Somewhere Out There Ch 4-6

CHAPTER 4

It was a cold, rainy day. Great, Jorja thought, bad-hair day.

Sammy had called the night before with the usual antics of a horny teenager. Jorja flopped across her twin bed with her head hanging off one side and her feet off the other. . As she talked with the love of her life, Jorja twirled the telephone cord so tightly that it stretched until it seemed as if it might snap into two separate pieces.

History was the only class they shared. Jorja was an “A” student, honor roll, top of the class; while Sammy was a barely-scraping-by kind of kid. The 45 minutes each day that they were in the same class would fly by quickly. The other 5 classes that separated them would drag on forever. But, they had the time between classes – walking down the hall as one being instead of two people. Sammy would put his arm around her. She would hold the hand that was on her shoulder. He would carry her books for her. Both smiled from ear to ear as they strutted from class to class. The other (jealous) students would mock “There goes Donny & Marie.” They were the perfect couple.

Sammy’s smile was magnetic. He had shockingly white teeth that he never seemed to hide. Jorja had been blessed with perfectly aligned, white teeth as well, regardless of never, ever stepping foot into a dentist’s office. Her mom would perform her own cleaning of Jorja’s teeth – She would unclasp a safety pin and use the sharp end to scrape the plaque (and enamel) from Jorja’s teeth. Her teeth were so weak from these “treatments” that several of her molars broke apart over the next couple of years while she was eating. Craaaacccckkkkkk……………..another tooth split in half. As the teeth loosened, one half would fall out; the other a few days later. Not once did her mom consider a trip to the dentist. The only saving grace was that by the time the teeth broke, no nerves were still alive to put her through the excruciating pain.

"Hey, you know Mr. Hutto wants you," he teased her about their history teacher. Why he thought it was funny to harass her, she didn't know. The thought of that middle-aged man “wanting” her made her stomach tighten.

“Mr. Hutto wants to lick your….”

“Guh-ross!” she shouted. The thought of another person “down there” doing “that” seemed so odd to her. Why in the world would another person want to do that? She just didn’t understand the appeal; but, in just a couple of years, she would get it. She would be obsessed.

Why did Sammy tease her that way? He was always such a clown, performing, making people laugh. He was relentless, never stopping the jokes. His goal was to make someone laugh until they peed in their pants…. And he would not give up until he reached his goal. Some jokes simply had no humor….like the one about her “big butt”...

He laughed at her reaction. “One day, you won’t be able to get enough of it, “ he said.

“Whatever. Just stop with the whole Mr. Hutto thing. Please! He’s so…old.”

“I cannot wait to see you tomorrow at school,” his voice was so soft, so loving, so tender. She melted every time he said her name. She couldn’t eat for the butterflies in her stomach when she thought of him. She couldn’t sleep for the anticipation of seeing him the next day at school. She couldn’t concentrate on her schoolwork for daydreaming of being with him forever. Is this what loves felt like? Could they really be in love at such a young age? All Jorja knew was that she had never felt this many intense emotions about or with another person in her life. The intensity of her love for Sammy frightened her. What if he got tired of her? What if he left her?

“You know, we’re gonna be together forever, just like Ray and his wife,” he would say matter-of-factly. His brother, Ray, met his wife when they were just in junior high, just like Jorja and Sammy. Ray married her right out of high school and had a seemingly happy marriage. Would Jorja and Sammy last that long, too? Sammy constantly talked about who was going to change the baby’s diapers, how they would grow old together, sitting on the porch swing watching the sun paint multiple hues of fire across the sky each evening, how life would be wonderful with them side by side.....

“Te amo con toda me vida,” he whispered. Her body tingled at the thought of him kissing her ever so gently on the cheek. She could feel the heat rising to her face at just the thought of him. Tomorrow, she thought. I can wait just a few more hours until we touch again.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. If you only knew how much, she thought.

“Sweet dreams,” he said as he hung up the phone.

And she would dream of him as she did every night. This time, though, he was holding her, loving her, when all of the sudden, he disappeared.

She woke, sweating, panting, afraid. Why did he leave her this time? Where did he go? What happened?

