Page 16 of Wrapped in Hope

He takes a deep breath before swallowing and standing up.

No, please don’t. I can’t hear it. My heart starts pounding.

“My name is Holden, and I lost my son five years ago,” he starts.

I’m frozen. I want to run, but I can’t move. My eyes fall to his feet and my shoulders slump on their own just from thinking about the heavy loss.

“My brother and sister-in-law died in a terrible car crash, leaving their six-year-old son all alone. At the time, my wife and I had been trying to have a child, and it just wasn’t working out. We ended up adopting him and raising him as our own son. Anyway, he had just graduated high school. He had planned this weekend trip for him and his girlfriend. He was going to take her on a romantic getaway and propose. On the way home, a deer darted into the road, and he swerved, causing the truck to flip end over end. His girlfriend wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so she was thrown out almost immediately. My son, he was crushed to death on impact. The girl survived, and my son died.” He pauses a moment to let that story sink in. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that girl.” Suddenly, my eyes pop up to see him watching me. “I want to know where she is, what’s she’s doing. I want to know that she’s living her life to the fullest, just to make up for my son losing his.” His words are smooth, not forced. He doesn’t look angry like I thought he would. “The death of my son has impacted my whole life. Nothing is the same, my wife isn’t the same…”

I can’t sit and listen anymore. Hearing his words makes me relive that day, a time I barely escaped from. It makes my heart pound like a jackhammer, my breathing all but stops, and tears build up in my eyes.

I can see Dean sitting next to me. I can feel his warmth, smell his scent, see the bright smile he’s wearing. I can see the deer that darts into the road, and I can feel the truck flipping through the air. My ears are filled with the sounds of shattering glass and bending metal. When everything goes black, my eyes pop open to see Holden watching me with sadness and worry etched on his chiseled face. I can’t do this. I can’t face this or him. I need out of here.

I stand and rush toward the door. I can’t breathe until the cold Chicago air hits my face, shocking me back to life. I hold on tightly to a crosswalk pole that’s directly outside the door while I try to get air into my deflated lungs.

I need to run. I need to be numb. I can’t go back down that road, the road that leads to grieving and suffering. Hearing that story, it’s pulling me back. I have to run from it.

I look to my right and then my left, trying to figure out where I can run to. Just as the door opens behind me, I take off to the right and run as fast as my legs will carry me.

I run and run until I can’t run anymore. I can’t think of anything but my burning lungs that are screaming for oxygen. I come to a sudden stop, gasping for air. I bend down, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath as I look up at the dark bar that’s only lit with neon signs.

I need to numb these feelings.

I stand up right and walk inside. Even though I’m old enough to drink, I don’t do it often. I’m afraid I will like it too much, that it will work at numbing the pain inside of me too well, because if it does, it will be something I reach for every day.

As I walk through the bar, I check out my surroundings. The floor is unfinished, nothing more than a dirty, gray concrete. The walls are gray painted cinder blocks with neon beer signs hanging. There is a one pool table, a few tables and chairs that are hand-me-down mismatched, and a small area in the back where an old style jukebox is.

Looks like I’m not in the upscale part of town.

Despite the danger I may be in, I take a seat at the bar. A big man with a bald, tattooed head moves in front of me. “What can I get you?”

“Something strong.” I toss a twenty down.

A few seconds later, he’s placing a shot glass in front of me.

I pick it up and down the liquid.

The alcohol burns its way down and warms my stomach where it pools inside of me.

“Another.”

I drink three shots quickly, and almost instantly feel better. My body feels looser, my head foggy. All thoughts have ceased as I stare blankly at myself in the mirror across of me, wondering who I’ve become. My hair has air dried and is falling down from my run. I have dark circles under my eyes, and my face seems pale and hollow, despite my naturally tan skin.

Looking at how lost I’ve become, I’ve completely forgotten what drove me to come here…until he walks in.

I feel my body stiffen the moment he walks in the door and takes a seat next to me. He motions toward the bartender with his right hand that’s setting on the bar top. “Why’d you run out?”

My tongue feels thick. Can I even form words?

Nope.

I shrug while diverting my eyes to the line of empty shot glasses in front of me.

“Come on, Hope. I’m not here to make things harder for you. I had hoped that you’ve let all this go by now.” The bartender places a beer in front of him, but he doesn’t touch it.

He hoped I had let all this go by now? His words offend me. How could I let this go? Dean was the love of my life. He was my everything. He was taken away from me before we even got to start our future, and he hoped I let it go?

“How could you say that?” I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “He was practically your son, and I’m pretty sure you were just in the same therapy group I was in!” The deep breath I took didn’t help with calming me. My anger only seems to grow.