Page 4 of Diamonds in the Dark
I throw my warm, pastel colored quilt and sheet to the side as I sit up, stretch, and pout a little. Bottom lip pushed out and all because everyone knows pouting always helps in any unwanted situation. Finally, I drag my bedridden, burr head out of bed.
I pick up my phone to see if I had missed any calls since last night. I silenced my phone before going to bed in case Edward decided to call all night, the same way he had called all day yesterday. There are twenty-three missed calls and fifteen are from Edward. That is pathetic, he needs to stop. The rest are from co-workers, probably calling to check on me, because it only takes about five minutes flat for gossip to get around Mason and Clark. I throw my phone onto the bed and decide to deal with all the calls and voicemails after I have had a shower.
After my shower, I sit down on my bed with my wet towel still wrapped around me. I dread listening to all my voicemails. I make a list of co-workers that have left messages for me, not sure if I will call them back or not. There are very few of them I would consider friends. I am fairly sure most are just calling to verify the gossip. Then, I start listening to all of Edwards messages. Every single one wants to talk this “mess” out, as he calls it. In the first few, he's apologizing like a sick, wounded puppy. In the last few, he just sounds pissed off that I am not answering. He also sounds drunk. I can see he is going to drive me bat shit crazy before he leaves me alone. He did this, not me. The most recent call came through while I was in the shower. He sounded ridiculous and was begging me to call him, that he just wanted to take me to dinner tonight and talk. He said, “It’s not too late to talk this all out and still get married.” Is he freaking serious? Apparently, he thinks I have stupid written across my forehead! What could he be thinking, to believe for one second, I would be that foolish? Does he not understand what he has done? I don't understand how he can think it’s possible that all of this can be swept up under a rug and forgotten; act as if none of this ever happened. His mind works in a way I cannot comprehend, nor do I have the desire to. It's sick and twisted.
I call back a couple of my co-workers that I sort of consider work friends. They all are worried about me and then they all tell me the same thing. People have witnessed Edward and Celia, slipping kisses, flirting, and discreet touching when they had thought no one was watching, since Edward hired her. I know it's all true. I have no reason to doubt anyone. I know Edward all too well. What I don't understand is why no one came and told me about any of it. I would have looked like a complete fool standing in front of everyone we work with saying “I do” to Edward when everyone knew he was cheating on me. It fuels my hatred towards him. I could not begin to understand why or how he could tear us apart like this, and to do it so publicly that so many people were able to witness it, not to mention once he was caught, he blamed me for what he did!
If this had all happened two weeks from now, I would have been married to the cheating asshole! I am grateful that I dodged that bullet. As much as it hurts, I know it is a blessing in disguise. Thinking about it now, I know it was never meant for Edward and me to be together. The pain of the betrayal bleeds inside me like a deep open wound and that is going to take some time to heal, but it will heal! I just regret that I wasted five years of my life on a man like him. I know I loved him, or more accurately, I loved the thought of me and him together and what we could have had if he wasn't a jackass.
Sitting here thinking about all this craziness has made me realize I could use some time at Mom’s grave today. It always makes me feel better after I spill my heart out to Mom, even though she can’t give me the advice I need anymore. Today, I could really use her and her warm arms around me. I could really use some of her wise wisdom as well.
I guess what I am going through is a grieving process for what could have been and what I thought was going to be if things had been different if Edward had been different. I am also wondering why I was never enough for him. Ending the relationship two weeks before our wedding day feels insane to me. How many people does this happen to? How do I pick up the pieces of my heart and my life that I had built around his presence for the past five years and what was supposed to be our forever? I wish I could go back to the day we met so I could turn away from his charm and avoid all that has happened in the last five years.
I look over at the clock. It is almost nine o’clock and I am still sitting here on my bed, in my now damp towel, with my phone still in my hand. I have to stop sitting on my bed in wet towels. I have had more than enough of this rehashing the past in my head. It's not going to help or change anything. It just makes me more frustrated. I had better get my day going or I might just crawl back into bed. I need to pull myself together and get on with my new life.
I call George first, to go over the details of what all I need to work on for the week. I assure him that I will get it all done and will email him when I am finished. It isn't much since he will be out of town for the next two weeks. He just needs me to write a few letters, go over a couple of files, and oversee any loose ends that might come to light while he’s gone. It sounds to me like I am going to be having a three-week vacation. What he’s asking me to do will take me no time to get finished. In fact, I can do most of it at night while eating dinner.
