In The Stillness

you.

I exist. Right?

The blood rolling haphazardly down my left forearm says I do. The blade in my right hand agrees. Sheryl Crow is so full of shit. The first cut most certainly is not the deepest. If you started with the deepest, where would you go from there?

I never thought I’d cut again, until I found myself thinking about it. I mean, I’ve thought about it a lot in the time that’s gone by since the last time I did it—the time I thought, damn this is dumb. Yeah, I often thought a lot about how crazy that all was. Until I no longer had a choice. Until I found myself rifling through my bathroom cabinets trying to find a clean, sharp blade.

Eric’s been in the lab so much these days that I feel trapped in a hell decorated with playdates and PBS. The release is euphoric. It’s just like the first time, only a little scarier since I know where this road can lead. I don’t think too far down that road as I deliberately carve three lines into my soft, shiny skin. It hurts at first. Like hell. But a second later it’s gone—just gone—and I’m left with a visual reminder for the rest of the day that I’m in control of my pain, anxiety, and fear.

Do I even fucking exist?

Ryker doesn’t exist anymore. I mean, he didn’t come home in a body bag like Lucas did, but he may as well have. They took his soul over there, fuckers, and left me with the breathing carcass. Then I left him. He’s married now, supposedly happy.

So am I. Married, that is.

I don’t think about him much anymore—that’s not what this is about. He’s just the first person I ever saw not exist while they were still walking the earth.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The bathroom door rattles under the force of four-year-old fists.

Mommy! Ollie pulled my hair!

They’re. Always. Around.

I sigh, turn on the sink, and address the situation from behind the closed door. "Max, don’t tattle. Oliver, leave your brother alone!"

God, is it too much to ask for it to be kindergarten already?

My blood forms a candy cane pattern in the white porcelain sink. I stare at the cat as I wash my arm.

I never wanted to be a mother. My twenty-three-year-old graduate student self happily reminds me of that whenever I’m cleaning yogurt from the boys’ backs. Seriously, their backs. She had enough of my shit and left. Just packed right up and vacated the part of my spirit that mattered—that made me ... me. That’s when my twenty-year-old self started whispering that I could buy ten razors for something like three dollars at Walmart. She’s a crazy bitch, but she’s right. You buy them, bring them home, and break off the little line of safety plastic that prevents you from cutting the hell out of your legs. It really was no different than the last time I bought a bag of generic razors—except this time I had four-year-old twins in the cart.

I still can’t decide if that made the purchase easier or harder, seeing their faces, but here we are anyway, washing blood down the sink.

A few hours later I’m washing dinner dishes in our dishwasher-less kitchen, when Eric comes home.

Hey Baby, where are the boys? His eyes scan our Amity Street apartment as he tosses his messenger bag carelessly on the couch.

I sigh. Sleeping, Eric. It’s after seven. How was your day?

It was great, actually . . . Eric launches into a series of events I should care about.

I don’t.

He’s a doctoral student in chemical engineering at UMass Amherst. His research is in biofuels and sustainable energy. I know that sounds all hip and responsible of him, but all that means is he’s nearing thirty with no job and hours upon hours in a lab. Sure, we get a decent stipend to live on, and full financial aid, but it still leaves me with a twenty-nine-year-old husband who has no job. I slap my former grad student self for bragging his major up to my parents. They loved it. So did I. Then, everything changed.

Nat, you okay? Natalie? Eric walks over and shuts off the faucet I left running while I stare out the window. I hate when he calls me Nat; something about the way it sounds sliding off his tongue makes me feel like a bug.

Huh? Shit, sorry, I spaced.

I reach for a towel to dry my hands when Eric’s tanned hand wraps around my much paler arm.

What happened to your arm? That’s a huge scratch. Those honey-brown eyes, one thing left that I don’t resent, tell me they can’t handle the truth. He’d never get it.

Stupid cat. I shrug and tug my arm away.

