Chapter Thirty-Four: The Past
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Positive?”
“Eric, just open the door!”
With an intake of air, I did as instructed, and allowed the girl to venture into the room. I wasn’t nervous because my room was embarrassing—which it wasn’t, for the record—but rather because of the secrets from the past that it held. There was so much of me in the room, and it was kind of terrifying to have someone like Ari Remon see all that. There was no hiding who I was. She was going in, and I couldn’t stop her.
“So,” Ari began, “this is the Great Eric Wilson’s bedroom. The place where he grew up. Wow. It’s like going back in time.” Her eyes ran over each detail of the room as she absorbed everything at a remarkably fast pace, and I internally panicked.
“Yeah,” I said vacantly, drifting over to my bed, and watching her closely.
Everything was just as I had left it. Nothing had changed except the feeling that I got when being here. Before, this was where I sought refuge from the world. Now, though, it was just another room with navy walls, a red carpet, a bed, two windows, a desk, and more trophies than any room should have ever possessed. I didn’t like seeing the trophies again—they reminded me of who I was. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it also wasn’t a good thing.
Last night, I had slept in this room once again. We had gotten back from the Campbell’s Christmas Party pretty late, and after having an awkward interaction between my mom, dad, and girlfriend that consisted of disapproving glances and few words, I got Ari set up in a guestroom. The room was right by mine, so if she needed anything, all she had to do was walk about five feet, and I would be there to help. I gave her an old pair of sweats and one of my T-shirts to sleep in, and then made sure that she was chill. As per usual, she was. She didn’t need my help.
I on the other hand, was not as chill as Ari. When I got into my room, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I couldn’t look at everything and have it remind me of what and who I was. All I did was change out of my clothes, and attempt to catch up on sleep. As I stared up at the dark ceiling, remembrances consumed me, and through all that, I somehow managed to fall asleep in the room with too many memories.
After I woke up, my first thought wasn’t, “It’s Christmas!” like just about every other kid on the planet, but rather, “I haven’t worked out in almost two days.” So I flicked on a light, and did a few pushups. After I was on the verge of being drenched in sweat, I decided it was as good a time as any to change into something clean and take a shower. I left my room, traveled to the bathroom across the hall, went through my typical hygiene routine (I had left some bottles of my European products at home—thankfully), and then retreated back to my room, in search of clothes.
When I left for Stanford, I only brought about half my closet with. Unsurprisingly, I happened to have acquired a lot of clothes over the years, so had to leave some behind. Since the climate in New York and California were REALLY different, I left most of my heavy sweaters, boots, jeans, jackets, and a bunch of other random articles at home. I threw on a red cashmere sweater (it was the V-neck type—really soft, too), a pair of khakis, and some leather boots, which I wasn’t aware that I owned. Finding something to wear wasn’t an issue for me, but I couldn’t help but worry about Ari.
I cautiously ventured to the front area of the house, and to the kitchen. There, I had an uncomfortable run-in with my dad. He wished me a cool, “Merry Christmas,” told me that he and my mom were headed to my aunt’s house for the holiday, and then asked if I wanted to join them with Ari. I declined, pleading fatigue. He accepted my response, and then told me that my presents were under the tree if I wanted them. I thanked him, grabbed a granola bar, and then was about to retreat back to my side of the house, but my mother’s voice stopped me.
“Eric, sweetie! Good morning! Merry Christmas! How’d you sleep?” she had prattled with her usually shrill vigor.
“Merry Christmas,” I then said, “I slept well.”
“We’re actually going over to your aunt’s house in a few,” she told me, “you and your, uh, girlfriend are welcome to join us if you’d like!”
“I already offered,” articulated my father, “he turned me down.”
“Tired?” was her immediate guess. I nodded. “Too bad. Well, get some sleep, open your presents, and then this afternoon we can talk more. I’m so glad that you’re back, sweetheart!”
I promised her that we could chat later, and after kissing me on the cheek, she grabbed her purse, and was all set to go. With one final, “No sex in the house!” from my mom, and a farewell, “Use condoms,” from my dad, they left, and I was alone with Ari Remon. I went back to where my room and hers were located, and when I reached the guestroom, I knocked on the door quietly. There was no response. Carefully, I twisted the doorknob and stepped in.
Ari was lying on the ground, her eyes closed with the shade of the window pulled up. Like the last time I had seen her, she was wearing my clothes. There was something indescribably comforting about seeing a girl—well, seeing Ari—wear my clothes. Maybe it was because I was secretly in love with myself and seeing my clothes on anyone was attractive to me, or maybe something else entirely. Ari looked good in whatever she wore, but as I stared at her in my clothes, just lying there, I really, really, really wanted to go against my mom’s parting injunction.
