Page 73 of Collateral Damage
At least I can cry for someone else instead of my sorry ass, especially because the actor, River Phoenix, died young of a drug overdose.
Now I’m crying for the actor as well as the character.
The few patrons in the theatre get up to leave, but I stay burrowed in the padded seat, silently crying like a damn has burst. It’s cathartic, letting myself feel this deeply. As much as it hurts, I know I need it.
A man sits next to me, and without even looking at him, I immediately know it’s Cooper. My Cooper. God, what did I do to him? How could I have been so cruel? I ruined such a beautiful friendship, and it’s my fault.
My aching heart doesn’t know what to do with itself.
He takes my hand, squeezing once before setting it on the armrest and folding his own hands over his lap. I keep my eyes trained on his body, avoiding his face. But I know him so well, even in the darkness of the theatre as the credits roll. From his tan arm next to mine and the way his veins run to his hands in his hands, to his long-outstretched legs so comfortable in his jeans, even with the prosthetic on his right side.
More than knowing what he looks like, I know what hefeelslike. I know his comforting sandalwood and soap scent, his magnetic energy, and his kind soul. I could have had my eyes closed for this interaction, and I’d still have known it was him.
Cooper is as familiar to me as my own reflection.
“You had the same idea as me, huh?” I ask. “You did love coming to this theatre as much as I did.”
“We both love going to lots of places in Manhattan,” Cooper says. “This city is huge.”
“Are you saying it’s fate you’re here at the same time as me?”
“I’m not sure I believe in fate. I do believe it was a lucky coincidence, and this was definitely luck I found you here to today of all days.”
That makes my heart swell a little, and the tears slow. “Seeing me is lucky?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It is for me. I was already sitting in the back row when you came in. I thought I’d leave you in peace to enjoy the film.”
“Enjoyis not the word I would use for what I just saw. More likeexperience.”
“Same.” His voice trails off, and I wonder where his mind took him.
Is he hurting like I’m hurting? This isn’t the anniversary of the day he lost his father, but it is the anniversary of the day he lost his leg. He’s been through a hell of a lot, more than most people.
The screen goes dark. Without saying a word, we get up and walk into the bright June day.
It’s beautiful weather, the kind that’s unfair when you’re sad. Maybe that’s exactly what I need, even if I don’t want it.
Cooper and I don’t make polite conversation; we walk together in comfortable silence. The theatre is only a couple blocks from the south side of Central Park, so naturally, we end up walking around the iconic duck pond until we’re standing in front of the ticket booth for the zoo.
“Do you want to go in?” Cooper asks, and I accept the offer. I’m not ready to go home yet. Being outside feels good to my soul, especially being among the trees. The birds chirping are music to a broken heart, and maybe more animals will help me feel better.
I’m not a big fan of zoos, but this one has a lot of wonderful memories with my family attached to it, so I try to let that slide.
Cooper pays and once inside, I take in the lush landscape juxtaposed to the towering skyscrapers on the horizon. It’s such a familiar scene that it soothes me. I have happy memories of coming here with Dad as a kid, but also memories of coming here with Ethan and Cooper, and many with our moms.
It’s still so hard to think my dad and Victoria had an affair, and even worse to accept that they’re both dead now. Thanks to therapy, I’ve embraced the truth that it’s okay to focus on the good times instead of the bad.
When we’re watching an adorable red panda eating bamboo, I burst into tears.
Again.
Cooper pulls me into a hug, and I hide my face in his black cotton shirt. I should be embarrassed by the people staring at me, but I don’t care.
“I don’t know why you’re here with me, today of all days,” I choke out.
He smiles softly and wipes the tears away from my cheeks, shaking his head slowly, a worry line forming between his eyebrows.
“I don’t hate you, Valentine. I never did. It’s important that you understand that. I wasangrywith you, but there’s a difference between anger and hate.”
