Emily Patton 101

Not Like This

By Emily Patton

“A life destroyer, yes, that’s what I will call him…” a woman announced more to herself than to her shadowing companion.

Her companion nodded: “That name sounds about right.”

“Tells me there is no one else. That there could never be anyone else. Not a chance. I was his anchor, his soul, his life…,” the woman continued. Her voice wavered as she gasped for oxygen.

“Obviously, he should be dead, if I was his life.”

“Liar. Yes, he is a liar,” her sister muttered impatiently holding the woman’s hand.

“Yes, that’s a better name.”

“I agree.”

“Short and to the point.”

“I like it.”

“I hate him!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Rachel! It will be okay. We can move on. Start a new and better life, dear. You will see.”

Rachel smiled as her older sister watched the dark, brown hair tangled in her fingers. She toyed with it as he toyed with her emotions. Her emerald, breath-taking eyes searched the sky for the familiar feeling of satisfaction like the way an old love rock song always made her foot tap. Today was different. She sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her bare legs. The summer day was warm, but she felt so cold.

Tears began to fall. Her breathing turned shallow and raspy. Rachel thought quietly to herself: I’m glad he is not here. He does not deserve the satisfaction of my tears.

“Are you going to be okay, Rachel?” her sister asked.

“Of course, I will.”

“That’s the spirit!” she said cheerily in a vain attempt to cheer up Rachel.

At that, Rachel began to sob again: “So what do I do now?”

“You pick up your life, and go down a new and exciting road.”

“Does the car I’m traveling in have room for my emotional baggage?”

“Tons.”

Producing a wet smile through the tears, Rachel muttered, “At least now I can go down to the water.”

Afternoon progressed into evening. She carried both her shoes in her hands. Her hair, long and loose, danced in the wind to the rhythm of the waves. It had been countless years since Rachel had last visited this place. Shades of red, yellow, orange, and blue twirled together and erupted in the center of the sky. The clouds swept over the Earth’s surface as a paintbrush would glide atop a canvas. The ocean had been calling her name for ages, but Rachel had been too afraid to answer.

Her body sank into the sand, embracing its coolness. Rachel held out her hands, despairingly, counting the years on her fingers that had passed. She had been a young and immature twenty when she first met him. Rachel married him at twenty-one, and now tried to do something with wasted years at twenty-six. Was she brainless? He knew her love for flowers. Roses came almost every other evening from Rodney, her discontent husband. Chocolates were placed on the counter every Friday night and a warm kiss was planted on her cheek after work. Part of her wanted to admit that she had not been happy in the marriage, but that would have been a lie.

Rachel felt so stupid and oblivious. Her thoughts swept her back in time to that moment when she discovered the truth…

“Rachel! Rachel…Rachel… Don’t! Not like this! I’m—I’m so sorry, Rachel!”

That night, as she raced from his side in the hallway of their home, her footsteps echoed like rain hitting a puddle. She had found her husband with someone else in their own home. As he steadied himself to grip her arm, like a vengeful lightning bolt, her hand slapped his face. Thinking of the emotions written on his face, he looked as if he never knew he could hurt her this much. Rachel knew differently.

Rodney had been so controlling in the last years of their relationship. He never wanted to go certain places with her, and the beautiful, salty ocean was a perfect example of this. Rachel smiled at this self-pleasing stab for independence.

Waking right after dawn, Rachel felt the sand plastered to her face, as her fingers gently felt its small, rough texture against her skin. She had fallen asleep accidentally, but the beach remained deserted and empty. Cries erupted in the unseen distance. The faint voices carried in the wind. Rachel pushed her reluctant body out of the sand. Her legs stumbled up the immense sand dune separating serenity from reality. She slipped on her shoes and took off in a sprint. She had hit the point in her depression where random and spontaneous actions pleased her, and stumbling into a thoroughbred racetrack early in the morning rekindled her fiery spirit.

