Page 105 of Meet Me in the Vines
The last few months have been a ride. It almost didn’t seem real. My shoulders would jolt when I’d hear a door shut too hard. I’d lose sleep some nights, pressing my cheek into Donovan’s chest to make sure he was still breathing. I saw Kellan in my nightmares; sometimes his hands were around my neck. Other times, I glimpsed the deep terror in his dark gaze in the seconds before he shot Donovan.
Eight weeks ago, I started coming to this support group for domestic violence and trauma at the Oakwood Valley Community Health Center. After the shooting, I knew I needed help to sort through everything I had endured.
Donovan drives me to support group every week, encouraging me to continue my journey of healing. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A journey. There’s not just onedestination. Trauma isn’t linear. It’s gray and ugly, push and pull. One minute you’re okay, and the next…well, you’re not.
But today, I sit tall in my rickety plastic chair, roll my shoulders back, and open the journal in front of me. Heather, our moderator, gives me a soft smile and a wink, allowing me to take the floor. For my last session, we were to write a letter to ourselves. An exercise of self-acceptance, to never settle for the path of least resistance.
I’d crumpled at least a hundred pages before I was satisfied with what I wrote. The thing is, this letter can change tomorrow and the next day. So, I wrote the letter on our front porch this morning before I left. I look at the women in the circle around me and slowly close my eyes. This is for them. This is for me.
Take a deep breath, count backward from five.
Dear Audrey,
Look at you. Do you see yourself? Did you ever think this is where you’d end up? Do you feel the sun kissing your skin? Can you smell the clean air around you, free from smog and cognac? I know back then you felt your life was void of hope. Void of love. Void of happiness. The walls were closing in so fast you couldn’t catch your breath. But I’m here to tell you something. I think you’ve always known deep down this is exactly where you’re meant to be. Surrounded by so much love, you don’t know what to do with it. You know what you do? You give it back. Take the chances. Take the risks. Don’t be afraid to fall, because this time you’ll know how to recover. Because you’re strong. You’re not alone anymore. Everything that has happened to you led you here. You never stopped fighting. You may not have seen it then, but I see it. You never gave up. This journey is not over. Far from it. But I want you to know…I’m so proud of you. Proud of us. You are a survivor. You opened your heart and you let your dreams fly. You’re soaring through the air, your wingsin full flight, no longer clipped. How does it feel? Does it feel like a dream? Well, guess what? It’s not a dream. It’s real. You are free. Thank you for never giving up. Thank you for fighting every day. So, Audrey. Look at you. Look at us. I love you.
Audrey
“Donovan? Have you seen my cowgirl boots?” I shout from the bedroom. Donovan stands at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes from the amazing dinner he cooked for me: bolognese with meat sauce. After picking me up from support group, he ushered me into the kitchen, hands over my eyes then lifting to reveal a whole setup for us to make fresh pasta together. My favorite flowers sat pretty in a vase on the counter next to a bottle of Gran’s wine. Knowing Donovan, he will never give up his surprises, no matter how much I protest.
I hear the water turn off and he shouts back, “What?”
“My boots! Have you seen my cowgirl boots? I want to wear them tonight!” I shuffle through my shoes in the bedroom, getting on all fours to check under the bed. Nothing.
“Check the closet, baby!” he shouts back, turning the water back on to resume the dishes. Right, the closet. Since moving in with Donovan officially, my stuff was still all over the place. New clothes, new shoes, new everything. I’d donated most, if not all, the clothes that came back with me from New York. I wanted a fresh start.
Tia extended her stay after the shooting. Since her parents moved back, she put her life in Austin on hold to spend more time with me this summer. She took me shopping, helping me with an entire new wardrobe. It’s been fun to discover what I likeand don’t like, adding color back into my life. I don’t deserve her, but I’ll allow myself to believe that I do. If I learned anything in support group, it’s that every day is an opportunity to shift your perspective. Days where you don’t feel worthy? Change out the lens. So, I deserve Tia’s unwavering friendship, simply because I do.
I stride purposefully into the closet and flip on the light. Donovan’s scent lingers on his clothes as I walk through and graze them with my fingers. No tailored suits, no glitzy jewelry or watches. It’s faded Levi’s, soft cotton t-shirts that hug Donovan’s body like a second skin, and the sweaters I slip on at night for reading on the front porch.
And then there’s my empty section, brimming with the possibility of everything I might hang there. No more frilly blouses and pencil skirts. I want the rainbow. It may just be clothing, but it’s so much more. I’m free to express myself with no repercussions. If I want to wear clashing colors and mixed-matched patterns, I will. My clothing will no longer be a uniform to hide myself or please another man’s desires. It’s for me. And Donovan loves whatever I put on because, well, it’s simple: he loves me.
I bend down to see some shoes of mine that have gone rogue, somehow finding their way to the back of the closet. “Ah! There you are,” I say, grunting as I get on my hands and knees to reach for my boots. I grip the toe of one and drag it toward me, a shoebox coming along with it. It’s a simple black shoebox and curiosity gets the best of me when I slip off the lid.
I gasp as I lift a picture from the box. It’s a picture of Donovan and me from graduation night. My head is pressed against his chest, a subtle smile curved on my lips. I remember this moment. My eyes are closed in the picture. I had my ear right over his heart, swaying to the thud of his heartbeat, as if I knew then just how precious it was. He’s kissing my hair, hisarms wrapped around me, holding me close. God, we were so young. So in love, we didn’t even know it.
I glimpse a second picture in the box, but it’s face down. I pick it up to read the smudged ink on the back.
The day I fell in love with Audrey Winthrop
May 31st, 2014
My breath hitches when I turn the picture over, seeing that beautiful dimpled grin I’ve always loved. I’m laughing into his chest, my cheeks tinted pink. He’s leaning his cheek on top of my head, beaming so bright toward the camera. He’s always been beautiful. The youth on our faces, the hope of a summer spent every day together, it’s all in the picture. I trace his face with my finger as the tears well up in my eyes.
“Mouse, did you find your boots?”
I turn my head around to face Donovan, leaning on the door frame. He’s wearing a fitted heather gray t-shirt with sleeves that grip deliciously around his biceps. His faded jeans hug his toned thighs, strong and masculine. He’s breathtaking.
“Yeah, I got ‘em,” I croak, lifting my boot in the air. His face immediately grows in concern when he sees me tearing up, and he rushes to my side, bending down beside me.
He sees me holding the picture and chuckles under his breath. “I see you found the pictures,” he murmurs, kissing my temple as he drapes his arm around me. I turn to see his face, his eyes locked on the picture. “Look at us, Mouse,” he whispers as I lean my forehead to his temple.
“I am.”
Those two in the picture? It’s still us. Audrey and Donovan. We’re still just two crazy kids in love. I pull back to his face and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me about these? We can frame them.”
“To be honest, I forgot about them,” he blurts, and I playfully hit him on the arm. He chuckles and shakes his head. “You see, these pictures were all I had of you for ten years. You see how the corners are bent and how worn they are? That’s because I held onto these pictures and looked at them every night we were apart.”
“Every night?”
