wednesday?

Dear MJ Roberts,

Thank you for such a beautiful, different story. The logical art--appreciating side of me thinks it ended in a really good place. After all, the moral of the story is that you make your own endings, right? But the hopeless romantic that I am would love to hear how Chris and DJ's love story developed into something beyond the confession room of a church. I hope you'll consider it one day.

In the meantime, thank you.

FireflysummerFireflysummerover 8 years ago
Beautiful

Just beautiful

honeyxbabyhoneyxbabyover 9 years ago

I love this story! Are there any plans to continue it? :)

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Dear Chris Previous Part
Dear Chris Series Info

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