Star Forsaken

Star Forsaken

'The brightest stars only burn half as long.’

For the record, Rachel hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But now that it had, she could barely recall the times where she felt anything less for him. The times when she could look at him and not notice the blue of his eyes; his quick, crooked, smile as he joked with her. When she could stop thinking that the graceful arch of his long fingers was fit for the Guggenheim. When she would be able to give him relationship advice without the now all-too familiar tightening sensation in her throat, and look at David, her boyfriend, without feeling a new wave of guilt hit, harder with each passing day.

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part should be the best part; that the fluttering stage had passed long ago, and the doodling (complete with hearts and last name combos) shortly after. There was nothing childish left about her feelings, except the way she was handling them, and it scared her. Because, for the record, it had happened, and in the after-glow of David’s tenure announcement, she would almost prefer to be jealous of his new assistant, Emily, instead of his girlfriend, Samantha.

(But it had ended so abruptly....)

But when the memories cling and take you there

She has to stay strong. For David. For Samantha, who she can’t help but like. For her own sanity.

And she wakes up, and it's easy enough to pretend that she doesn‘t care that David‘s arms are David‘s.

Love: the bitter taste building up the back of her throat when she sees them kissing in the stairwell, cigarette tucked between his fingers and smoke curling ethereal-like about them.

(That is what he's become to her. Cigarette smoke- heart disease. Addicting. It's a constant reminder of his easy, full smile, and she tries one once. David catches her and lectures her for a half-hour on the dangers of lung cancer).

Regret (even if she doesn't really believe in it): The hollow in the pit of her stomach when she looks in the mirror. The way the sun bounces off her sunglasses when she walks outside. The hours during the summer she spends asleep, because David's still at work and she doesn’t have to smile for the cameras. The length of her fingernails, hair, etc. The emptiness of the refrigerator. The lack of air conditioning in her new apartment; in her new city. The way her heart feels when she hears David's apologetic voice on the machine; wondering what he‘d done wrong.

(‘Nothing,’ she mouths at the machine.)

(It's in the past. All of it is done and there's no use in changing it.)

The interview: Something she'd almost forgotten about. Was it wrong that she didn't care about job insurance anymore?

Longing: Something she has learned to deal with. The constant ache somewhere between her stomach and his heart. The urge to touch any guy with dark hair or blue eyes or a crooked smile or a similar name. The pull she gets when she walks by the train station, the bus station, a car with a Connecticut license plate. The miles between here and there. The difference between the city and that small town. The passing thought that he is home.

(She loves him. It’s that simple. There is no other way that she can think of to say it. Of course, those words don’t seem to do this feeling justice. It is something more than love. It transcends love. She needs him. She thinks that she won’t survive much longer like this. She is certain every breath is shorter than the last.)

Hope: The phone call made drunkenly at two in the morning. The forceful way she says, “Forgive me.” The confused voice on the other end, “What? Rach? What time is it?” And the eventual softly whispered, “Okay.” The click of him hanging up the phone. The sober second phone call. The warmth of his voice as it travels down the line. The laugh. The easy conversation. The almost fearful way he tells her, “God, I’ve missed you. This.” The forgotten past, lying somewhere beneath his mattress.

(They are friends and nothing more and she doesn’t mind as much as she thought she would. She doesn’t see him. He doesn’t come to visit. But, his voice is enough. And she is no longer insane and she is no longer at fault.)

Closure: Seeing him at the wedding with Samantha--still, she thinks with little surprise. The way he smiles when Samantha kisses him. The way he grips her hand beneath the table. The way he laughs affably with her grandparents. His blinding happiness. The slow steps he takes when he approaches him later. The hand he places on her wrist. The ring on Samantha’s finger.
(She lets him go. Finally. And she breathes.)