I squeezed my hands into fists letting my nails leave half-moon indents in my palms. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s sob story. Sure, your soulmate died, but at least you got to meet yours. From day one we’re all given a watch that counts down to the very second you get to meet your soulmate and on the day I was supposed to meet mine...my watch froze.
It was October 12th, 2014. The blue coat I wore that day had a broken zipper, so I had to pull it tightly around my waist to keep out the autumn chill. I was walking out of a coffee shop when a high pitched beeping noise started coming from my watch, I noticed the clock time changing faster and faster and when I looked back up I was met with brilliant blue eyes that locked with mine, curly pale red hair, freckles, and a smile that reminded me of sunshine. He almost called out to me as he ran into the street, but then the car came.
Flying around the corner, burning rubber, blaring horns,and screams. I remember the crunch. The sound of metal molding itself around the body of this boy like a casket. My boy. My soulmate. My watch stopped with five seconds to spare and I crumbled. I watched as paramedics were loading him onto a gurney and covered him with a blue sheet. An officer strode up to me looking rather uncomfortable as he handed me the student ID card that had been in the boy’s pocket. I accepted the small plastic card and handed him the blanket that had been wrapped around me when the ambulance arrived. I stared numbly down at the ID card in my hands, eyes grazing over the kind faced picture in the corner before finding his name. Connor Walsh. My stomach twisted as I tried not to imagine our names together.
Inhaling the sharp winter air into my lungs, I shook the memory from my head, pushing my hands into the deep pockets of my coat. It was January now and I still hadn’t fixed the busted zipper, but I kept wearing it. It had been almost three months since the accident, and my watch still sat abandoned in the back of my closet, buried under shoes and discarded clothes. I had thrown it back there in a fit of rage a week after the accident when I had received a letter from Connor's family, telling me how sorry they were that I never got to meet him. I didn’t want to be here, but at the request of my mother I signed up for the group therapy. I had rolled my eyes at the idea of sitting in a circle and talking about my feelings, but I was already here so what did I have to lose?
I walked into the building and followed the pink signs marked “group” to a big almost empty room. At least fifteen chairs were placed in a circle and six of those seats were already occupied. I sat as far from the others as possible, pushed my earbuds into my ears and switched on my music, upping the volume until the sound drowned out the quiet murmurs of other people filling the room. I glued my eyes to the floor in front of me. Maybe I could get away with not talking.
The seats continued to fill, each person looking more pathetic than the last. Evidently I picked the wrong spot to sit because the group therapist settled herself into the seat next to mine and looked around seemingly pleased with the turnout. She had dark hazel eyes that watched everyone with a calculated gaze while her smile remained cheerful and overly optimistic. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned back in her chair, pulling out a pen and legal pad. She’d be taking notes. Great. Her blonde hair was scraped into a long ponytail that stood out against her deep blue blouse. She had a white plastic name tag, Lory was etched into it in bright red letters and her legal pad rested against black slacks. I’ve never understood therapists. They make money off of the mental and emotional brokenness of others.
Her smile tugged down at the corners and faded when her eyes caught the last empty chair across the room. “No Derek today?” The rest of the group offered blank stares and small shrugs. “Well...alright then. Amanda, why don’t you start us off?” Her bright gaze flickered over to a middle aged woman who was patting her runny nose with a crumpled tissue. Amanda seemed like a sweet lady. She was in her early forties with two kids at home. I was sure she had been a well put together woman before her husband died, but now her shoulder length honey blonde hair looked dull and her clothes were a frumpy mess of wrinkles and items that didn’t quite fit. Her soulmate and husband, Luke, had died two years ago from liver cancer. She talked about how everything seemed colder now, that doing everyday tasks was harder. Amanda went on about how wonderful Luke was, and after listening to a couple other members talk I picked up on a theme in the group.
We were supposed to grieve and cry and scream, but we were also supposed to remember our lost soulmates as they were.The light of our life. I felt a bitter sort of hatred towards these people, a persistent jealousy that coiled in my rib cage and made my heart ache. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, pushed the feelings deeper and deeper until I was a safe distance away from them, and then proceeded to zone out while everyone took turns speaking. A young boy was in the middle of recounting the gruesome details of his soulmate’s plane crash when the double doors leading into the room groaned in protest as someone pushed their way in and all eyes flew to the boy that walked through. Thick golden hair poked out from under a ball cap, shining under the fluorescent lights, and dark grey eyes caught mine. I felt my entire body freeze. He narrowed his eyes, studying me and I broke the stare, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
“Derek,” a satisfied smile crossed Lory’s face, “how nice of you to join us today.”
“Lory.” Derek nodded in her direction and flopped himself down into the small metal chair on the other side of the circle. He stretched his jean clad legs out in front of himself, and folded his arms across his chest. His black t-shirt pulled tight against the lean muscles and I silently cursed myself for even noticing that detail.
“Now that you’re here, would you like to share your story with the group?” Lory set her pen against the pad in her lap, readying herself for a response, but he simply pulled his cap down over his eyes and sighed.
“Come on Lory, you know I don’t share in group.” and with that he refused to say another word for the rest of the session. When it got to my turn I told her I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my story and that launched into a whole different discussion about why I was so uncomfortable, which seemed to spiral into being psychoanalyzed. An hour later I sat on the curb outside of the building, lifting a cigarette to my lips that I had just cut the filter off. I didn’t always smoke, it was a habit I had picked up after the accident. If life wasn’t worth living after having a soulmate, then why prolong it?
I fumbled for a lighter and found it missing from my pocket, cursing around the cigarette between my lips. I heard the soft click before I saw a lighter in front of my face, lighting my cigarette and then pulling away. I looked up to meet the same grey gaze I had seen hours earlier and reached up, pulling the cigarette from my mouth and blowing out a smoky thanks. Derek nodded and pulled out his own pack before sitting next me, lighting up and taking in a heavy drag.
“What a pile of bullshit, huh?” he shook his head, blowing out a steady stream of smoke and glancing at me to gauge my reaction. I stared off into the parking lot and nodded.
“Complete bullshit.” I could see the small smile out of the corner of my eyes before he turned his head away.
“I’m Derek by the way.” I took another pull off the cigarette before tossing it in the gutter scraping the butt against the bottom of my shoe.
“Scarlett.” I pushed myself up off the curb and fumbled with the earbuds in my pocket, pulling them out and untangling them before placing one in my ear. I looked back towards the building, seeing Lory walking out with a pinched look on her face, balancing piles of paperwork in her arms.
“Derek, I need to speak with you.” she called out and Derek rolled his eyes, flicking his half finished cigarette out into the parking lot.
“Not now, Lory.” He stood, turning to look at the small blonde woman. He walked up to her, pulled the paperwork from her arms and she gave a heavy sigh.
“I’ve told you repeatedly not to call me that. I’m your mother for Christ sake. Call me mom.” He flashed a grin and followed her as she walked off in the direction of a small silver minivan.
“Not in therapy, Lory.” She made an irritated noise in the back of her throat and walked around to the other side of the car, her black heels clicking beneath her. Derek opened the car door and turned back to look at me, giving a half-hearted salute. “See ya around, Scarlett.”
