True North by Allie Juliette Mousseau Page A

cathartic cry can do that.
    I brushed my teeth and showered, dressed and stuffed my shit into my backpack. I was grateful Nate had gone and gotten it for me last night.
    I laid out my keys, mp3 player and cell phone. I knew Jules would’ve texted me last night and, seeing that it was already ten a.m. probably this morning too. But she’d have to go by faith that I was okay ‘cause I couldn’t handle it yet—I didn’t want pity or sympathy or happy wishes.
    I scooped up my mp3 player, turned it on and flipped through my songs. I knew which one I was seeking out—the song I simultaneously loved and hated. It could either cause me dread or strange comfort, and today I needed the strange comfort. It was a folk song that my mom had listened to endlessly. When she left, my dad took up the mantle, playing it over and over, day and night, blasted as loud as the stereo could go as he drank himself numb and senseless day after day for months. Sometimes I used to blame the song for the loss of my dad too. When it was on I’d bury my head under as many pillows as I could to drown it out. As I got older, the words and music became my funeral song—my go-to when the torment was too strong and I had no place to put it.
    I looked around my room. I wondered if it might be a good thing if I never came back here. I could start another life. It wouldn’t be fair to the people who loved me and who I loved but … fuck, my mom and dad did it—shut themselves off from whatever made them feel. Like a cancer, I could cut the Norths completely from my heart. That would include Jules, though. I pulled in a calculated breath. She’d always make me think of Jake, and when he moved on and eventually got married I would have to hear all about it. I’d have to come home for visits and see him with his wife—a wife that was not me—and his little kids— not mine—and remember everything: every crushed dream, every moment I’d believed with all of my heart we’d be together someday.
    It would be easy. I’d just stay at school . Too much work. Sorry, can’t come back now. Perfect excuse. Then, even though I’d planned to come back here to work for local therapists and schools, I could send my resume out all over the country. I’d never been to the east. Boston, I heard, was a beautiful city. I could let my relationship with the Norths slowly fade—it happened all the time with people anyway, right?
    I secured my North Face pack over my shoulder and went straight out of the empty house and to my car.
    Like the fool I was I’d almost expected a folded piece of paper in my car this morning from Jake—a song, a note.
    Nothing but an empty car.
    I took off down the road. When I got to the town’s center I noticed the yellow streamers and banners had all been taken down or were dangling haphazardly, worn from the wind and dew of the weekend. In the span of two days my life had spiraled into an absolute shit storm.
    Whatever, right? I had a five hour drive ahead of me with nothing but open road, blue skies and music. I threw my phone into the backseat so I wouldn’t be tempted to check calls or texts and let the distance swallow me.
     
    The next three weeks sucked. There’s no other way to describe them. You would have thought Jake’s rejection would have finally given me closure after all these years, but it didn’t; it only caused hurt that vacillated back and forth with consuming anger.
    “ Ms. Morrisey, could you come to earth please and be present for my class?” Ms. Kline quipped.
    Thanks. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Math wasn’t my strong suit, but I did need to pass.
    So has what’s-her-face been tangled up around him for the past two weeks? I wondered. I mean what else would keep him from at least calling to apologize? I wished I’d punched him in the face that night in the alley. It would have felt better than this obsessive brooding. I couldn’t concentrate in any of my classes, and my roommate was starting to get pissy