I get dressed, throwing on jeans and a T-shirt. I grab an old sweatshirt to put on over the t-shirt for now. The Tennessee weather in early May can be unpredictable, even bipolar, if you will. It is cool out this morning, or so the weather app on my phone says, but in a shake of a cat’s tail, the temperature can climb and burn you alive. I stroll downstairs noting things I need to get done around the house such as laundry and dusting. Since it's been sitting empty for a while, it has accumulated some dust bunnies. I walk into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and remember to feed Sam. I shake the cat food bag and he comes running, his collar bell ringing. He starts purring and rubbing on my legs as I fill his food bowl. With Sam taken care of, I need coffee now so I can start my day. I open the cabinet where I used to keep my coffee and find it empty. Oh yeah! I am completely out of coffee! I forgot I haven't been to the store yet, so I have nothing but empty cabinets and an empty refrigerator.
I need coffee and food, so it's time to get the day moving. I look around for my car keys, purse and sunglasses. I find my keys and purse, but my sunglasses are gone. I check my purse, dumping it on the counter and they aren't in there. I don’t have the patience this morning to look for them, so I backtrack to my room and grab my straw sun hat from the top of my closet. It isn't my most favorite fashion accessory in the world. In fact, I hate it so much, I left it here when I moved in with Edward so the next owners could do what they wanted to with it. Well, thankfully this morning it's mine again because I will need it when I get to the cemetery. There isn't a whole lot of shade near Mom's grave.
I grab my keys and purse off the kitchen counter and walk out into the day, which is quite gorgeous. Not an ideal fit to my mood, but it’s excellent for the soul. There is not a cloud in the sky; the sun is shining brilliantly, bright and warm, hinting that summer is fast approaching. I am glad I wore my sweatshirt though, there is a slight chill in the morning air.
As I am putting my purse in the back seat and getting the flowers from the front floorboard and moving them to the back seat with my other things, so I don't forget them, I spot my next-door neighbor. I don't know if he's new to the neighborhood or I have just never noticed him before. I give a friendly wave. He is cleaning out his truck, and from the looks of it, he hosted a wild party in it last night judging from the two garbage bags sitting beside it filled with trash and beer cans. He waves back half-heartedly and goes back to cleaning. He is probably coming off of a hangover. Bless his heart. I have only had one hangover in my entire life and that was enough for me! I was miserable and so freaking sick. The headache afterwards was the worst, and nothing would make it go away. It's just not worth it to me. I will have a mixed drink every now and then when I am out with Dad or Becca, but as far as getting drunk, that is not something I ever want to experience again. No, I'm not a goody two shoes. I'm a big baby when it comes to being sick!
I start my car and pull out, heading towards the cemetery. On the way, I make a couple of pit stops, one at the local coffee shop drive-thru for a gigantic coffee with a gigantic blueberry muffin on the side. Then, I pull into a convenience store to fill up with gas and to grab a bottle of water for when my coffee is all gone. The cashier is in a talkative mood and starts telling me her whole life story and all her problems. I don’t want to seem rude, so I half listen and nod at all the correct times or so I hope. She didn't seem to notice if I didn't. She finally seems to run out of things to say… or she ran out of breath. I'm not sure which. The people in line behind me look a little impatient, and I can understand. Maybe she will repeat her story for each of them so they can see it wasn't my fault they had to wait. I wish her a good day and I head back out to my car. If you were to ask what all she said to me, it would be impossible for me to tell you. My mind was selfishly on my own problems.
I pull up to the curb nearest to Mom’s grave. I look around to see if there is anyone else nearby. I am the only one in the whole place from the looks of it. Not many people come here during the week, which is why I prefer to come on weekdays, but most of the time work prevents that. Most people come out over the weekends or on holidays to visit or change old flowers. I get out of my car, reach into the back seat and gather my hat, flowers, and the notebook I keep in the back of my car for poems and little stories I like to write. I have found it to be the perfect therapy, during times of stress and hurt, to write my heart out. It’s an old obsession and hobby of mine that I started at an early age, but I never did much with it. I start walking over to the bench in front of my mom’s grave. The sun is shining bright now and there is a nice light morning breeze blowing. It is a fantastic May morning.