Maybe we should get rid of her, that’s the second time this month she’s torn your arm up. He kisses my cheek, right by my ear. For a second, I remember what it felt like the first time he did that. Then I remember everything that happened after that kiss.

It’s fine. I shake my head and pull away. I tried to give her a bath, serves me right.

Eric laughs just under his breath. Want some wine?

Badly.

Well, that was easy.

Eric slides me a glass of white. I hate white. What were the boys up to today?

That doesn’t stop me from drinking it. What happens after graduation? I ignore his request for information on our children.

What do you mean? He sits back against the couch.

"I mean a job, Eric. It’s been a long time—"

Oh Jesus, Nat, not this again. He rolls his eyes and walks back into the kitchen. "How many times do we have to go over this? I would have been done two years ago—"

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. You would have been done two years ago if we hadn’t had twins in the middle of everything. You graciously demoted yourself to a part-time student while I became a full-time mom. I swallow the rest of my wine and walk to the kitchen to pour another glass. Do you want my list about how the last two years would have gone? Screw that, do you want to know how the last four years would have gone?"

"Enlighten me, please." Eric holds out his hands, as if to give me the floor. We’re speaking in whisper-yells to avoid waking the identical monsters down the hall.

"You’re the one who wanted them, Eric. You’re the one who begged me to keep them, to pull out of that parking lot and come home. He winces under my tone, but I continue, Yet, somehow, I leave my degree program to raise them, while you play mad scientist in Goessmann." I point out the window in the general direction of campus.

Eric bows his head, placing his hands on his hips while he takes a careful breath. When he looks up, his face is a mess of exhaustion. We’ve had this argument almost every single day for the last two years. For every single minute of the last two years since he returned as a full-time student, I’ve hated him. I’ve said it, too—I hate you. But he just thinks I’m crazy or stressed when I say it. I am. And it’s because of him.

It’s because of him and his assertion of the right thing to do that I find myself staring past his jet black hair that needs to be cut, past the athletic physique that makes him stand out amongst his colleagues like he’s just there to pretty up the department, and find myself fantasizing about those little blades twenty-five feet away in the bathroom. Hidden in an empty tampon box.

I didn’t always hate him. In fact, the first time we met it was something else entirely. In April 2005 I was preparing to graduate from Mount Holyoke College. South Hadley, Massachusetts had provided a picturesque existence for me over the previous four years. I’d only applied to UMass Amherst for graduate programs; I was more than academically qualified, and their anthropology program was great, but I really just wanted to call this place home for a while longer.

Yo, Natalie, over here. Tosha waved from the front of the Odyssey Bookstore, where she was cashing out. I was glad that UMass was only a short drive because I loved that bookstore.

I approached Tosha’s petite frame as she tried to sell some of her textbooks. Did they take anything back?

Just the novels, she shrugged, it’s something. Tosha threw her curly blonde hair into a ponytail while she waited for the cashier.

You want to go to Antonio’s for lunch?

Tosha shrugged. All the way in Amherst?

All the way? I laughed. It’s just a few miles. You act like 116 is a fortress. I joked about the stretch of road that separates our campus from Amherst College, UMass, and Hampshire College.

It ought to be. She rolled her eyes. Tosha was a snob, but I loved her anyway. She was irritated that Mount Holyoke wasn’t exclusively women, as it had been in the past, and really wished that it could be an island all its own. Let’s go, though, their pizza is too good to turn down—even if we have to slum it with ZooMass.

I laughed and kicked her as we left the bookstore.

Twenty minutes later we were sitting at the bar in the window of Antonio’s. The place was tiny and usually standing-room only, but damn they made good pizza.

Fluid Mechanics? Tosha scoffed as she drank her soda.

I looked around. What the hell?

That pretty face down there with the UMass t-shirt. She nodded to the benches just across the sidewalk and down a bit. He’s reading a fluid mechanics book ... outside in the sun . . .

