Intertwined episode 30

🤝INTERTWINED🤝

💑EP THIRTY💑

 

Black.

I started swirling black paint on my canvas. Allowing it todrip its own pattern down, taking shape, like it had a mindof its own.

This color described my days and what I was now. Anempty vessel with a black h0le in the center.

For weeks, I felt like I was floating into nothingness. I hadnothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for. I was takingone day at a time, taking each breath with the sole purposeof making it to the next. Nothing more. I was alive. But Iwasn’t really living.

That day I had woken up in the hospital, everythingcrumbled before me. It was the moment that I felt I’d lostmy past, my present, even my future.

The man that I loved walked out of my life with no hopesof ever coming back. The life I wanted to nurture in,side mewas gone, even before I could fully acknowledge itspresence. And then the doctors said I had a smallpercentage of conceiving life in,side me again.

For a while, I blamed myself. I should have beenstronger. I should have been calmer. I could take losingeverything…but not the innocent life in,side of me and theman who had given me that life.

I wasn’t a doctor, so I didn’t fully understand what theytold me at the hospital, and the minute I heard miscarriageand cancer, I completely blacked out. Everything I saw wasa blur, and everything I heard was blah, blah, blah.

My friends and my family kept telling me that it wasn’tmy fault. But the man I’d hurt the most when I lost the baby had completely shut me out of his world. So I knew that heblamed me, as much as I blamed myself. He agreed to theoperation. I was told that he had been with me during thetime that I was out.

“Your cancer was advancing…it posed a threat to yourlife. Travis didn’t want to wait. He made a decision to saveyour life,” my mother told me. “Regardless of what theconsequences might be to your baby. It was a difficultchoice.”

I would have risked it. I wouldn’t have agreed to theoperation. I would have waited until the baby was strongenough to survive. But I was unconscious, sedated due tothe severe pain, and my husband made that decision forme. Surgery was the best option. Removing the affectedorg-n was necessary. I started miscarrying even with the

doctors’ best efforts. My pregnancy was sensitive. I couldn’tfight for him even if I wanted to.

When I woke up in the hospital, I swear I could smellTravis’s aftershave on my pillow. My mother told me thathe’d stayed with me while I was unconscious. But he wasgone the minute I opened my eyes. My already broken heartwas shattered to a million pieces. I hugged my pillow tomyself and drowned myself on what was left of Travis’spresence beside me…his scent, his memory.

Red.

I filled my brush with red paint and swirled it on the cornerfarthest from the black. Now, my strokes were even moredefined and less free-form. I brushed the paint upward withas much vigor as one wrist motion would allow.

The red reflected much of what I felt in,side, too. I feltbroken about losing the life I’d loved in,side of me. I felt rageand loathing when the doctor told me that the other ovaryleft with me was not as healthy as it should be. Treatment was required. But I was told I had about a one-third chanceof conceiving again.

The strokes on my canvas became rougher and moreurgent as I remembered how angry I was. And worse, Ididn’t know who to direct that anger at.

To whomever in my family had given me this bad stringof genes. To myself, because I should have taken bettercare. I should have done more. I should have done routinecheckups when I was younger so I could have prevented it. Ishould have paid attention to every missed period or anyirregularity in my menstrual cycle. I should have gone to thedoctor sooner.

I took more of the red paint and smudged it indownward, circular motion.

I remembered that when the doctor told me that I wouldhave so much difficulty conceiving, I realized I had gottenmad at Travis, too. He’d made that choice for me. I wouldhave risked my life just to have the baby. And even if I’donly had one child in my life, I would have been complete asa woman.

Blue

I took a new paintbrush and dipped it in blue acrylicpaint. I stroked it lightly on the white space between the redand the black, making stronger strokes in the center andsofter where it met the other colors.

It had been months since I’d gotten out of the hospital.I did call Travis before I was discharged. I could stillremember that conversation in my head because it was thelast time I’d spoken to him.

“I’m sorry I lost your baby,” I said in a broken voice.

He took a deep breath. Then he said, “At least you’realive and safe.”

“It doesn’t matter now, really,” I whispered.

“It does to your family,” he countered.

“Why did you do it, Travis? Why didn’t you take achance? I would have waited until it was safer.”

I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Maybe…I needed tosave you one last time.”

That broke me, but I refused to let a whimper escape myl¡ps.

“I won’t ever be the same! What’s the point of mywomanh-od if I can’t conceive?”

