EMMA DAMIAN 30

D A M I A N

For a long time, I stood on the other side of the door, trying to figure out what the heck had occurred.

It was surreal. Sure, she'd previously shut me out of her life, telling me to fuck off in so many words.

But something seemed different this time. Emma hadn't acted emotionally or angrily.

She'd been as cold and lifeless as a bank teller. I had no idea what was going through her mind, but something about the way she'd spoken seemed...decisive. Final.

Moving a single muscle seemed impossible to contemplate. Part of me wanted to knock and see if I could speak to her, if I could have one final chance to explain what had occurred.

I came to a halt as I considered her comments. She'd said she didn't care what I had to say.

Was this true? Had I messed up so many times that her capacity for nonsense had been exceeded? What if something snapped inside her when she saw Marian and me together?

What if that was all she could handle?

And I had no idea what Marian had said to her.

I wanted to be mad at Marian, to be able to hold this against her for the rest of my life, to have a target for the wrath, frustration, and despair that swept through me like a winter storm.

But, as much as I wanted this outlet for my righteous rage, I knew it wouldn't work. Emma, after all, had only accepted what she'd seen because I'd violated her trust so many times before. If what we had was solid and steady, she would have been willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.

That was not the case. Emma had lost her ability for comprehension. It was as if a fuse had blown and couldn't be replaced.

She was finished, as she had stated.

Inside her flat, there was movement. Hope awoke in me when I heard the sound, as if it were going to the door to see if I was still there, the sight of me not giving up, still persistent, enough to make her want to give me another chance.

However, nothing happened. The noise made me double-check myself. After all, the sight of me in the hallway could be enough to convince her that I was acting irrationally and that the cops might need to intervene.

Perhaps she was correct — about the irrationality, that is. I'd never felt stranger, or more unsure of myself, than I did standing in her hallway.

I needed to get away. I rolled my shoulders down the stairs, pulling my leather gloves from my pocket and sliding them on my hands.

I was outdoors in seconds, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth and coziness of Emma's bed. The sky above was dismal and agitated, with clouds moving rapidly and low - it appeared that a snowfall was on its approach.

The chilly, post-Christmas weather made me think of the months ahead, the unending grey of January and February, the silent, lifeless weather that I'd have to live with on my own.

I paused to gather my thoughts.

What was the matter with me?

I'd never had a difficulty being alone. I actually preferred it that way. Being alone meant I could focus on my work and hobbies, as well as maintain a regular workout regimen — that sort of stuff.

But, after Emma, the thought of being alone seemed unfathomable. I didn't want to face the cold alone.

And the thought terrified me. Was there a shift in me? Was a switch flipped that I'd never be able to undo?

My sleek and black automobile was parked nearby. But I didn't want to leave just yet. Instead, I drew my collar up against the cold weather and proceeded toward Emma's apartment complex's lake.

The water had been frozen for a long time, and the churning clouds above were reflected on its surface. I took a step forward and pushed my hands into my pockets, looking out at the mountains in the distance.

Emma. I knew I'd be condemned to think about her incessantly, wondering what could've been if I'd just said or done this or that.

Her coldness was what stayed with me, what actually hurt. I had considered tracking her down, attending an event she was hosting, and attempting to speak with her there.

But what good would it do if she behaved similarly? I imagined her looking at me with that curious and mildly irritated expression she'd had in the apartment, asking what I needed and why I was disturbing her.

I'd say my peace, and she'd tell me she had work to do, and that if I continued to annoy her, she'd contact security to have me removed.

I'd heard that the polar opposite of love was indifference, not hatred. That was beginning to make sense to me.

That was one thing if Emma was enraged at me. It'd be understandable.

But seeing her the way she'd been was different.

It was excruciatingly painful.

More than that, it made me think about all the ladies I'd mistreated in the past. Loving and leaving had been my style, and I'd lost count of the number of ladies I'd slept with who'd woken up the next morning thinking our time together was the start of something great rather than the end of it.

They'd ask what we were going to do that day, what kind of fun we were going to have together. Meanwhile, I'd be pouring my coffee and staring at them with the same puzzled face Emma had. It would gradually dawn on them that the sex had been little more than that.

Now I was receiving the same treatment.

I had earned and deserved it. And the fact that it was happening to me with a lady I adored made it sting like nothing else. All of the grief I'd caused was being back to me – with interest.

Was it, however, true?

I sat down on one of the lakeside benches, the vista of the big bay and the distant boats stretching out in front of me. The wind blew up, and rain began to fall.

It just didn't feel right. I'd only spent one night with those women. I'd had a lifetime with Emma, on the other hand.

I closed my eyes and let the cold wash over me.

And then I was transported back in time.

It happened in school when I was thirteen. It was recess, and Emma was sitting alone as usual. Emma always ate lunch alone, and I knew why even as a child. She was...not like the other gals. She was different from everyone else. She was too brilliant, too keen, and too perceptive. I recall thinking that, although being a child, she was already more mature.

But something was different that afternoon. There was a sadness in her that wasn't there before, a heaviness.

There was also more. Emma had gone missing for a week with no explanation.

I called her house, but no one answered.

I knew there was something wrong.

I went by several of the guys I used to hang out with, and they were all calling out to me to join their kickball game as they formed teams.

“Tomorrow! " I called back over over my shoulder.

"Oh, man - don't waste recess with her," one of the boys yelled after me.

"No problem! Tomorrow! ”

As I returned my focus to Emma, Sam waved his hand dismissively. She was sitting in the shade of a large oak tree, staring off into space.

"Hey," I said as I sat down next to her in the grass.

"Hey," she said without even looking at me. She was thinking about something. Emma was astute, and her habit of looking out into space as she pondered something was frequent.