Ari’s head snapped up a few seconds later, and our eyes connected. She asked if I wanted to lay on the floor with her. I told her that I was good. She told me that I was more than good. We exchanged words about how sucky our nights had been, and then she finally got around to standing up. She kissed me on the cheek, and then asked if she could see my room. Initially, I wasn’t really in favor of the request, but had obviously lost that battle, for here we were now, in my room.
“It’s like you played football or something,” Ari joked, capturing my attention as she eyed one of the many trophies that lined the room.
“How could you tell?” I teased back, shifting on my bed.
“Just a hunch,” she shrugged, glancing over to my dejected face.
A mischievous smirk then ignited from her lips to her eyes. I couldn’t even process what she was doing as she quickly moved. Within seconds, she had practically jumped on top of me, and her legs were pressed on either side of my torso in a straddle-like fashion. She gazed down at me, her small frame pinning me down to the bed, and she then proceeded to kiss me. And kiss me. And kiss me. Our mouths connected, and it was like we were no longer in this boring room in a house in a suburb of New York. We weren’t anywhere—we were just with each other.
My hands flew to her head, and I began to run my fingers through her curls, her own fingers drumming along my cheeks and jawline. Her lips passionately attacked mine, and my lips passionately attacked hers. It was a battle of extreme desire, and I could practically feel the hormones bouncing around in the room. I wanted Ari—no, needed her. And then, before things could appropriately escalate, the freaking doorbell decided to ring. And ring. And ring. Someone was continuously pressing it, so that the entire melody didn’t play, but rather a rapid repeat of the first note over and over and over again.
“Someone’s at the door,” I grunted my observation.
“I’ll get it!” Ari piped up, hopping off me like it was no big deal. I groaned, missing the feeling of her body on my body. I couldn’t move from where I was, longing for her touch that I had obtained just moments prior.
“What if it’s, like, a murderer or someone?” I demanded, not really wanting her to greet whoever was on the other side of the door.
“Eric, you live in probably one of the safest neighborhoods in the country—no, make that world, so I think I’ll be fine,” she laughed with that ease in her rain-filled voice for which I so often yearned.
“People don’t really like me around here, you know that, right?” I sighed, staring up at my blank ceiling.
“That’s funny, Eric,” she grinned. “Good one.”
“Ari, I’m serious.”
“Why would anyone not like you?”
“I don’t know. Something about me being a drug addict or whatever.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not you, so I should be fine,” was all she said before leaving me in my bedroom alone. I could hear her footsteps as she passed down a hall, and then came to the stairs, jogging down them, only to answer the front door with a very Ari, “Uh, hi.”
“Eric Wilson still lives here, right? I heard he was in town,” said a female voice that I could barely make out. With a reluctant sigh, I heaved myself off of the mattress, and then lazily ambled down the hall, a loopy smile on my face thanks to that girl—to Ari. When I came to the landing, all I could see was Ari. I walked up behind her, and then encircled her small waist in my arms, closing my eyes as I rested my chin on the crook between her neck and shoulder. Then, I heard it: “Well, well! Looks like Eric Wilson is definitely getting some!”
My eyes snapped open, and my stomach dropped. Standing on front porch of the house that I grew up in was a girl that I grew up with, though had no intention of ever seeing again. Her dark hair was straight and long, and her eyes were coated with a pop of makeup. Beside her was a boy I had met a few times, and last recalled him retaining the title of her current boyfriend. I had no issues with him. The other two individuals who were behind the probable couple, however, I had really never envisioned seeing again.
There she was. Blonde hair tied back, a baggy UConn T-shirt, mesh shorts, and Jordans, despite the chilled weather. This wasn’t the girl I had almost fallen for—she was a stranger. Her body was toned and fit like an Olympian, and her shoulders were slouched in a particular nonchalance that just…didn’t seem like her. She just stood there, blank-faced with a yawn, a casual confidence I had never noticed before emanating from her.
Then, next to her was a boy. His hair was as dark as his sister’s, and cropped short like always. He was dressed similarly to the blonde, the only difference being that he had actually been smart enough to wear sweats instead of the shorter equivalent. His eyes were flickering from me to his sister, and then to Ari. He settled on looking at me, and I couldn’t read what emotion he was trying (or not trying) to convey.