Thankfully, I am alone here so I let some tears fall that I have been on the brink of shedding all morning. I keep wishing I could go back to the day I met Edward and walk away from him and erase our whole relationship. I am sure there was something that I was supposed to learn from this life lesson, but right now all I have is regret. I hate crying; it always leaves me with puffy eyes and a headache. I pull out a tissue and wipe my eyes, feeling like a fool to be wasting more tears on Edward. He isn't worth it. I look around trying to summon my sanity back and wishing the tears to go away. I watch as the wind blows the leaves softly in the trees. It is that time of year when everything has such a striking green color to it, and the flowers are bursting with life and chock-full of color. The fragrant smell of honeysuckle is everywhere you go, filling the air with its sweet aroma. I wish I could bottle it up and wear it or use it in my home, as an air freshener. I hate that I am in no frame of mind to enjoy this stunning time of year. I hate feeling sorry for myself. This is not who I am! “I have got to pull myself out of this state of mind.” I say aloud to myself.
I pull out my notebook and open it, reading some of the writings I have written in the past few years. “Some of this stuff is dark,” I think. Maybe I was in a dark place even before I knew what Edward had been up to; from my writing, it certainly looks that way and I never realized it. One thing about my writing, if you want to know my true frame of mind, just read some of them from that time period. It all comes out when I put my pen to the paper. This is one reason as a teen, I stopped keeping a diary; I never recorded my actual life. I have always written poems and stories that portrayed my moods. My mom would find them, read them, and think I was almost suicidal. Bless Mom’s heart. She always saw the darkness in my writing. It seemed she skipped the bright and cheerful writings and went straight for anything I wrote that was dark. I don't know how many times I explained it to her, she never could understand it's just how I express myself. If I cannot speak how I feel, I can always write it with no problem. I eventually stopped writing my feelings, so Mom didn't worry so much or have me committed to a hospital or something. After I moved out, I started writing again so it was for my eyes only.
My secret dream has always been to become a writer for as long as I can remember. I just have never had the nerve to jump out there and do it. I know the writing world can chew you up and spit you out like an old wad of chewing gum. I have always been afraid to chance it, so I pursued a “real” nine to five job instead. Don't get me wrong, I don’t hate my job. It's just far from my dream job. With my life taking a completely new and different path, now might be the time to indulge in my passion for writing and see if I can break into that world. I don't know if I will be able to go back to Mason and Clark with Edward there. One minute I think it will be fine and the next I am not so sure I want to be in the same building with him. The only thing I am afraid of in the writing world is rejection and not being “good enough”.
I close my notebook with a sigh. I reach over and pick the flowers up and walk over to Mom’s grave. The caretakers must have recently mowed because there is grass strewn all over the bottom of her head stone. I get down on my knees and wipe all the grass and debris off, then pull Mom's old fading flowers from the built-in vase that is chained to her headstone. I have often wondered who was stealing the vases from headstones to make them have to chain them in place. Then again, we do live in a strange time and people do bizarre things every day. The old flowers, red roses which Dad put in the vase after Christmas, were always her favorite flower and held a lot of meaning and memories for them both. I remember growing up, each payday, Dad would always stop on his way home from work and buy Mom a dozen red roses. These memories melt my heart. They always had the type of relationship most people only dream about. To find the kind of love they had, I cannot even imagine it. I replace the roses with purple wisteria that Mom would probably hate; it was the prettiest summer flowers I could find. I figured she could use a total change, or maybe it’s just me that needs the change. I don’t know. I should have just bought new red roses. I lay my hand on her name on the headstone and let more tears fall. “Mom, I miss you so much. I need you so much right now.” Ragged sobs escape my mouth as tears roll down my face.
Pulling myself back together, I sit back down on the bench. I take a sip of my coffee, which has cooled down a little too much for my liking and now has that funky cold coffee taste that almost makes me gag. So much for me getting my morning coffee.
I open my notebook back up, playing a bit with some of the ideas in my head, then moving on to playing with them a little in an outline on paper, seeing if anything can lead to a possible poem or maybe even a story. It’s amusing how the weirdest of things can end up being a possible story idea. It can be something as simple as a cloud in the sky taking on the appearance of something odd and BOOM! A whole scenario comes to life there inside your head. Characters and emotions come alive, talking and telling you their story, wanting to escape from your head onto the awaiting pages in front of you. It’s almost as if they want the world to hear their voice and you are the only outlet that can give it the life it craves.
