YESA
I RUN AWAY FROM my own wedding until I reach my parents backyard and climb the roped latter that leads to the tree house. This is not the backyard of the house Trish and I grew up in, but it is the tree house we spent years playing and fighting in. Our parents may not be outwardly affectionate but they are sentimental when it comes to some things; like the yellow tree house. “It just has too many memories” they always say. And lately they’re sure to add in a wink, “Our future grandkids will love it.”
When I was just ten and Trish was fifteen, we painted a sign for our tree house and hung it above the entrance. That was the first summer I was allowed to climb the rope and play in the tree house. Before that, I’d always been told that I was too little and it was too dangerous. I’d never felt so grown up as the day I was allowed inside of the tree house. Trish and I were never best friends, but that summer we spent nearly every day together in the wooden tree house. We painted the sign with red paint. Trish drew bubble letters and told me that I’d better stay in the lines or it would mess up the sign. I did as I was told, desperately wanting my big sisters approval. We called the tree house THE TC CLUB, for Trish and Casey, and the sign said just that. Beneath the name we painted on our tree house sign, Trish took a thick black permanent marker and handwrote NO BOYS ALLOWED. She scratched it out a year later. The tree house was one narrow room. The exterior was painted a bright yellow, the inside, white. It had three plexiglass windows, one on each side, and an open doorway in the front. Just before the open door was a small white deck. I always wanted to hang curtains in the windows but Trish told me we didn’t need curtains when we were that high up in the air. She said only the birds could see us and they wouldn’t tell our secrets.
I didn’t have any secrets when I was ten, but now I do. I’m back in The TC Club in my wedding dress and despite my racing heart I still laugh when I look up at our hand painted sign and see where Trish marked out the “No Boys Allowed” part. I’m in my wedding dress, in my childhood tree house. This is the only place I knew to run to for safety. I must be a lunatic! I’m a grown adult who just left my groom at the alter in front of all of our guests and I’m sitting in a tree house, laughing to myself or maybe at myself, I’m not really sure. I’ve surely lost it. I lean my back against the far wall and stretch out my legs, realizing that they almost touch the opposite wall. This place is much smaller than I recall. I used to think it was a palace. Now I can hardly fit myself inside.
What am I going to do? What happens next? Even if Jordan finds me and begs me to come back, I will not. I cannot. But I doubt there will be any begging. I can only imagine the anger he feels toward me. I have humiliated him in the biggest way. He will never forgive me. But right now I don’t care. Right now I’m happy being tucked away in the trees where no one can find me. Right now I’m terrified, but at least I can breathe. That reminds me, I hate this dress. It’s too tight, too restricting. I never wanted this one. I look down at my dress and see my pencil thin legs stretched out in front of me. I can’t bend my legs if I want to; not in this dress. So I do just that. I bend my legs so that I can sit in a pretzel position, the way Trish and I always sat in the tree house and drank lemonade from fancy glass tea cups. I don’t want to be confined anymore. I want to be happy. I watch the fabric of the dress tear as I move my legs into position. At first it’s a bunch of tiny tears. I can hear the dress ripping and I want to cheer, but instead I begin to cry. Not because I am sad; in fact, it’s the opposite. It’s because I am free. It’s because I know I did what I knew was right. My legs achieve the pretzel seat and my knees poke through the dress, right down to my ankles. I draw in a deep breath and realize I can now breathe on my own terms; not short shallow breaths, but long deep ones. I feel happier here amongst the trees than I ever did in our – his – place. This is my place. I helped paint the walls. I helped decorate the room. Trish let me pick out the speckled rug that I am sitting on now; the one that nearly covers the entire floor of the tree house. I can’t believe it’s still here, in such great condition after so many years. This is more of a home to me than that bacon smelling apartment ever was. There are pieces of me here; at his place there were none. And I knew now that I wanted to have pieces of me scattered amongst any place I called home because I didn’t exist solely to serve someone else, I existed to fulfill my own destiny.
As I sit with my back against the wall, my bare knees popping through the holes on each side of my torn wedding dress, still in a pretzel position, I roll my head to the left to stare out of the plexiglass window. In the tree closest to the one where I sit is a mother robin. She is bending forward into her tediously built nest and feeding a worm to her three hatchlings. I know there are three because I can see their little beaks bobbing upward to reach for the worm. I place my hand on my stomach and remember the positive pregnancy test from this morning; news I never had a chance to tell Jordan. News that will eventually alter my life in a huge way. I needed to figure out how to build a nice safe nest, just like the robin. And like her, I know I need to do it on my own.
