KIM
It was hard to know what to do or who to be when you couldn’t be trusted to make your own choices. I wasn’t the same person I was before I met Devlin, before I knew him and spent time with him and learned what it meant to feel alive again. I’d tried to go back to that. I’d tried to let Roddy lead me to what I thought was the safe choice, but that had been a failure.
I was back home now. Floating. Back to waiting for my life to start. Or something. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted at this point. But I knew the life Roddy had planned for me wasn’t it. I was proud of myself for moving past that and owning that choice. But still, there was a hole in my soul, and I didn’t know what to do.
“Kim?” my mom said from behind me. She was wrapped in an oversized pashmina despite it being the beginning of September.
“Hey.” I sat on the back porch swing looking out at the fireflies. My legs were tucked up under my chin and I rocked slowly in the breeze.
“Do you have a minute? Your Dad and I would like to talk to you.”
“Sure.” I got up and followed her into the kitchen where my dad sat with three mugs of steaming tea and a plate of cookies.
“How are you?” he asked. My dad looked old, tired. Maybe my bad mood had permeated the house.
“I’m—” How did I answer that? Did they really want the truth? I wasn’t bad, but I was far from great. Mom and Dad stared back at me with matching expressions. Their shared pair of squared-framed glasses were currently perched on dad’s nose. He took them off and placed them on the paper.
“I’m neutral,” I finally answered honestly.
They shared a look. It was one of their looks that always made me feel a million miles away. They were such a unit—twin planets rotating around each other’s axes—and what was I? A satellite? A cold dark moon a thousand miles away?
I grasped the mug and studied the swirling steam.
“That’s what we were afraid of,” Dad said. “I think we owe you an explanation.”
Mom took a deep breath. “As you know, when your father and I met, our lives were turned upside down. We always talk about how we left our partners and started a new life. It wasn’t always easy as that. There was actually a bit of drama in the beginning.”
“I was married,” Dad added. “To a very nice woman. Divorcing her was hard. I felt terrible. But when I met your mom, I knew I could no longer live that life.”
I’d heard all this before, but I didn’t know that it had been hard. It was a piece of history, but I realized now how complicated it all could be.
“We never thought we would be good parents. We were from a time where children were an expectation, the next step in the life plan, not a product of love. We never wanted that,” my mother explained. “We always said that if the universe wanted us to have a child it would be because we loved each other fully. And for more than a decade, it didn’t happen. Until it did. We were quite old and set in our ways, but we wanted that child to have everything, for you to have everything.”
“We were so set on being different from our parents and letting you be your own person and … well, we did our best,” Dad said sadly.
“That’s all anybody can do,” I said automatically. Were they saying this because they knew I had messed everything up?
They shook their heads in unison. “You don’t understand. We wanted you to have everything. We love you so much it terrified us.”
My head shot up. They’d never seemed afraid of anything.
My dad’s eyes watered. “When I met your mother, I felt an earth-shifting love. Literally, turned-my-life-upside-down sort of love. I would have done anything to be with her.”
My heart constricted in my chest. I knew this. I couldn’t quite breathe because I’d had a taste of that, and I’d lost it.
My dad gripped my mom’s hand and reached across the table and gestured for mine. I placed it in his. “Listen. When you were born, the love your mother and I felt for you made our love feel like …”
“Suddenly, after all these years of having a printed postcard of a Degas or Monet, suddenly we had the actually original art hanging on the wall,” my mom tried. “We loved you on a level that we never imagined possible. It was literally terrifying. We knew the stakes. Every choice and action, everything we said to you. You were this little wide-eyed miracle that came into our lives that made us feel wholly inadequate for the first time.”
“What?” I said.
“You cannot understand how terrifying it was. I swear. At age five you carried your tiny cello around everywhere with you. You were always wanting to be with the adults, and you were so wise for your age. We were in awe of you. You knew who you were and what you wanted from the beginning. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word. We were filled with awe of you.”
“I had no idea.” My throat constricted. “I’d always thought, I dunno, like you didn’t want to be around me.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “Sweetie, no. You were a miracle, but we were terrified of screwing you up, and then you seemed so perfect. Juilliard acceptance at seventeen. We were the proudest parents.”
Were.
“But we never felt like we had anything to do with it.” Mom shrugged.
“It was surreal,” Dad added.
“You came out of me as this perfect, fully-formed adult, I swear. We joked about it all the time. We were always so set on letting you be you and not pushing ourselves on you. We knew we would be oddball parents, so much older and more eccentric than the rest. We wanted you to be whoever you were going to be. We can see now that you put so much pressure on yourself to be perfect.”
Dad frowned and said, “Let me be clear about something. We never, ever, stopped being proud of you. Even now. I’m thinking we need to communicate better.”
Mom nodded. “I love you. We are so proud of you. You’re amazing to be around. But sometimes it feels like you feel the need to be something you’re not around us and that’s heartbreaking.”
