Chapter XI: Winding Road

I walked outside and a thick cloud of smoke overtook the normally light and crisp air of southern Oregon.

“Forest fires,” Ben said without me even having to ask. “Looks like we’re getting out of here just in time.”

I chuckled to myself about the irony of his comment.

“Sounds par for the course these days,” I joked, smiling back at him.

My life had become one big fire. A fire that it seemed I was escaping just in time; but barely. I had come out covered in soot and burns. My wounds exposed, publicly. I could feel eyes on me at all times. My sorrows like exposed flesh that nobody wanted to acknowledge but that nobody could help but stare at. I wondered metaphorically about the fire I had voluntarily walked into and was subsequently forced out of; the red flags that I had pushed down for years started to simmer and bubble up like the boils on my skin from the first degree burns.

Ben laughed at my joke, understanding that self-deprecation was my way. He always laughed at my quips; my silliness. As a matter of fact, he encouraged it.

I could feel my smiling face take a turn as the dread crept into my soul like monsters being summoned from their closets.

“You’re not funny. You’re just stupid.”

I hated how this always played in my head, like a bad song on repeat. He had said this to me over and over, so much so that I had come to believe it. A shell of the woman and human being that I once was. I wanted to cry but the tears didn’t come anymore.

“You okay?” Ben said grabbing my hand and smiling.

His face made everything alright. I knew they’d keep trying but, with Ben, my demons didn’t stand a chance anymore.

He let go of my hand and put his hand back on the steering wheel as we headed to our first appointment of the day.

***

January 2018

As my brother and I got older, it became harder to get everyone together for the holidays. His girlfriend of many years had family that would take them to Iowa for certain holidays and we knew it would be important to our mother that we schedule time for the six of us to be together and celebrate. I offered up our condo for a family dinner after the New Year so we could celebrate Christmas all together, finally.

“Lindsay’s making lamb,” my mom proclaimed to my dad enthusiastically as they entered the foyer of our large pre-war home. In tow, multiple bottles of wine to share with us while we ate, opened gifts and played games.

As he and my dad caught up about how business was going, I worked in our galley kitchen making sure the rack of lamb and accoutrements were prepared perfectly for our special night. My mom and brother’s girlfriend helped set the table and we all sat down to count our blessings and celebrate another magical Christmas season together.

Soon we would all be family.

Many gifts were exchanged, including new games to play together; my mom’s favorite pastime. We spent hours into the late evening playing “Reverse Charades,” laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“Boys do the cleaning,” exclaimed my mom as the party drew to a close. My father and brother scurried off to the kitchen.

As we sat enjoying the last few sips of wine left in our glasses, a voice bellowed out from the galley.

“Eh Lindsay, I think you guys have a problem,” my brother said.

“It’s the sink again, isn’t it?”

Our old, vintage building had no garbage disposal and the pipes were on their last leg before our full kitchen remodel was to take place later that year after our wedding.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” my ex said with an air of fake sincerity.

He glanced at me and I felt the hairs on the back on my neck stand up. I was in trouble.

***

One by one, my family exited out the front door. I stood with the door cracked and waved my goodbye as the elevator door shut in front of their smiling faces. My ex smiled and laughed as they turned to leave.

I shut the door behind them and turned around. He stood there in the middle of foyer, both fists clenched tightly next to his hips. His clownish grin slowly curling around itself to show the anger that he had been hiding deep within. His once brown eyes, completely blackened. He wants to hurt you, I thought.

I walked back to the kitchen to help take a look at the sink.

“Don’t touch ANYTHING,” he scolded.

“W-what do you think is wrong?”

“You obviously put something down the drain that you weren’t supposed to, Lindsay.”

He only said my name when I was in trouble.

“Some of the meat probably got down there and past our little net catch,” I said trying to comfort him and ease the tension. “It’s late so don’t worry about it. I can work from home tomorrow and call the plumber.”

He glared at me.

“I’m just trying to make you feel better. C’mon let’s go to bed. It’s late.”

He walked out of the kitchen and started doing chores around the house. I had no idea what to do. Panicking, I asked if I could help. He ignored me and kept vacuuming.

It was now past midnight. I went back into the room to get ready for bed; my hands trembling as I brought the water up to wash my face. I stared back at myself into the mirror; the water dripping off of my chin and mascara still lingering in long streaks below my eyes.

“Who are you?” I said looking back the girl in the mirror.