I look up after writing several ideas and scenarios in my notebook, just dallying around with them, nothing to really go on at this point. I notice a man standing in front of a headstone a few rows downhill from where I am sitting. I had not noticed him walking up. I guess I was absorbed in my writing and wasn't paying much attention. I watch him for a bit. He is standing there with his head down, not moving at all. He is so still it reminds me of a statue some of the graves have near them of the different saints and angels. He’s just standing there staring at the headstone in front of him. I watch him a bit longer trying to read what his thoughts could be. I am not a mind reader, of course, so I get nothing. I open my bottle of water, take a long drink, and start looking over everything I have written today, trying my best to avoid being rude by staring at the poor guy.
All of the sudden, I have this gut-wrenching sadness come over me. It makes me feel a little lightheaded and for a minute I panic. I don't know why I am having this feeling. It's odd and it hits me out of nowhere! It almost makes me sick. My mouth starts watering and I have to stifle back what feels like vomit. As quick as the feeling came upon me, it starts to dissipate, leaving me feeling empty. Confused and freaking out a little, I start wondering what just happened to me and why? A thought goes through my mind that maybe the feelings were somehow radiating from that guy standing down there. What an insane thought. Something like that would be impossible! It was almost as if for a brief moment his soul or something was having a personal conversation with mine. Whatever it was, it felt like it reached into my core. I think I have finally lost my mind. My overactive imagination has finally pushed me over the edge to insanity. This is what happens when you try to write and get your creative juices flowing in a cemetery. Then again, it makes as much sense as any other explanation I can think of right now. He is just a man standing there minding his own business, staring at a grave… and here I am having a mental breakdown…or something!
Again, I am hit with another unexplainable feeling. This time it is to go over and talk to him. The urge is so strong, it is all I can do to keep myself sitting still. I grab the bench with both hands just to keep myself in place. Why I would have these feelings is beyond me. I have no control over them, and they are confusing the hell out of me. It's almost like something or someone is begging me to go to him, pushing me to just get up and go. He is not even looking at me! He would think I was insane if I just ran over to him. He doesn’t even seem to realize I am here! I have never had anything like this happen to me, and to be frank, it's scary.
I feel another wave of panic come over me. I am beyond confused at this point; I am seriously becoming concerned about my sanity! Then again, as quickly as the feeling came, it left just like the other one, as if it somehow lost its grip on me. I start to question what is wrong with me. Is this some kind of attack, a nervous breakdown, or have I lost my mind? I am not one given to panicking. I wonder to myself if this is some sort of panic attack. I wouldn’t know, I have never experienced one before. However, even if it was a panic attack, it does not explain why I wanted to go over to some complete stranger and what? What was I supposed to do? Comfort him? I don’t know anything about him! What in the hell was I supposed to say to him? “Hey, what’s up? I hope I am not bothering you, but even if I am, tough luck because something or someone wants me to come talk to you and pry in your business.” I am at a loss as to what just happened to me, not to mention sincerely flipping out at this point.
I am not the type of person just to go up to some random person and start talking to them. I am too shy for that kind of thing. As my parents used to tell people, I am an introvert. I especially would not do that here in a cemetery. You do not invade people’s privacy here. I have never felt anything like that before in my life and I am positive I never want to feel it again. I like to have control over my emotions and for a few minutes there, I had lost all control.
I continue watching him for a few more minutes, still confused and trying to shake off the lingering effects from the strange feelings or at least give some understanding to them. I give up and try to put everything that just happened out of my mind.
The sun is beginning to get hot as the coolness of the morning has quickly evaporated into the warmth of the midday sun. The heat is starting to get to me, so I reach for the bottom of my sweatshirt, pulling it up over my head leaving me in my t-shirt, then I grab my hat from beside me. I have used this old straw hat for years. My mom bought me and her matching ones when I was in my early teens. We were on a trip in the Florida Keys, and she thought we needed one. She thought it was cute that we matched. I hated it, but she made me wear it when we went to the beach. When I moved in with Edward, I thought I was finally rid of it. Apparently not! I put it on my head knowing I look a little stupid in it. I continue writing, glancing up every now and then to watch the man. Why can I not just forget he is here? What is the hold he has on me? I keep wondering.
I finally come to a stopping point and look down at my watch; it is almost two o’clock. I didn't mean to stay here this long. Where did the time go? I still have a few things I need to get finished today.
Maybe writing is an excellent thing for me to be doing right now. It may be an even greater therapy than I thought. It felt like I had only been sitting here for maybe an hour or so. In reality, I have been sitting here for almost four hours. It was as if I had gone on a short vacation to my own fantasy world. I cherish that little escape from reality, even if it was just temporary. I still don't understand the period of time I lost my mind, but the writing was a great escape from my life.
