Cut scene - when Julie met Zach for the first time
I was staring at bottles of vitamins when I first met Zach. He came up to me in his grey jacket, the ones the pharmacy technicians and interns wore vs the white ones of the full-fledged pharmacists.
“They’re pretty much all the same,” he said in response to the confused expression I must have had on my face. “I’d go for basic store brand.”
I looked up in surprise, not expecting the sudden attention and not entirely sure I wanted it, either. He stood with his hands in his jeans pockets, holding his jacket back casually and comfortably. He wasn’t especially attractive. He had a mess of red hair with the typical high volume of freckles to accompany it, a crooked nose, and his ears didn’t match. And really, it’s the ear thing that kind of keeps you from thinking he’s really good looking. It’s not super obvious, but just enough to make you look at him for a moment too long and wonder what is up. I did that when I looked at him in response.
“It’s the ears,” he said matter-of-factly, then followed up with the smile. It was the smile that did it. It was welcoming and friendly, but more importantly, it reached his eyes, which were the kindest eyes I felt I had ever seen. This kindness paired with his direct response at my rude stare made me fidgety with the bottles in my hand.
“What do you mean?”
“One’s bigger than the other. Don’t worry, it throws everyone off.”
“So much so that you’re stuck just addressing it directly right away, huh?”
He just shrugged. I really had no idea how to gracefully pull myself out of that part of the conversation, so I just muddled into the vitamin subject, instead. “What about these ones that claim to be all natural?”
He laughed. “Really? The only natural way is through healthy eating. If it’s in a pill, it ain’t natural.”
He had a point. “Nothing that is going into my body is natural, so cheap it is.”
“An excellent decision. A great way to balance out all of those Twinkies.”
I eyed him with suspicion. Did he actually know this about me or was he simply making a generic joke?
After a few more visits and chats, he asked me out. He took me to one of those coffee shops that lets local musicians play for free. Our conversation was quiet. He seemed to be shy, and I was my usual non-social self. I think we were both relieved when the music started, and more relieved still when the musicians were so bad that when our eyes met again we had our first shared moment. We paid and left quickly, holding in our laughter until we stepped outside into the chilled January evening, where we released it in ridiculous kid-like giggles.
From there we walked, talked, and held hands. Then he gave me the most wonderful of all kisses after he walked me to my car to say goodnight.
A few dates later, when I realized that our relationship might be going somewhere, I asked him the “why me” question.
“It was your hair,” Zach confessed. “It’s shiny, curly, and sometimes it’s just all over the place. I love the beautiful chaos.” He smiled mischievously. “It’s like jazz.”
I laughed because I couldn’t deny that I loved this comparison. Men have always liked my hair. They like that they can bury their hands in it, weave their fingers through the tangles, and feel the curls wrap around them. I have virtually nothing else on my body worth wrapping hands around, and I liked it that way. Having a man’s hands distracted in my hair meant less grabby ones elsewhere. My boobs are just too small, causing men to try too hard which meant they squeezed too tightly. Honestly, all of those supposed areas where I’m supposed to get the most pleasure were just too damn sensitive. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy sex, but sometimes it was up to me to get the most out of it.
In spite of Zach’s kind ways, he was also a drummer. I was nervous that I’d become his new percussion set. Like jazz? Really? How cliché for a musician. Except he wasn’t just a musician, and I knew he liked the logical order and cause-effect situations of drugs and their chemical processes. So to listen to his voice warm when he said he loved the “beautiful chaos” of my hair was enough for me to drop my guard just long enough to discover how unfounded my fears were. Was his ability to make my body respond and harmonize with his a result of the musical sensitivities or the attentive memory from an anatomy and physiology class?
When I really started to pay attention to him at the pharmacy, I realized it was neither of these things. Instead it was his innate ability to listen and reassure his customers as they asked about whether or not it was okay to take Advil with their new medicine. It was his patience as he took the time to explain the intricacies of their prescription drug coverage.
“When people are coming to get a prescription, they’re usually feeling miserable. Or scared because either they or someone close to them has been in the hospital,” he told me once. “They just need someone to listen to them and make them realize they’re not alone, that’s all.”
He had a way of pulling others into his way of thinking. He was rational, calm, and kind, which led you to see his arguments as reasons instead. The way Zach showed up this morning and just slid back into my life was just the same way he had done so when we first started dating. We belonged together, naturally. On the other hand, his listening skills felt sincere.
