Love's Forbidden Flower (22 page)

Donovan sounds completely shocked by my phone call as I stand in my hole of a student apartment musing over how sad the situation is. My self-governed living gives renewed independence to my spirit. With that comes the resolution to get my best friend back—though I have no idea how to go about it.

“I’m fine,” I assure Donovan. “I guess a little astonishment is in order since this is the first time either of us has called since you moved out.”

“Wow! It’s really great to hear from you!”

“You sound like you're in a good mood. Did I catch you doing something you shouldn’t?” A wink tics as if he could see it. What the hell am I doing, and how the crap do I stop?

“I wish. Same old boring day for me here. How’s school?”

“It hasn’t started. A few days of freedom remain so I'm trying to get settled. So much has been done already that it makes my head kind of hurt.” Removing a half-unpacked box from the sofa just purchased at a garage sale I plop myself down and instantly regret it. My butt seems to smack onto the frame. But there’s no reason for complaints. I’m technically in a one-bedroom apartment though it is really a glorified studio with a nook for a bedroom. The neighborhood is fine, but the inside of this thin-walled building must be reminiscent of the housing projects.

“That’s what you get for graduating high school and moving a few weeks later. Why didn’t you wait for fall?”

The truthful answer is a little hard to swallow. “I couldn't stand being home anymore. Since there was no reason to stay I slipped into a last minute start of what is technically the spring semester.” My butt struggles to find a comfortable position. No wonder the guy was selling this sofa so cheaply.

“Yeah, how is
Christopher
?” Donovan says the name cautiously, like it's a demon burning his tongue.

“Christopher might as well be on another planet. He seems good, but he tries to be cheerful even when he’s crumbling. His troubles are not always clear.”

“That’s hard to believe since you can read me like a book.”

“That’s because you're my soul mate.” The words do not come lightly, nor are they regretted. It’s time we got our friendship back and either permanently hide from our emotions or face them.

“What was it you said last time I saw you? How I don’t say much but sometimes I really throw out zingers? Pot, I would like you to meet the kettle.”

“Well, I was trying to figure out how to start this part of the conversation, but my frequent inability to filter emotions obviously has paid off for once. Donovan, how are you really? You freaked the crap out of me on New Year’s Eve. I’ve almost called you so many times, but I'm really trying to respect your wishes. Now that we’ve both escaped the house I hoped it might be easier for you to talk.”

His sigh stammers. The attempt at an answer is a small step forward from the common question dodging. “I’m all right, Lil. Just all right though. Struggling is still pretty commonplace, and every day is harder than it should be. It would be so much easier if just once in a while I could be someone else.”

“What’s wrong with you being you?” The question sinks my heart. The answer will likely have a similar effect. How can I possibly ream him for what he did to Cheryl with this subject matter already at hand?

“My life is very complicated and has been for the last year and a half. It just got a little easier but not much. I can’t talk about—”

“Is this the thing you promise you'll tell me someday?”

For once he makes no attempt to cover his frustration with anger. “Yes. Just the option doesn’t exist now. I really wish I weren’t me. It’ll change someday. I’ll make sure of it. But right now—right now I'm screwed.”

“Donovan, if you can’t talk about your problems, maybe you should try writing them. That way you might feel as if you've talked about them.”

“Actually, Lil, that’s another can of worms.”

“Well, if you need me, I'm less than two hours away. And you know you can always call or even write. Just please stop being so distant. I hope this doesn’t complicate things, but I really miss you.”

“Thanks, Lil. I miss you too. Maybe I’ll send you a note or something.”

Josette passed on the best advice in the world when she talked me into a year-round twenty-one month AA program with the option to stay on for my bachelor’s degree. It excites me to think that in less than two years I'll be free to do anything or go anywhere in the world, without obligations.

With all of the changes occurring prioritizing food has failed me. How did
that
happen? Three-day-old Chinese take-out that was triumphantly unpalatable when it was fresh is my only option.

“Yuck!”

My reaction at the first bite inspires memories of Christopher and his disdain for non-British food. His rant over this dreadful slop would be nothing short of comically terse.

God, what is it with me? Two days ago talking to Donovan worked me into foolhardy yearning, and now I'm daydreaming of Christopher. Both make my heart feel like pasta dough that has passed through an extruder.

The pathetic meal in my hands is exchanged for today’s mail. Among the usual junk for the current resident resides a suspect letter addressed to me from someone named Alex with a mailbox in Connecticut. That's odd. The only person I know in Connecticut is Donovan.

It was so good to hear from you today after not being with you since the beginning of the New Year. I have missed you terribly, and my heart aches for not having seen you. Please write if you miss me too. Maybe I can have the courage to tell you things in writing that I never could in conversation.

Who the hell are Kate and Alex? The envelope indeed originated from Connecticut, and the whole thing is in Donavan’s handwriting. What the crap is he up to now? Has he fully lost his mind?