I blinked, making sure that I wasn’t seeing things. They were all here. All four of them: Mackenzie Collins, her boyfriend Trevor, Dylan Collins, and Liz Turner. I honestly thought that I would never have to see these people again. And here they were now—at my house, looking at me and Ari and our togetherness.
“Merry Christmas?” Trevor offered to stifle the awkwardness. I didn’t actually mind Trevor, but that was because I didn’t know him. He was a friend of Liz’s, and seemed nice enough. Out of the three, I was happiest to see him.
“Uh, yeah, you too,” I gulped, trying my hardest to be civil.
“Geez, you just get hotter by the second, don’t you?” Mackenzie laughed, her tone drenched with venom that I had learned to overlook long ago. She was staring at me, but I didn’t dare allow our eyes to connect—not even for a moment.
“Eric,” Ari prompted gently, “who are these people?”
“My past,” I mumbled in her ear, kissing her on the cheek for good measure.
“Uh, aren’t you going to invite us in, Wilson?” Mackenzie demanded, still as pushy and direct as ever. Wow. I really hadn’t missed her. Like, not at all.
“Do I have to?” I questioned rudely, more to Ari and myself than to Mackenzie.
Ari flicked my cheek, and then regarded Mackenzie. She didn’t know who she was. I couldn’t blame her for displaying blind hospitality. “Come on in,” Ari invited, “I’d love to meet some of Eric’s old friends.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call us ‘friends,’” I heard Dylan mutter. Ari and I turned around, disconnecting from one another temporarily, until our hands located each other’s once again.
“Shut up, Collins,” said a voice that undeniably belonged to Liz.
Ari and I hiked up the steps like we were climbing Mount Everest, and then came to the familiar seating area in the front portion of the house. We sat down on one of the leather couches. Soon following, Trevor found his way over to a matching chair, only to have Mackenzie sit on top of his lap moments later. Dylan took the remaining free chair, leaving Liz to sit down next to Ari on the couch. Where the hormones once were was now replaced by a palpable tension like no other. I was sitting in a room with my two ex-girlfriends, their current boyfriends (one of whom was my ex-best friend), and my current girlfriend. The introductions would probably go a little something like this: Past, meet Present. Present, this is Past.
“So, who are you?” Mackenzie was obviously the first one to speak, her inquiry meant for Ari to answer.
“Ari,” was all that the girl beside me said, squeezing my hand lightly.
“Oh? That’s a interesting name,” Mackenzie said, nodding her head, but I wasn’t sure if it was just a neutral comment or meant as one of those secret insults that only girls could detect. “Well, I’m Mackenzie, and this is my boyfriend, Trevor Lawson.” Lawson. His mom owned a big shoe brand. Right. I knew that. “Trevor, say hi.”
“Hi,” Trevor did as commanded, the monotony in his monosyllable suggesting that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here. Coincidentally, I wasn’t exactly thrilled for him to be here, either.
“I’m Dylan,” Dylan was next to speak, “Mackenzie’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ari returned cordially, shooting him a small smile.
“Liz!” Mackenzie barked, shooting a sharp look at the blonde girl on the couch.
“What?” Liz looked up, shaking her head from side to side. “Oh, right. Yeah, hey, uh, I’m Liz. Yeah.”
“Now we all know each other!” Mackenzie clapped her hands together, and I winced, wondering on a scale of one to ten how impolite asking her and only her to leave would be. I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with her at the moment, or relive the pain that our breakup had brought me. I could handle Liz. She was so different than when we had dated, and though I wasn’t sure, I was beginning to think that maybe it was a good thing. She seemed more laid back—more real. “So, Eric, are you two dating?”
I let out a stream of air, and Liz’s blue eyes caught with mine, noticing the act. Before I could give a definite answer, the blonde athlete spoke up. “Mac, you’re scaring him. Seriously, dude. Chill the F out, please,” Liz said, foul mouth in check.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “So, are you dating?”
“Yeah,” Ari replied, her words drawn out, “we are.”
“Well, isn’t that nice!” she grinned like the Cheshire Cat himself, her teeth exposed menacingly. “I’m so glad that Eric was able to find someone almost as pretty as him!”
“Mac,” Dylan addressed his older sister with a warning tenor, “please shut up.”
“You know what, fine!” Mackenzie exclaimed, abruptly standing from where she was once sitting. “Trevor, we’re leaving!” Slowly, Trevor stood, unsure of what exactly was occurring. Mackenzie was a fireball of surprises, and once she made up her mind about something, it was set in stone, and there was no reasoning with her. She grabbed Trevor’s arm, and pulled him away from the tranquility, and back over to the steps. The two descended (Mackenzie stomped down), and before slamming the front door of my house shut, she wished us a quick, “Merry freaking Christmas!”