She looked up at the huge, red glare of the alarm clock. 4:30 a.m. Great. I’ve still got 2 more hours before I can start getting ready to see him. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

The rain outside gently tapped on the window beside her bed. Most would find the sound of God’s tears soothing, relaxing. But, Jorja hated the rain. The air became heavy and sticky, hitting her in the face as she stepped outside. Everything would turn to mush. The grass. The dirt. Her shoes. Her clothes. Her hair. And to a teenager who spent hours trying to make herself presentable in the mornings before school, the rain erased her hard work in a matter of minutes.

And the world lost its beautiful colors, all the different shades and vibrant hues of the rainbow. The once emerald lawn turned into a listless impression of green. All appeared gray, dull and drab. And depressing. What was there to be cheerful about when God was crying?

She looked over at her sister asleep in the other twin bed in the room they shared. They had always shared a room, even shared a bed when they were really little. She shuddered as she remembered the time that her sister had vomited in the bed in middle of the night. Jorja awoke to a bright light, and a smell so foul that she wanted to vomit as well. She saw her mother leaning over the bed, moving around aggressively. As she rolled over to face her sister, the smell of the freshly produced vomit made her gag. Her sister had thrown up in the bed and her mother had not even bothered to wake her up!

“Aaaaaaaa!” she screamed as she quickly rolled the other way and fell out of bed onto the cold, hardwood floor with a dull thud.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she demanded, her eyes so wide that they appeared to be falling out of her head.

“I was trying to get it cleaned up without waking you. Sorry.” Her mom seemed totally oblivious to the horror of waking up next to a pool of bile. Oblivious to the hurt Jorja felt that her mother wasn’t really sorry. Oblivious to what her actions said to Jorja.

So she would rather I wake up by rolling into puke than to quietly pat me on the shoulder and gently tell me to get out of bed, she thought. Thanks, mom.

Not that her mom had ever been a loving person in the mornings. Jorja dreaded mornings, not just because she was a night owl by nature, but because of the manner that her mom would greet her.

Jorja would be curled up in bed, blankets high under her chin, warm, quiet, dreaming of Sammy. Safe. Birds whispered their early morning greetings. The wind gently swayed the leaves on the trees, as if to lovingly wake them. The dew on the early morning grass glistened in the morning light.

Suddenly, with a slam of the door hitting the wall as her mother shoved it open, Jorja would find herself totally naked to the morning air. Her mother’s favorite way to wake her was to rip the blankets completely off her bed and open the curtains that blocked out the glare with a quick jerk of the cord.

“Rise and shine,” her mother mocked.

God, I hate her, Jorja thought. Why can’t she be a normal mom? I will never be that way with my children.

And she wasn’t. Jorja had an entirely different morning routine that consisted of gently rubbing her daughter’s back, smoothing the hair out of her daughter’s face, scratching ever so gently on her son’s head, turning off the ceiling fan so they could rise without freezing, parting the window blinds ever so slightly as to allow just a glimpse of the morning to come in. Even on the mornings that everyone would oversleep, she never woke her children from the comfort of their night dreams with the harshness of her own mother.

Today, however, the nightmare of Sammy disappearing left her to greet the morning sooner than she wanted. The rain fell with a new intensity as she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, trying desperately not to wake her sister. And my kids will never have to share a bedroom, let alone a bed. Her sister sighed heavily as she rolled over to face the opposite wall. After a few seconds, Jorja realized that her sister was still asleep. Jorja tiptoed to the bathroom across from her bedroom. She quietly closed the door, turning the knob slowly so the latch would not “click” as the door closed. She reached for the light switch in the dark, and with a flip of a switch, the small bathroom glowed like a fireball. She squinted and tried to focus on the image in the mirror, but the light was too harsh for her at such an early hour. She plopped down on the stool beside the counter, propped her head on her hand, and closed her eyes to the world.

Everything will be ok, as soon as I see Sammy, she thought. He had the uncanny ability to make her laugh, both from humor and happiness. One more hour and I can face the world with Sammy by my side.

She started with the curling iron. Because her hair was long, she would spend the most time on it -- brushing, curling, recurling, spraying, and teasing it until it was perfect. Bad hair can cause a bad day! The curling iron sizzled as her hair cooked between the bars, emitting a scorched aroma of burnt hair and hairspray. Farrah had introduced the “feathers” a few years earlier. Now, the bigger the feather, the better. And every piece had to be in its place. None of that natural look of hair whisping around the face.