“After you came back from camp, we could tell that poor girl’s death changed you. You were so distant,” Dad said.
I swallowed down a lump that formed. They had seen the change in me but hadn’t understood why. I couldn’t talk about it. I was so ashamed.
Mom said, “When you fell in with that bad boy, in a weird way, we were relieved. At least at first. We were like, ‘Okay, she’s living a little, getting some world experience.’ But we couldn’t have seen what happened coming. As soon as we saw you go too far, we freaked out.”
“It’s possible we overreacted,” Dad said.
Mom rocked her head back and forth as though weighing his words. “I don’t think so. Well, regardless, you were changed. You were so afraid to do anything. You had scared yourself straight. You didn’t go back to being the girl with big dreams, you became somebody else entirely. When you first got out of rehab, you seemed so ashamed. We should have emphasized that none of that mattered. We should have made sure you knew you were still loved. But you checked out,” Mom said. “It was so hard to see. We wanted you happy and protected and so we saw how much it was easier for you if we made some decisions for you. At least at first, until you found your feet. So we did. We put you on a routine and we made you comfortable. And when we suggested a stage name, like you father’s pen name, you latched onto the idea. The separation helped. But then it went on like that for years. You leaned on us for protection and decision making.”
“And selfishly, we were glad to have you here with us still.” Dad smiled. “The three of us at home. You seemed to enjoy the restrictions, and your anxiety got better. The less choices you made, the better you got.”
“Because here’s the hard part of where we are going with all this,” Mom said.
“Okay.” I swallowed.
“We know now that we aren’t here to make your life comfortable. You weren’t living. You’ve become crippled by the fear of making the wrong choice.”
“And it’s understandable.” Dad smiled sadly.
“But listen, honey, we were young once and did some really crazy and stupid shit. The only difference was we didn’t have parents there to step in with money and concern. Does that make sense? What I’m saying?” Mom asked.
“But … the only good choice I made was to come home.” My voice cracked as I spoke. “Now what? What if I keep choosing wrong?”
“So? That’s life. You make choices and you move forward. No matter if they’re good or bad. Make them and commit to them. Because that’s how you grow and change.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than that. You don’t understand.”
I took a deep breath in. It was time to tell them everything. About camp and what I did to get that solo knowing they’d be ashamed of me.
After I’d finished, they shared a look. “I had no idea.” Mom looked to Dad who shook his head too. “We knew her death hit you hard. It makes sense, why you’d blame yourself. I probably would too,” my mom said.
“You would?” I asked.
“Of course. But it wasn’t your fault. You know that. I wish you had come to us sooner, but I understand why you were afraid.”
They squeezed my hands in tandem. I let out a long, slow breath. Sharing it with people who cared was like having more hands to help carry the emotional baggage that had weighed down my shoulders for so long.
“You were never a disappointment. Nothing has changed. If anything, it makes sense. In fact, it might be a good idea to make an appointment to talk to someone.”
I nodded because I had been thinking about that myself. “I will.”
“Good. We have always been proud of you. We have always loved the person you are. Please don’t think anything else. But you have to try. This half state of being, crippled by fear. That’s not living. That’s killing time.”
Dad glanced at Mom before saying, “Nothing great ever happens when you’re comfortable. I’m not trying to sound trite, it’s just a fact.”
“Why are y’all telling me all this now?”
“Because we see you living out of fear. You think safety is the most important thing but safety doesn’t always work. Fear isn’t always a good indication of risk. And failure isn’t always bad. We need fear to keep us from doing stupid things, but it’s hard to know when to trust it when it is the same fear that keeps us from making choices that could ultimately help us.”
“Well how will I know? How can I keep from making the wrong choice?” I asked desperate to know the secrets.
“Trust your heart. But more than that, trust that if and when you make a mistake or fail, the world will still turn. You will be okay. We will still love you. That will never change.”
“I love you guys,” I said as a tear spilled over.
“We love you so much.”
My dad released my hand. He pulled a letter with familiar handwriting from his jacket. “This is for you. Take it and read it. Decide what to do from there. Let it lead to action or put it away with the others and move on with your life.”
“But you make a choice,” Mom said. “And own it.”
I left the kitchen feeling lighter. The little girl in me had needed to hear everything they’d said. Unconditional love was always nice to be reminded of.
I took the letter and went to my room.
In my closet, I moved aside the rolled-up posters of Death Cab for Cutie, Weezer, and Erik Jones (oh, the irony) and grabbed out my box of notes from the top shelf.
Years of notes, worn from folding and rereading time and time again. These notes had been everything. Holding them transported me to my childhood.
I took the box and dumped them out. The new letter sat untouched to the side.
I opened random notes and read them, the critiques and the meaning behind them. That handwriting. Of course. Of course it was Erik. My eyes burned as I madly sifted through one after the other. All those years Roddy lied to me. So much time spent trusting him. I wouldn’t be mad at myself for trusting him, but I was sad about the time wasted. Why hadn’t Erik just told me?
