One half

I often think back to last Spring. I was looking forward to a summer trip away from Virginia Beach. Thoughts of the places I'd visit would occupy my time in the weeks leading up to my trip. I couldn't wait to research the places I'd remembered, and put them in perspective in my book.
I didn't foresee the events. I didn't foresee that it would be the end of an era, the beginning of another. Before embarking on my trip, I'd labored for months writing words that would rip me up inside. I fought fear, headaches to put into tiny paragraphs the pain I'd bottled up for so long. Ten chapters sat resting in my email, inviting me to revise, revisit.
The moment I got off the Greyhound in Pittsburgh, there was a shift. The first was noticing my ex-boyfriend had liked my post about visiting Pittsburgh. He lived there, you see. I was intrigued. We'd split up amicably three years before. I made a mental note to send him a message on Facebook.
 What happened is a few days after arriving, we had a joyful reunion on the sidewalk. We enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner, laughed over shared memories. We made plans to go on another date very soon.
About an hour after he dropped me off, I realized it was stupid to keep up the pretense of being hard to get. I spent that night with him, and we've been dating ever since. He turned out to be an incredible blessing. I have never loved a man more than I love him.
I spent a few weeks in Pittsburgh, and I dreaded oddly, visiting St. Louis. My best friend lived there. She'd been my closest pal since 2001. We'd shared so many beautiful memories that even our rough times, we could not bear to stay angry for long. The longest we'd ever went without speaking was 3 months. Even living hundreds of miles away hadn't caused us to lose contact. We spoke on the phone frequently.
She was excited I was coming to visit. She knew I would be tying up final loose ends, packing up the things I'd left at her house. She knew I was going to be visiting those places that hurt me to even think about. She'd always made it all much more bearable, having been by my side in court, at my mom's candlelight vigil, when I gave interviews with media. It was anticipated that we would go to the places from my nightmares. We'd do whatever people do when they need to evoke a feeling. We'd leave, I'd process it, we'd get on to having fun. We might even go out and hit a nightclub.
When I left Pittsburgh to visit St. Louis, it seemed from the moment the bus pulled out of the station that the trip was destined to suck. We had mechanical problems, lost bus drivers, unruly passengers who had to be escorted off the bus by police. Foul weather stayed constant. If i wasn't freaking out about tornado sirens, I was freaking out because the wind was so strong the bus couldn't stay in it's lane.
A pit began to grow in my stomach. I chalked it up to the weather, but I was filled with a forboding. As we got closer to St. Louis, I began to get nervous.  I always felt a bit off whenever I visited, because I had an immediate rush of bad memories, but it was always expected, and I just let the feelings go.
This time, they stayed, no matter how I tried to will them away.
Walking into my best friend's house should have been feeling like coming home. I'd lived with her for about a year or so before going to Virginia Beach. Everything was familiar. The scent of Japanese Cherry Blossom (her signature lotion), the smell of cleaning supplies, and of little boys. Little boys sweat, and they have a scent. It's just boy scent. I was used to it.
This time, I felt like an invisible wave had smacked into me. I stepped back, my heel slamming into my suitcase I'd been trailing behind me. Lisa was standing in the kitchen waiting for me to come in. "You ok, girl?" She asked. I brushed off the odd feeling, and continued into her house, bringing my suitcase to a rest up against a wall in the dining room. Nothing had changed, really. Same old clutter, thanks to having three kids in school. Her husband used the kitchen counter as his locker, and all his work items were spread out over it. Her computer desk was still as orderly as ever, a rainbow of coordinated folders all sat in their places.
Doug was alseep on the couch. I could see his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The pilly old blanket Lisa's Grandmother had knitted had fallen off of Doug, and his buttcrack greeted me from the top of his jogging pants, which had slid down in his sleep.
I was repulsed, hairy man crack!

I felt like I shouldn't be there. I couldn't figure it out. It felt like a mistake. I thought it was maybe due to missing my boyfriend as soon as I left Pittsburgh. We changed into PJ's, and talked for a bit before retiring to her bed. Her husband willingly let me sleep with her when I visited. He preferred to sleep in the living room, which was the coolest room in the house, and it also had a huge tv, which he'd use to watch CSI shows until he passed out from exhaustion.
Lisa fell asleep quickly, she always had. One of her sons had autism, and he was a big boy, very active, but also, non-verbal and prone to tantrums. Devoted to her kids, Lisa's needs always came last. Every night, the absolute last bit of energy and passion was wrung from her body, and she slept fitfully.
In the dark, my brain felt wide awake.
It was almost 2 a.m.
Lisa's cats were making a ruckus in the dining room. I got up to investigate, annoyed that I'd been unable to sleep. I grabbed my cigarettes and headed out on her front porch. Lisa lived in a neighborhood of people who "had". Lisa's house was the first house built on the property. The owners later built another house on the plot, and rented the first house to make the mortgage payments on the new one. Living in that zip code normally meant a person could afford to pay higher taxes, finance snazzy school trips. Lisa really couldn't afford much. But she wanted her kids to go to a decent school, so she stayed in that district no matter what. If she had to live in an apartment to do so, she did.
On the upside, she's never had to worry about the stuff I did. She never worried about drug dealers, shootings, crime, dirty police.
Her neighborhood was silent with the exception of an occasional car and a choir of crickets. I closed my eyes and imagined I was with Mike. I tried to summon up his smell, but I couldn't.
I'd always felt safe in the area. People tended to leave their cars unlocked. It was okay to leave your lawn furniture out. Tonight though, it felt odd. I felt like I was being watched. Sometimes, PTSD causes a person to be on alert even though there isn't a threat. I knew this, so I swallowed it.
I crawled back into Lisa's bed, and she stirred. A soft snore accompanied her turning over onto her side. I watched her sleep for a while, before finally drifting into peacefulness.

This trip was odd, for sure. Firstly, as busy as Lisa's life was, we'd always made time to spend alone together. We'd plan lunch, a night out. This time, I couldn't get her alone. It was so annoying. Every time we had something planned, Lisa's husband would be an ass, or a kid would get sick, or she'd bail on me at the last minute. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was changing in our relationship. It felt like my fizzled out romances. It felt like we were pretending everything was ok, but not acknowledging the impending implosion.

Lisa always made me feel shitty about leaving to find my happiness. She admitted she was selfish, for wanting me with her. She knew it was wrong to ask me to put my life on hold to make hers easier, but she asked it anyway, in a million passive aggressive ways. This time, it was very obvious. This time, her statements were more pointed, more exact. She made little pretense of being annoyed that I had a boyfriend, and spoke about our time together coming to an end, because I'd no longer have time for her. I didn't understand why she was being so pouty. She had a husband and kids. Was I not allowed to find my own happiness?