Page 9 of Georgia: Britain's Story: Part 1
And from this morning:
Jess
I’m getting in the car, last chance to show me proof of life! But if I get there, and you are alive, girrlll, I will unalive you.
Shit.
Britain
I’m alive!
I’m sorry. I may have had a mental breakdown and passed out. I don’t know when exactly, but it was definitely before 9, I guess. And I just woke up.
Jess
Shit, so it was like nuclear bad, huh?
Actually, no. It was good. The “we” was just Damian and his dad. No Summer. Umm, but then I realized I’m alone now. Like alone, ALONE. And once I got home, I just cried myself to sleep.
Yikes.
Yup.
Would a boozy brunch with your bff help you feel better??
lol. Probably, but I’m going to take a rain check. I have some homework to do for Carla. Oh, and then I also need to submit my resignation. That thing too.
Fine. But I demand some Real Housewives and wine time VERY soon.
That shouldn’t be a problem as my schedule’s about to get real open.
Love you bitch.
Love you too.
I can’t believe I cried myself to sleep last night. I haven’t done that in, like, 17 years. I crawl out of bed and head to the ensuite. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My sundress is terribly wrinkled. My great hair day has gone to shit. And my face, well, my face looks pretty good.Is this what I would look like if I slept?Okay, yeah, I need to be getting some more sleep if one good night’s sleep makes me look five years younger.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I take a moment to examine how I feel this morning, like Carla taught me to do, and I’m surprised. I feel sort of good. Like maybe that release was cathartic for me. Is this ‘the peace’that Carla’s always talking about? She’s right, she always is. Okay Carla, I hear you.Britain, you’ve got some work to do. But first, coffee. No, first shower, then coffee.
THREE
Britain
After a shower, coffee, and some oatmeal. I settle into the bench in my kitchen nook with a piece of paper and a pencil. I title the page, “To do list forthe peace” and draw a thick line directly beneath it.Actionable, physical tasks. I’m sitting there tap, tap, tapping on the piece of paper. Not allowing my consciousness to acknowledge what my subconscious is screaming at me.GO HOME. Ugh.There’s got to be other things I can do, right? Maybe I should list out the things I need to work through first, then I can list out the actionable tasks next to their partner. I flip the paper over and title this list “Shit I’m Holding On To.” This, this I can do. First line, my mother. Second line,him. Third line….Damian? No, not really. My father? Nope, that POS is dead to me. I got over him in the sixth grade.
Third line…are you kidding me? That’s it? That’s all that’s holding me back? Georgia andhim? Wow, this is starting to look pathetic. First things first, though, I need an actionable task to help me move past my mom, which the answer is pretty obvious.Go home. Sure, but beyond that. What else? Do I meet with Alexander and spread her ashes? Do I go sit in her house? Do I go visit Aunt Rose? The answer is yes, to all these. I add them to the list.
Second,him. I’m at a loss here. I don’t exactly want to seek him out. I mean he dumped me 17 years ago. I was probably just a blip in his life, barely memorable. I can picture it now.
I see him across the way, and on instinct alone, I move in closer. The draw to him is just as strong now as it was all those years ago. My hands are clammy, my core is burning and rolling. I draw up just in front of him and make eye contact.
“Hi,” I say, almost breathlessly.
“Uh, hi,” he returns.
“It’s me, Britain,” I attempt again.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I think you might have me confused with someone else? I don’t know that we’ve met before.”
