Loved - A Novel Page 5

  November, 2000.

  I went home for a long weekend to take care of some things regarding my pending graduation and to see my friends. It was weird walking down the high school’s hallways again. I remembered emptying out my locker just a few months before with Chase standing next to me, watching me prepare to leave him. Even though I always came back, he said he was always watching me leave.

  On the video we made documenting my last day of school, Chase was holding the camera while I put notebooks and scraps of paper into my backpack.

  “I’m picking your nose,” he said, his finger positioned to create that illusion on the video.

  “Okay,” I laughed, un-sticking pictures from the inside of my locker door and putting them into my backpack: a new one of Chase and me, one of the Dixie Chicks, one of me with Meredith and the girls.

  “Now I’m staring at your ass,” he said, positioning the camera on my white shorts.

  “Umm, Ok,” I said, smiling at him, a glimmer in my eyes.

  Chase appeared in front of me then. It was between classes and the halls were filled with students talking noisily and slamming lockers. He was holding a white carnation in his hand. He handed me the flower and bowed a little and he kissed me. I could feel the other students’ eyes on us. Did they know what a special moment this was? That I wasn’t just another student kissing her boyfriend in the hall? Looking closer, I realized he had written, “I love you” on every petal on the flower. He also handed me a letter, which I read in the car before I left the school parking lot.

  Kitten,

  Welcome home, baby. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much. It’s not even something I can describe with a pen and paper. I love you. I guess I always have, and I know I always will. I’m sorry for what we’ve been through in the past few months, but this is new for both of us, right? We’re an army. We’re a tank. We can’t be stopped, and I won’t take that chance.

  I didn’t know how we could be together or if we could make it work. But there was one thing I was sure of—there was no one like Chase in all the world.

  We saw each other again when I came home for Christmas. He gave me a gray garden statue of an angel with the word “Faith” engraved at her feet. He said he walked by her and thought, “Kit has to have that!” I loved her. She was sad and romantic and hopeful just like me. There were a lot of things I cared about that Chase didn’t—Jesus, country music, clothes—but he loved me for exactly who I was. He still saw me even as I changed. He still chose me. He also gave me the infinity ring he always wore on his pinky finger, the ring he hardly ever took off. I wore it on my left hand.

  I knew what he wanted from me. I told him I was ready and we set a date for a couple of nights before I was set to leave for Nashville again. At home and getting ready, I was so scared I thought I might be sick. We had fooled around plenty over the last year but I was nervous anyway. I wanted everything to be perfect. I put on a black shirt, a tan suede skirt and black heels and set off for his house.

  When I got there, he had a hundred candles lit in his room and he was at least as nervous as I was, if not more. I took off my shoes and lay down on the bed. He followed, wrapped his arms around me and brought his face near to mine.

  “I love you, Kit. I always have and I always will.”

  “I love you, too,” I whispered.

  My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode. He kissed me and began to take my clothes off. I wondered how this moment compared to all of the times I’d imagined it in the past.

  I still had no idea how we were going to make it work but I was certain that somehow we would be together. I felt sure and secure and was suddenly devoid of all my anxieties. I had found the peace I’d been grappling for.

  Or so I thought.

  January, 2001.

  I had cut my knee a few times that first semester before Chase and I had things moderately settled, which had in turn settled me; however, upon returning to school from the holidays, I found the unease crawling back into me and I searched for another way to feel relief from the stress of feeling out of control of my life.

  Megan and I made friends with a girl who was in her sorority and who was in my recording technology class. Brittany was a year older than us and seemed to me to be extremely self-assured. She was always laughing at someone or something. She wore giant fake blonde ponytails and tons of mascara. She was taller than us and wore tight jeans and preppy sweaters over her curves. One night she invited us over to her Belmont apartment to hang out with her roommate and some guys.

  It was much harder for Belmont to enforce their rules at the apartments. There were no cameras or a front desk. When we got there they had all been drinking and were talking very loudly. Once they caught on that Megan and I had never had a drink before, they decided it was their calling to show us how it was done. Brittany’s boyfriend poured me a shot of Jack Daniels and popped open a can of Diet Coke.

  “Okay, the Diet Coke is your chaser,” he explained. “Have a little sip first then down the shot as fast as you can. Don’t even let it hit your mouth, just straight down your throat. Then drink more Coke to get the taste out.”

  Oh my gosh. This is going to be awful. But...well, why not?

  I couldn’t think of one good reason not to do it so I braced myself and then drank the shot, finding it hard not to taste the strong liquor. The flavor lingered and my throat burned. I coughed a little but quickly drank from the Coke can again.

  Not bad at all, I thought.

  Everything changed.

  March, 2001.

  My college friends and I were still too young to take a worthwhile spring break trip so most of us went home. My parents were out of town, which suited me perfectly. One night Chase stayed over but the next night he had plans and I wanted to see the girls. Meredith brought some girlfriends with her from high school who came along with liquor and jello shots. Then the guys showed up with beer. We all got tanked and someone threw up in my parents’ bathtub. A lot had changed in the seven or eight months I’d been gone.

