Sway

Ali and Ashlyn made their way to Florida for Thanksgiving, but Ali went up to Miami and Ashlyn went down to Satellite Beach. With their careers keeping them both away from their families for most of the year, being separated from one another during the holidays seemed like the thing to do, no matter how much they both said they would miss each other. Anyway, surgery awaited Ashlyn in Satellite Beach along with her family and her grandma’s famous mac and cheese so, no matter how much Ali and Kyle pouted, she had to leave them.

Though it was only a quick clean-up of her left knee, the injury and the surgery forced her to seriously consider her place on her team once again. Tyreso was in the Champions League, after all, but she needed to fix her knee as soon as possible, considering her history, and would need time to heal afterwards.

There was a gathering before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t exactly a party, but everyone had wanted to see Ashlyn after she’d been gone for most of the year. As family members began to arrive to say hello to Ashlyn, the bottles of wine and cases of beer began to be brought out. Voices raised in relaxed enthusiasm. There was a game on in the background, which Ashlyn watched with her cousins, one of which was asking her extensively about her time with Tyreso and the Spirit and about all her teammates. Ashlyn thought it was sweet, but was quite aware that she’d only been talking about soccer and herself and grew a bit uncomfortable.

In the background, her uncle was becoming more and more upset with the course of the game and made sure that everyone knew about it rather loudly. Ashlyn excused herself to get another beer from the fridge and walked into the kitchen to find her mother staring at a bottle of wine. Ashlyn paused in the doorway and watched as she poured a liberal helping into a glass before shooting it back with more urgency than enthusiasm. Setting the glass back on the counter with a clink, she turned towards the doorway and was startled by Ashlyn’s presence.

Ashlyn backed away a step. “Mom,” she said. Lost. Her mother looked back at her with sad eyes.

“Ashlyn,” she started. Ashlyn turned away and walked straight through the living room and out the front door, stopping by the garage to grab her longboard before she started heading down the street.

She wasn’t technically supposed to longboard with her knee in the condition it was, but she didn’t care. The gentle caress of the air rushing by her was as calming as the sound of the wheels on the pavement. Hardly anyone was out on the street, so she took up the entirety of the pavement, curving back and forth from one side to the other all the way down to the beach.

Though she was still wrapped up in her head, visions of the past meshing with the images she took in before her, something on the boardwalk caught her attention enough to get her to stop her board abruptly, taking long, halting strides to slow her momentum as she kicked up the end of the board and tucked it under her arm. A small crowd was gathered at the edge of the beach around a tall man with brown hair who was speaking from the steps of the boardwalk.

“Sometimes,” Ashlyn heard him say as she approached, keeping to the very edge of the crowd so as not to impose. “What we need the most is someone to listen to what we’re feeling, what’s going on inside our heads. Whatever it is you’re feeling, you have to remember that it is valid. And remember that it is not something you have to shoulder alone. People need people. It’ll take a lot of courage, and it’ll take a lot of time, but opening up can be the most beneficial thing for your own closure and your own journey.”

Ashlyn felt herself being drawn in by his words, physically, emotionally. She couldn’t help but inch forward a little as he began to finish up his speech, eager to hear more. There was a sense of desperation within her as he concluded his talk, smiling somewhat bashfully at the polite applause from his listeners. Ashlyn was too far in her own thoughts to clap. She wanted to hear more.

She wondered if he would’ve stopped if they hadn’t met eyes. She wondered if it was somehow fate that he looked at her as he was beginning to step away and she looked back at him. And anyway, they did and he did weave through the last few lingering people to hold out an open hand to her.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Jamie Tworkowski. Did you like the talk?”

“Ashlyn,” Ashlyn replied, shaking his hand. “I missed a lot of it, but what I heard…man, I wish I’d heard that stuff before.” He nodded his head as though unsurprised by her words.

“I wish I’d known all this stuff when I was younger, too,” he said. “When I did finally go through that journey, it was because I had lost someone who was very important to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashlyn murmured in sympathy. Still drawn to him and his message, she added, “So now you give talks to people about feelings?” Jamie laughed a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“In a way,” he said. “Have you heard of To Write Love on Her Arms?” Ashlyn shook her head. She had no idea what that even was. Mostly, though, she was reminded of Ali, and how she had love literally written on her arm. Jamie reached into the bag that was slung on his back and pulled out a flyer, handing it to Ashlyn.

“Maybe we can talk some more about this,” he offered.

Thanksgiving was a strained affair. Ashlyn’s mom tried to apologize to her, and Ashlyn tried to forgive her, but she still held that resentment in her heart that she found she couldn’t shake. She found herself thinking about Ali a lot and how she was only a couple hours away. She couldn’t just get up and leave, though. Her family wanted to see her. Her grandmother was making her famous mac and cheese. And there was still her surgery.

After her knee was properly patched up again, Ashlyn took Jamie up on his offer.

