Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

  Chapter Nineteen

  Broken

  That night I put on my obnoxious choir dress, curled my hair, accidentally burned my forehead with the curling iron, and then walked in step with the other ladies like I did every Sunday. I stood straight in the back row with my spirit slouching in my chest, and I mouthed the words to the songs as best I could. The tears would not stop flowing.

  I didn’t look past the choir director because I could hardly see, and I couldn’t bear to know whether or not Paul had come to my concert. He had disappointed me so many times. He said he would try. But that was a week before his announcement, maybe days before his proposal. Or had he already proposed when I saw him on Easter, and he just didn’t tell me?

  When I finally had the guts to look at faces and see who was there, I saw my parents, elderly couples, and friendly faces from church. Neither Paul nor Jeff was there.

  In the very back row was a woman I hadn’t seen in a while. She was one of the moms from my dance studio. And she was sitting next to Paul’s mom, whispering and smiling, acting like family.

  I knew exactly who Paul was going to marry: Morgan Rowe, the graceful and humble daughter of a wealthy real estate investor. She was a quiet Christian girl, a redhead, cute as a button, with a very, very normal mom.

  Tears took over my face. I should have had mercy on myself and headed straight for the door. But they were sitting right by the door. My only choice was to stuff everything into the holy catacombs of my heart and finish the rest of the concert with a note of dignity intact. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever forced myself to do.

  After the concert, Tiahna and I drove back to my parent’s house, gathered our things, and said goodbye to my parents.

  “Are you OK, Miriam?” my dad asked. “You seem upset.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

  I wasn’t fine. On the drive back to school, Tiahna was reverentially quiet and I stared out the window replaying the day, scene by scene. My mind was trying to find a loophole, as if it were a cruel joke. God, how could this be? How could you let this happen? Why was I so jaded? How could you let me go through so much heartache—for nothing?

  When we got back to the dorm, Tiahna and I went to our separate rooms. My roommates were on their way out, so I quickly said hi and bye, shut and locked the door, and called Bianca.

  “Yup, I heard he was engaged,” Bianca said. “Everyone was talking about it at church today. He asked this redhead named Morgan. She’s pretty, I guess.”

  “When did he propose?”

  “Maybe a couple days after Easter. I think they set a date for July. Kinda quick, huh?”

  He had proposed a few days after I last talked to him. They were going to be married in just a few months.

  “Do you know how old she is?”

  “Why? Like 24? I heard that she has a rock on her left hand.”

  She was five years older than me. I would be 19 soon.

  “I can’t believe it, Bianca. I really thought Paul and I were meant for each other. I am so totally mortified; I’m sick to my stomach.”

  “Don’t worry, Miriam, he was way too old for you anyway. I mean, by the time you two would get married, he would be too old to have kids.”

  “I would marry him in July if he asked me.” I winced. “Did I say that out loud?”

  She laughed. “Well that’s not going to happen. He’s marrying her. Morgan. As hard as it is, you have to forget about him. What about Tyler? How are things going with him?”

  As soon as I got off the phone with Bianca, everything she said floated up in the sky, and all I felt was devastation boiling and hardening my young heart.

  I checked my voicemail for messages, and I had one new message.

  “Hey Miriam,” a guy’s voice said. “It’s Paul Greer, your friend from home. I wanted to let you know that I’m not really engaged...”

  There was shuffling, laughter, and then a dial tone.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered. I replayed the message two more times.

  I ran downstairs to Tiahna’s room to tell her about the message. Our friend Jeremy was sitting on her bed.

  “Oh, that message was from us; it was a joke,” she said. Jeremy smiled and waved.

  I felt my face twist like a madwoman. “How could you? How could you do that to me?” I cried. My tears would not obey me. I ran out of the room, Tiahna stumbling after me. She caught up with me in the stairwell, grabbed me and held me.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She pleaded for forgiveness.

  “Let go! Let me go!” I screamed.

  “It was just a joke! I’m sorry!”

  Because I had no energy to wrestle her off of me, I sunk down to the floor. I had to succumb to the truth of what was happening to me: I was broken.

  I couldn’t stop bawling. When people entered the stairwell, they immediately turned around to use the other stairs. At one point a resident advisor came by, asked Tiahna if I was OK, and left.

  While Tiahna rocked me, ran her fingers through my hair, and hummed a song to help me relax, I moaned and cried, arguing with God. Finally, Tiahna walked me to my room, put me in bed, turned out the light, and left me alone with my demons.

  I have no idea what even happened the next few days. It was a lot of crying. A lot of journaling. A lot of eating. I was depressed. My roommates didn’t ask any questions. But they were extra sweet to me, and they left me alone a lot.

  Within a week, Tyler dumped me. He asked me if I would go for a walk with him on campus, and then he sat me down on a bench that was sort of hidden in between some modular buildings.

  “Miriam, I’m going to be an RA next year, and I think I should focus on getting my life together right now,” he said gently.

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time running and training,” he continued, “And you and I—we hardly even see each other. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I guess this is the break-up bench.”

  He laughed, which made me laugh too.

  “You’re right,” he played along. “It all starts in the rose garden and ends on the break-up bench.”

  We looked down at our feet.

  “You know I still love you as a friend, right?” I said.

  “Yes. But I’m supposed to say that line. I’m breaking up with you.”

  “OK.” I smiled. “So you still love me as a friend?”

  “Of course.”

  “You won’t tell anyone my deepest, darkest secrets, right?”

  “You mean like how you used to…”

  “Hey!” I covered his mouth with my hand. “Don’t tell anyone that stuff.”

  We hugged, and he walked me back to my dorm and waved goodbye. It was a nice break up. Very tactful. Very sweet—two things I would never be. I went back to my dorm room and sat on my bed with my headphones, listening to Jeff Buckley’s “Last Goodbye.”

  Tyler was way too good for me. Paul was way too good for me. But Paul had the power to break my heart because I’d given him my heart and my soul. He never asked for them. I gave them freely because I trusted him. And I had never been hurt before. There was nothing Tyler or any guy could do that would hurt as bad as what Paul had already done—that is, what I had let Paul do without him even knowing it.