She applied her makeup with the intensity of a man on death row. Again, perfection was the key. She hated the dark circles under her eyes. Too little sleep, too little to eat, too much stress. She tried hiding these circles with concealer; however, the effect she created was that of a football player who painted under his eyes with white paint, instead of the black paint that helps to diminish the glare of the sun. She applied several coats of mascara until the upper tips touched her eyebrows and the lower lashes touched her face. Eyeliner under the lids and dark shadow on top created the raccoon look of the decade. People often commented on how long her eyelashes were. Little did she know that they were often making fun of her. Just call her Tammy Faye Baker.

She hated the next part of her morning routine – trying to find something to wear. Her mother bought new school clothes at the beginning of the school year and not again until Christmas. That schedule would suffice, if what she received at the beginning of the school year was more than 2 pairs of jeans, 3 or 4 shirts, and a new pair of tennis shoes. She didn’t even have enough outfits to wear something different each day of the week. And in a fashion conscious decade where everyone had designer jeans with logos proudly displayed on the derriere, she was an outsider. She tried to stretch her wardrobe as far as possible. She even made a chart to hang on the back of her bedroom door that indicated which outfit to wear and when. She would have died if she wore the same outfit two days in a row, or the same outfit 2 days out of 3. So, she completed the chart to ensure that nothing was worn too much. At least she was clean and her hair and makeup were perfect!

She finally settled on her favorite sweater and the only pair of jeans that were clean. Jorja wasn’t a slave to fashion, even as a teenager, but she would have enjoyed more choices. Shoes that didn’t look like they were purchased at a second hand store. Socks without holes. But, today it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that she get to Sammy. That Sammy put his arms around her and assure her that everything was going to be ok. That her dream of him disappearing was just a terrible nightmare.

The rain stopped just as Jorja was about to leave for school. Thank goodness, she thought! I won’t look like a train hit me when Sammy sees me.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor of the school to the upper class hall. Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she had a funny feeling. No one was actually saying anything to her, which was odd because people were usually so friendly. What is wrong with me? She thought. Is my hair sticking out? Are my clothes wrinkled? Do I look that bad that everyone is staring in disbelief?

The tension in the air only thickened as she opened her locker. Inside the door, she had pictures of Sammy and her at the amusement park where they spent so many days together. Next to those snapshots of the only happiness in her life were magazine photos of her idol, Leif Garrett! Other than Sammy, Leif was the only other guy who could make her tingle all over!

As she closed her locker, David was standing beside her. His presence startled her. She had not seen him walk up. David was not her favorite person. Actually, he wasn’t anyone’s favorite person. He was an odd character, always out of place. He would often say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or worse, he would spout out words that left everyone within earshot scratching their heads in confusion. The fact that he was standing at her locker was puzzling. But she knew that tell-it-like-it-is David was about to spell it out for her.

“Sammy was kissing Charlotte Wheatley,” David blurted out with all the sensitivity of a cockroach, which at that moment was what Jorja thought he was. Slimy, sneaky, only comes out when things are dark.

“What?” she asked. She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

“Sammy and Charlotte were kissing. Right there in the hallway, just before you arrived.” He smirked like a cat that swallowed a bird.

“Ok…” she hesitated, not knowing what to do. She glanced at the staring faces that had accumulated around her. Inside she was dying, but she wasn’t about to let anyone else know that. Play it cool, she thought. Play it cool. She calmly headed for her homeroom class. Just another morning at Jackson Middle School. She was fine. School was fine. Everything was fine. No big deal. Ho hum.

Was anyone buying it?

Everything after that was a blur. She remembers going to her classes, but could not recall what was said or done. The teacher standing at the front of each class seemed to be speaking a foreign language. The students in the desks next to Jorja’s appeared to be moving in slow motion. Faces streaming in and out of her view, offering sympathy. How could he do that to her? He said he loved me, she thought. He said we would be together forever. I guess forever for a teenage boy isn’t really forever.

Riiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnng. The bell indicating class change jerked her back to reality. Her body reacted with intense emotion. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she picked up her books and walked to the door.

10:30 a.m. Third period. History with Mr. Hutto. History with Sammy.