Then again, it seems so obvious now. How could I think anything else? The handwriting was the same as it was now. I had been lying to myself. Holding back in fear. But something happened as I read the notes. I understood something more. It was never the notes. It was what they represented. The innocence. My youth was over as quickly as it began. I took that from myself.
With each note I understood that more and more. These notes represented a life lost. They represented that warm, hopeful thrill that only being young and having the whole future ahead of you could give. It was that bubbling sensation in my chest that dreamed big. It was the hope and love of the future.
It wasn’t really about the person who wrote them.
These notes represented a future full of hope and I’d held on to them like they could change my past. But I couldn’t change my past. I owned it. I was still me. I was still loved. I was still a person with a life ahead of her.
I mourned the girl that got these notes, but I had to let her go. She was gone. I needed to live the life I had now. I had held on, hoping they would help me feel that zest for life again, thinking, “if I just met the right person …” But she was right here all along. I was here all along.
It was time to move on.
I started a fire in the fireplace. Once it burned bright and hot, I held the notes above them. They were holding me back and I was done being afraid.
I pulled my hand back.
Okay, I wasn’t going to burn them. I was still sentimental at heart. The message had sunk in. No point in burning them.
I put the shoebox away and took out the new letter.
Dear Kim…
I closed my eyes and gripped it to my chest. I had made a choice before I finished reading the letter. I was done choosing fear. I was going out on a limb. I was choosing possible rejection. I was ready to lean into the fear and jump anyway.
“What exactly am I seeing here?” Gretchen’s voice came from the doorway.
I dropped the letter I’d been sniffing. “I’m checking for structural integrity.”
“Because it looks like you’re snorting that piece of paper.”
“She was definitely sniffing it.” Suzie appeared behind her.
“What are y’all doing here?” I scooted the letter under my leg.
“We came to check on you,” Suzie said in a soothing voice.
“You’ve been real weird since you’ve been back,” Gretchen said.
“I’m coping. Actually, I’m okay. I really am. Just a little sad is all.”
Gretch nodded. Suzie squeezed my hand.
“I understand that I have been hiding in life. I get that now. But how does someone just change that?” I asked, glancing between the two of them.
“You take it one day at a time. Think about what you want.”
“I want to move forward,” I said. “I want to know how to do that. I’ve been afraid of hurting people for so long. How do I act just for me without taking from others?”
“Maybe try thinking about things this way: It’s not what you are taking away from others, but what you have to offer,” Suzie said. “I never thought I was anything more than a stripper. Then I realized that my dancing and showing people how to feel good in their bodies was something I could give. Happiness is one of those things that only gets bigger the more you give out.”
I smiled at her because she really was amazing when she danced. And Gretchen was so full of life she turned heads wherever she went. She lit up rooms. My smile fell. “I’m not like you two. I’m flat.”
Gretchen guffawed. “No, you are not. Get out of here with that nonsense.”
“You have fire in you,” Suzie said. “We’ve seen it and heard it.”
“Me?” I’d worked so hard to make myself small.
“When you play, you bring people joy. You give your lessons for free to kids who can’t afford it. Don’t pretend that you aren’t spreading light,” Gretchen said.
“Imagine if instead of worrying about taking, you put all that energy into giving,” Suzie said. “You really put your soul into everything you say and do.”
“Devlin said something similar. He said that’s what you leave with people. How they felt, not what you did,” I smiled.
“Ah, dammit,” Gretchen said. “I hate when a man is right.”
Suzie and I shared a smile. A bubbling sensation filled my chest. It felt like hope. It was that feeling after my breakthrough with Devlin. It came back after talking with my parents. Now it was here again. What if I could make a difference? What if I could be a person that brought other people joy through my playing?
Even if the SOOK wouldn’t have me, I would find a way to play. I was alive when I really let myself go and played fully with my heart. I missed that. I could still do the lessons for the kids in town. Maybe I’d find another symphony to play with.
“I think I would like that,” I said.
“I know what I want. I want to go to this awesome concert.” Gretchen turned her phone to me.
“‘The Devil Unmasked? With special guest Erik Jones.’ What’s this?” I asked.
“Not sure.” She shrugged not so innocently. “Guess we should go and find out.”
“Oh my God. Is he going to take off his mask?”
Suzie raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like it.”
“So hypothetically speaking, if you were going to start playing again. Is there maybe a song you’d play? Maybe one you’ve spent months perfecting?” Gretchen asked with a wry smile.
A new thrill crossed my mind. I glanced at my phone. What day was it even? I had a plan. I could make things right and start living again.
“I have an idea,” I said. “But I need your help.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a step ahead of you. The bats are in my car.”
Suzie shook her head. “Oh, for crying out loud …”