The Difference Chapter 3 and 4

Chapter 3



“So, since when did I get a Ph.D. in dream interpretation?”

“I don’t know, Lish. I can’t sleep and I wanted to know what the fuck my problem was.”

Alecia laughed her raspy laughter and Lisa could tell she inhaled her own poison. After Lockwood had left, Lisa had been too afraid to return to sleep. Her subconscious was her greatest enemy, and she was afraid to once again be assaulted by images of Michael’s crypt. So, she had called Alecia who had a bad habit of being up till all hours of the night anyway.

“Your problem? You are a weird freak, that’s all.”

“Jeez! Thanks, takes one to know one. So, why the fuck did I dream that Michael was dead?”

“Cause he is dead to you. Isn’t that what you said?”

That was exactly what she had said. Well, those were not the words she had used, but the gist was the same. Still, she felt the need to clarify.

“I told him I was indifferent. I didn’t say he was dead to me.”

“Same difference. You said he took that hard. So, maybe, to you it felt like you had told him he was dead to you. And since you were already upset about the anniversary and all, your mind went haywire. Either that or you had bad sushi."

Lisa had to laugh.  Well, at least Alecia made sense.  It was possible. There were so many parallels between Michael and her father. Thinking of one usually lead to thoughts of the other. Plus, ever since the verdict, Michael had been on her mind more. She had felt guilty about upsetting him. Alecia was wrong, though. Michael had not taken her words hard. Michael had been crushed. The fact that she had not intended to hurt him was beside the point. She simply needed to keep him away from her heart. Hell, she was surprised as hell when he had asked the question in the first place.

“Do you still love me, Lisa?”

Why would he ask that? Why then? What did it matter? He had been in the middle of that horrible trial and he had to keep his head about him. Asking useless questions was not helpful.  Why would he torture them like this?  Why drag her into it at all?

While his call had initially stunned her, his words had taken the wind out of her sails completely.

He had apologized to her.

Michael never apologized. To anyone. He was never wrong. If he was wrong, he adjusted his world view and made sure the change in perspective resulted in finding himself vindicated in his own mind while he vilified his opponent. Even if the opponent was really his strongest ally.

Well, you can only push your supporters away so long before they pull up their camps and gather their troops to ride off into another battle.

So, no, his apology was too little, too late. How sad it had taken his world to be obliterated, his trust to be totally ripped to shreds, before he had been able to see that her warnings had been spot on. Once again, he had opened himself up to having his heart ripped out. Wasn’t it funny how he had frozen her out in efforts to maintain his precious personal space but had sheltered the vipers? Well, that time, the slimly little worms had feasted on him and had turned into flesh-eating dragons.

“Michael, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t ask this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t. Tell me how you feel. I was so wrong. So very wrong on so many levels. If I could have been that totally off base, what else did I fuck up? I mean, I know now that I should have listened to you now. There are so many things that I should have done.”

“Well, I’m sorry it came to this. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“You can tell me that you still love me.”

She had closed her eyes and double checked the lock on her heart. Good, still in place, still secure.

“No, I can’t, Michael. I’m sorry.”

There had been silence.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I would if it was true. But I can’t lie to you. Not about this.”

It had been so much easier to lie to herself. Denial was such a wonderful thing. So protective, so safe…so destructive.

“So, don’t lie. Lisa, do you still love me?”

“Michael, stop it.”

“What? Do you hate me?”

She heard that his voice had started to fade, was getting fainter, and was cracking up. Time to unleash the ultimate weapon and go in for the mercy kill. Best to end this once and for all. Again.

“No, Michael, I don’t hate you. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to get over this…over you. But I finally did it, I moved on. I don’t hate you. But I also don’t love you. I’ve become indifferent.”

Stunned silence had spread like poisonous gas. She closed her eyes and swallowed. There. She had said it. It was out.

She had known he would not like that answer, but she had underestimated the extent of his anguish. He had become so upset. He cried and told her that it was not possible for someone to be indifferent toward the person she had once professed to love. He had questioned her love then, had accused her of not ever having cared for him. Lisa told him in an even tone that she was sorry he doubted her feelings in the past, and that it was not her job any longer to convince him. She wished him well and had hung up the phone.

Assaulted by memories of that horrible conversation, her hand hurt from clasping the phone in her hand now which helped her recall she was back in the presence, talking to her best friend in the middle of the night.

“I guess you’re right. I’m just telling you: it was so real. I felt like he was gone. And I have not experienced such intense sorrow since my Dad passed. And as soon as I felt that grief, it was like all the memories of loving him came rushing back. Oh God! I am so fucked up!”

“So, now what? Now you love him again? Lisa, you said you were over him. You are with Lockwood. You have something solid there. And now you decide you love your ex? Is it possible you are just running scared of loving another man?”

“I don’t know if I love him again. What if I never stopped? What if I was just being a horrible bitch and ripped his heart out when he was down for nothing? What if I lost him for good? You have no idea the pain I felt in that damn dream. And the question …”

“What question?”

“The question Oprah asked.”

