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| RUNNING ON EMPTY BY TORRI |
CHAPTER 24 |
Tea's Penthouse
It was pitch black inside, a cold blast of air smacked into Tea when she opened the door. It could have been her imagination, she wasn't sure anymore where the lines of reality and wishful thinking began and ended. Aloneness, coldness, darkness was something she had grown accustomed to. She felt her way around; until she reached the couch, where she plopped down to rest her tired body.
She could not make herself go home right after leaving Todd. She needed to be with herself for a while, in a place where she could allow herself to feel without restraint. Actual exhibition of emotion had never come easily to her. Crying was something that sissies did. And she was never a sissy.
She thought she was going to cry when she stepped outside of his apartment for the last time. The tears would not come, dry as the Sahara, her tear ducts were. Her body wanted to cry, needed that release, but all it managed to conjure up was what could pass for the dry heaves. She figured she had no more tears left after all the crying she did when they were together. If her father had seen her back then, he would have called her a pussy, which was one step below a sissy. His little "pussy girl" was what he called her when she dared to make a sound when she was chastised. Even he would have been proud of his tearless little girl.
She went to her office. No one was there but the cleaning crew, and they were told to "act invisible," to not disturb anyone. After awhile, she had forgotten they were there, mistakenly believing she was alone. She swiveled in her chair, with the lights off. Poured herself a drink, propped her feet up on her desk, and did nothing but think.
There was no one thought that dominated her mind. Her concentration wouldn't allow her mind to linger on one thing too long. Just when she thought she had it all together, there was something to disrupt her life. Whether it was Todd, some other man, or her past, there was always disruption.
Never had it been so bad - the - disruptions. They were beyond her control; her life was beyond her control. The thoughts that lingered in her mind would not go away, no matter how hard she tried to force them from her head. The feelings that lay dormant in her heart for so long were awakened with a renewed strength.
It was those times she was grateful for one of the most important lessons that her mother had ever taught her. She learned, not from her mother's words, but from her actions, to leave when the going got rough. Maybe not leave physically, but emotionally separate from the body. It took practice, and she had plenty of opportunity to do just that - practice. Her parents would argue, but much of the time she didn't hear a thing. Her mind would take her someplace else, the Lincoln Center, where she would watch herself perform a solo in Swan Lake. Everyone would sit in silence, as she flawlessly performed the piece. It worked for her. She would lose herself in that state of limbo for as long as she needed, and drift back into reality when she felt it was safe.
It was the main reason she could perform like a machine. She could drift away mentally, while simultaneously taking care of business. People said she didn't feel; it was because most of the time she wasn't there anyway.
Enveloped inside the dark walls of her office, she floated away. She went to a place where there was nobody there but her, no problems to follow her. It was her utopia, a white sandy beach, sunlight, and clear cool water. It was the sound of the water tickling the rocks. It was the sand crunching beneath her feet, the warmth gently burning her soles. It was what happiness looked like, and serenity felt like. At least how she imagined it, because she had never experienced either for more than a few moments at a time.
She was interrupted by the "invisible" cleaning crew, who did not know her office was occupied. They apologized for their intrusion; it was too late. She could never get back to where she was, or regenerate the peaceful thoughts that she had.
The taxi ride home took an eternity. Traffic wasn't that heavy, it never was that time of night. She watched as they passed the buildings, and how the color red reflected off of the wet, black pavement. It was exactly how the movies portrayed it. Every couple of blocks, a police car, or ambulance would pass them, but she could not hear the sirens. She was deaf to any sounds around her. In the rearview mirror of the cab, she could see the driver stretching his neck and looking at her. He was more than likely saying something, but she heard nothing. It was only when the cab stopped in front of her building and he turned to face her, that she regained use of that particular sense. She paid him hurriedly, and ran through the open door being held by the doorman.
Roseanne was already asleep by the time she had entered her penthouse. It didn't seem late, though the hands on the clock indicated it was well past three in the morning. She was not tired, nor did she have the desire to sleep. She didn't want to do anything, other than sit on her comfortable couch, with her legs extended out on the empty cushions, her head resting on the arm.
The silence, as they say, was deafening. It was the perfect opportunity for her mind to run rampant and force her to think of everything she tried to avoid. She reached for the infrequently as she bothered to watch television, it surprise.