Then, Mackenzie Collins (and Trevor) was (were) no more, and I could breathe. And to think—I had once “loved” that girl. Now, the notion was absolutely absurd. Maybe it was just a side effect of all the drugs. That could’ve definitely been it. Maybe I was high, which was why my relationship worked with Mackenzie, and maybe I hadn’t actually liked her as much as I thought I did. When we were dating, I could just barely recall being really into drugs—more so than I was when I was with Liz. Maybe I really was with Mackenzie because of a misapprehension due to brain damage from marijuana. It was definitely a possibility I wasn’t about to overlook.
“And that was Mackenzie Collins, the one and only,” I told Ari.
“Your ex?” she said, surprising me with how good her memory was. I nodded in confirmation. “She seems…”
“Like a bitch? Yeah, we know,” Dylan cut in. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
Dylan and I weren’t on good terms. We never would be. What happened between us was different than what had happened between Alex and me. We had our own unresolved issues, and I had a hunch that a bit of Christmas bonding wasn’t going to fix anything. Nonetheless, I dared to ask him a semi-serious question that only partially offended his sister and brought up one of the reasons that we no longer spoke to each other: “Was I high the entire time that I, uh, dated her?”
Dylan just nodded his head and answered with a simple, “Yep,” to confirm my suspicions. “You were high, and Trevor’s just stupid.”
“He’s not stupid,” Liz interjected, “just misguided.”
I laughed, and then addressed a pressing manner that I had been wondering since the second I laid eyes on the past—my past. “So, uh, not to be rude, but why are you guys here?” I inquired.
“Your mom called my mom, and told her that you were back,” Liz said calmly, slouching down on the couch to a more comfortable position. “Mackenzie heard, and being Mackenzie, she just had to bring us along for a mini and totally F-ed up reunion. Sorry, by the way.”
“Uh, it’s fine,” I told her, even though it wasn’t. “How’s basketball?”
“Good. I’m a starter for most games. It’s fun. Hard, but that’s okay. It’s good to be playing again,” Liz shrugged, minimizing her achievements. Liz was nationally ranked. I had never seen her play in a game, but from what I could tell, basketball was more than just “fun” for her. It was her entire life.
“Where do you play?” Ari questioned with a hint of intrigue jumbled into the rain.
“UConn,” sighed Liz, trying to be as casual about it as possible. Though I didn’t know this sports obsessed version of Liz, I did know aspects of her personality fairly well. One of the things that Liz hated more than anything in the world was bragging. She just didn’t feel comfortable boasting about all of her achievements, which I didn’t really understand. Liz was smart, pretty, nice, and a nationally ranked basketball player. Yet, she for some reason hated bragging. I didn’t get it, but I respected her for it.
“Wow,” was all Ari could manage, considering the gravity of Liz’s response. The University of Connecticut (aka UConn) wasn’t the best school in the world. It did, however, have the best women’s basketball team in the country. Liz played for that team. She couldn’t bring herself to brag about it, though.
“So, uh, Dylan, how have you been?” I lamely began.
“Fine,” he said evenly, “you?”
“Fine,” I reiterated his phrasing.
“I heard you got help over the summer,” Dylan started, his eyes flicking over to Ari.
I noticed his gaze, and filled him in, “Ari knows. And yeah, I got help.”
“Good,” Liz said, “I’m glad.”
“Me too,” I mumbled, feeling an instant sense of regret. I had gotten help, but then just two days ago, I screwed it all up. Yeah, pills were different than pot, and I didn’t intend on getting hooked on them, but the issue was that I had wanted any form of drugs so strongly to the point that I was willing to settle. I wasn’t cured. Far from it, really. I wanted to be fixed, though. Addiction wasn’t a fun thing.
Liz turned to face Ari, and then asked her a rather severe question: “You don’t have any fucking secrets that you’re keeping from Eric, do you?” Like always, Liz wasn’t screwing around.
“I don’t have any that he doesn’t already know about,” Ari replied, thinking she was telling the truth, though I knew that she wasn’t. Ari had secrets. Ari was made of secrets. I didn’t know all of them, and I probably never would. It was an issue, but not all that concerning. Ari needed her secrets like I needed my intensive workout schedule—they kept regularity and were a part of who she was. Besides, I had already learned the reason behind the majority of her misery, so everything else came second to that.
