Page 104 of Rivals
I grin and open the door. The lobby is quiet, and no one is around. I spot some stairs, and we sneak up them, unsure where they lead. The thrill of being caught is what makes this fun. A couple walks past us, and they look at what we’re wearing. I giggle and slap my hand to my face.
“This probably would have worked better if we were dressed for the occasion,” he says in a yelling-whisper voice.
“How would I know?” I whisper back. He grins, and we stop at a door that could be a box seat or a closet. I slowly open the door and peek my head through. I don’t see any figures, and no one yells at us, so I go through. We’re on a small balcony, and I can barely make out a few people on the other end of the curved aisle, but otherwise, it’s empty. Then again, it is a show in the early afternoon. Maybe that’s just how they do it here.
We walk quickly down a row of seats far away from anyone else and sit down. The play is surprisingly in English. It takes a minute for me to figure out what’s happening, but my heart starts to sink further and further as I realize what this play is about. I guess that’s what I get for sneaking in.
It’s like part of my life was written down and sent to these people to perform a play. I watch the mom hand a bundle of blankets over to a nurse. She double-takes at the child and then runs off stage. I hate the saying, but it’s like a train wreck. You can’t look away. The irony is not lost on me.
The lights fade, signifying a new scene, and then the woman and a man enter the stage. He coos at her, and they talk and laugh like they are having the time of their lives because they aren’t burdened by anything. But there is always something. Was that my mom? Was I too much of a burden? Can I trust what she said in her letter? My heart sinks because I know it’s the truth. People don’t go out of their way to lie about things like that. As much as I wish it were a lie, I don’t think it is.
The woman says something to her lover, but he gets angry and yells at her. They get into a fight, and then he hits her, making me wince. I glance at Lachlan, and he’s not even looking. He’s glaring at a text. He’s not responding, and he’s just staring at it. I’m afraid we will get caught and kicked out, so I don’t ask him what’s happening and leave him alone. I’ll ask him about it later.
The play continues, and the man, who I understand is her boyfriend, keeps beating on her. In the next scene, the woman who took the baby for the mother begs her to take her child. Not because the baby is a burden to her but because a child needs its mother. Good, bad, or ugly, the baby needs to know that they are loved. The woman says no. She explains that the boyfriend can’t know. He would kill her because the baby is from another man. My jaw drops. We must have missed the first part of the play where she was able to hide the pregnancy for nine months, but I’ll take it for what it is.
I know I’ll never know all the details about my mother or who my father is. I tried not to hold it against her; I tried to just accept it for what it was, but abandonment has a way of festering within you. It goes unhealed because there is no closure. Closure would likely only come from looking the person who abandoned you in the eyes. And because there is no closure or healing, it remains like a gaping wound for anyone to see, rotting.
So I do hold everything against her for what she’s done to me. She left me. She didn’t even give herself the chance totry,and I think that’s what hurts the most. I’m not worth trying for. So then, does that mean Lachlan will eventually stop trying? I don’t think I can hold something like that against him. I think I would give up on myself, too.
The play comes to a surprising close when the woman leaves the man and returns to her child. She vowed never to leave her baby again. The man ended up dying alone. Will I die alone? I glance at Lachlan, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
As much as I hate to say it, the play was good, but now my mind is solely focused on my mother and the fact she didn’t come back for me. Instead, she just sent me a letter after she died to let me know she never wanted me in the first place.
The lights brighten, and people stand to clap for the performance, and I clap with them. It was good, even if it hurt. I follow Lachlan out of the playhouse, and he begins walking quickly down the street. I’m hanging on by a thread right now, and the consuming feeling of being so profoundly wronged is priming me to lash out.
“Lachlan,” I snap. He doesn’t listen and continues to take giant steps. His long legs eat up the cobblestone streets like he knows exactly where he’s going. “Lachlan!” I yell. He finally stopped, and I caught up with him.
His jaw is as hard as stone, and he levels a glare at me. That makes me take a step back. His expression instantly softens, and he reaches for me. I let him circle his hand around my wrist and draw me to him in a big hug. My arms stay at my side as I rest my cheek against his chest.
I can feel the anger radiating off his body. Was it me? Did I do something to upset him? He sighs, and a few people give us dirty looks because we’re in the middle of the walkway. He squeezes me once more and starts walking again. I don’t know what his deal is, but I will find out.
I catch up and sneak a look at him. His face is calmer, but there’s still a furious storm in his expression. His fingers keep twitching, but he’s otherwise hiding it well.
“What did you think of the play?” he asks while we walk. I hesitate to answer because I don’t know if now is the time for this discussion. He’s mad about something, and my issues may just make him more angry. I don’t know why, but I won’t push my luck. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” he says it like a statement of fact instead of a question. I guess it is because I am.
“Are you ok?” he asks, looking at me curiously.
“You seem to know the answer to that question already,” I snap.
He chuckles, but it’s not a, yeah, I do know. It’s a sarcastic, dark chuckle. It’s angry, and it feels like it’s directed at me.
“Yeah, I might know, Revna. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to tell me,” he says. I ignore him and look in front of us with no idea where we are headed.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he sighs. I walk beside him in silence. It kind of feels like that’s what he needs right now. He doesn’t need a fight or a display of feelings, but maybe someone simply walking next to him to let him sort through whatever is going through his mind. And as we walk quietly together in this beautiful city, I realize maybe I just need someone to walk with me, too. I don’t want to talk about my mom. I don’t want to address that gaping wound I walk around with. It just got poked again, and I’m waiting for the throbbing pain to ebb.
I reach for Lachlan’s and twine our fingers together. He looks down at my hand in his, and we continue to pass street after street of brick, stone, and stucco buildings until we reach the river. The sun is out, and the river flows gently with the current. Lachlan turns and we walk down the riverside as a few gondolas go smoothly past us. Large tour groups part like the Red Sea around Lachlan and I as they follow the woman speaking loudly about the Galileo museum we just passed.
It’s busy but oddly peaceful here. I can feel myself starting to calm just a bit. Not enough, but the pain in my chest has dissipated just a little. Though numb would be better than this. The desire to feel the numbness in my mind haunts me, but Lachlan asked me to stop, and so I’m trying. It’s difficult to feel all of these emotions and not automatically want to shove them away.Out of sight, out of mind.
I look up at Lachlan, and I can tell he’s not done working through what he needs to, so we keep going. I hold on tightly, ignoring my sore feet, and let him walk it out.
We finally stop by the stone wall, and he leans against it, releasing my hand. His head drops between his shoulders, and he takes a few deep breaths. I lift my hand to rub his back but hesitate, leaving it awkwardly hanging in the air. I go against what I would want and rub his shoulder. He relaxes a little more, so I keep doing it. He finally lifts his head and pulls me to stand in front of him. His arms cage me in on either side of the wall that sits before the Arno River.
I feel his breath graze the back of my neck, and he takes a deep breath of me, not that I probably smell great right now. I started sweating since the sun felt like it was baking us. He kisses the muscle of my neck and lifts away.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says quietly. I lean my head back to look up at his chin.