After turning past the same show several times, she decided to pick a movie from her collection and watch that instead. That was even depressing, too many stories of love, and she had none to speak of in her life. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of what could never be for her. Each film, every love story she bought, only served as a reminder of how pathetic she really was. She settled on "The Story of Us" instead of an unrealistic, old-fashioned love story. Two hours of watching Bruce Willis and Michelle Pfeiffer fight about their marriage, now that was realistic. Everything else, the happiness, the fairytales, all that bullshit was just that - shit. Fairytales don't exist anyway.
*****
The Next Morning
Tea jumped as soon as she heard a heaving sound coming from the bathroom. It took a moment for it to sink in that she was in familiar surroundings, not Todd's apartment, and those sounds were not coming from him - they were coming from Roseanne. Great, Tea thought, lifting her sleepy body from the couch.
On autopilot, she wet a cloth and took it to Roseanne who was bent over the toilet. Sweat beaded up on her forehead, the rest of her face was very pale. Tea stood behind her, holding the rag on her forehead.
"How's that feel?" Tea asked.
"Okay. Thanks." Roseanne made it to her feet, and doused her face and mouth with cold water. It was a daily occurrence for her, vomiting, washing, cleaning herself up. She brushed her teeth several times, and gargled with Listerine. The only thing more sickening to her than the actual vomiting was the bitter taste it left in her mouth.
Tea stayed in the background, still nearby with a cloth, prepared to get anything that Roseanne may have needed. She did the same things with Todd, stayed nearby, ready for whatever he may have needed.
Roseanne was very different from Todd, in that she would not ask Tea for anything unless it was an absolute emergency. He would allow Tea to take care of him; she pushed her away. Roseanne's anger tended to cloud her judgment, and when she needed someone the most was when she would push them away. She rolled her eyes at Tea, brushed past her and went into her bedroom.
"Hey," Tea said, sitting next to Roseanne. She had anticipated having to do some serious talking in order to make up for the time she had been gone. It wasn't as if Roseanne cared, as much as it was about her being a visitor in a strange city and having to fend for herself. Tea did think of her, and arranged for Caitlin to spend a little time showing her around. But, that wasn't why she was in the city, she was there for guidance, a little break, and maybe some answers to the troubles that she had caused herself. "I'm sorry that I haven't been around, it was unavoidable."
"Unavoidable? Or were you just avoiding me?"
"Roseanne, I am sorry, but something came up. Believe me, if I could have gotten out of it, I would."
"What about me Tea? I mean seriously, you weren't around when I was growing up, you weren't around when I came to Llanview and you weren't around the one time I really needed you."
"I can't be all things to all people. I tried to do what I felt was right."
"I'm not all people. You go around talking about how important family is, but you're never there for your own family. I don't even want to talk about this right now, could you just leave so I can get dressed."
"Fine," Tea said, leaving the room.
*****
Roseanne spent the rest of the day in a huff. Whenever Tea walked in a room, she walked out. If Tea asked her a question, her she ignored her. Roseanne had always been able to hold a grudge, forever, if that's what it took. For years she could hold on to anger, when most people would have given up, or simply forgotten why they were angry in the first place. Not Roseanne. In the end, the other person would end up cracking and she would feel some sense of satisfaction. Tea was the same way.
They were both in the living room, ignoring each other, when Tea determined that enough was enough. Time was slipping away, and if Roseanne had not made a decision about her pregnancy, she was going to have to make one soon. "Look," Tea started, "this has got to stop. I said that I was sorry, what more do you want?"
"I don't want anything from you Tea. I don't want a damned thing."
"Fine, but I want you to listen to me. This whole situation, with Christian, is not going to go away - no matter how long you decide to stay here. It's obvious that he is not ready to be a father, and judging from the way he's acting, he's not ready to be a man either. Having said that, have you made a decision?"
"What do you care? You haven't cared about my decision these past three weeks, why start now?"