As I tried to compose myself, I pulled out his toothbrush and covered its bristles with paste; a pathetic attempt to fix what I had done wrong. Whatever it was, I was going to fix it this time. I could feel my hands shaking as I held the toothbrush between my small fingers.

I walked to the bedroom door and saw him in the hallway.

“Hey, I don’t know what I did but I’m going to bed and I hope you join me soon.” I walked a bit closer and he walked towards our bedroom door as well, touching his hand to the knob. He stared right through me; his hand gripping tighter around the little brass ball, brow furrowed and eyes turning black once again.

“Fuck you, you ungrateful little bitch.”

The door slammed; complete and utter darkness.

***

“Lindsay?” Ben waved his hands in front of my face.

“Hi…..y-yes. Sorry, I’m just tired,” I said shaking off all bad thoughts once again.

He smiled. He was always smiling; always happy.

***

We finally exited our last meeting

“FREEEEEEDOMMMMM,” I sang in perfect George Michael fashion.

Ben looked at me blankly.

“Yea, I guess that song is past your time, huh.”

He laughed, “You’re old.”

We made a short pit stop at the Black Bear Diner in Medford; gorging ourselves full of breakfast food in preparation for our long drive to San Francisco. As I finished my cup of coffee and we waited for the check, we looked at the map for the best and most scenic route to take.

“Okay, so if we want to go straight to San Fran, it’ll take us about seven hours,” Ben said showing me his phone. “However, if we want to take the scenic route by the coast, its gonna take us…” He blinked at the map, looking confused. “Eleven hours and five minutes?!”

I laughed at his rhetorical question. “I’m game if you are. It’s a drive that everyone should do once in their lifetime,” I said.

“Let’s do it,” he said enthusiastically.

***

As we walked to the parking lot outside of the diner, we debated whether to keep the top up or down on the convertible. It was 90 degrees outside, so we secured all of belongings and waited as the beamer’s top automatically disappeared into the back of the car.

We spent the first few hours top down, belting out songs from my “Cali Road Trip” playlist on Spotify. We backtracked through Grant’s pass and made our way back down through Cave Junction; heading finally towards the coast.

***

“Spent 24 hours

I need more hours with you…”

“Cause girls like you

Run around with guys like me

‘Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah…”

***

My hair spun around itself as we weaved in and out of the s-curves and through the canyons and cliffs of the Oregon coast. It took me back to road trips with my family; back when innocence was my bliss and I only knew of the beauty in life. I lifted my head towards the sky, the sun flickering through the tree branches that sprawled over the road and onto my face. I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh air.

Salt.

I could smell it in the air now; we were getting close to the coast. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt the calmness overtake me. Soon we would be by the sea.

***

We pulled over to a gas station in Crescent City, California. In the two hours we had been driving, the temperature plummeted over 40 degrees; the chilly wind roaring through the convertible and against our skin had become overwhelming as we drove the California Highway.

“Need a snack?” Ben asked as he opened the car door to get out and fill up the tank.

“Whatever you like,” I said. “We can share a few things.”

Ben smiled, got out of the car and closed the door behind him. He hesitated before he turned around and stuck his head through the open driver’s seat window. “Um, so where are we staying tonight?” he asked.

I laughed, realizing I hadn’t kept him in the loop about any of my plans for the weekend. It amazed me, though, that he had complete trust in me to just go along without knowing anything that we planned to do for the next two days together.

“Ha, sorry!” I said almost embarrassed. “I reached out to a friend from boarding school who lives in San Francisco. He said he’ll have clean beds and a nice bottle of wine waiting for us whenever we get there.”

Ben smiled, “Cool.”

***

We spent the next five hours driving down the California 101. We alternated between music, sharing different playlists with each other, and talking about life experiences and stories from our childhood. To be honest, I barely remember all that was said, all I know is I was miles and miles away from the life I once knew; daydreaming out the window and becoming a brand new person once again. I was now glancing at my best friend; someone I barely knew not months before. He was driving and leading us to a new place we had both never been before; a life with each other. We may not have known it fully at the time, but it was only the beginning for me; the beginning for the both of us.

In a matter of moments, it all began to make sense; like the winding roads we traversed together signified a greater purpose to my life, and perhaps to his. The hardships I had endured over the course of my life had become his burdens too. I had spent an earlier summer night explaining all that has happened to me over the years; explaining why I am the way I am. I explained how, this time, the pain was unbearable, but why, at the same time, I had become numb to it all. An odd juxtaposition that he seemed to somehow understand; I could tell my wounds hurt him just as much as they had hurt me.

