‘Everlasting Lost’ By Jillianne Renee Overman ‘Simultaneously, I felt as though the world was vast yet microscopic. I had knowledge of one of it’s best kept secrets, yet I was a prisoner to it.’ -Violet Hayden Chapter 1: Broken “There are moments in your life that are often labeled defining or even epic. The best, most defining moment of my life was also the most tragic and life shattering. In a single moment of breath taking brilliancy and awe-inspiring fantasy, my heart and my love were lost. A love, dripping fresh with the morning dew of a dawn so beautiful there are no words, vanished under the tranquil waters. Why is it that our faith is tested only after we’ve tasted the succulent fruit?” “These are beautiful and disturbing words you’ve written Violet. Can you tell me more about this young man, why he holds such a strong place in your life, that living on is so crippling without him?” I held my breath as he spoke the words, ‘young man.’ Just the reference to him made my already drained heart writhe. I could only sit there in silence, gathering the right words for my response, but they did not come. This was the state in which I was merely, existing. Everyone was worried, confused, and saddened about my condition. I would just nod and try my best each day to function as a normal human being. My days passed slowly, a blur of generic conversation and mundane tasks, interrupted by frantic moments of anxiety that led to painting episodes, which would sometimes last for days. I wouldn’t stop until my eyelids forced themselves closed and my fingers were too raw to hold the brush. There were many whispers and there have been bold attempts to snap me out of it, but nothing has worked. The therapist cleared his throat, “Um...hmm...Violet? Can you tell me about your daily life? You’re an artist, and I hear you’re very talented. Your parents tell me you’ve had some interest in your recent work by a well respected gallery here in San Diego?” “Hmm...um...yes.” I agreed with little enthusiasm in my voice. Six months earlier I would have died and gone to heaven to find that a local gallery wanted to feature my work. At present, my priorities were fogged. What should have mattered to me didn’t anymore. “Violet, in order for you to come to terms with your grief, it’s very important to open up and tell the story, recalling both the good and the bad. I’m going to take you on a journey to healing and closure, will you join me? You must trust that our time here is a time for reflection and healing.” As he said these words I noticed the broken edge of his thin gold-rimmed glasses. I began to imagine the moment his glasses fell. How they must have fallen to the floor aggressively, to cause a dent that noticeable. Just above the dent was a stray hair on his left eyebrow. I wished I could pluck it. I thought to myself; if he’s married, why would his wife let him walk around with those eyebrows! The gold band on his ring finger caught the light and glistened, I tuned back in to his words just in time for his last sentence. All I could do was nod and smile. In the back of my mind I knew that the story he would hear, would be far from the truth. Not because I wasn’t ready to tell it, but because I simply couldn’t tell it. I am sworn to secrecy. Besides, even if I did trust doctor-patient confidentiality, I’m sure any psychologist would have me committed after hearing the truth. I played out this scenario in my head until he finally stood and showed me the door. Most likely he had grown tired of my daydreaming. When I walked through the automatic door and back out into the world I sighed with momentary relief. The warm and comfortable smell of La Jolla eased my anxiety. Simultaneously I felt as though the world was vast yet microscopic. I had knowledge of one of it’s best kept secrets, yet I was a prisoner to it. The one thing that resonated with me from my therapy session was the idea of healing after recanting my story. Since I could tell no one, maybe if I wrote it down I could find closure or maybe even answers. I decided to stop at the local bookstore. The musty smell of books would always put me at ease. My eyes shifted from aisle to aisle. Finally, I spotted the wooden sign above aisle five that read Journals. The wall of journals was full of different leather bound and photographic styles. My eyes fixated on one with colorful butterflies splashed across a pale blue landscape. A smile curled on my face as I was hit with the memory of Ethan’s smiling eyes. I could see them so clearly, green flecked with pieces of blue. I could see the small reflection of the butterfly dancing in his gaze. We both sat mesmerized by the water and watched the butterfly flex its gracious blue wings. The pain started to seize my chest. I forced the memory back deep inside and breathed quickly, as if it would heal the pain of his absence. A woman brushed past me and I was forced to come back to the present. My fists clenched and I noticed there were a few journals with a lock and key on the top shelf. Good, I thought to myself. I should at least have an extra layer of protection by locking the journal. Of course I would never let it out of my sight. As a secondary measure of security I decided to buy a safe at the hardware store near my house. I chose the simple, black leather journal. The lock was shiny and silver but it had a vintage elegance to it. I brought the book to my nose and inhaled the leather cover, one of my favorite smells, clean and earthy. My grip tightened, I knew this was my journal. I pulled up to my driveway and slowed to a stop. Pensively, I glanced upward toward my bedroom window; the dark curtains were drawn, enclosing my cave-like dwelling. Somehow I didn’t feel that my room was the best place to write. I wanted even more privacy. Black’s beach would be deserted at this hour and the one thing that always brought me peace was the sound of the ocean. I parked my car in front of sign that read ‘No Loitering’ and found the narrow path that lead down the rocks until my feet hit the sand. I laid my blanket down and settled into my favorite spot, tucked behind a jagged rock that shielded the westward winds. A few deep breaths of salty air filled my lungs. My hands were shaky but I willed myself to go back to the day that started everything.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 16:38:47 +0000
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