Page 25 of Way Down Deep

It just takes time to show someone that there is more to life than whatever pain and misery they’ve suffered. To shift that paradigm inside them and undo all the terrible patterns that have been sewn through their soul.

But I have faith you’ll get there.

You get me there.

Today, I stood out on my balcony. Just for a minute, but a minute is forever for me. By the time I crawled back inside, I was a wet rag, and not just from the thought of someone seeing me. It was the noise that really struck me, the incredible and all-consuming noise—even though I’m twenty floors up and only dared to do it at seven in the morning.

There were hardly any cars and no people walking past, and yet it felt like the world was roaring at me.

But you want to know the strangest part?

I liked that it did.

2.12pm

Your texts came through as I was getting the boy ready for our mission.

My phone was in my back pocket, and I felt every one of them, counted them. Thirteen. Like the chiming of the clock, buzz buzz buzz as I got him into a jacket, down the stairs, out to the car and into the Houdini-proof puzzle known as a car seat, then buzz buzz buzz from the cup holder as I drove us through the village toward the highway.

Sorry, motorway.

I wanted to check my phone. So, so badly. It must be how teenagers feel, this compulsion to snatch up a device and stare at a screen. Or how some of my friends back home could be. I was never like that. I always thought I was too cool for all that mindless scrolling, for obsessive app-checking.

Now, though. I bet I would have sneaked a peek while I was driving if not for the boy. And if not for how hard I have to concentrate, what with the alien signage and clockwise roundabouts.

But I was strong. I didn’t check when I parked. I didn’t check as we waited in line at the store with our prize. (You’ll never guess how expensive jogging strollers are.) I didn’t check as I sat across from the boy while he stared at his ice cream melting in its plastic bowl.

I didn’t check until just now, with him down for a nap and the dishes washed and the stroller manual read. I’m quite impressed with myself.

Though that doesn’t change the fact that you’re clearly my Candy Crush or whatever digital crack people are forsaking their loved ones and livelihoods over these days.

I read your texts, and I won’t lie—I cried.

Only a little, but yeah, I cried like a little bitch. Over the words I’d asked you before not to say to me, about hanging in there and how I’m doing the right thing or whatever.

About him hearing me, because I really, really hope he does.

Before, I couldn’t have heard those encouraging words. Not without dismissing them, thinking them as sweet and empty as aspartame. We really were strangers then, stranger. But coming from you now, they mean a lot.

And the part where you told me what you did, about going out on your balcony…

Oh, Christ, that was the end of me. The most pathetic and homely sound fell out of my mouth, like an ehhgghn from the top of my throat, and I cried way more. It was so sudden and so alarming, and I tried to rub the tears away like they were wasps. I don’t know who I was afraid would see.

Why cry at all, though? Why not jump up and pump a fist toward the ceiling in triumph, because HOLY SHIT THAT IS A BIG FUCKING DEAL YOU’RE AMAZING.

Don’t get me wrong, I was seriously proud of you. But I think it was humility I was feeling, or some kind of personal pride that made me cry. Because I think you’re saying that I had something to do with you deciding to do that, to step out on that balcony and let the world roar its silence at you, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been that for someone. Whatever the word is.

“Inspiring” sounds so fucking narcissistic.

“Motivating” is just douchey.

But whatever it is, it made me cry to think I could be that for somebody. I don’t know if I was crying because that felt so good, to be that for you, or because I was ashamed to have never been that for anyone before now.

Anyhow, there’s my dark and tortured masculine mystique shot to shit. Never fear, I’ll get it together by the time 10pm rolls around.

Right. Two bites of ice cream does not a well-balanced lunch make, so I better figure something out before the boy wakes up.

Later, I’ll be rereading your texts from early this morning.