I looked up, and there he was. He was pretty. Too pretty, almost. His skin was bronzed, but it looked natural, like he’d be dark even in the winter. His black hair was longer than I cared for, but it was tucked just behind his ears and hidden under a Redskins hat.

What’s your point, Tosh? I chuckled, trying not to stare as he thumbed through the book with concentration searing across his face.

He’s totally checking you out, Nat. Tosha slid off her stool and threw her paper plate away. I followed.

I whispered as we walked out of Antonio’s. "He was not checking me out. Now, shut up so he doesn’t hear us."

Whatever, I’m going to grab a coffee, want one?

No, caffeine-a-holic, I’ll get some vitamin D while you fund Starbucks. I laughed and took a seat on the bench next to the guy she’d been staring at. The line was long and I knew Tosha would wait, no matter the length. I needed to get comfortable.

People passed by like they were on a conveyor belt, as I checked out what would be my new surroundings come fall. North Pleasant Street in Amherst was not foreign to me; it held some of the best bars and restaurants in the area. I breathed in the smells of fresh-baked popovers from Judie’s restaurant right across from me as I turned my head to the right—where I found fluid mechanics boy watching me.

You know that split second? The one where you decide if you’re going to just smile and continue looking around, or chance an encounter with a stranger? It’s a dangerous moment. It changes absolutely everything.

Come on, Natalie. Let’s not do this again. Eric pulls me back to the present.

I roll my eyes and walk to the bathroom. He doesn’t try to follow me; he learned early on that I lock doors behind me. Plus, the boys are sleeping and he won’t want to wake them ... being that he’s Father of the Year and all.

Reaching under the bathroom sink, I locate the peroxide and alcohol and run them over the razor I used earlier. There’s no need to risk infection. I’ve been there, and it’s just a sure-fire way to get caught. I can’t cut somewhere new this time because the cat scratches are already on Eric’s radar. I stare at the marks from earlier and decide that reopening them is the easiest route to go, the easiest way to be mad at him without screaming and starting a blow-out. I’m sick of yelling. Sick of fighting. Sick of crying.

Just a little. Just one more time.

Eric’s alarm goes off far too early, even for a workday. The boys are still sleeping—that’s how early.

Are you kidding? What are you doing? I groan, nudging his shoulder.

He sits up, his back to me. I’ve got some things to check on at the lab and I need to get there early. His shoulders stop moving as if they’re bracing themselves for my verbal attack.

I don’t give in. Well, not all the way in.

Whatever. Just go, before the boys wake up and think they’ll get to spend five seconds with you today. I roll over and pull the blanket over my head.

I hear him swallow and take a deep breath before getting out of bed and getting dressed. Before he leaves the bedroom, he pads over to my side of the bed. I pretend I’ve fallen back asleep. He leans forward and I can smell the Old Spice body wash he used last night before getting into bed.

He pulls the blanket down an inch, and after he presses his always-soft lips against my temple, he whispers, I love you, Nat. Have a good day. Then, he’s gone. Again.

By the time the boys wake up, I’m thrilled. It’s Wednesday—preschool day. Max and Oliver go to preschool three days a week. Three glorious days a week that I can pretend I’m someone else for a few hours. Why don’t I take a class or two toward the anthropology Ph.D. program I started before all of this started? Because, I’d be able to take a class while they were at school and then have precisely zero time to do any work, or research, or anything.

Mommy. Mommy! A tow-headed little boy bounces in my face as I tie his shoe.

Yes, Ollie honey, what is it? He points to a red line on my arm. Where that boo-boo come from?

The silly kitty, I lie effortlessly with a smile on my face.

Bad kitty! Ollie shouts in Mittens’ face.

Bad kitty! Max joins in, using an empty paper towel tube as a sword to shoo the cat away.

All right, boys, in the car you go. It’s time for school!

