Page 33 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Obviously, he didn’t.

I take a breath, realizing he’s lied about far more than just his habit. I try to recall anything he might’ve said hinting at this, but I’m coming up blank. Frowning deeply, I consider the invasion of his privacy. I weigh it on an invisible scale before deciding my sanity is heavier.

“Alright, stalker. What did you find?”

Fluttering his eyelashes at me and pouting, he says, “I left my phone in my bunk. And you’re super warm.”

I roll my eyes and get my phone. He takes it from me, types something into the search bar, and then hands it back. At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at because it’s an old news article from the 90s.

The headline reads:LOCAL COUPLE OVERDOSES. CHILD TRAPPED IN CARSEAT.

I glance at Jorge, his eyes downcast and his lips thin.

On June 7th, 1997, Washington Park, Illinois, locals Emery Madden and Lillian Madden were found deceased in their vehicle at approximately 10:40 am. The couple was discovered by a pedestrian who alerted the police. Within the vehicle, the couple’s two-year-old son, Elijah Madden, was buckled in his car seat. The child was taken via ambulance and was reported to have been dehydrated, soiled, and inconsolable.

I stop reading because I can’t see the damn screen through my tears.

Jorge is quiet as he says, “I didn’t know about this before…I kind of started digging after Thanksgiving. I’ve meant to show you, but I don’t know how to bring up something like this.”

“He said they overdosed. He told me, and I didn’t even ask how. Didn’t askanything.Eli never tells me anything, and the one time he did, I ignored him.” My throat closes as I drop my phone. “Iignoredhim.” The sob is guttural as I cry into my hands, Jorge grabbing hold of me like I’m going to shatter.

“Phoenix?” I hear Devon’s voice, followed by the shuffling of him leaving his bed.

I cry harder. Michael is next to wake up. He snorts loudly. “What’s happening?”

“Wake up. It’s Phoenix,” Devon says to Kelly, probably, and the bus slows down.

“Get his Oreos,” Jorge tells someone. “Shh, it’s okay, bebe. You didn’t know. Fuck, Kelly, get over here.”

This bunk can’t fit three people, but she wiggles in mine anyway, covering me with her body. “We’re right here, Fe. We’re all here.” Her petite frame latches on to me, warmth surrounds me, and I can only imagine Eli trapped in that car seat as a baby.

How he allowed me to know him—to see him and I pissed on it. I think…I think I’m worse than he will ever be.

After eating an entire row of Oreos, the tour bus pulled over on the side of the highway, and all my friends stared at me like I was going crazy, I calmed down enough to form thoughts.

I think I’m losing my mind. Using my tongue to get the little bit of cookie out of my teeth, I am back in my bunk, going through all I’ve learned and comparing it to what I know about Eli. Once, and only once, he’d mentioned an aunt.

I had been bitching about my dad and how cranky he was. It’s no secret my dad struggles with my sexuality, but that day in particular, we were watching a show, and he scoffed at one of the characters. The one that was queer. He didn’t say anything because my mom would rip him a new asshole, but I caught his disgust. I told Eli about it, and that’s how the aunt came up—a brief, quick comment about how relatives are shitty.

If I add that to the mix, I can guess that this aunt must have taken care of him after his parents died. She might’ve even raised him. Maybe it was bad…maybe things were worse than bad. I don’t know any of that. After the breakup, Veronica told me that it would’ve happened eventually because the foundation of our relationship was built from popsicle sticks. It's a stupid metaphor, but I understand the meaning.

We bonded over sex, superficial things like movies and food, and our appreciation of cherry blossoms. I fell in love with how he moved and spoke, how he’d show me through actions how he felt about me. He’d do my laundry, feed my cat, bring me coffee in bed, and kiss me despite my morning breath. I’d gotten sick once and shit myself. He helped me through it, never once making me feel embarrassed. We never talked about the past or our childhood baggage, but we shared so much more than our bodies and passionate kisses.

I know in my heart that what we had was real—toxic, maybe, but real. I want it back—and everything he didn’t give me.

Wanting it and making it happen are two different things, though. I tried before, kept my mouth shut, and ignored everything. I tried to understand and be patient, hoping he’d come to me like Oli didn’t. But at my sister’s wedding, with a sea of happy people all around us and my heart’s deepest desires being fulfilled by another couple…I couldn’t anymore. What I wanted wasn’t going to happen. And no one knows this because I’m ashamed even tothinkit, but it’s my fault.

It’s my fault Eli broke up with me.

My temper, which rarely sees the light of day, was fully released. I was a hideous monster that day. I treated him worse than I’d ever felt in the months leading up to it. And I saw it the moment he realized what had to happen. God, I hate him for it and myself, too. Something has to give because I can’t keep doing this.

Eli

The Secret

Tracy: Your toilet is broken.

Iswipe away my aunt’s text.

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