  I cleaned the house as best I could the next day. My parents still trusted me and I was letting them down; at least they didn’t have to know about it.

  Aside from our less-than-upstanding extracurricular activities, Megan and I joined a group for Music Business majors called Service Corps, where members got to volunteer at various entertainment industry events. In February, we worked the Country Radio Seminar at the Convention Center. Radio DJs and programmers came in from all over the country to keep up on happenings in the radio industry and interview the stars. I personally escorted a gravelly-voiced country star at a press event, guiding him between radio station tables for his interviews and letting the DJs know when his time with them was up. It felt like a dream. Even if it was just for the day, I was handling the media opportunities for someone who used to seem larger than life. It suddenly felt like ages ago rather than just a few months ago that I would call the local Westville radio station and chat up the DJs about the latest music they were playing or what their jobs were like. My world was upside-down.

  At the Disco Party at the end of the weeklong seminar, I met several of the singers whose CDs were in my collection. I surprised myself by working up the nerve to ask Kenny Chesney to dance. “Maybe later!” he said, a gracious way of saying no. I didn’t care; just being able to ask was all I wanted.

  Service Corps felt like the continued education to the studying and networking I’d begun at home, when I would memorize liner notes and find a way backstage at concerts. Classes were important but in this industry, the connections and inside view of these events were the most beneficial.

  A small edge I had over the other students was that I already had friends in the music industry: Paul, the band of brothers and a guy I’d met at a Dixie Chicks concert in Buffalo who had since become a country music television host. Of these, I saw Paul the most. He would pick me up at the dorm and take me to dinner or to shows. Then, w
e’d sit at Café Coco and talk about what I was learning and what he’d been working on lately. Even though I had once imagined that when I moved to Nashville we would be together, we were just good friends and that’s all I wanted from him. We were in different phases of our lives but also my heart had changed since I’d met Chase.

  As I neared the end of my freshman year, I felt that I had begun to accomplish what I’d set out to do. I was growing up, preparing for a career that excited me and I’d made friends. Chase and I, though we hadn’t made any kind of exclusive commitment to each other, had survived a year apart.

  One day that spring, Megan and I were hanging out, talking about life, boys and dreams. It was raining and there was nowhere to go, anyway. She told me she remembered meeting Chase when he had come to visit.

  “You were lying on the top bunk in your room,” she said. “I remember he was playing with your hair, holding on to you like you were so fragile, like you were about to break.”

  “I don’t remember that at all,” I replied, thinking back to that last fall.

  I liked the picture she painted. In that memory, Megan had captured a truth about us—I would break without him.

  May, 2001.

  Even with Chase at home, I couldn’t stand the thought of being in Westville all summer so I decided that taking some extra classes would be a more productive use of my time. I did have a month off and that was long enough for me. I was home just in time for prom and graduation. Megan went to spend the summer at home in North Carolina. Anna, my perky resident assistant, went home to Los Angeles. My roommate who had surprised us all by getting pregnant over Spring Break moved back to Kentucky. Megan and I would be rooming together in the apartments. I would move in when I got back to school in July and she would join me that fall.

  My month at home was broken up by a trip to L.A. to visit Anna. She took me to see Rodeo Drive and Hollywood Boulevard, where she took a picture of me with my hands in Marilyn Monroe’s handprints. I was fascinated by the city. When Anna was working, I would sit under a big tree in her family’s yard and read my Bible. I had thrown myself into deep personal Bible study; I was reading scriptures, learning how to apply the verses to my life and writing vigorously about it in my journal.

  When I was home again, I told Chase all about my newfound religious convictions and he wasn’t totally supportive.

  “Kit, I think it’s attractive that you have something to believe in but it’s just not for me,” he said.

  That was fine with me. We spent every day together until I left for Nashville again, though we kept arguing about my suddenly strengthened dedication to God’s plan for my life. Finally we just decided it was something we couldn’t talk about. Chase was Catholic but he wasn’t sure what he believed in, and, really, he didn’t have any kind of interest in thinking about it too much.

  The thing we fought most about wasn’t God or religion, it was that with my faith strengthened I did not want to have sex with him or even fool around as much as we had before. He felt rejected and he didn’t understand why this was so important to me. It was hard for me to explain to someone who didn’t have the upbringing that I had had or the beliefs I was trying to hold on to. Once we quit talking about it, things felt almost but not quite like the summer before. We stopped fighting but the rift was still there.

  July, 2001.

  Back in Nashville, I moved into my first real apartment. I brought my own furniture from home, the navy and black futon from my bedroom and the old brown couch from our basement. I loved having rooms to walk through, including a bathroom that would be just for us and my own bedroom; it was independence!

  There was a guy who sat next to me in Music Publishing class and sometimes, we would make small talk together before class started or after it had ended. If he wasn’t there one day, I would catch him up on what he missed and he would do the same for me. His name was Brian and he was from Atlanta. He was a year ahead of me and had transferred to Belmont that spring. He had dark spiky hair and he was tall, though he hunched a little. Most days he wore button-down shirts with loud floral prints or solid bright colors paired with khaki cargo shorts and sandals.

