In Sight of Stars(55)

I push the door open again, a migraine pulsing in my eyes.

She’s straddling someone.

Abbott.

He turns, annoyed, and sees me.

“Shit!” He nudges her, and she turns now.

“Klee?” Her face is horrified. Scared.

She has no shirt on.

“Holy shit, Klee.”

She gets up, off the toilet—off Abbott—and walks toward me, arms folded to cover her chest.

But I can’t bear it.

I can’t speak. I can’t stay.

I start to back away.

You don’t matter. No one will ever love you enough, Klee.

“Klee!”

I can’t breathe.

Sarah reaches out to grab hold of me.

“No! Please, don’t touch me,” I say.

I back against the door.

Who closed it?

“Klee…”

I need to get away.

“Let him go,” Abbott says, moving toward me.

“What he says,” I say.

I jam my hands in my pockets, trying to process, but everything’s a blur. Everything is waffling in front of me.

Abbott reaches out as my fingers strike metal. I pull the X-ACTO from my pocket, and wave it in front of me.

“Fuck! He’s got a knife, Keith! Jesus, Klee! Please…” But I’m not going to use it. I just want him to stay away from me.

He backs off, but my body is trembling. I feel as if I can’t hold on to myself. I’m breaking apart, shattering. I’m a building made of glass in an earthquake.

My father. My mother. Now Sarah.

I need to steady myself. I need to stop things.

“Klee…?”

I reach up.

“Klee…?”

I need to stop it all from shattering.

“Klee!”

I slice, and they both reel away. One swift slice and I’m free again.

The pain … the pain is all I feel.

The blood flows and I grow dizzy, so I lower myself onto the floor.

Now I can stop trembling and think.

Relief.

Relief.

I close my eyes.

Relief.

*

“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” I say softly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

I just want someone to understand this.

Dr. Alvarez nods, and I sit down next to her. Shoulders hunched, I stare at my feet.

The air echoes.

“I just wanted to stop feeling the pain,” I finally say.

“I get it,” she says. “Replace one pain with another, right?” I nod, grateful. “I understand. And now?”

“And now.” I look up. Around. We’re in a beautiful clearing. Sun streams down through the green lace of trees. “Now I just want to be okay.”

*

We don’t speak for a while, just sit, and when I do look around again and take in our surroundings, I notice things I hadn’t at first.

A matching white stone bench across from the one we sit on, its legs carved with ornate fruits and birds. A small shrine of sorts in the center of the clearing.

I get up and walk over. It’s a low, flat tree stump, upon which three stone Buddhas, a few assorted crystals and beach rocks, and several metal bowls filled with water and floating flower petals are perched. A few stems of silk flowers faded from the sun.

I give Dr. Alvarez a quizzical look and she says, “No, I didn’t put most of that here, if you’re wondering. Just one of the Buddhas, and some beach rocks. The others were already here when I found this spot.”

“Oh. Wow. Weird. I mean, cool, I guess. But weird.”

“Agree,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I’m not particularly religious. But I find it pretty and soothing. Years after I discovered it, I found that one Buddha, the small one in the center, at a garage sale. And, I love how the rainwater fills the bowls.”

Dr. Alvarez walks over and adjusts one of the bowls and picks an acorn from the ground and drops it in. I peer up through the canopy of branches, tracing the beams of sunlight down. They fall almost perfectly mid-altar.

“Comforting, right?” she asks. “I can’t tell you how often that happens. As if it’s all truly meant to be here. The woman who sold me the Buddha said her name is Green Tara. I looked her up once. She’s the Goddess of Universal Compassion. The story goes that she was born from the tears of a bodhisattva who saw the world suffering and wept. His tears formed a lake from which a lotus flower sprang. When the lotus flower opened, Green Tara was revealed.” I nod, reminded of the stories my father would tell. “Who knows if it’s true, but it’s a lovely thought, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I say, scavenging a small bud of some sort from the ground and placing it in one of the bowls. I want to add something, leave some sort of contribution here.

I take a step closer and study Green Tara’s face. Something about how tranquil she appears fills me with a desire to paint. I could pull out my brushes and canvas, but I’m tired, too, so maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask if we can come back so I can paint.

Dr. Alvarez sits on the opposite bench and stretches her legs. She’s taken off her shoes again and wiggles her red-polished toes. The soles of her feet are brown with dirt. I smile, thinking of the first day I sat with her, and how comfortable I am, how very much I like her now. I trust her completely. Has it really only been a week and a half?