After an evening of switching my attention between homework and the camouflaged correspondence, that has somehow managed not to give me the heebe geebees, its meaning is deciphered. In our last conversation Donovan wished he could be someone else. How much he meant it is a little troubling. The handwriting appears like that of a sane man, but the contents don't sound like Donovan. Instead the names and characters are derived from a movie we saw several years ago about two people in love who are forced apart.

The once cryptic letter now floods me with intense emotions too long suppressed. Sane or demented, Donovan is finally reaching out across a dark chasm and expressing his feelings. The gesture should not go unreturned. Then again, is it really Donovan to whom I'd be confessing or some dissociative identity?

The following day the haunting question still tugs until a sign appears as if from heaven.

While in the campus bookstore, a
thunk
hits my feet as I pass a glass stand covered in frivolous knickknacks that this penny-pinching student would normally ignore. Bending over to retrieve the attacker, my eyes lock on the white roses that adorn the stationary that has thrown itself at me. Maybe the angels didn't betray me with Christopher; they're bringing me back to Donovan.

After racing home, my mind replaces the faded paint on my apartment walls with rose filled trellises, the scratched wood of the kitchen table with wrought iron, and the stale air with a perfumed breeze. The words begin their flow the moment my hand engages the pen. This time they will be brief, but if the confessions continue my heart will eventually tell Donovan all it holds.

How much I have missed you. I am still settling in a new home, and, while I try to fill it with my love for you, it still feels cold and empty. I long for the days when you were near; when all I needed to do was reach into the darkness and you would be my light. You mentioned that you ache to see me. Do I dare hope that someday you will become my light again?

Thoughts of Donovan, both fanciful and lascivious, have returned to my core. Each note Kate and Alex exchange becomes more heartfelt, more meaningful, more loving, and more admitting. Anticipation always enrobes me when a letter from Alex is due. If Donovan isn't sane in our distorted reality, then I'm not either.

But it’s all fantasy—just as it’s always been—and you can’t put your arms around it.

Irrationally, feelings of infidelity toward Christopher bedevil me. While neither ever said we were through it was very much implied. He's long overdue in returning email, which may be a sign that he has moved on. Truthfully, I need to move on with a social life based in reality, not one that involves swapping love letters as a fictional character with another invented being who's really my emotionally challenged brother.

Success is an earnest goal, but somehow every date unearths disaster. My wrestling belt for being the World Titanicweight Champion of the Cataclysmic Date Division should arrive any day now. As soon as even minor potential exists, all goes to hell.

First there was Nick, a cute guy who works in the school cafeteria. Everything was great until Nick was forthcoming about his jealousy issues. When he learned Christopher is still on my friends list, he flipped out like the entire U.S. Olympic Swim Team shared my bed. Upon discovering Nick’s inability to understand the difference between the United Kingdom and the Wild Kingdom, I pondered setting him up with Jennifer.

Enter Troy, who treated me very gentlemanly despite his leather-clad bad-boy look that I found enticingly hot. However, every time he kissed me, he giggled. This was charming when he kissed me goodnight after the first date and slightly amusing the second date. But when we started making out on the third date, it was time to find someone else.

Then Howard became the crowning champion in the loser competition, making Al look like Prince Catch-of-a-Lifetime. After an elegant dinner, I was confused when Howard’s next event of choice was to see the movie
Cinderella
. Once seated, he left for popcorn and about ten minutes later I noticed him sitting a few rows over kissing another girl. Perverse curiosity kept me glued to my seat until his return. Wasting little time he made a very forward advance on my chest, which only succeeded in him getting his thumb bent back to nearly his wrist. Howard then yanked me out of my seat and marched me over to his other date, claiming he'd found them a feisty one for the evening. After my knee met his dangling think sacks, I sprinted from the theatre with a fury.

Later I learned the movie was not the version intended for children.

Needless to say my social life sucks. Upon conceding that every romantic situation in my life is, and forever shall be, hopeless, come November, Kate receives a very eye-opening letter.

My apologies for the delay in writing. School has begun and I find myself short on time. However, please do not take this as me no longer desiring you. Since we have begun our letters I find myself loving you more than ever, which I honestly did not think possible. I have never really said that to you before. I do love you. I hope someday to have the courage to say it into your eyes. Please have faith in my words. I do plan to make it all up to you someday.

It's a return to the short and sweet letter, yet it says so much more than all of the others combined. Suddenly the madness makes sense. He may be hiding, but the real Donovan definitely still exists. Something in him is changing, for he's finally told me that he loves me. Or at least Alex loves Kate, which is the closest Donovan has come to being honest about his feelings in years. After losing Christopher I have three bad experiences only for it all to be followed by a confession of love; clearly Donovan and I are being pushed together.

Please do not ever feel I could lose faith in you, your words, or your love for me. No, you had never told me of your love before, and in reading of it I find myself fulfilled. Whenever you think of me, imagine me in your arms telling you that I love you, truly and unconditionally.