The timeline she’s laying out lines up with their deaths, and hearing Melody describe it feels like I’m reliving it all over again, but through the eyes of someone else—like one of those Guy Ritchie movies where it shows different points of view of the same event.
“But sometimes, there are customers that give off a certain …” she struggles to find the word. “… vibe. Like, you can tell they wanna go to a dark place, and take dancers along for the ride. I try to avoid those types, but most of the girls have a price tag.”
I think back to earlier, about the customer throwing money at her face, getting rid of his own demons by projecting them onto somebody else, not realizing that putting it on someone else doesn’t numb them.
“That must’ve been the night she found out what happened,” I say.
“It was. She took it bad, coming in high, which wasn’t like her. Lily always talked about reconciling with you, but she thought your life was going so well, she didn’t wanna complicate things by pulling you back into your past. She thought the world of your kids though, and always admired that you managed to get away from your mother and create the life you wanted. Lily was rooting for you, Miles, and so was I.”
Our eyes meet, and she squeezes my hand. “But you didn’t even know me.”
“I’d never met you, but I felt a strange connection to you. You had every excuse to become a terrible human being, think about it. But you turned your childhood into something beautiful. It’s inspiring.”
Hearing her describe my life as ‘something beautiful’ is an example of the dangers of social media. My Facebook profile was a digital snapshot of my life, cropped and shaped to my liking, masking my insecurities as I soaked in compliments from friends on how great of a family man I was.
“You’re such a great Dad,” one person would write, usually under a picture of me at an event with the kids.
“Sara is lucky to have a man like you,” one of her friends wrote on an anniversary post.
Each comment was a rung on a ladder of bullshit, one that I gladly climbed with each post, before tipping over with their deaths. And since I was at the top of the ladder, the pain of the fall was harder. Anybody that knew us—and not many people did— would have seen my life for what it was; a group project I contributed the least amount of work to, but still came out with the same grade as everyone else. It’s one thing for acquaintances to leave random comments under your photos, it’s another to know that your previously estranged sister and future budding love interest thought you had your shit together.
“Melody,” I say. “I know what it looked like, but I wasn’t that great of a father, and even worse as a spouse.”
“Maybe so, but you recognize that you should’ve been better, and that counts for something.”
I’m starting to wonder what I’d have to say for Melody to walk away. Not that I want her to, it’s more wanting to know where the line is, so I could go nowhere near it. I’ve called her a distraction, and outed myself as an average parent and spouse. But she keeps building me up, seeing the best in me when I don’t see it in myself. This is so foreign to me that if the car suddenly pulled over, and the driver revealed it all to be an elaborate prank, I’d thank them for casting me and exit stage left.
“So, you knew about the suicide attempt before we talked about it?” I ask.
“Yeah, I pretty much heard about it in real time. I’d been prodding her to visit you anyway, but when she found out about that, everything went off the rails. I didn’t see her again until the night she showed up with you, I figured she jumped on a plane and you guys figured it out.”
Hearing Melody tell me how my suicide attempt had an effect on Lily is oddly comforting. Yes, a big reason for trying to kill myself was living without my family, but with therapy I can admit that it wasn’t the catalyst.
I was afraid of being alone.
My whole life I’ve convinced myself that I didn’t need anybody, and that train of thought served me well for many years. But as people, we can only function on self-love and stubbornness for so long, life and its obstacles make the road too treacherous. The human spirit is meant to be part of a village, sharing in the joys and sorrows, never letting the next person be overwhelmed. But relationships take effort, and I treated them like fire extinguishers, leaving them unattended until I needed them. When that emergency finally came, I was unprepared, frustrated because I had nobody to turn to. My entire life revolved around my family—at least when I wasn’t being an idiot—and when they were gone, friends revealed themselves as acquaintances, and I learned what it felt like to truly be alone.
“I’d think about you a lot,” she says. “Whenever I was having a bad day, I’d think of you out there, alone, trying to figure it out and it made me stop feeling sorry for myself. Then I’d realize how stupid it was, dreaming of someone I’d never met. I repeated that cycle for months, and it drove me crazy.”
“That would explain your face the first time I saw you,” I say, remembering the shocked look she had that day in the coffee shop.
“I tried to forget you,” she admits. “And then one day, I look up while working the morning rush and you were there, and I swear my heart almost jumped out of my chest.” I laughed and mutter universe and she cut me off. “Exactly,” she agrees. There was no reason we ever should’ve ever crossed paths, so I took it as a sign and stepped into the universe. I’m sorry I never told you I was a dancer, I thought you’d run … like they all do.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say. “You’re the first thing that’s gone right for me in a long time. I should’ve trusted you and told you about my family, even though you already knew. Wait…you said they all run?”
“Its a running joke at the job between the dancers,” she says. “Everyone wants to lay with you, but nobody wants to stay with you. It’s almost impossible to have a healthy relationship when you’re a stripper. Men are possessive by nature, so the idea that someone else getting to touch what a guy feels is rightfully his is a non starter for most.”
I’m not sure how to respond to this, so I stay silent, hoping the silence will allow the thought to pass.
“I don’t enjoy being a stripper, and I don’t turn tricks like some of the other girls. You just get so tired of being hurt, you do anything to make sure you don’t have to ask anyone for anything.”
I’d never heard anything that resonated with me more in my life.
“After I left your place, I had a huge fight with Lily and my Mother. I thought I lost you … and I needed somebody else to feel that pain.” The night replays in my mind, seeing my mother walk out without even putting up a fight plays over and over. “I told my mom it made me sick to know I needed her. Then Lily told me I should finish the job next time.”
She laid her head on my shoulder, her way of letting me know she was there, but wouldn’t pry if it was to uncomfortable.
“I packed my clothes and left for the airport, didn’t even check out of my room. It’s so easy to run away and start over when you spend most of your life being alone.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I get it,” she assures me. “Why’d you come back?”