"I have just about had it with your little digs at me. And I am sick of your little attitude. You think you're the only person who got pregnant with a man's child who didn't want to have anything to do with you? Well you're not." She was no longer speaking for Roseanne and Christian, but rather to the man whose child she had carried, briefly, in her underdeveloped teenage body. "You think you're the person faced with the decision of whether or not to carry the child to term? You think you're the young person who might have to face the challenges of being a single person? At least you have help! You have your family who will stand behind you through thick and thin. You should be grateful that you have it so good, instead of acting like a spoiled little bitch!" With a rage burning deep inside, Tea stormed into the kitchen where she covered her forehead with a wet paper towel.
Roseanne followed after her, just as angry. "What family? You haven't had anything to do with me since I was a little girl. Oh, but you were always willing to accept my father's checks, while I got nothing."
"Your father loves you very much."
"Bullshit. If he loved me, then he would be here with me right now, doing whatever it is that father's do. You wanna know why this is such a hard decision for me? Because I grew up without a father, and I don't want that for my child. That's why I fight so hard for Christian."
Tea relaxed, lowering her voice to a civil tone. "Your father does love you, he just doesn't know how to show it. If you want him here so bad, then why don't you call him?"
"And say what? Uh, daddy, it's me, your long lost daughter. I'm pregnant and I need you here to be a father to me."
"It's a start." Tea sat down at the table, staring Roseanne straight in her eyes - woman to woman. "I remember the day you were born - I was ten years old. He and I were at the hospital all night long. I sat at a table, reading, and he paced. Drove me crazy. Anyway, the doctor came in and told him he was the father to a healthy baby girl. It was the first and only time I ever saw him cry."
"He cried?"
"Yes. Did you know he named you?" Roseanne shook her head. "Well he did. He said the most beautiful thing he had ever seen was a perfect red rose that Papi gave to our mother. He said he would always remember how red and beautiful and perfect that rose was. When he saw you for the first time, he said he thought of the beauty of that rose, and named you after it, Roseanne. He loved you from the first moment he saw you, and he loves you still."
Roseanne started to softly cry. "I didn't know," she sniffled.
"I know. Call him," Tea encouraged.
"I can't."
*****
Late That Night
Roseanne had gone to sleep hours before, cried herself to sleep. Most of her life she had acted as if it didn't bother her that her father had not been around. Acted like it was "normal" to grow up with her grandmother instead of her parents. She and Tea were so much alike, in their having to pretend that they lived normal lives, when in fact, they lived everything but. Tea didn't cry, she had spent too much time in the past, crying about things she could not change. There may not have been anything she could do about her father situation, but Roseanne could still be helped.
Tea had not been in touch with her brother in years. In fact, they had stopped speaking shortly after she finished with law school. She meant to get in touch with him, but there was never enough time. She had a phone number, an old cell phone number, but she doubted it was still in service.
For all the encouragement that she gave Roseanne, she was just as hesitant about calling Enrique. So much time had passed, she wasn't sure he would remember who she was. If he did, she was sure he would hang up as soon as he heard her voice. It was for Roseanne, personal differences aside, she could suffer through a conversation with Enrique, just this once.
She had an old, cherry wood chest that she lugged with her everywhere she moved. It belonged to her mother, and her mother's mother before that. She didn't look at it often, though it was nice knowing it was there, exactly as her mother had left it, plus a few artifacts that she added. She ran her fingers along the lavender flowers that were etched and dyed into the wood. She opened the smooth, wooden top, catching a whiff of the old air trapped inside.
That chest was rarely opened - too many memories of her mother. She could never reach inside, grab what she was looking for, and lock it back up. No, she had to touch the things that belonged to her mother, or the things that meant something to her at some point in her life. A two-minute job turned into an hour of reminiscence. This time was no exception. She touched her mother's shawl, took it out, wrapped it around her shoulders. She put her mother's wedding veil on her head, her old rings on her fingers - she was a little girl playing dress up.
When she reached the bottom of the chest, she found a faded piece of white paper, with Enrique's phone number in big, bold letters. She lay the piece of paper to the side, and returned everything she took out. She slid the trunk back into her closet, covering it with old shoeboxes.
If that number was still in service, she would skip the niceties and get down to business. Tell him about his daughter, and let him decide what to do from there. No point in making torturing one another with a pointless conversation that neither of them wanted. She dialed the numbers without giving herself time to back out.
"We're sorry, the number you reached is no longer in service-"
"Shit," Tea muttered. She would have to resort to her ace in the hole - Del.