“The important thing to remember is that we have to be open to talking about these things — how we’re feeling, what’s bothering us…good things too. It’s not anything strange or unnatural to experience struggles. Everyone struggles.”

Ashlyn sat back in her seat and took a sip of her coffee. They had stopped by a local coffee shop by the beach that morning, taking their cups to the beach to watch the waves, the little children playing on the shore’s edge further down, the seagulls that winged around the boardwalk looking for food. Ashlyn’s crutches were propped up off of the sand against the side of her chair.

She really liked Jamie. He had a kind voice, was obviously smart and thoughtful, and didn’t have a judgmental bone in his body. As he found out that she was in fact the Ashlyn Harris, Satellite Beach’s own soccer star, he merely smiled and hardly mentioned it at all. Ashlyn asked him questions about his non-profit. He asked her about her life — the non-soccer parts. He was amazingly easy to open up to.

“So…like we’re doing right now?” Ashlyn asked.

“Yeah, anything like this certainly helps. Whatever’s on your mind, you don’t have to carry alone. Even if you just want someone to listen and nothing else, that can help lighten the load.” He took a sip from his own cup. “There’s also therapy,” he said. Ashlyn laughed humorlessly.

“I’ve been through enough of that stuff for three people at least,” she replied snidely, remembering the long days of rehabbing her knees and shoulder. She would start again the next day, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Jamie was looking at her quietly. She could feel it, even though she kept her eyes trained on the crashing waves.

“Physical therapy?” She nodded. “What I’m suggesting is pretty different from that. You’ll have the chance to talk to someone and get everything out. They won’t know your past or anyone in your life, so you don’t have to worry about them taking sides. They can offer a professional opinion and understanding of exactly why you’re feeling how you’re feeling.”

“But isn’t that for people who actually have…like…mental issues?” Ashlyn shifted next to him uncomfortably. Physical therapy was done to fix fucked up muscles, ligaments, limbs. Therapy therapy…wouldn’t that be used to fix someone’s fucked up mind? The thought terrified her.

“Not necessarily,” Jamie said. “But what would be so bad about that? People’s bodies get hurt.” He looked down at Ashlyn’s knees. She’d already told him about the ACL tears. “They get fixed up and get better. Why can’t the mind be the same way? What’s the difference?”

Ashlyn opened her mouth to respond. Of course there was a difference. But she couldn’t think of why and she couldn’t think of how, and so she simply shut her mouth again. Maybe Jamie was right.

“I get it, though,” he said. “Sometimes it’s a pride thing, sometimes it’s a fear thing. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’m sure there are plenty of people in your life you can have these serious conversations with.”

Ali. Whit. Niki. Grandma. Even Abby. Chris. She tentatively added Kyle to the list.

As they wrapped up their things and started to say goodbye to one another, Jamie added something else. “Journalling helps sometimes, too,” he said, “in the same way that talking to someone does. It’ll help you think through everything that’s happened to you. And the best part is that no one has to see it if you don’t want them to.”

Ashlyn went up to DC to stay with Ali in their apartment as the holidays wound down. They met each other in the airport, a reunion of eyes telling one another how much they were missed. Hands brushing against hands and backs and arms as they helped each other with their luggage. Mouths meeting as they finally made it into Ali’s car and they could say a proper hello. Ali tasted so sweet. Ashlyn sighed against her lips, relieved beyond belief to be back with her and eager to tell her about her new friend.

They were cuddling together on the living room couch with takeout on the coffee table in front of them. The volume of the TV was so low, it might as well have been off. Ashlyn was busy telling Ali about Thanksgiving — her mother’s slip-up, meeting Jamie, everything they’d talked about, and everything she’d learned. She ran a finger down Ali’s tattoo, tracing the letters.

“It’s called To Write Love on Her Arms,” Ashlyn said, grinning a little.

“What a coincidence,” Ali replied, shivering a little under Ashlyn’s touch. “Are you going to do what he suggested?”

“What? Journal?” Ashlyn replied. “I suppose it might be alright. I’ll have to go buy a notebook or something.”

“Actually, I meant the therapy,” Ali corrected. Ashlyn pressed her lips together tightly, looking away from Ali. Jamie’s words were still fresh in her mind, but she still had reservations about actually going. The movies certainly didn’t portray a visit to the therapist as being anything but a terrifying, awkward, outrageously expensive pastime.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, baby,” Ali said, reaching up to cup Ashlyn’s cheek. “It’s just that it might be something interesting to try. You might be able to learn how best to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Ashlyn insisted. “With you, I’m happy.” Ali smiled at her softly and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

“I’m glad you’re happy with me, but we both know that you get down a lot for reasons you don’t even know. And I know you’re still holding in a lot of things about your family. I want to help you, and I will try everything I can to help you, but I worry that I’m not going to be enough.”

“You’re enough,” Ashlyn whispered to Ali. Her voice cracked even though she was speaking so low. She leaned closer to Ali to rest their foreheads together, breathing in her comforting scent and entwining their fingers together. Just being close to her was helping. Ashlyn knew it.