“Oh, that’s right; I forgot Oprah was in your dream.”

“I told you! Weren’t you listening?”

“Lise- it;s like 3 am. I am sorry if I blocked out details me brain was too tired to comprehend. It’s bad enough you dream about dead ex-husbands and coffins and shit. But Oprah frigging Winfrey?”

Alecia was right. She had lost her mind.

“So, what did she ask again?” Bless Alecia for trying to be patient with her, God knows, she felt like shaking herself back to sanity right now.

“She asked if I would have been able to save him.”

“Well, it’s a moot point. He is not dead. He was just found not guilty. He doesn’t need saving. You’re off the hook.”

“But what if he ends up dead? What if he does it again? When Michael feels alone he does scary shit. I know he does,’ cause I am like him. We pretend to be strong. But we hurt like hell when we feel alone. We turn the pain against ourselves. I have done it and so has he. We just pick different weapons. What if he goes there again? What if all I need to do is reach out to him and make that difference? And what if I don’t and something happens to him? How can I live with myself then?”

“Those are more ‘what ifs’ than I can handle, Lisa. I think you need to try and go back to sleep. Things will look different once the sun shines and the smog lifts. You are not responsible for him. We all are responsible for our own shit- and that’s hard enough to handle.”

Part of her knew Alecia was right, of course. It was all about personal responsibility. Individual freedom of choice trumped everything. She had her children to worry about. Her own life was finally coming together. The last thing she needed was to fall back into old habits. Michael was fine. He had his children and he had his family. She was indeed off the hook.

All she had to do was shake this crazy dream and the reverberating question of her ability to make a difference in his life. Well, if their last interaction was any indication, the last thing he wanted was her anywhere near him.

But still, did she not owe it to Michael and to the memory of her father who lacked someone strong to step in when he needed it, to at least try? Did she not owe it to herself?

 Chapter 4





Michael tried his best to get the kids to clean up the mess they had made. It was their little ritual to cook breakfast together, but for some reason, the clean-up afterwards was far less popular than the cooking and eating. Paris had tried her best to charm him into letting her out of the chore, and though her determination and persistence had made him smile inside, he gently insisted she do her part. Prince had handed Blanket a paper towel and showed him how to wipe down the table while standing on the chair. Ever the responsible big brother, he then kept an eye on him, ready to catch him should the toddlers slip off form his little perch. Michael also stood by, making sure they all made it out of the kitchen alive.

Focused on ensuring the kids were both responsible and safe, he halfheartedly listened to his mother on the phone. She continued her efforts to persuade him to abandon his plans to live abroad for a while. Well, as much as he loved her and thus hated to disappoint her, he had just bought this huge house and felt it was best the put some time and space between him and his former life here in the States. Too many reminders…too much pain.

“Michael, I really think you should rethink this. We finally got to know the children better and they have bonded with the family. Don’t do this. Don’t run away.”

Running away.

How often had he hoped and prayed to have the luxury of running away again? It seemed that he would never again have the privilege to just pack up and leave. He was bound by money, by his honor, and by his passport lying in some safe at the District Attorney’s Office.

Day after day he had been forced to stay in place.  Day after day he was damned to listen to the lies and to sit in the presence of the people who had so profoundly betrayed him. Day after day he was sentenced to look into his mother’s pain filled eyes, even as she clutched his hand supportively, her head held high, her belief in him and the justice system never shaken. Every day, every hour, every minute was etched into his memory. Every day, every hour, and every single minute slowly bled him dry and left him devoid of hope and trust, while a dark, poisonous hate infiltrated every cell in his body.

When the damage was done, when his very being had been twisted and left unrecognizable to himself, it had happened: Freedom had been granted. The truth had prevailed. He was vindicated- and all it had cost him was his heart and his soul.

At times, he felt the only parts of him left alive were those three little people arguing over who made what stain. The rest was just a shell. A shell that threatened to break apart. No wonder, how long could the façade survive without a solid internal structure holding it up?

His beliefs, his sound foundation, and much of his love had all been stripped away in those long, torturous months. They had taken his humanity and put it on display to be laughed at and poked at, like some freakish monster at a medieval fair. Everything he had ever taken for granted as private and sacred had been plundered.

Michael had never felt so utterly alone. Alone, even as his family walked next to him. Alone, despite his mother sitting right beside him, trying so hard to provide comfort. She listened to the lies, she looked at the images, she watched him crumble from the inside out, and yet she had never wavered.

When others turned their backs and suddenly became oh so busy with their own lives, she remained. When others declared their indifference, she affirmed her love. Mother and the children were his rocks, and without them, his body would have been as dead as his soul felt at times. Many sleepless nights he had sat there in his room, awake, staring at the bottles before him, daring him to make a stand, to just make it all go away.

How often had he reached for the orange containers, opened them, spilled the pills onto his palm, and marveled how little effort it would take to just make all the agony go away. No, the image of his mother and of his precious children had always served to put the pills back where they belonged and to battle through another day, another night.

