Page 8 of Tracing Holland

I stare at her.I have no idea what that means.“Um, ok.I don’t either,” I reply.

She’s fishing for words.“I just mean…Crap!”She covers her face, clearly embarrassed all of a sudden.“Wow, ok, you know what?I’m sorry.I don’t know what I’m doing.I just say things sometimes.”She shakes her head, and I swear she’s blushing.

“Holland, I’m so lost right now,” I confess, staring at her with what I’m sure is a baffled expression.

She laughs dismissively.“No, I know.I…can we just pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“Um…”

“Yeah, ok, so I should just go.Thanks for letting me use your bus.I’ll just go to my dressing room or something.”

After giving me another weak smile, she’s gone.

I stare after her, totally confused by her strange behavior.I have no clue what she was talking about, what drama is concerning her.She didn’t seem angry, just sincere in her determination to avoid whateveritis.Or could be.Or was?What could I have done that would cause someone to fear me without being angry?I swallow, feeling even more uncertain, more insecure.I’m tired of hurting people, and the thought that I’m still hurting them without even trying is hard for me to accept.Just my very presence is a cancer, apparently.Dammit.Trigger.

I closemy eyes and lean against the partition to the sleeping area.I’m not a cancer.I’m just…I don’t know yet, but not that.Not anymore.I draw in a deep breath and continue on to the back of the bus in a disturbed silence.

Time alone with myself is uncomfortable at best, and after only a few distracted minutes of staring at the screen, I know I’m not where I belong.My encounter with Holland is only a small fraction of the weight on my conscience.There’s a much bigger burden that’s haunted me since the second we pulled into Houston, and the fact that I’ve been trying to deny it with silly excuses has only been feeding the monster.There’s something else I have to do while I’m home, one more conversation that needs to be had, and I can’t fight it anymore.

It’s a bit of a drive to the large suburb outside the city but the cab driver promises he’ll wait for me.I leave him at the curb by the ornate iron gate, and he gives me a somber nod as I take the first tentative steps toward it.Drawing in a deep breath, I glance up at the imposing arch and force my feet to comply with my heart.

My lungs are heavy and my progress slows as the distance shrinks.I can barely breathe, the smell of freshly cut grass mocking me with the scent of life in this place of death.It’s a frightening maze, but I know exactly where to go even though I’ve only been here three times.

That first time.The day I can hardly remember.It should be ingrained in my head, a nightmare that haunts me every time I close my eyes, but it’s not.It’s just a shadow, lurking in the darkest reaches of my thoughts, reminding me of how far I’d fallen and would have yet to fall.

Then, the second time.The day I almost killed Casey and ruined his life too.The day we lost consciousness beside the shiny stone monument and woke up to a firestorm of press releases and irate Label execs.

And the third.The day I’d determined to join her.

I freeze when I reach my destination, unable to move as I stare at the stunning headstone.I hate that it’s so fresh, so new, that in this sea of stone and statues, this one is the most beautiful to me.The tears are gathering now as I finally have the courage to kneel down and face her.To say I’m sorry.To finally make promises I will keep.

In loving memory of Elena Barrett Craven

Wife, Daughter, Sister

A sob echoes through the silence, cutting off the distant sound of birds and insects.It’s mine, I know, but I’m afraid I’m not ready for it.

I reach out my hand and grip the stone, letting the chill of death seep into my fingers.

Wife, Daughter, Sister.

First love.Inspiration.Victim.

I close my eyes, the hot liquid searing my cheeks and staining my t-shirt.I rest my head on my hands as the late summer breeze rustles the trees, reminding me of the impossible distance that separates us.So much life in the presence of death.But it’s time.I need this.She deserves this.After a long pause, I draw in a deep breath, finally letting the door to her memory crash open.

Her face.Her hair.Her smell.The way her laugh made you want to hold her forever.Her eyes, and that first time she looked at me as though she couldn’t live without me.

“I’m so sorry, Ellie.”I whisper.“I love you.I love you so much.I should have been there.I’m so sorry.I’m so sorry.”

The tears are hers now, seeping into the ground, and I find myself praying they’ll come to rest with her somehow.I know it’s absurd, but I don’t have anything left to give her.I want her to have that.I need her to accept them.

I forget about time, collapsed against her, completely paralyzed.I know it’s getting late.I know there’s another world waiting for me, but I just can’t let her go again now that I’ve finally come back to her.I don’t think I’m sobbing anymore, but the tears are still slipping down my cheeks, soaking my arms as I hold on.

But it’s not her.It’s not Ellie.It’s just a cold chunk of rock on a pile of grass, and deep down I know I don’t belong here.Not yet, anyway.What’s left of her is the ghost in my head, in my heart, and I start to understand.I finally get it.This hope, this budding strength, this overwhelming sense of who she still is because of who she was.I may have failed her then, but she won’t fail me now.I finally believe.

I can get up.I can still live.

I can move on without letting go.

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