I swear I sound more excited about it than they do. Because I am. I usher them out the door before they can do any more damage to my fall-guy. Poor Mittens. I smile a little as the sun beams off their golden hair. I chuckle whenever I really stare at their hair. It’s so blonde, and both Eric and I have dark, black hair. They look adopted.

Can you return adopted children?

Fluid Mechanics, huh? I chanced the encounter that day.

Yeah. He grinned as he held up the book to give me a better look at the cover.

What the hell is fluid mechanics? I asked over the bike rack separating our two benches.

He laughed. And I was hooked. Right there, on the sidewalk bench across from Judie’s Restaurant, I was hooked.

It’s nothing, just a required course.

That’s some heavy stuff for such a gorgeous day. Can you even concentrate with all of this going on? I held out my hands to show him all the people around us.

Then, he stood up. He walked over to me, gestured to the empty space next to me and said, Can I sit? I’m sure the rest of these people don’t want to hear about fluid mechanics.

You can sit, but I don’t want to hear about fluid mechanics, either. It sounds absolutely dreadful.

I’m getting my master’s degree in chemical engineering. Nothing I can do about these courses. I like to get outside once in a while, he laughed, I could stare at this book for hours in a library, but that’s probably not healthy.

I turned my body toward his and let myself take him in. He was an oxymoron. I’d assumed it was just moron by his UMass t-shirt. Let me say, it isn’t really fair—UMass is a great school. And, I was enrolling there for graduate school. But, when you’re in Mount Holyoke land all year, you just come to think of everyone else as idiots. Either way, he didn’t look like any science doctoral student I’d come to expect. He was quite tall; his shoulders were a few inches above my 5’9" frame as we sat. His hair was as black as mine, but his eyes were a perfect honey brown that had darker flecks around the iris. They matched his well-tanned skin, whatever they were.

Do you go to Amherst? he asked.

What, I can’t go to UMass? I teased while tugging playfully at his t-shirt.

With those clothes? He smirked at my knee-length skirt and polo. No, I wasn’t wearing a mini skirt and Uggs, I suppose. You’re Amherst material ... or . . . He looked at me with a cautious grin.

I chuckled. Yep. Mount Holyoke. I’m Natalie, by the way. I stuck out my hand. Apparently, we both had presumptions about students in the Five-College area.

Eric Johnson. He flashed me a huge smile as he tightly gripped my hand. So, Mount Holyoke. When do you graduate?

Actually, next month.

His smile seemed to fade for a second before he brightened with a follow-up question. Plans for after?

A foolish grin captivated me. I was suddenly even more excited to be attending UMass in the fall.

Yeah, I smiled wider, I’m starting my master’s in anthropology in the fall. I pointed in the direction of the massive campus behind his shoulder.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, smile still on his face. We were flirting. Eric was the first guy I’d flirted with since I broke up with Ryker.

No. Don’t ruin this. Don’t think about Ryker. Ever.

Listen, Natalie with no last name, I’ve gotta get going. It was great meeting you. I’ll see you around. He stuck out his hand, and we shook again before he turned and strutted down the sidewalk. It didn’t look like the strut was planned, but it was nice.

Collins! I stood and shouted without thinking.

Eric stopped dead in his tracks and turned on his heels.

What? He chuckled when he got back to the bench.

I smirked and spotted Tosha heading out of Starbucks out of the corner of my eye. My last name is Collins.

Well, Natalie Collins, it was great to meet you. And, just like that, he disappeared into the busy crowd down the sidewalk.

Who was that? Tosha asked, handing me her coffee so she could light a cigarette.

Eric Johnson. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the foolish smile at bay.

Fluid Mechanics boy is a looker, huh? Told you he was staring. She took her coffee back and we headed the opposite direction from where Eric went.

Usually I wander around Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s when the boys are at preschool. I amble up and down the aisles and remember the days I could afford to exclusively shop here. I always buy something—a scone or a drink—just to feel like I still belong.