We came home from the never-ending funeral home visit, and I made too many impossible phone calls, including the one that would determine when I would make the drive up north to pick up the kids, who were staying with a neighbor who was also their daycare provider. Zach stayed with me throughout the whole thing. Part of me knew I should send him away; it wasn’t fair to use an ex-boyfriend like this, especially one who hadn’t even wanted to become the ex, but I selfishly accepted the hand around mine, the reassuring arm around my shoulders, and finally, the bed we shared that night.
Waking up the next morning, we were entangled in just the same way we always used to be after a night of making love, which is how I knew that I had just thrown our break-up out the window. I stared at Zach’s smooth chest beneath my cheek, enjoying the steady breaths that rose and fell, and thought of Brian.
I was four when he was born, and based upon how much attention he got, which is to say the same rare and occasional bursts of affection that Layla and I ever received, he was just as unplanned as we had been. It’s difficult to say whether or not my mother ever really wanted kids. I feel like she loves us, I guess, just not as much as I ever would have liked. Turns out a devoted love is not automatic, once you have a baby. Did she hope it would change with each new child?
Brian was cared for, and Layla and I certainly did our part, too. For quite some time, though, while Layla and I shared that sisterly bond, Brian played that proverbial third wheel. He was good for getting things for us and taking the blame when something got broken. He had a bit of an angelic face so Mom would forgive him a lot faster than if she knew it had been one of us. When Layla left, or maybe more importantly, when Layla stopped looking past her own life and interests to see me anymore, things changed between Brian and me. With our mom not really involved, I took it upon myself to do what I could for him. Mostly this meant shielding him from the narcissism of our parents.
I felt Zach’s hand move into my hair, and I ran my hand up his arm to let him know I was awake.
“Been awake long?” he asked.
“No, I guess not.”
“How are you doing?”
I shrugged. “Thinking about when Brian and I were kids. And my mom.”
“Tell me.”
“I used to go with my mom and Brian to his teacher conferences. I remember the first time I did this, Brian was ten. I think I just wanted to know if school really was going okay. He always said it was, but you couldn’t alway tell with him, you know?”
Zach chuckled. “I guess it’s a family trait then, huh?”
“Mm,” I replied. “What caught me at that first conference, though, was Mom’s reaction to the teacher’s comments about Brian and the great work he was doing. She came across as the proudest parent there was. ‘This is wonderful, Brian.’ ‘I didn’t know you could write so well.’ Things like that.”
“Let me guess, Brian wasn’t amazing?”
“No, it’s not that. He was a good student. Pretty smart and all, but it kind of hit me at that moment. Mom used to say the same things about me at my conferences when I was younger. I had felt so special, but never realized that she said the exact same stuff every year, and now she was pulling it all out for Brian. We weren’t special. It was just an act she put on for the teachers.”
Zach shifted our position so that we were both on our side, facing each other. “I’m sure you were special, even if it was an act. Look what you did for Brian back then. Look what you’re doing for him now. Even if you weren’t special then, you are now.”
I kissed him for that little speech. Kissed him harder because he believed what he was saying. Then I pulled back as he tried to take things further. He didn’t push, probably thinking that I was still lost within the memories. Instead, I was thinking how he didn’t know the full story behind what I was doing for Brian and Elaine. I really wasn’t sure how he would take it.
“I have to go to work,” I told him.
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From a November conversation...I'm not entirely sure what the original message stated, but I do remember the idea of Naomi considering Leyanna's anxiety earlier in the story. This is how it might have looked like (note: this scene is very mildly spoilerish)
To: Jessamine Lewis <steamyenergy@gmail.com >
From: Naomi Lewis <myownperson02@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Unrequited lust
Okay. Sorry to kind of… cut out on you with that last message, although I realize with email it’s not quite the same as doing something like that via text or, you know, hanging up on you.
I had to process. It’s not like I’ve never truly understand Leyanna’s anxiety - I do get it. Seriously, it annoys me so much when people say you can’t empathize or grasp someone’s problems/issues, etc if you’ve never experienced it yourself. My heart always hurt for Leyanna when she tells me about her anxieties and situations where it’s gotten really bad. I’ve understood the stomachaches and when they were terrible enough for her to ask to stay home, I’ve let her.
But.
That jolt of having a personal experience with the physical manifestation. Wow.
And she feels this kind of thing all the time. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have an ulcer.
I have been a shitty parent. I need to take her to the doctor. I should have taken her to one ages ago for this issue instead of thinking she should only rely on general coping strategies. God, she must hate me for not taking her seriously enough to get her some real help.