“Good,” Liz assessed. “Eric’s a good guy. Don’t fuck with him.”
“But you can totally fuck him. I’m sure he’d love that,” Dylan joked, earning him a high five from Liz.
“Nice one, Collins!” Liz laughed. Dylan stood up and took a small bow.
I looked at the couple whose main interest was a sport I didn’t care about, and felt myself being genuinely happy for them. Liz was my ex-girlfriend. Dylan was my ex-best friend. No matter how it had happened, they were together now. Though initially seeing them with each other had hurt more than being tackled on the ground by five gives twice my size, now I was strangely okay with it. They belonged together. What they had was real, and even if they were misguided in thinking that basketball was the Best Sport Ever (it wasn’t—that title was reserved for football, and football alone), it was still nice to know that they had each other. They may not have forgiven me for all my misdoings, but I was definitely ready to forgive them and let go of the past.
“I’m sorry,” I somehow found myself uttering. It wasn’t meant for Ari, but rather the two strangers that I used to know who were now sitting in the front room of my house. Also, there wasn’t one specific thing that I was apologizing for, even, but rather an accumulation of everything that had happened.
“Ditto,” Liz replied, meaning it in her own sincere way. Most of the time, Liz wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. This wasn’t one of those times.
Instead of vocally expressing anything that would concede to what I had said, Dylan mutely nodded, and our eyes connected. He wasn’t mad at me any longer. There were no hateful sentiments coursing through the air at a record speed like usual. It felt as though the time spent apart had left a mutual understanding between the two of us. I wasn’t quite sure where we stood, but Dylan didn’t know, either. We weren’t about to start braiding each other’s hair or giggling about the old days—that was for damn sure—but we also weren’t about to beat each other up and have a verbal brawl of insults. It wasn’t a clean slate that forgot about the past, but rather a mutual sense of neutrality.
“We should probably go,” Dylan said, flicking his eyes away and over to Liz. He smiled. She smiled. They both stood up, and I did the same due to courtesy. Ari stayed seated. “It was nice meeting you, Ari.”
“You too,” Ari returned distantly, something in her tone not sitting right with me. Her face had taken on a new solemnity that it often adapted at the most random of times. It was Christmas. This was one of the only days during the year that everything was supposed to be jolly and happy and just, well, good. Even if Ari didn’t typically celebrate the holiday, she still shouldn’t have been sad.
“Merry Christmas, Wilson,” Dylan bid me, walking over to the steps.
“Merry Christmas, Collins,” I gulped in response, taking Ari’s hand and instinctively squeezing it tight. “See ya in the WNBA, Liz.”
Liz was a few feet behind Dylan, about to disappear from my life once again, but then she turned to face me. “No way, dude! I’m either going to be the first girl admitted to the NBA or I’m going straight to coaching. There is no in between,” she stated with certainty. And when Elizabeth Turner put her mind to something, I knew that there was no going back. In four years, I’d either see her drafted onto an NBA team, making headlines across the globe, or becoming one of the youngest coaches ever in the game with the orange ball and the hoop. As she had said, there was no in between.
“Bye, Turner,” I said.
“Bye, Wilson,” she said.
Then, Liz and Dylan left, and I was pretty sure that I was finally done. Sure, Liz happened to live just a few houses down and our moms enjoy each other’s company, but we no longer lived in this nice little suburban neighborhood with the white picket fences and the well-manicured lawns. Liz would probably end up back in Boston—where she had grown up—and unless something drastic happened, Dylan would probably follow her there. They belonged together. As for me, well, I didn’t know what my future held in store. I did know, however, that aside from the occasional trip back home like this one, New York and I were officially done with each other. Despite all the good years, I wasn’t planning on ever living in this state again. I was done with the Big Apple, and for good.
“Eric,” Ari’s voice chipped off. Alarmed, I disregarded my thoughts, and crumbled at the sight that met my eyes. There, on her porcelain cheeks, were streams of staining water. Her chest was heaving up and down, and I didn’t know what to do. Ari was crying, and the tears weren’t the types that were just going to disappear if I wiped them away.
“Ari,” I breathed, restricting myself from asking the dumb question of “What’s wrong?” In her state, it didn’t matter what was wrong. What did matter, however, was getting her into a better mentality that shifted the focus off of whatever exactly was wrong.
Ari buried her head in my chest, and then whispered a single sentence that didn’t quite explain everything, but it didn’t need to: “Eric, I—I want to go home.”