How can I face him? She thought.

She walked down the hall from her 2nd period class to History with Sammy like a prisoner on his last walk down death row. Actually, she did feel as if her life was over. Maybe that could be arranged, she thought. Maybe I should just take myself out of the picture forever. But, forever to her meant something entirely different than to Sammy.

Her stomach tightened as she turned the corner and entered the classroom. There he was in the third row, fourth seat, more handsome than ever, looking as guilty as a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His face confirmed what she already knew. So tell-it-like-it-is David had been telling the truth.

All that was left was the details. The whys. She could imagine a million different reasons of why the love of her life finally came to his senses. She wasn’t pretty enough. She wasn’t smart enough. She wasn’t cool enough. She just wasn’t enough. And his actions only confirmed those insecurities.

She took her seat in front of Sammy without saying a word. Play it cool, she thought. Play it cool.

She felt Sammy tap her on the shoulder. Do I turn around? She thought. Or do I ignore him? Slowly she turned to face the only person in her life who she had trusted. And the person who had destroyed that trust in a moment of lust and lack of will power.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Snickers from the back of the room as classmates strained to hear her response.

“For what?” she said.

“You know…Charlotte…”

“I mean, are you sorry for kissing her? Or are you sorry for getting CAUGHT kissing her?” she demanded.

“Jorja, you know I love you.”

“Do I?”

“Jorja, come on. You know I love you more than anything. Yo te amo.”

“Actually, Sammy, you don’t. You don’t love me more than getting a cheap thrill from the biggest whore of JMS. I thought you loved me. I believed you loved me. I believed everything you have ever told me. But, now, unfortunately, I know differently.”

“Jorja!”

“You know, Sammy, I don’t really have anything else to say. You’ve made your choice. It’s been fun.” With that she removed the necklace he had given her when they first started going steady. A beautifully simple silver “S” that she proudly displayed around her neck day and night.

“Por favor, Jorja…” he begged as he tried to put the necklace back into her shaking hands.

“Adios,” she said and turned to face the front of the classroom and the teacher who was speaking the same foreign language that all of her other teachers had been speaking that day.




CHAPTER 5

It was the dawning of a new decade
we got our first microwave
Dad broke down and finally shaved those sideburns off
I took the stickers off my Rubiks cube
Watched Mtv all afternoon
Space shuttle fell out of the sky
and the whole world cried

it was 1980 somethin'
in the world that I grew up in
Skatin' rinks and black Trans Ams'
big hair and Parachute pants
and lookin' back now I can see me
oh man did I look cheesy
I wouldn't trade those days for nothin'
ah, it was 1980 somethin'

The backseat - the place where a person can feel trapped, out of control, restless. Not seeing what is ahead until you are there. You can see where you are and where you have been. But, the future is just a mystery until it becomes the present.

That’s how Jorja felt her life was progressing. Always in the backseat of life, never in control of her surroundings, never the driver. Once upon a time, in a life long ago, she had dreams. Dreams of running off to New York, becoming a rich and famous actress. She had talent when it came to her craft. But, she lacked the self-esteem and self-confidence that would come with all the rejections of show business. It was ironic that once her and Robert started dating one another exclusively in high school, she became less and less of herself. Having someone who loves you in your life should make you feel alive, wanted, invigorated, self-assured. But, that wasn’t the case. The older and supposedly wiser she got, the less sure of herself she became.

And it always seemed that someone was there to kick her down just when things were looking up. She remembered all the times that she gave her all, only to be belittled for not having been perfect.

Her first job in high school as an aerobics instructor. The boss at the aerobics center who commented on her “pooch” and how she needed to get rid of it to continue teaching aerobics classes. Never mind that she was already too thin. Never mind that the “pooch” was from not eating enough, from starvation. She was actually proud one week when she didn’t eat one thing! The entire week went by with not one morsel of food going in her mouth. She drank diet sodas by the gallons, but no solid food. And now her boss wanted her to get rid of her swollen tummy? She resembled the starving children on infomercials whose stomachs are swollen by the lack of nutrition. Little bodies with barely enough muscle to move with a huge stomach protruding in the front. But, this was the decade of fitness, everyone looking his or her best. Anorexia and bulimia were not common words in everyday conversation yet. So, Jorja turned up her activity a notch – walking 2 miles to work, teaching not one but two one-hour aerobics classes a night, teaching one weight training class a night. All this activity AFTER having drill team practice in the morning for an hour before school and practice again after school. Breakfast still eluded her diet, but now lunch was absent as well. A diet soda. Some crackers. Nothing again until after school when she would down another diet soda. Off to work where she allowed herself the only “meal” of the day – a half pint of potato salad from the grocery store next door to the aerobics center. Always striving for perfection and never achieving it. At least in her own eyes she fell short of the goal of being perfect in every way.