But with each passing second, I became more convinced that something was awry.

I looked down at her food, noticing a Shakey's – the pizza variety, too. Shakey's was a field trip pleasure for most kids.

"That looks fantastic," I remarked, hoping to catch her eye. "I'll have some if you don't."

I smiled at her as I took one of the pizza crusts and reached for the spoon. Emma was generally fiercely protective of her food, and merely reaching for it elicited a furious scowl and a swat to the hand – if I was lucky.

But not at that moment. I took one of the crusts and started spreading sauce and sprinkling cheese on it, more interested in her reaction than the dish. I did not receive one. She remained staring off into space, her face expressionless.

I set the pizza down.

"What's the matter?"

" I asked. "You were gone for about a week." And now you're being strange."

She didn't say anything and just stared.

I was starting to get worried. It was like her brain was broken.

“Hey?” I asked. “Are you OK?” As I spoke, I placed my hand on her shoulder.

This got a reaction.

Her eyes snapped onto my hand, her expression turning from blank to rage-filled.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “Not like that!”

I pulled my hand back as quickly as if I’d touch a hot stove.

She regained her composure.

“Sorry. I…”

“You what?”

Emma chewed her lip and looked away thoughtfully.

“Something happened.”

“What happened?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Um, yeah! Of course, I can!”

Truth be told, I’d never been good about keeping secrets. But I really wanted to know what was going on with her and was willing to say whatever it took to get her to spill the beans.

She sighed, a worried expression forming on her face as she looked around, as if someone might be listening in.

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“OK. So, my dad…”

“What about him?”

“He’s…in jail.”

“What?”

I’d heard that her dad lived a sketchy lifestyle, but I had no idea it was jail worthy. I shut my mouth and listened.

“A few months ago, Dad picked my up from baseball practice. Mom was supposed to, but she had to work late that night. And he wasn’t happy he had to do it. He was all grumpy and pissed off and didn’t want to talk to me about it. Anyway, he said he had some business with a man nearby, and that he was going to drop me off at McDonald’s while he took care of it.”

“Business with a man?”

“I’m getting to it!” Another deep breath and she went on. “He was so grumpy and cranky that I didn’t even want to talk to him. So, I pretended to be asleep.”

“That was smart.”

“Well, after a little while, Dad asked me if I was up. I didn’t say anything because I just wanted to get it all over with. We kept driving for way longer than it took to get to McDonald’s. After a long time, Dad parked and left the engine running.”

I was hooked, hanging on her every word.

“Then what?”

“When he was out of the car, I opened my eyes really slowly, and I saw that we weren’t at McDonalds – we were at some cabin outside of town. I guess Dad figured that if I was sleeping, he didn’t need to drop me off to do his business.”

She went on.

“Dad was meeting some guy, this young guy who looked like he was in college. And they didn’t shake hands or anything like that – it looked like they were mad at each other. And the guy looked scared, like he was in trouble or something.

“But I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what Dad was doing when he went out at night. So, I watched them go into the house. And once they were inside, I got out and snuck up to the door.”

That was another thing about Emma – she’d always been brave as hell.

“And I could hear them yelling at each other, just screaming! My dad was saying something about money and the guy was saying why he didn’t have it. He told my dad to give him a few more days and he’d get it. So, I went up to the window and looked up.”

I was on the edge of my seat, nothing in the world existing other than me and Emma.

“The guy was super scared, like my dad might hurt him or something. He had his hands up like this- “she raised her palms- “and was asking my dad for another chance. But my dad didn’t say anything. He was really calm and serious, like how he got when I was in really, really big trouble. Then he…”

She trailed off.

“What? What did he do?”

“He took out a gun and shot the guy.”

I wasn’t sure where I was expecting the story to go, but it sure as hell wasn’t there.

“He what?”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“He shot him a bunch and I screamed. I ran back to the car and got into the seat and closed my eyes. When Dad came back and buckled up, it was the most scared I’d ever been in my life.”

She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, as if she didn’t want me to see them.

“I tried to forget about it, but a month later these policemen came to my house and talked to my mom. They asked me questions about Dad and I told them everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have said a word, but I was keeping it all inside and I was going crazy!”

Another deep breath.

“They said my dad was doing bad things and he needed to be in jail. And he was so mean to me and Mom.”

It started to come together.

“Wait, did you have to go to court? Is that where you were?”

She nodded. “They made me get up in front of everyone, even my dad, and tell them what I saw. And I had to tell them everything. I had to tell them how mean he was, how he treated Mom and me, how he was always staying out late.”

Bad fathers were something Emma and I had in common. And the idea of getting up in court like that, my dad staring me down, was enough to make me sick to my stomach.

“And he got up and pointed his finger at me and said I was a liar, that- “she lowered her voice in a man impression- “’no daughter of mine would ever talk about me like that.’ And the judge got mad at him when he did it.”

More tears formed in her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, I put my arm around her.

“And yesterday they said he was guilty.”

“Is he going to jail?”

She nodded. I took one of the paper napkins from her Lunchable’s kit and handed it to her. She used it to dab her eyes.

“Yeah. But we don’t know how long yet. They said maybe for the rest of his life.”

It was all so crazy. And I still had no idea what to do. I pulled her close, Emma putting her head on my shoulder. She cried, her body shaking with hard sobs.

She said nothing else, and neither did I.

Back in the present moment, I glanced back at Emma’s apartment. Part of me hoped that she’d be watching me out on the balcony, maybe even inviting me to come back in.

No such luck.

I needed to go. The snow was coming down harder and flakes accumulated in dusty piles on my jeans. I got up and started back to my car.

Emma had always been strong, even back then.

And she’d been patient, putting up with a man like me.

But now that was over.

All I had were my memories.