He knew all of my secrets now. I was completely naked; nothing to cover me up, cover the truth about myself. Despite all this, he still chose to stay by my side.

***

“When you feel my heat, look into my eyes

It’s where my demon's hide, it’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close; it’s dark inside

It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide.

***

I had been through the ringer over the years. My other demons resurfacing like bad memories when the monster left his final mark on me with his confession.

“You wanna know what’s crazy?” I said as we drove into the sunset falling over the rolling hills of Sonoma.

“What?” Ben asked.

“How all of this came to be. I always wondered why, ya know? Why me? What was so wrong with me that I deserved all that has happened. Not just this but….everything.”

Ben nodded; his silent way to ask me to continue my thought.

“Like, maybe all of it happened to keep me preoccupied; to make me ready, to make me able to clearly see you; to be ready and waiting for you.”

Ben smiled slightly. “I know what you mean. So many things had to happen perfectly for us to end up meeting, becoming friends, and now this.”

My heart felt so full yet so free. I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of peace; a sensation I knew could be fleeting, so I wasn’t about to let it pass. I turned up the music and we both started singing as we drove into the sunset and watched the full moon start to rise.

“Not a soul up ahead and nothing behind
There's a desert in my blood and a storm in your eyes
Am I the king of nothing at all?
Then you're the queen of nothing at all
Well I remember the fight and I forget the pain
I got my hand in your pocket and my key on your chain
Am I the king of nothing at all?
Then you're the queen of nothing at all

Oh, through the wilderness
You and I we're walking through the emptiness
Oh, my heart is a mess
Is it the only defense against the wilderness?

Cross my heart and hope to die
Taking this one step at a time
Got your back if you got mine
One foot in front of the other
One foot in front of the other
One foot in front of the other…”

***

We arrived at my friend’s condo a little bit after midnight. He was a funny guy; I had known him from my hometown and he also happened to attend the same boarding school I went to in Rhode Island, graduating the year behind me.

He had done well for himself. His condo was a beautiful duplex in the heart of Pacific Heights. We pulled up to a side street, unloading our car and walking through the city engulfed in fog. It had rendered us completely unable to even see the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge we had crossed not minutes before.

My childhood friend welcomed us in with open arms. We walked up the stairs into his kitchen and living room, where he had a blow up mattress and bottle of Cabernet waiting for us.

Ben and I put down out stuff next to the mattress and plopped our tired bodies down into the two upright chairs in his living room. My friend followed behind us and sprawled himself on the blow up mattress next to us. He laid on his side and held his already full glass of wine in the other.

“So, I heard what happened,” he said in a somber tone. “What the actual fuck?!”

My friend had a way of tackling a serious subject in a way that was straightforward but also sensitive. He kept a slight smile the whole time, not because he was happy but because the whole story was so ridiculous it was almost impossible to comprehend and take in without trying to maintain an air of levity.

I spent the next hour catching him up; rehashing the details of my ordeal up until that exact moment. After a few minutes, Ben grabbed himself a glass and poured some wine. He wasn’t a wine drinker, but knew it would help us all relive the past few months.

“I’m so sorry,” my friend said. “He’s clearly a complete moron.” He then changed to more lighthearted topics; reminiscing about the silly things we did as kids and at boarding school.

The three of us laughed as my friend and I dramatically reenacted his father’s hysteria when we shot off illegal fireworks in his driveway on the fourth of July during one summer in high school.

After the mood had been successfully shifted, he gave me a hug and left us to go to bed.

“We’ll be leaving pretty early in the morning,” I said to him.

“No worries. I’ll probably be up before you for my morning bike ride,” he said. “I’ll be sure to say goodbye before you head out.”

“Thank you for everything.”

***

The next morning, we woke up, stripped the sheets and waited to my friend to return so we could say goodbye.

As if he had timed it perfectly, my friend arrived home, opening the front door as we were finishing packing up.

“Yo! There’s a girl at the bus stop downstairs. She’s so hot! Should I give her my number?”

Ben and I both laughed.

He stood in front of us, a ball of excitement, in his high visibility bike gear and helmet.

“Shoot your shot,” I said through a muffled laugh.

Ben and I smiled at each other, listening to the clickety-clacks of his bike shoes as he ran down the hallway and back out the door.

***

After saying our goodbyes, Ben and I loaded the car back up and had our recurring debate of whether to have the convertible top down or up.

“I can’t believe how miserable and foggy it is outside,” Ben said disappointed.