Fog made the dirt track wet and slow. Moisture hung over the white rails like water clinging to a glass of lemonade on a warm day. The races had not yet begun. No, it was too early. The empty grandstand glared in a fading green tint. Rachel even experienced the urge to knock on the door to the main office and volunteer her time to paint a fresh coat on the walls. Her emotions tied into knots that she could not pry loose with a hammer. She shook her head muttering, “Yes, I’m losing it.”

With her head in her hands, she sat on a cold bench until the sun rose high in the sky.

***

“Number six looks decent. What do you think?”

Rachel shook her head abruptly. An elderly woman had found her way to Rachel’s side during the races. Glancing uncomfortably over her shoulder in hesitation, Rachel wondered how long she had slept; she eyed the woman as she continued to talk.

“My husband used to enjoy coming to the races. He would laugh and put down a few dollars on the horse that had a funny name or a nice pattern. He would let me choose any horse on the card, no matter the odds. It did not matter if he lost two dollars or ten. It was nice. You know?”

Rachel cocked her head to one side, desperately confused.

“Yes, I know.”

“He made me happy,” the woman expressed half-heartedly with a reflective gleam in her eye.

The conversation paused. The woman appeared self-sufficient. She carried a massive purse that she occasionally rummaged through revealing feminine essentials buried deep within. The purple purse, vibrantly sketched with flowers, permitted the sun to gloss over the sequined lace like a soft kiss. The woman had soft cheekbones, with white hair curling on the top of her head framing her drawn face. She did not seem to mind that Rachel was a stranger either. “My name is Grace,” she announced as she smiled deeply.

Rachel allowed Grace to cut through the years that had passed to take her on a journey defying time. Stories of happiness, growth, and sadness spilled over as Rachel sat quietly, nodding occasionally. To Grace, the racetrack was a place where people flocked for many different reasons. It did not matter why a person came, but if he had a good story to tell, someone would listen. Grace was the kind of woman who had been through many experiences, and from those, she developed the ability of evaluating people. She easily read through the rumpled pages of Rachel.

“You are not happy right now, are you?” Grace questioned plainly.

Rachel sighed, letting out air that seemed to have been trapped for an eternity, “Yesterday, I found out my husband was cheating on me.” She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, shaking her head violently. “I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t even know you.”

They sat together for a few minutes in silence. Rachel permitted the embarrassment to sink in a little deeper. Grace chuckled to herself. Rachel was ready to explode. “How dare you laugh at me? I know I am no beauty queen. I mean, look at me. I have no faithful husband. I have no real life, no money, no adventurous hobbies, nor passions. I know I am pathetic and losing it every second, but please, I ask, can you not laugh at me? I don’t think I could take it…”

Grace stretched her hand politely, laying a kind pat on Rachel’s shoulder.

“Dear, I’m not laughing at you. You know, all that other stuff doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other stuff doesn’t matter at all.”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders.

“You don’t need very much money. You do not need everything. You do not have to be the captain of the cheerleading squad or homecoming queen your senior year in high school. No, dear, being a super model or the owner of a Kentucky Derby winner is not on the list either. You don’t have to have it all,” Grace announced directly and matter-of-factly.

“But…” Grace continued, “Do you know what you do need?”

“What’s that?” Rachel asked drumming her fingers against her chin.

“You need to know what you deserve!”

Rachel looked at her intently and with honesty.

“You need to know what you deserve.” Grace repeated, “People are only as happy as they think they deserve to be. And you, my friend, deserve someone who says you are their world and means it,” Grace concluded directly.

Rachel felt the heavy tears burn her dry cheeks as they fell from her green eyes with sweet respite. The truth was like finding a hidden secret that she always knew was there. Rachel slid her arms around Grace, as a smile began flickering on her face.

“I can settle for someone who is a life destroyer or even a liar, or whatever the name was, I don’t care. Not only did he hurt me, but I also hurt myself. Hey, you know what? I deserve better than this.”

“You are only as happy as you think you deserve to be!”

Rachel allowed the tears to slip without restraint down her cheeks, as she wiped them away with a smile: “I do deserve better…”

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