The English teacher that laughed at her attempt to use a metaphor in a paper, then gave her an “F” and made her rewrite it. Squash went the creativity. Splat went the confidence to try something new.

The same teacher who banned her from performing at half time in the first football game of the school year because she had been late to practice. Never mind that she had slept on the floor of a cold warehouse where her mom had taken the 2nd shift to support the family after her parents divorced. Never mind that her retarded, handicapped brother kept her up all night crying. Never mind that she crawled into her own bed at 5:00 a.m. to catch a nap before practice started at 8:00. She slept right through the blaring err,err,err of her alarm clock. She awoke with an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that she was going to be disciplined for not arriving at practice on time. She jumped out of bed, through on her practice clothes, and sped to the school a few blocks away.

Jorja arrived to the beat of the band as they played the half time song. It was July, and this was Texas. To say that the air was hot was an understatement. The sun glared down on her as she ran from the parking lot into the school. The air was thick with humidity, making it hard to catch her breath. The short sprint from the car had left her sweaty and sticky. As soon as she rounded the corner into the gymnasium, the pit became a full-sized mountain of dread. The line of girls kicking to the beat of the music began to stop, as more and more of the girls noticed her entrance. Finally, the music stopped and everyone faced Jorja head on.

“Why are you late?” Ms. Haynes, the drill team sponsor asked. As if she could have an excuse good enough for this woman. Rumor had it that she and her husband had divorced over the summer. I can only imagine what he went through, Jorja thought as she tried to put into words her reason for being tardy.

“I overslept because…” she tried to explain, with the eloquence of a 3 year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Ms. Haynes cut her off in mid sentence.

“You know what, I don’t really care why you are late. You obviously do not care about the difficulties that you have placed on this drill team. Because of your tardiness, you will receive 10 demerits. As you know, 10 demerits disqualifies you from performing this week. We had to totally renumber the entire line, making everyone learn a new part of the dance. I am sure you will be thinking of the inconveniences you have placed on everyone as you work off your demerits today. You will not leave until you are finished.”

Jorja looked around in disbelief. Could this woman be so insensitive as to not even care why she was late? Of all people to mess up her chances of performing, Jorja was the least likely. She loved being on the drill team and could not wait to step out on the field under the lights and strut her stuff. Why couldn’t Ms. Haynes see that? Surely she realizes that something terrible must have happened to keep her from being on time to practice.

To work off one demerit, she had to run one lap around the huge front parking lot of the school. Each lap measured one mile. In order to leave practice, she had to run 10 miles. In July. In Texas. Jorja could barely hold back the tears as she was escorted out the building by one of the co-captains of the team who would monitor her progress to make sure she worked off all 10 demerits.

As she began to run her first lap, Jorja could barely see in front of her for the tears in her eyes. How could they do this to her? Sweat began to trickle down her brow, into her eyes and mouth. The saltiness only made the wound in her heart worse. Once again, someone else was running her life. Her mom had caused her exhaustion by making her sleep at the warehouse. Her teacher was keeping her from doing the one thing she lived to do. The co-captain who stood smirking, tapping her toes each time Jorja stumbled past.

When will I have a say in my life? When will I be able to make the decisions that affect me personally? Little did she know at that moment that she would face some tough, grown up decisions in the coming year. That she would become pregnant not once, but twice, during her senior year of high school. That she would endure a miscarriage with the first pregnancy alone and scared. That she would face excruciating pain while performing at the pep rally that day. That she would leave school early and walk home. That she would spend the rest of the afternoon on the toilet, praying for the pain to stop. That she would stare at the blood and masses of clots and the beginnings of a baby in the toilet and not be able to breathe. That she would ask to stay home from the football game that night and her mom wouldn’t even care enough to be concerned.