AT SOME POINT I fall asleep in the tree house. When Trish finds me I am curled up in a tiny ball on the old rug, twenty-feet above the rest of the world. I don’t have a pillow or a blanket, but it’s the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. Trish shakes me awake and when I sit up and wipe my eyes, for a moment I think we are kids again. For a moment I think we’re going to drink lemonade together from our fancy tea cups. But then I look down at my ripped white dress and remember that I am supposed to be an adult, only I’ve just ran out on my wedding with no explanation and I’m hiding in my childhood tree house. If Trish wouldn’t have found me, I could have hid here for days. She’s the only one who would have guessed I’d be here. I’ve never thought we were close, but maybe we know each other better than we think. Maybe sisters don’t always hug and scream with delight; maybe some sisters just know when to come around; when they’re needed. Maybe that’s the point of sisters after all; to have someone who understands the real you, no matter how much you try and hide.
After I take a minute to adjust to the light, my eyes meet Trish’s. We don’t speak a word. I expect her to tell me that everyone is really mad or that I shouldn’t have left like that. Instead she leans toward me and hugs me. Her arms wrap around my back and I rest my head on her boney shoulder. Her hair smells like strawberries. She holds me and rocks back and forth, sitting on her knees. The two of us hardly fit in the small space together. It’s hard to believe so much time has passed. My throat burns as I urge myself to hold back my tears. And finally, after a while, I push my head away from her shoulder and speak. I shake my head, trying to articulate what I’m feeling. “I know I made a fool of myself. But I’ve never felt so alive in my life. I’m terrified, Trish.”
She meets my eyes and gives me an understanding nod. I know we live very different lives, yet I know she gets it. I know she hears what I am saying. She brushes a fallen hair from my face and then places a hand on my bare knee as it pokes through my ripped wedding dress. I watch a smile creep onto her face and I reflect the same back to her. She wants to know why the dress is ripped, but she’s not going to ask. So I tell her why it is this way. “I felt too confined. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I tried to tell myself it was. Everyone said it looked so nice, but I never felt that it did.” I run my fingers along the silk dress. It was beautiful, it just wasn’t right for me.
I watch Trish run her fingers through her hair while simultaneously biting the left edge of her lip. “You’ll know it, almost instantly, when you find the right one; the one that’s for you. I promise you, you’ll know it Yesa.” Her words wrap around me like a warm blanket and I know although it doesn’t look like it to the rest of the world, I’m going to be all right. I’m going to be better than all right, I’m going to be happy. Because I won’t settle for anything else. I would rather be alone and free, than together with the wrong person. I won’t settle for mediocre. I want the real thing; I only wished I’d realized it sooner.
***
WHO SELLS THEIR beautiful San Francisco bungalow to live in an RV? My sister and her husband; Trish and Eddie. School starts in two more weeks and right now I am crashing on the mini-couch of an RV. The RV is parked at a local state park. I have never pitched a tent or camped in my life. I’ve never done something that wasn’t expected of me; until now. Now I’m on a roll. Now I’ve ran out on my own wedding without so much as a word of explanation to anyone. And now I’m sleeping on the mini couch of an RV. The only belongings I have of my own are a torn wedding dress and my cell phone. The cell phone is brand new, though. Trish went out and bought me a new one. At least I will still be Ms. Jane when I return to my new batch of kindergarteners.
I haven’t had any more bouts of morning sickness, thank goodness. And I have an appointment scheduled with the doctor for a pregnancy test. Until then, I’m doing my best to try not to think about what – or rather who – might be growing in my stomach. Nothing about my future is certain.
My parents have been calling my cell phone a dozen or more times a day since the wedding. I haven’t answered any of their calls. I won’t even listen to their voice mails. I already know what they’ll say. What is wrong with you? How could you humiliate us like that? How is Jordan? Jordan hasn’t called once. Not even a text. I was prepared for his angry rants and raves, but not hearing from him feels like a blessing right now in more ways than one.