He was silent for a while. Then he said, “The right guyfor you will love you enough not to care. At least now, youcan’t really say I raped you just to get an heir.” His voicewas so unemotional, it completely made me mad and sad atthe same time. I wanted to cry so hærd—right after I gavehim a good slap in the face.

There was a long silence. Then finally, he asked, “Do youhave anything else you want to say to me?”

I love you. But I didn’t say that out loud. I couldn’t. Hiscold demeanor made me abandon all hope that this phonecall would fix anything between us. Travis had caved in. TheTravis who’d loved me was now buried underneath thehundred masks he was wearing. I didn’t even recognize theman I was speaking to anymore.

“Goodbye,” I said weakly.

Again, another long pause. “Goodbye, Brianne.”

Purple.

I took a brush and dipped it in purple. I swirled thisaround at the point where blue met with red. I continuedwith my strokes until the blending and continuation of thehues seemed flawless.

I was now back in my apartment in Connecticut. It hadbeen months since I’d gotten out of the hospital. I had mymother move my stuff out from Travis’s apartment.

Even after I had completely moved out, I still hadn’theard from him. He didn’t call me or attempt to see me. Andit broke my heart as much as it made me angry.

I asked my mother for a break. I told her I needed asabbatical from work. I had a little money saved up. I couldtake care of myself without working for about a year. And Ineeded to figure out what I was going to do with Travis andour marriage.

News of our separation reached the ears of some of myrelatives. Many of them offered sympathies andencouragement. Some of them still believed Travis and Iwere going to work things out.

“It’s Travis and you!” my aunt Victoria told me over thephone.

It was Travis and me. And somehow, even I couldn’tbelieve that we were over. A huge part of me still stared atmy phone or my door wistfully. Hoping that it would ring orsomebody would knock and it would be him. We didn’t reallyhave to work things out. I just hoped we could talk to eachother—didn’t matter if we’re yelling or not. I wished I couldopen him up. I wished he would just tell me what he felt—

didn’t matter if I felt insulted or hurt. I wished he would trustme to be strong or mature enough to hear the words hewanted to say.

Green.

Below the black swirls, I started a pattern in green, dark-hued at first, and then slowly brightening up as I progressedaway from the dark colors. I smiled a little bit because thepattern reminded me so much of myself. I had come out ofthe black h0le. The first months were really tough. I had lostcount of the number of times I’d attempted to see a shrinkjust to get me out of my misery. But now, it was slowly

progressing. Things were getting lighter and lighter.

I tried to stand on my own. For the first time in my life, Ilived without the shadow of my guardian angel. I walked thestreets knowing that I could get mugged or murdered, andno one would come to my rescue. No eyes were followingme wherever I went, making sure I was safe.Once in a while, I would dream about making love to

Travis. It was as wonderful as the real thing. My body stillcraved him, still missed him. But my heart was too brokento hope that we could be together again.

When my physical wounds had healed, I began dancingagain. I did it slowly at first. But it felt good, losing all myworries in the beat of the music, forgetting how to think andfeel…just allowing my body to move.

I was starting to be strong on my own. I was dead scaredat first. Because after Tom died, I was never on my own.Travis was always there. I could just be selfish and carefree.And he would always be there to pick me up.I still couldn’t believe what Travis had done to me. Myfamily thought that the lost baby had taken a toll on our

marriage. I didn’t tell anybody, except for Sarah, the realreason why Travis and I had drifted apart. I couldn’t. Nomatter what he did, I couldn’t bear for my friends and familyto hate him and think of him as a beast…because even Ifound it so hærd to believe, even then. I still couldn’t acceptthat the Travis who protected me with his life had takenadvantage of me when I was too weak to defend myself.

Yellow.

I smudged an adequate amount of yellow on after thegreens. It provided a lighter tone to my painting, which usedto be so dark and sad.

I stared back at the canvas. It was a beautifulcombination of black, blue, purple, red, green, and a touchof yellow. Tears rolled down my cheeks. All the other colors,except for yellow, represented a phase in my life that hadlasted for the past couple of months. I felt like every darkand sad emotion I had ever felt was in that painting.

And then the yellow added so much brightness to thebleak mood that the painting had originally conveyed. Iguessed that was my challenge now. To find the source oflight that would give me hope…a hope that I could still findhappiness in spite of losing the things that mattered most tome. The hope that I would still be able to smile, in spite of

losing the one person whom I considered to be…my life.