Tom is a dictator, he’s taken over my world. He has all the power.
I wait for him to call and I wait for him to call. I even make an old Irish charm to sit by my phone. The charm is supposed to get someone to call you in five minutes, five hours or five days, depending on how well the spell was cast. My spell was obviously not cast well.
He calls me on day six, it feels like day 666.
As I look at my phone, the screen flashes with a photo I took of Tom laughing, his fingers extended as he tries to push the camera away. Adonis is written underneath. Already it feels like another life.
I watch the phone vibrate on the table in front of me. After days of waiting for this call, suddenly I can’t pick it up. The phone travels across the wood with each shudder, but I don’t touch it. Eventually it stops.
I curse myself for my stupidity. What was I thinking?
A few minutes later he tries again. I lurch for the phone but again I stop; my finger hovers over the screen. What if he tells me it’s over?
He leaves a message.
‘Olive, it’s me. Can you call me back?’
Just the tone of his voice tells me it’s over. I’m a slab of concrete misery.
I want to laugh at his rejection. Be strong, be cool. ‘There are plenty more fish in the sea!’ I want to declare. ‘I have bigger fish to fry!’ But the wretched fact is I’m wiped clean without Tom, a dismal husk of confused, lost, nothing.
I leave a note for Rose—not Dad, since of course he’s already gone back to the desert—explaining I’m doing ‘thirty-three days of solitude’. It’s something I do to calm down, get a grip on life. Things get overwhelming for me, ‘thirty-three days’ is the best way I know to re-focus and remember life could be worse.
Tom doesn’t want me but I’ll survive this. For thirty-three days I will not leave my room except to get food from the kitchen and go to the bathroom. I’ll emerge new and able to deal with a world without Tom.
Mostly, I read, sleep or do research on the internet. I’m looking a lot at geographic areas of reported alien or ‘otherworldly’ activity. It makes me feel more human.
Svalbard, in Norway, sounds intriguing. It’s got volcanoes, hot springs and permafrost and it’s the only place on Earth with carbonate deposits identical to those found in the Martian meteorite ALH84001. Yes, a Martian meteorite. Spooky. It also looks wildly beautiful.
I research spiritual meccas: Angkor Wat, Machu Picchu, Uluru—the usual suspects. It fascinates me that geographical locations can have certain types of energy. Centuries ago the Vatican city was built on sacred Pagan grounds because of the energy, even today the town of Sarasota, in Florida, is known as some kind of metaphysical hotspot. They say the sand on the beach is 99% quartz crystal. Why am I here when I could be living in a metaphysical hotspot?
I wonder about turning Wynona into a roving international reporter. How would that work?
Tom and Felix both call on and off for the first couple of days. Then they both stop. I spend a lot of time thinking about why. Felix understands me, he knows it’ll all blow over given time. I’m pretty certain Tom has just given up. He’ll be relieved to be off the hook.
Eleven days in, Rose slides a letter under my door. I can see immediately from the scrawl of ‘Olive’ across the envelope that it’s from Tom. I flush warm with the thought. God I’ve missed him. I tear it open, unfold the note:
Olive
Invisible I can take. Maybe even never seeing another living person again. But when you refuse to talk to me, it’s too much. I need you and you’re not here for me. All I can do is write you a stupid letter and hope you bother to read it.
I love you but it’s not enough. This is too hard. I’m done.
Tom
I crush the paper in my palm and throw it at the wall. It reads like he was considering giving us a shot. How is that even possible? Nobody is that crazy. Tears spill down my cheeks and I let them fall. I knew he would leave me. I knew it.
Rose knocks cautiously at my door. ‘Olive? Can I come in?’
I open the door. Thirty-three days are not over, but what’s the point? She steps tentatively into the room, not knowing where I am. She spots the discarded letter on the floor. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
I try to reply but all that comes out is a choked sob.
‘Oh, Olive, I’m sorry.’
‘I knew it,’ I manage after a moment. ‘He can’t handle my crazy.’
Rose makes a face, like I’m being unreasonable. ‘You wouldn’t speak to him. What did you expect? The thirty-three days thing is ridiculous.’
‘Felix understands,’ I point out.
‘Felix isn’t trying to plan a life with you.’
I hate that she’s right. ‘Neither is Tom.’ I drop my face into my hands. ‘Not anymore.’
‘No,’ Rose says. ‘Not anymore.’
I didn’t think it would be Rose’s voice that signposted the end of my relationship with Tom, but it is. Her words are final, the conductor has placed down his baton. Tom and me, our symphony is over.
Unless …