When I Ran Away, Ilona Bannister [read 50 shades of grey TXT] 📗

If I were more generous, more gracious and humble, I’d say thank you now. But I’m not ready. I let the silence sit between us for a moment.

“Harry, it’s August. It’s almost Frankie’s time.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten. I know it is.” He looks down into my eyes. “I should have asked you about it, I’m sorry, I didn’t pay enough attention.”

“It’s hard when there’s no one to remember but me. You know?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” We’re both tired of standing but before we move from here there’s one more thing to say.

“I’m sorry today was so bad.” It’s hard for me to say because part of me thinks I shouldn’t apologize for my rebellion. I had my reasons. Part of me is stunned by how my pain took over. The edge it pushed me to. Part of me is sorry. But not for what I did today. I’m sorry for all of us. Sorry for what happened to my body and my brain. Sorry for Rocky’s terrible introduction to life. Sorry for what Johnny has witnessed and how I’ve frightened him. Sorry for the helplessness that Harry’s felt all along. It didn’t just happen to me. I’m sorry that it happened to all of us.

I tighten my grasp on Harry’s hand. He looks at me. “It’s OK,” he says. “You’re home. Let’s get some sleep.”

“OK.”

“Gigi?”

“Yeah?”

“Just please don’t leave again.”

“I won’t.”

—

Rocky cries at 3:30 in the morning. I pick him up, hold him to my chest, whisper to him, sit in the old rocking chair. It’s a moment I usually dread, the nightly semiconscious moment of fury that he still doesn’t sleep through the night. But tonight I’m relieved that he needs me. I may not feel that way by bath time tomorrow, but for now, I sit in the rocker and tell him that I’ve always loved him. It was buried very deep and I had to move every rock, one by one, and dig through mounds of pain with my bare hands. But I’ve found it now. It was always there. Even when I couldn’t feel it.

“Jeej?” A tired little voice behind me in the doorway to Rocky’s room. Johnny, hair sticking straight up, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, buddy, it’s the middle of the night, go back to bed,” I whisper.

“Were you poorly?” He stands at the foot of the chair, his shadow cast across the room by the night-light. Just like another little boy I used to know. The meaning of my life, stretched out there in his shadow. The last time I ran away. This time I came back.

“Come here.” I gather him up onto my lap. He’s so big now. All knees and elbows. Soon he’ll be too big to curl up on me like this. Rocky pats his brother’s face to say hello.

“Jeej, are you happy now? Harry said you were poorly. Are you better now?”

“When I’m with you I’m happy,” I say into the top of his head. I’ll keep saying it until the day it’s true again.

In the window I see our faint reflection, the three of us in the rocker. All of us breathing in the same rhythm. They’re content, half asleep. In this moment I’m home and that’s all they need. Through the curtains I can see the Moon. She’s a tiny sliver tonight. She’s got a long way to go. So do I.

epilogue

My phone rings. I know who it is. I put Rocky in his jumpy saucer thing and leave him in front of Food Network. It’s been a Food-Network-all-day kind of day for us—well, for me—but I did take a shower and I bought groceries. They’re still in the bags on the floor. But I bought them.

I find my phone on the kitchen table, still ringing. I have to answer because she’ll call back in fifteen minutes if I don’t. That was their deal with me. Every day, in rotation, one of them calls once and texts twice, and if I don’t answer, they’ll badger me every fifteen minutes until I do. Their own brand of harassment therapy. Me: “Hey, what’s up?” Sharon: “What’s up with you? How you feelin’ today?” Me: “I don’t know. I went food shopping.” Sharon: “That’s good. What else?” Me: “That’s it, I guess. Johnny has a soccer game later. I’m going to try to go. I showered already so I wouldn’t have that excuse. If I just don’t talk to any of the other parents I think I’ll be OK.” Sharon: “Yeah, because other people love it when you’re really unfriendly. It’s one of the things you’re good at.” Me: “Anyway, the counselor is today at five.” Sharon: “OK, that’s good. Listen, you’re doing everything, you know that, right? You’re doing all the right things.” Me: “It doesn’t feel like it. It feels shitty.” Sharon: “I know, I know it does, but this is just the shit from before the storm.” Me: “You mean the calm?” Sharon: “No, like, how everything is darker before the storm.” Me: “OK, listen, it’s either darker before the dawn or calm before the storm, which one?” Sharon: “You know what I’m saying, like when the clouds are swirling and it’s dark and the shit happens and then there’s the storm.” Me: “That’s beautiful, Shar. But I’m good on storms, I had a storm…” Sharon: “That’s what I’m saying, you already did the storm. And now—this is the shit.” Me: “Have you thought about doing this professionally? Maybe a career change?” Sharon: “OK, fine, your sarcasm is intact so you must be fine, just call me if you need me and answer my text later, alright?” Me: “Love you.” Sharon: “Love you.”

I put the phone down. I’m about to go back to the sofa but I see the groceries on the floor and I make myself put them away. Not every call is like that. Sometimes I’m sobbing, sometimes I’m yelling, sometimes I don’t say anything at all and they worry about me. But today is OK. Today has been mostly Food Network but there were the groceries, the shower and, maybe later, the soccer game. That’s not a bad day. That’s a day of tiny victories.

Some days are