The backseat is limiting.

Limited view -- The window provides a view of blurred sights as they roar pass. Your eyes straining to focus on one object before it slips away. The back window, the huge expansion of glass that is where you have been. The horizon spreads out and beyond -- the road that shrinks into a point of no return as you keep on moving. Where will the road take you next? You strain to see what is up ahead. Around the seats through the space allowed for you to see. The two in front part like curtains on a stage allowing you to see straight ahead, but not backstage. The driver's eye on the road behind blocks your view of above, but you keep straining to see what is in store. The frustration mounts as you realize that the excitement up ahead was a miraged view of life. Never in control of where she was going or where she has been. Jorja felt limited by the people who controlled her life – both as a young teen and now as a wife and mother. Robert and the kids took up so much of her time and energy that there was none left for Jorja, the person.

Limited space -- you struggle to find comfort in your place. Moving your head from side to side. Stretching one arm. And another -- or trying to until the blurred screen beside you blocks your movement. You try to stretch your legs. But, the backseat has you bent and curved to its form. You have become a part of the backseat, conforming to the little movement you are allowed. If only to become yourself again. To be able to stand up and look around at all the world is. But you can't move. You are trapped in the backseat until the driver sees fit to let you out. Jorja no longer was herself. She was molded into the perfect wife and mother, but lost her sense of self. She was no longer the creative artist, the avid reader, the talented performer. She had been in the backseat of everyone’s life for so long that Jorja did not exist.

Limited control -- you can't see. You can't move. You aren't taking the others for a ride. You aren't in charge of where you are going or how fast you will get there. You can't adjust how hot things get around you. Nor can you listen to the music in your mind. You must conform to the others -- conforming to another's power, leadership, pace, comfort, entertainment. Are we there yet?

I can't see. I can't move. I can't think for myself. I can't breathe. She thought. Let me out!

The backseat.

Are we there yet?


And even though I know how very far apart we are,
It helps to think we might be wishing
On the same bright star,
And when the night will start to sing
A lonesome lullaby,
It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the
Same big sky.

CHAPTER 6

It wasn’t hard to find him. Ray White, P.I., had many years of experience spying on spouses, locating cheating husbands and lying wives. Heartache came with the job. But this time the heartache was his….

He had grown very fond of her over the past few weeks. They met in the same dimly lit café, in the same booth in the back by the kitchen. He only told her bits and pieces. He justified the deception by letting himself believe that he wasn’t lying to her, just omitting some of the details. Jorja knew that he was hot on the case, doing everything he could to locate her first true love.

But, that wasn’t exactly the truth. Yes, he was hot on the case. So hot, in fact, that he found him in only a matter of minutes on the very first day of investigation.

A simple record search located him only 20 miles away. The hard part was trying to decide whether to tell Jorja that the one she has missed for over 20 years was right in her backyard. Telling her would mean the end of their clandestine meetings. The end of her sitting across from him, nervously eyeing the door as she wondered aloud if Sammy ever thought of her. The end of her sweetness wafting across the table. That smell. Oh, God, that smell. A mix of honeysuckle and morning dew. Sweet, innocent, promising. Inviting. Would she forgive him for misleading her once she realized that the only one who could truly love her was sitting across from her in the dimly lit diner?

Each time they met, she was more beautiful than the last. She had a new vibrancy, glowing as she recalled the old days with Sammy. Sammy had been “the one”. Until now, he thought.

Friday afternoon was gloriously bright. The flowers had begun to open to the sunlight beating down upon the cool, misty gardens that surrounded her house. She loved this house. So many memories. So much time spent building a nest for her family in this crazy world. Her children were happy and secure. They knew that home is where the heart is – and the soul. And yet now, even as the kids sprawled out on the front lawn, counting the birds as they flew by in perfect v formation, she wondered what life was all about. Here she had what seemed to be the perfect life, the perfect marriage, the perfect kids. But, at closer inspection, one could see a very restless, discouraged, and unhappy person. What if in the process of trying to put her life back together, she ruined it all for nothing? What if he never wanted to see her again? What if? Was it worth the risk if in the end, it meant finding the true meaning of love and life?