“Don’t worry, once we get outside the city limits and down to the valley, the temperature will shift again,” I assured him.

We kept the top up.

***

On the morning agenda, a visit to Stanford’s campus and then that of my alma mater, Santa Clara University.

We drove down the 280 towards Palo Alto. As we slowly made our way south, the clouds parted and displayed the beautiful foothills to the west of us. The sun came out and we watched the thermometer on the dashboard make its way up into the 80’s once again. Ben pulled over at the exit to Half Moon Bay so we could put the top down.

We both put our sunglasses on, looked at each other and back to the front. Ben immediately turned on Katy Perry’s pop-hit California Girls.

***

We drove through Stanford’s campus, hitting all the stadiums and places Ben wanted to see. I remember thinking how large it was compared to my smaller Jesuit school just a few towns south. After walking around for an hour, we got back in our baby blue car and made our way to Santa Clara.

I took Ben past the house I lived in. It had been repainted bright yellow and the orange and lemon trees that had once flourished in the side yard looked to be gone.

We drove to a parking lot across from the main entrance where I grabbed my typical Starbucks order and introduced Ben to Kramer’s Bagels.

“Oh my God, how I’ve missed you,” I said with my mouth full of lox sandwich.

Ben laughed as he bit into his own lunch.

***

After eating, we walked across the El Camino Real and into the main entrance of SCU. We toured my old communications building, where my writing was born. I walked down the halls, remembering all of the classes and professors that had made such an impact on my life, my writing; my story.

We walked south towards the Mission Church and through the lush and vibrant rose gardens surrounding it. As we walked beneath the long garden trellis, its small, purple flowers sounded us, creating a beautiful violet-hued walkway. As we traversed the lavender road, Ben took my hand. I squeezed it tightly. In that moment, I was right where I needed to be.

***

We continued on our journey south. I had booked us for a night at a small bed and breakfast in Carmel-By-The-Sea, a sleepy and whimsical town by the ocean. It was a place that seemed to only exist in children’s books or fairy tales. Cobblestone streets and celestial cottages lining them. A village that looked like it had come out of a film; a happy film, where love was pure, real and stood the test of time. Where the ending was always happy, regardless of its tragic plot.

When we arrived to town, its seasonal fog had already rolled in. The low cloud shelf and smoke-like fog always gave the small city an eerie yet mystical aura. Mysterious, but in a way that soothed the soul and cleared the mind.

I was finally home.

We arrived at the little B&B around 5:00 pm; a sweet, old man working the front desk giving us the small key to our room and smiling warmly. We walked across the wooden walkways of the property to our doorway and entered. A long set of stairs led up to our lofted bedroom. We thudded up the stairs with our belongings, Ben throwing himself on the bed dramatically, visibly tired from our long journey down the coast.

“I made a reservation at my favorite restaurant here,” I said as I opened the old shutter window that faced the sea. “It’s a really magical place.”

Ben motioned for me to come over and rest.

I laid on the bed beside him; our noses nearly touching. He put his arms around me in a full embrace and I intertwined my feet between his legs to keep warm. He kissed me and shut his eyes; us both falling asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms.

I took a deep breath, letting the sea salt air fill my lungs. From the window, the soft murmur of the waves crashing on the beach in the distance. As Ben drifted asleep, I felt a tear slowly fall down my cheek.

***

Our dinner reservation was at 7:00 pm that night and only a stone’s throw away from our B&B. We both took a shower and got dressed for our evening. As I dried my hair, I caught a glimpse Ben in the mirror behind me buttoning up his dress shirt for the occasion. I could feel my cheeks flush as I smiled back at him.

We walked into Casanova’s and towards the back room. It was a crowded but cozy restaurant in the heart of the sea-side village. In the middle of the room a large tree grew with a string of lights loosely wrapped around its truck; the roof opening around its branches to accommodate for its place in their quaint establishment. The ambiance of the night was as I always remembered. The room lit only with soft yellow lights and candles. The bus boy coming by, meticulously placing ice water in our glasses atop the rustic, Italian-style table cloth.

I remember watching the condensation drip down the glass as I nervously paged through their vast wine list. I began realizing how nervous I had become sitting there, Ben facing me on the other side of the table. He smiled. Nerves in the form of stomach flutters; the thought of what could be. Fluttering thoughts knowing how momentous this dinner would always be for me, for him; us.

Ben voluntarily humored me by taking a look at the wine list and telling me to pick whatever I thought I would like best. I knew he thought wine tasted “funny,” yet he drank it with me as a gesture of kindness and solidarity; I loved him for that.