So, did he not owe her the courtesy to honor her wish to stay put? No, she did not know what she asked of him. It was like asking a drowning man to keep lying in the ditch as the rain poured in. He had to shelter and safeguard whatever little glimmer continued to glow on the inside. The light that flickered every time he looked at his children, informing him that at least that aspect of his soul was still alive- or at least on life support. He owed it to them to at least try and rebuild.

However, renaissance was only possible as far away from the continued hate and doubt that seeped through the fortress he had built around his heart. He was aware they all still thought he was guilty of crimes so outrageous he could never even have conceived them. They had turned his greatest love against him, made him doubt and fear the purity of children that had always been self-evident to him. They had taught him to hate.

And even if by some miracle he were successful to forgive, if he ever were to let go of his anger and hate, he sure as hell would never forget.

The sound of a familiar name filtered through his thoughts and caught his attention.

“Michael, did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, mother, I am trying to prevent bloodshed here. Blanket is in charge of putting up the syrup, but I think he was trying to drink it. Or use it as shampoo, I’m not clear which one.” He laughed, trying to wipe his son clean. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said Janet told me Lisa-Marie called her and asked about you the other day.”

Lisa.

Her name sliced through him like the sting of a whip. No, the scar tissue was too thick. Surely, he did not feel the impact. The pain was certainly the result of some ancient memory. Like phantom pain after the loss of a limb. The actual sensation was dead and gone.

“That’s nice, mother.” His voice was as lifeless as his emotions.

“Michael. Janet seems to think Lisa was worried.”

Lisa was probably worried he would hang around and be the dark cloud over her wonderful new life. Well, she should not worry. She was just another thorn he had removed from his side.

“Janet is a romantic, mother. Lisa only worries about things important to Lisa.”

“It makes me so sad to hear you so bitter, Michael. You never used to be like that. Don’t let them do this. Don’t let them win like that.”

No, they did not win. He had won. The truth had won. Somehow, though, the victory seemed as hollow as he was.

“Look, mother, I have to go. The children are finally done cleaning up and I promised them a carriage ride in Central Park.”

“So, you are in New York.”

“Yes, I told you I was staying at my apartment here. It’s easier to get around here right now.”

“If she contacts me, is there anything you want her to know?”

Yeah, sure. Let her know that she can go straight to hell.

What in the world was wrong with him? He loathed this hatred burning like a cold fire inside, swallowing up everything that once was good and right. Well, Lisa might be an exception. There was only one thing Lisa had been good for and the only thing ever right about her was her warning to not trust anyone. She only failed to include herself in her cautionary call.

“No, it’s fine, thank you.”

“Michael, this girl really cares for you. Let her help you if she wants to be there for you.”

Bitterness expelled a sarcastic laughter from him.

“I’m sorry, mother, but she only cares for herself and possibly her family. I had some fairy tale idea of her in my head that did not really overlap with the real version. And, before you say I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, she told me herself that she was indifferent to me, mother. I don’t even warrant hate. I only inspire her indifference. So, please, if she contacts you and you want to talk to her that’s nice. Just leave me out of the conversation, please.”

“Michael, I worry about you. This is the time to heal, not time to hold on to bitterness.”

“I’m not bitter. I guess I just have not learned to be as indifferent as Lisa-Marie is. But I do love you. And I value your concern.” He worried about having upset his mother for no reason at all. Something else he could add to the list of things he blamed Lisa for. That and teaching him how to confuse lust with love.

He had been such an idiot. How could he have wasted almost fifteen years of his life on her? What the hell was wrong with him? How could this happen twice? How did he let his penis lead him so astray?
He never had believed in casual sexual encounters. Romantic lunatic that he had been he had designed these old fashioned, unrealistic fairy tale versions of the two women he had loved. When really, it was probably just his hormones talking each time. At least he had an excuse with Diana. He was so young, and she had been his shining star since childhood. She was a flirt and he confused her joking and teasing with love. But Lisa? What was his excuse there? Her nice ass?

It pained him to admit that his brothers and his father had been on the right track. Fuck the bitches and kick them out. What a lovely motto to include on the family crest. Get what you can and make sure you don’t get used in the process. He once thought this was a horrible way to go through life, but hey, his brothers seemed just fine, even after swapping girls like hats, while he had his heart ripped out, shredded, stomped on, and incinerated. Well, at least, Lisa had finally killed whatever romantic, idealistic notions had remained. Maybe he should send her a thank-you card. Of course, that would be wasted paper, as she was likely to shred it in her indifference before opening it.

So, from now on, he would get what he wanted and not worry about emotional tangles. And it would start tonight. After hanging up with his mother, he popped a Disney movie in for the kids before going to his room to make some phone calls. It was time to celebrate his new attitude as well as his departure from America in style.

(to be continued)

Sunflower image from:

http://bouldercountybook.com/category/lightning-photographs/

©2010 Erika B Michaels. All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, and other identifying features are used in a fictional manner, for entertainment purposes only, and are in no way representative of actual events. This work may not be reproduced, copied, transmitted, or stored without expressed written permission by Erika B Michaels. All photos and images, mentioned songs or song titles are copyright their creators.


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