Page 64 of You're So Vine
“And no one knows, except her and me.”
She’s got the poker face on. Can’t tell what she’s thinking.
No distractions. I’ve got to do this now or I never will.
“I’ve told you how Lee and I got to be friends,” I say. “She’d come to the workshop, we’d have a beer, talk. I started to open up to her. Tell her what it was like over there, in Afghanistan. What I saw. What I did…”
Ava drops a quick kiss on my shoulder. Her mouth feels extra warm, I realize, because my skin now feels cold. It’s what guilt does to you. I recognize it all too well.
“I didn’t exactly blurt it out all in one go,” I say. “Took months before I could talk about the worst of it. Lee was patient—”
“Ugh,” says Ava.
“—up to a point,” I continue. “But she could tell the difference between me talking about stuff in a way that was helpful, and me wallowing in self-pity, using my experiences as an excuse not to move on. I didn’t make that distinction, and I resented her making it for me. Things got … heated.”
I don’t want to tell her this next bit, but I have to.
“I put my fist through the workshop wall. Well, not through.Against. Punched the shit out of it while Lee watched. Split my knuckles. Blood everywhere.”
“Ouch,” says Ava quietly.
“Picked up some barrels I’d made and smashed them on the floor, Incredible Hulk style.” I cringe at the memory of Past Cam. “Acted like a child. A big, dumb toddler full of anger I couldn’t control. Didn’t want to control.”
Ava seems subdued, withdrawn. Don’t blame her.
“Lee didn’t try to calm me down. Knew there was no point. She waited until I was so exhausted, I had to sit down on the floor. She fetched the workshop first aid kit and handed it to me. I thought she was going to patch me up and when she didn’t, I … started to cry.”
Fuck. So much for it sounding better when you say it out loud.
But Ava says, “Not surprised. All the adrenaline was leaving your body, dumping you into a big low. Been there, done that.”
She adds, “And if you’re thinking, ‘but you’re a girl’, you can take a flying leap. Happens to all of us, no matter how strong we think we are.”
I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking about the last time I cried. In a hospital bed. After I’d made sure I was alone because I couldn’t bear the shame of it. Me back then had no idea how real shame could feel.
“Cried and cried,” I say, in hardly more than a whisper. “Until Lee came over to me, put her arms around me. And I…”
Can’t go on. Feels like I’m choking.
“Oh,” says Ava. “Shit.”
She’s figured it out.
“How … um, how far did it go?”
“Not far at all,” I say. “I kissed her, and she pulled away immediately. But … that’s not the point. It shouldn’t have gone anywhere. I shouldn’t have even tried.”
“No,” Ava agrees. “You were in a bad state, but still … Lee was someone’s wife. And she wasn’t coming on to you. Just trying to give you comfort.”
Every word is like a cigarette being stubbed out on my bare skin.
“But”—she says after a pause—“it didn’t destroy your friendship with Lee, did it?”
“No…”
“She forgave you.”
I have so many objections to this line of reasoning. Sure, Lee forgave me. Lee still considers me a friend. But Lee also knows who I can be when I’m at my worst, and whenever I look at her, I still see that person, and Lee sees him, too. We both know who, deep down, I really am.