We ordered a bottle and sipped our pinot noir together, quietly talking and laughing over the dimly lit table. The food just as good as I remembered and the company, even better.

I pulled my gold pashmina up and over my shoulders and the sea air became cooler. I looked up at him over the table.

“I can’t tell you how much this all means to me; how much you mean to me.”

Ben smiled digging into our dessert. “Isn’t it great that we can just be together for days, spend over 14 hours in a car together and have it be one of the best times of our lives?” he said grinning from ear to ear.

I never really knew what it meant to date your best friend. I think I always just assumed if I was dating someone that they were, by default, my best friend. This was different; apparent from the beginning. For once, actually made for each other, meant to be.

***

June 1996

Midnight. Summer in Indiana. My mom and I stood next to our dining room table; both our hands propped on the table staring down at our work. We often would stay up late during the hot summers, putting together large intricate puzzles.

“Ughhhh!” my mom groaned.

I knew what she meant. All to often, we’d get stuck looking for that one piece missing in a section.

I ran around the dark brown table, searching for the missing piece. My mom laughed at my dramatics; my un-brushed hair always disheveled and my skinny eight year old limbs sticking out below the over-sized t-shirt I wore as pajamas.

“This piece looks weird,” I said giggling.

“Can I see it?” she asked reaching her small arm over the table.

She looked at it, spun it around in her fingers to look at it from different angles.

It didn’t look like it belonged; not to the missing part or even to the puzzle itself. It had an odd shape, the colors were off too, I thought.

“It couldn’t possibly fit or look right in that open spot,” she said giving it back to me. She paused for a moment and smiled. “But I bet it does.”

I took the piece back from her, my puzzled look making her laugh. I scratched my head and took it over to the empty spot and pushed it down between the other pieces.

It fit perfectly.

Meant to be all along; I took a step back and realized it had everything it needed. The right shape, the right colors, the right everything. It just fit.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” my mom said.

I smiled.

***

The next morning we woke up early. Our flight back to Chicago was out of San Francisco in the late afternoon so we had some time to explore in the morning before we’d have to make the long haul back up the coast.

I had an agenda.

“Okay, this time I’m driving,” I said to Ben as we packed up the car. “I’m taking you on the 17 Mile Drive.”

Ben had heard me talk about it before; his brother had even mentioned it to him before we made our trip out west.

“Sounds good,” he replied getting in the passenger side.

***

We drove through seventeen miles of winding road, stopping at each attraction and taking pictures. I wanted to breath in as much of the sea salt air as my lungs could take. I knew it would have to last me some time. I didn’t know when I’d be able to get back out to the ocean again; this ocean.

We passed The Lone Cypress, my favorite land mark as a child. A symbol of strength, endurance and resilience. My emotion sitting against the fence staring at it must have been palpable.

We made our way back up the cliffs to exit the historical drive.

“Can we go one more place?” I asked.

Ben nodded.

***

We made our way down Carmel Valley Road. I drove slower than usual; I wanted to test my bearings but hadn’t been down this path in years. Just then, in the distance, I saw our destination and pulled in.

All Saints Episcopal Day School.

The lot was empty; summer break. I parked the car and took a few pictures as the intense nostalgia set in. Ben didn’t have to ask, he already knew where we were.

We walked around to the back of the small building of my old elementary school. I showed him where we used to play as kids; where the tetherball courts used to be, where my classroom was. We then came upon a small, odd tree. It’s limbs awkwardly positioned to where you could sit in it and lean back.

“This is what I wanted to see,” I said softly, holding back emotion.

There are some memories in life that hold significant purpose. Small and insignificant yet somehow so vastly profound. I’ll never forget being six years old and sitting in this tree. During snack time, during recess; I loved this tree.

I was a shy kid. Always nervous, always scared. I loved my time in my little tree, the tree that kept my secrets and provided me comfort when I was sick, lonely or sad. As an adult, a symbol of how far I’d come. Still a nervous child inside, yet strong, powerful; resilient.

Ben looked at me, knowing I was deep in my own head.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“When were you born?” I asked quietly.

He looked confused. “Um February 18th, 1993?”

“Sorry, I mean what time?” I said

“3:35 pm. It was a Thursday,” he answered.

12:35 pm pacific time, I thought.

“I was sitting in this tree when you were born,” I said.

I looked back at him and smiled.

Sometimes you need to go back to where you came from to see where you are going.

***