Today, however, I find myself back at our apartment. Just down from the Jones Library, we’re mere feet from where Eric and I first met. If I tilt my head just right in our bathroom I can see the sidewalk where we spoke and walked in different directions when we said goodbye. Sometimes I fight the urge to scream out the window at that girl—the one I once was—not to look over her shoulder. But she does, every time. And she always finds Eric running up the sidewalk toward her with his number in his hand.

Today in the bathroom, I ignore the window. I’m staring at a tampon box full of razors. I need to empty the trash. A frustrated growl escapes my throat as I dump the tampon box into the bin. You’re better than this. I tie off the bag and take it to the dumpster; the echo of the lid slamming against the metal sounds like the telltale heart. I’m suddenly thankful that tomorrow is garbage day, and I just have to make it through the night without thinking about those tiny metal teeth laying in waste at the bottom of the dumpster.

I race back up to our apartment and call Eric. Despite how I feel about him these days, his voice will remind me that this isn’t 2002, and I’m not about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Hello? Everything okay?

I never call Eric at work these days, it’s my fault he thinks something’s wrong.

Just, I clear my throat, checking in to see what time you’ll be home tonight ... since you went in so early.

Silence.

Eric? I press.

I’ll try to be home for dinner, Nat.

Jesus, Eric, you didn’t see the boys after breakfast yesterday and you haven’t seen them yet today. When do they get you?

When do I get a break?

He sighs. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ll be home before dinner.

Thank you.

They’re at school this morning, right? He says this like, why are you so stressed? You have four hours to yourself, lady.

Yes, they are. Now I get to go grocery shopping and clean the apartment. I hope he can hear my eye-roll. What do you want for dinner?

Surprise me. You’re a great mom, you know that? He says things like this when he feels bad that my entire identity has morphed into something he knows damn well I never wanted. He’s assuring me that I’m doing it well—this thing I hate doing.

Mom—the most four-letter three-letter word I know.

Eric never made it home for dinner last night. The fight was epic, and I made him sleep on the couch. It scared me how much I thought about those razors in the dumpster. Just two times and it’s become the first thing I think about when the dark side takes over. I sobbed into my pillow all night while Eric snoozed down the hall.

Baby, wake up. Eric kisses my forehead. I grumble. Listen, I’m really sorry about last night. I took today off. I want you to get out of the house and do something for yourself today.

Silently, I resent the implication that he’s allowing me to go off by myself for the day. I sit up, smile, and kiss him on the lips. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss. I let him. It’s been so long since I’ve had a day alone—a whole day.

After I shower, I find him and the boys in the kitchen, dumping sprinkles onto bubbling pancakes.

Mommy look! Daddy let us put sprinkles on our pancakes! Max points excitedly to the griddle.

Mmm, I kiss his little cheek, those look delicious. Have fun today, boys. I kiss them all on the head, Eric included, before heading to the door.

Where you off to today? Eric puts plates on the table, situates the boys, and meets me at the door.

I shrug. I’m going to drive around for a while. Maybe grab some lunch.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Are you gonna call Tosha?

She’s still at a conference in L.A., I think. I’ll keep myself occupied, don’t worry.

Ten minutes later I’m on my knees in front of Lucas Fisher’s grave at the edge of the huge Catholic cemetery with tears pouring down my face.

I shouldn’t be here. At all. The last time I was here was about three days before my parents pulled me out of school for a year. I screamed at him—I screamed at a grave. Today, I’m not screaming. I’m just ... remembering. Remembering how this all really started.

Ryker and I had been together for about four months by September of 2001. He was enrolled at Amherst College and we met at a concert on the Amherst common at the end of our freshman year. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with National Guard in black block letters across his toned chest. At a height I placed around 6’5, he was so striking, I had to sway my tipsy self over to him and say hi." He had a blonde buzz-cut that let me see the tight muscles in his neck each time he tilted his head.