I’ve always been a late sleeper, but what I’m doing now probably constitutes as depression. I am glued to the couch. My hair is a mess, I know this without even looking in a mirror. If I’m so happy, why am I acting so morose? Why am I moping around like a lost puppy? Am I that scared of the unknown? Trish and Eddie fry eggs in the mornings and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, the kind with the thick bread and oozing cheese. But I haven’t been hungry. I feel like a child when they tell me I have to eat at least one bite before I push my plate away. I must be draining for them. I am draining on myself. I don’t even want to be in my own company. Today when I step into the cold shower I promise myself that I’ll make a plan. I can’t stay on their mini-couch forever. I’m sure they’ll be leaving soon, anyway. There’s only so much Trish can photograph in Oxboro. After the blood test at the doctor’s, I’ll make a plan. I have no idea of what that plan might be, but I’m hoping something will come to me. After all, this is what I wanted. Freedom. To be on my own; a chance to figure it all out. A chance to really live. So I need to stop moping and start living. I have to stop realizing what I don’t want and start realizing what I do.
I feel bad about leaving Jordan at the altar. I feel bad for running out on our wedding the way I did. But I can’t help but wonder if he feels bad about any of it. I ran for a reason. A reason he wasn’t willing to discuss or even acknowledge. I ran because we weren’t right together and I knew it. I didn’t think I could get away, I thought it was too late and then I realized I still had a choice. No one was going to save me from something I knew in my heart was wrong, so I had to save myself. In the end, I’m certain it’s what’s best for both of us. No one deserves to be in a loveless marriage.
I turn off the shower, my hair is dripping wet. Grabbing two towels, I wrap one around my head, the other around my body. As soon as I step out onto the bath mat I am standing in front of the foggy mirror. My reflection is a blur through the smoky air. I don’t know how a cold shower can drum up heat, but then I look around at how tiny the bathroom is and realize that anything could make it foggy in here. I stare back at my blurry outline in the mirror and wonder what will happen next. I whisper to myself a single question. “What do you want?” And I repeat it again and again until the answers come to me through wet eyes. I stretch out my arm and use my finger to write the letter R, cutting through the fog on the mirror. I finish writing my answer. REAL LOVE. And then I ask my reflection again, “What do you want?” When nothing comes to mind, I keep asking until I know the answer, because I know there’s more. Next I write across the foggy mirror: JOB I LOVE. I ask myself the question again, “What do you want?” FOLLOW MY HEART. I feel the wet dew on my index finger and wipe it on my towel. Everything in the cramped space is damp and my body is still dripping from the shower. I step back to re-read my mirror list. Real love. Job I love. And follow my heart. Three simple things. Surely I can figure those out. I press my shoulders back and raise my chin as I stare at my reflection surfacing on the mirror. The fog is beginning to lift, but I can see my face through the words I have just scrawled. As the thick air in the bathroom begins to rise, I realize that I’ll be okay. I don’t need to be glued to the couch, paralyzed by fear. I don’t have anything to be fearful of. Instead, I have the whole world at my fingertips. In the blink of an eye, in the moment I turned and decided to run, I gave myself permission to live. No one else was going to give it to me, so I gave it to myself. And now it is time to do it. Now it is time to live. If that means being scared sometimes, so be it. Scared could be good if it means following my heart.
Trish knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Be right out!” I holler back.
“Come to dinner with us tonight. We’re going out!” She shouts through the thin door. I know she’s crossing her fingers when she asks. She’s been so nice since she’s been in town. I don’t know where I’d be staying if she weren’t here.
I surprise her by opening the door instead of replying. She nearly falls into the tiny bathroom with me. I smile. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She is surprised again. Not only am I off the couch and smiling, I am clean and I said I would go to dinner.
I nod. “I’m ready to move forward. I can’t hide out on your mobile couch forever.” I roll my eyes and she steps back, allowing me to pass by. Her eyes keep following me. It’s a small space.
“Good for you sis.” She returns my smile. “I promise you, you’re going to have the time of your life. It’s out there waiting for you right now.” She winks and turns toward her bedroom, telling me that she and Eddie will be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. My students will still call me Ms. Jane, but from this point forward I’m going with a new name for all other purposes. I don’t want to be Casey anymore. I don’t want to be the girl who lived like a zombie, thoughtlessly going through the motions of her life. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going after the three things I want. The things that really mean something. So I need a new name. I need a name that reminds me of this. Instantly, I know what it is. My childhood nickname from Trish. Yesa. It’s Casey spelled backwards (drop the c). Because that’s what I’ve done; that’s what I’m doing. I’m turning my life upside-down. I’m starting over and I’m not going to be blind this time. I’m going forward, leaping with both feet and two wide eyes. Yesa Jane, meet the world.