And you - you’ve been telling me this the whole time. Why am I such a brickhead?
So many of the kids I teach online are taking online classes for this very reason except I thought… I guess I assumed they were incapacitated by their social anxieties. But isn’t that what staying home with a horrible stomachache is? An incapacitation? Why am I totally okay with my students dealing with all of this through online schooling, but not my own daughter? Why do I think she’s “above” all that?
To: Naomi Lewis <myownperson02@gmail.com>
From: Jessamine Lewis <steamyenergy@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: re: Unrequited lust
Mimi, you’re not a shitty parent. And if it helps, any, Jax has never seen a need to do more for Leyanna, either. “I know he’s my brother, but…” if you’re shitty, then he is, too. Look, I know I’ve nudged you from time to time (yes, NUDGED - you know damn well when I shove something in your face) about looking more into Leyanna’s anxiety, but it sure is easy for me to psychoanalyze from 2,000 miles away. I thought Faith was being dramatic when it took so long for her to recover from what should have been a clean and simple break and now I cry every morning in the shower so she won’t see how awful I feel about it.
You know your kid best. Maybe now you know her a little better. Does this mean she needs more help than you thought? Maybe. Better to realize now, before it gets worse.
Full note exchange between Maxine and her neighbor, Evan (somewhat spoilerish for minor characters):
Dear Neighbor who keeps moving my newspaper to the end of my driveway, It has been a bit upsetting to me to discover you are the one who has been displacing my newspaper. I do not understand why you are doing it, but I would like you to please stop. Thank you, Maxine
***
I don’t think I will. You see, it’s an experiment. I’ve heard many stories about you, and this is one way to find out which story is true.
***
Dear mean-spirited neighbor, This seems unfairly cruel. Why don’t you knock on my door, instead, and meet me? Then you will discover the real story. Or maybe how I’m not a story, but a real person. Thank you, Maxine
***
Except, one of the stories is that you are a serial killer who has the bodies of every victim who has come to your door piled up in freezers in your basement.
***
Dear gullible neighbor, Well, for pity’s sake. How ridiculous! I mean, I’d have to own a lot of freezers, for one thing! Have you seen any of them delivered? (No, you wouldn’t have, because they’d bring them to the door and then you’d have a time of it moving THOSE to the end of the driveway, wouldn’t you?) Sincerely, Maxine
***
Touché about the delivery bit. I grant it might be true you haven’t had multiple deep storage freezers delivered. On the other hand, maybe it’s always happened when I’ve been at work. Okay, well here’s another reason not to knock on your door. I’ve also heard you always bring a shotgun to the door and threaten to use it on solicitors.
***
Dear door-to-door encyclopedia salesman neighbor, Are you a solicitor? Sincerely, Maxine
***
I am not a solicitor, no.
***
Dear neighbor who does not sell things, Then, I hardly think the shotgun would be an issue, would it? Sincerely, Maxine
***
Hmm. I suppose not. Meth lab? Dangerous and mean attack dog? Someone trapped in your basement?
***
Dear wildly imaginative neighbor, None of those things. Sincerely, Maxine
***
Okay, to be completely honest, the rumor I thought most likely to be true was that you are morbidly obese and I wanted to see if you were able to walk down the driveway without assistance.
***
And after writing those words, I realized how terrible they look and sound. I am ashamed I only realized that after I wrote it out. I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole. Sincerely, Asshole Neighbor
***
Dear Maxine, I’m sorry for my behavior. It has been rude, mean-spirited, and I’m a dick, douchebag, jerk, asshat. Sincerely, Your neighbor who is a total jerk.
***
Dear Maxine, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Evan, your neighbor
***
Dear Maxine, Here are some personal things about me. I’m 33 and still single, obviously because I’m an immature dipshit. I hate living alone and so I have a lot of pets, but they’re not all the “normal” kind, which might be why no one wants to be with me, let alone live with me. Or maybe it is only because I am an immature dipshit, which now seems like the more plausible reason, after more thought and soul-searching. I hope this helps you feel less antipathy towards me. Sincerely, Evan
***
Dear Maxine, Maybe I could knock on your door? Please let me know if it’s okay for me to knock on your door tomorrow morning. Sincerely, Evan
***
Dear Evan, If you knock on my door tomorrow, I might open it (although I’ll peek through the window, first). BTW, I’m not morbidly obese. Sincerely, Maxine