I’m Natalie, I giggled, you’re cute.

I watched the heat wrap around the back of his neck and up to his cheeks. Thanks. I’m Ryker Manning. You’re hot.

National Guard, huh? I pressed my palms onto his pecs. I was more forward, then.

National Guard. He grinned, grabbed my wrists, and pulled me into a kiss. Just like that. Four seconds after meeting Ryker Manning, I was standing on the common kissing him.

Who’s your friend, dude? A slightly shorter guy stepped to Ryker’s side.

This is my new friend, Natalie. Ryker laughed, Natalie, this is my best friend, Lucas.

Lucas was a childhood friend of Ryker’s who went to Westfield State. He was also in the National Guard, which seemed like a really good idea in June of 2000 when they graduated high school.

In all honesty, all National Guard meant to me, as far as Ryker was concerned, was it forced us to have one sexless weekend a month. That summer, I stayed in South Hadley, rather than returning home to Pennsylvania, because I’d gotten an internship. That’s what I told my parents anyway. In reality, I took enough classes to keep my dorm room for the summer, and I busted ass tending bar at Rafter’s Sports Bar. All in the name of Ryker Manning.

He was taking classes, too. He was a poly-sci major at Amherst and wanted to go into legislation. He spent that summer interning for the local government. I was able to sneak him away at the beginning of August for a Dave Matthews Band concert in Hartford, CT. Tosha and Lucas outright refused to go—they hated DMB. Ryker wasn’t crazy about them, either. But, he was crazy enough about me to go.

He kind of stood with his hands in his pockets and nodded along to most of the songs, but when they played The Space Between—a new song of theirs at the time—and I went nuts, he laughed.

Shh! I scolded playfully. Just listen.

By the end of the song he was standing behind me with his arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I was swallowed up in his massive arms. We swayed to the music as his lips rested on the top of my head. It’s my favorite memory of Ryker Manning, August 3, 2001.

In the two weeks leading up to September 11th, Ryker and I hadn’t seen much of each other, as classes were getting underway and we were both workaholics. It was a gorgeous Tuesday morning. I was putting in some work study time at the campus library when someone said, A plane crashed between the Twin Towers. We all kind of looked around with a wow, that sucks look on our faces.

The next thirty minutes are seared into my brain in snippets as people ran in and out of the library.

Was it a passenger plane?

Oh, it was a plane in one of the towers, not between them. Shit, another plane just crashed into the second tower.

This is no accident.

Guys, a plane just hit the Pentagon, and apparently one has gone down somewhere else.

This is an attack.

We’re going to war.

Holy shit! One of the towers fell!

Without permission, I grabbed my bag and ran from the library, got into my car, and sped along the curves of 116 straight to Ryker’s dorm. I didn’t even have a cell phone yet. I didn’t call my parents, I didn’t call my friends; I just drove straight to Ryker.

Amherst was a total shitshow, as usual when anything even mildly political happens. People were crying on the sidewalk, asking questions and clutching cell phones. I sprinted up the steps to Ryker’s dorm building. I ran down the hallway, and before heading up the stairs I saw him; he was with his friends and suite mates in the common area watching the news.

Ryker, I said just a hair above a whisper.

He’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, staring intently at the TV. When he heard my voice, his head whipped around and he sprang to his feet and jogged toward me. As soon as our bodies connected, I started crying. I’d listened to the news on the car radio the whole drive over. There were millions more questions than answers still, but all the answers were bad. Really bad. I saw Lucas out of the corner of my eye, which struck me as odd since his school was a half hour away.

It’s gonna be okay, Nat, he whispered in my ear.

Up until that moment we’d been having great sex, laughing at Lucas’s lame attempts to pick up women, and having a genuine good time together. That moment sealed us together in ways I still can’t describe. At the time, I thought he was telling me I’d be okay. That we would collectively be okay. It wasn’t until he was over there that I realized he had been