  One day, in the elevator after class, Brian asked me if I would like to go to a show with him. It never hurts to make a new friend, I thought, especially since none of my friends were there for the summer, so I said yes. He took me to dinner and to see a country band play. He wore a black collared button-down shirt and his signature shorts and sandals. He asked tons of questions and seemed genuinely interested in the answers. He was polite and easy to talk to. I was surprised to find that I had a really nice time.

  We went out again a few nights later. He would always pick me up even though our apartments were no more than a four-minute walk from each other. He would always come to my apartment door and open the door of his shiny red car for me. A true southern gentleman, I thought, clearly raised well by his mother.

  At first, I didn’t mention Brian to Chase or Chase to Brian. I felt there was no reason to throw it in Brian’s face or to hurt Chase, and I was scared to discourage either of them. I just needed to see how this would play out.

  I should have seen it coming. I had been out with Brian several times and I could tell he liked me but at that point, I still felt that I was just enjoying his company. One evening, after we had been out to dinner, I was sitting in an overstuffed chair in his apartment with my feet tucked underneath my legs.

  “I’m gonna grab a beer. Would you like a drink?” he asked, getting up from the couch. His dark hair glistened in the dim evening light that seeped through the window, and he flashed me a smile that reached his eyes.

  “Sure!” I said, smiling back. He knew my drink by then so I didn’t have to specify.

  When he came back, he handed me a cool glass of jack and coke, leaned over and kissed me. Just like that, I was surprised but I was more amazed by how good the kiss was; it was soft, sweet and confident. There were definitely sparks between us. At that moment, I began to think that maybe he was more than just someone to hang out with.

  We continued to date through the summer. I began to find him truly charming: his chuckle, his ease in groups of people—something I’d always found difficult—as well as his generally happy mood. He was intelligent, he was a good listener, and most importantly he was encouraging. He thought I was fun and interesting and mature. He was also a little rebellious, which thrilled me. He came off as a wholly responsible, good guy but he wasn’t a “goody-two shoes” and that suited me well.

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell Chase that I was seeing someone in Nashville. It was starting to seem inevitable that he would have to know but I wasn’t ready to cut ties there just yet. At some point, I found a way to work into a conversation with Brian that I had been dating someone back home, though not exclusively. He was really understanding about it. I guess he just figured, Well I’m here and that guy’s not, and he was right. He was there every day to kiss me and talk to me and be an active part of my life. When it came time to make a decision, I chose to commit to Brian. It really came down to the fact that he was there and Chase wasn’t and that wasn’t Chase’s fault.

  When Megan moved in, we bought heavy black curtains to hang on the windows, painted the coffee table black before putting our handprints on it in blue. We covered the ugly brown sofa with a blue couch cover. I decorated my bedroom in pink and Megan decorated hers in purple. We made the apartment our home and it felt good.

  Megan liked Brian. They would tease each other like brother and sister and the three of us started hanging out a lot. Brian would make us little pancakes with chocolate syrup, Megan would pick the movies and I would make the drinks. This was becoming routine.

  We were in the living room one day with Brian and I on the couch and Megan on the futon, watching country music videos on CMT. It was early afternoon but no light came in to our black and blue room. This is my life, I thought. I am here and Megan is my best friend and Brian is my, well, boyfriend. I
can’t deny it anymore. Sitting there in the dark I knew, I couldn’t keep Chase in the dark any longer. I went into my pink bedroom and lay on the bed in silence, staring at the twinkle lights above me. Like fireflies in my own enchanted forest. If only I could believe in enchantment.

  In September, Megan rode the ten hours home with me to Westville for a weekend. She stayed with my family one evening while I went to Chase’s house to tell him in person. We sat on the edge of his bed, each looking down at our knees. I was as kind as I could be. He wasn’t as understanding this time. He didn’t blame me, necessarily, though he was hurt and I was the cause of it. I showed my sadness but I was strong. This was my decision and the least I could do was to stand by it.

  He wasn’t shocked, I don’t think. I knew the year I’d been gone had been hard for him too. He said he didn’t want to talk to me for a while, and as hard as it would be for me to not be able to talk to him, I knew I had to respect his decision. We both needed time to heal. He wished me the best but I couldn’t say the same words to him. It sounded like goodbye and I didn’t want to say goodbye. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, rather, it was that he was so far away and I had no way of knowing if or when he would be able to follow me to Nashville. That had worn on me and having Brian in my life reminded me how great it was to be able to see someone every day. If Chase had been in Nashville I would have been with him, but that wasn’t possible right now.

  I drove back to the house where Megan was waiting for me and we lay on the sleeper sofa in the den until I was so tired from sobbing that I passed out. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. My first heartbreak was a pinprick next to this cannonball hole. My heart was caving in, but I didn’t see any other way. As much as I loved Chase, this was not something that we could hold on to. I had to grow up; it was time to build my new life.