Page 113 of Hunt for the Roses
At first, your instinct is to tug at the restraints with every ounce of strength you possess, even though you know your efforts are pointless. And as time goes on, you start to tire physically, and eventually your mental exhaustion catches up. At some point, you’re not tugging frantically at the restraints, but you’re embracing them. Accepting them as your fate and wardrobe accessory for life. Finally, you lay limp on the floor with your cheek flat against the cold concrete, and you stare at the door to the room. As time starts to slow down, you’re willing someone to walk through that door and pick up the key to release you. But when minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to days, despair starts to consume you and you forget what it ever felt like to live unchained.
These are the ripple effects of just one moment.
One moment that’s caged me for so long, it feels surreal to be lying flat on this wooden bench, surrounded by endless beauty. I can see hints of the starlit sky above, and I feel my lips tip up ever so slightly at the corners. I inhale as I turn to look toward the green rose pathway, keeping my eyes trained on the bold, green petals. Flashes of scenes from the past couple months shine in my mind. Moments I thought I could never experience again.
And then I think ofhim.
I think of how his arms were wrapped around me as we danced under this very gazebo that night, savoring every second together. The images are so vivid, like the memories have been inked into my veins and forever etched into my soul. It was the first time we listened to our hearts instead of the sand pouring in our hourglass. Some would say you can’t hear the sand anyway, but when you’re on borrowed time, it’s the loudest sound of all. And if I had to relive that night again, I would make the same decision every single time.
Because that night, the door to my dark room finally opened.
Herepresents my liberation.
My salvation.
My key to freedom.
I exhale a breath as I turn my head away from the green rose pathway and look back up to the roof of the gazebo. I think about how Dane and I went from a sweet and tender moment in my living room, to arguing on my front porch about the future of us. I haven’t spoken to Dane since the night on the porch, and it’s because I’ve been consciously avoiding him. Yes, there are a few times when I’ll peek out the window to see if I catch him walking to his car or walking the pathway up to his house.
Sometimes I see him.
Sometimes I don’t.
The times I don’t, I’m let down. Because the truth is, I miss him.
I missus.
When I take a step back and think about our journey together over this past summer, it’s overwhelming. After Kyle, I never expected to feel something so profound again, let alone love.
Love.
The heart is truly an incredible phenomenon. When we experience tragedy, our heart breaks into thousands, maybe millions of pieces. And we start to wonder if we’ll ever find the glue to put the scraps back together again. But even if we do find the glue, is our heart ever truly the same? If we try to rebuild something, can it ever be as good as the original?
Over the last year, the fragments of my heart have been slowly stitched back together. Being with Dane was like the final needle and thread I needed to make my heart whole again. But although my heart was put back together, I was still living life for my stitches and scars. I held back, I hesitated, and I was unsure.
I could never give Dane one hundred percent of me because I was still living as if my heart was broken. I could still feel every inch of thread that was sewn into my jagged organ. But there was one thing I failed to realize throughout all of it. Even if the scars don’t completely fade, they’re never as ugly or profound as they once were, and our bodies are still able to function after.
Can the heart do the same?
Does it have the ability to love immensely again after heartbreak?
Some scars have completely faded from my heart over the last year, but Kyle’s death and memory are marks that will stain my heart forever.
Then I start to think about what Dane said to me. He said that a part of my heart will always beat for Kyle. And he’s right in a way. Dane can never have my whole heart because a part of it will always lay in memory of Kyle.
But does that part still beat for Kyle?
I’m not so sure.
I’m not so sure my heart works the way it used to. That’s the thing about stitches and scars. They enable you to still function, but the function might not be the same. Maybe my heart doesn’t function like it used to. Instead, my heart has been renewed and remolded, and the beats of my heart are different now. Yes, there are scars, but I can’t let those scars hold me back. They’re just physical evidence of what I’ve been through, and I know my heart still has so much left to give and take.
Scars can’t stop that.
Sunday, August 21, 2022
It’s the night of my dad’s restaurant opening, and I’m putting on an emerald-colored maxi dress with a deep V-neckline, mid-thigh split, and tie-back detail. The spaghetti straps have ruffles on them to add a little flattery to the dress, and I slip on nude strappy heels to complete the outfit. I run my fingers through my long hair to soften out the curls I just made in my hair before putting on eyeshadow and mascara in my mirror. Once I finish my makeup and give my reflection one last look, I grab my gold clutch off my dresser and make my way downstairs. I peek out one of the windows in my living room to make sure I am in the clear from running into Dane, and once I verify I’m good to go, I hop into my car and head to my father’s restaurant.
As I walk up the wooden ramp, there is a huge balloon arch surrounding the front doors, staggered with blue, white and gold colors. When I walk through the doors, I find my parents, Ronnie, and Cheryl standing off to the right side where there is a table of champagne glasses, and guests scattered abouteverywhere.