“Ashlyn, I just want you to have the best life you can,” Ali said.

Ashlyn fidgeted as she waited in the lobby of the office. She was alone except for the secretary that sat collating papers behind the desk up front and another “patient” who was reading a magazine by himself. Her leg bounced up and down as her eyes darted around at the “calming” pictures on the lightly-colored walls. She couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this.

Jamie had been an amazing help after she’d finally given in to Ali’s suggestions that she just try a session to see how it went. She’d finally called him and asked for some recommendations and he had been happy to talk her through the process and give her some resources to look into. She made the call and booked her appointment but, when Ali asked if she wanted her to accompany her, Ashlyn said no. Sitting there, she almost wished she’d said yes. It seemed a bit silly, but she just really wanted to hold Ali’s hand.

“Ashlyn Harris?” the secretary called out. Ashlyn’s head perked up. “You’re alright to go in now, honey.”

--

There was a science behind the way her mother didn’t get up that morning; or so they told her.

Ashlyn poked open her bedroom door with her bare foot, still bleary-eyed from sleep, and padded across the hall to the bathroom where she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed through her hair, staring at it a while, trying to decide whether she should consider going an even lighter shade. Finished getting ready for the day, she headed towards the kitchen for some breakfast.

The house was eerily quiet as she poured her favorite cereal into a bowl and grabbed a spoon out of the drawer. Turning, she noticed a couple other cabinets they rarely used had their doors thrown open. She closed them and carried her breakfast to the table to eat. She crunched on a couple bites. She paused and looked around and swallowed. There was absolutely no sound.

“Mom?” She called out as she put her empty bowl in the sink. Backpack slung on her shoulder, she headed back down the hall towards the bedrooms to see where her mom was. She was usually always up to have breakfast with Ashlyn before school. She had work to go to, after all, and she always said she wanted to see Ashlyn off. A goodbye hug. A goodbye kiss. A “have fun at school”. The normal things.

“Mom?” she said again, a little louder. The bathroom was empty. The living room had been empty. Peering out the front and back windows, she hadn’t seen any sign of her mom. Ashlyn knocked on her mom’s bedroom door and waited, then pressed her ear up against the cold wood and listened. Silence.

She pushed open the door slowly and her heart broke.

Shit. Shit shit shit. She ran to the side of her mom’s bed and knelt down beside her. She was splayed across the mattress, sheets bundled at the end, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Ashlyn dropped to her knees and pried the bottle out of her mom’s limp grip. It was whiskey or something and nearly all gone. There were a couple other bottles glinting from under the bed. She pulled them out as well.

Reaching up, she shook her mother, but she only stirred slightly and refused to wake up. Ashlyn’s chest felt tight against her racing heartbeat. She was breathing, at least. That was something, but only a slight relief. She took the bottles out back and threw them into the recycling bin, listening to them clank together loudly. Back in her mother’s room, she nudged her again. She didn’t get up.

Ashlyn hadn't ever been what anyone would call a “good student”. She had too much energy inside of her to sit still much as a child. She found that her eyes couldn’t focus well enough at the little squiggles of words on a page to read without much difficulty. She didn’t think much of grades or projects or getting along with the teachers, and was an infamous rough-houser with the boys at recess. She’d skipped before to hang out with her friends, skating or surfing, or even just grabbing lunch.

This time, she skipped entirely by herself. She threw her board down on the street in front of her house, her school bag discarded back in her room, and set off to the skate park, choking on her breath.

It wasn’t a choice to become that way.

“Mom,” Ashlyn said, stopping herself in her tracks as she looked into the kitchen. Her mother, one hand at the small of her back, tipped down a glass of something dark. She let out a sigh.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ashlyn Michelle,” she said. There was a bottle on the counter in front of her, from which she poured another glass. She took a long gulp. “I have had a hard day and I need this.”

Ashlyn’s heart pounded watching her, wondering what she could possibly do to stop her. She swallowed thickly.

“Mom, Coach is getting us new uniforms,” Ashlyn told her mom. She watched as the liquid in the bottle disappeared right before her eyes, like a magic trick. “I’ve got the prices here. We have to pay for them now so they’ll get to the school on time.”

Her mom’s attention was drawn to her for a second. Ashlyn could feel her mother’s eyes looking her up and down, unfocused. She wondered if she should repeat herself. Her mom reached into her pocket and rifled through old receipts and coupons. Not finding what she was looking for, she went over to her purse and rummaged through it for a few minutes, only to pull out a couple wadded up 10s and some ones.

“Here,” she said, shoving the bills into Ashlyn’s hand with a look of disdain, as if she couldn’t imagine money going to something as horrible as a goalkeeper kit. “Take that in.”

Ashlyn flatted the bills between her fingers — $23. Maybe that was good for the shorts. She could probably pull some cash together for the new socks, but she didn’t have money for the jerseys she had to buy.

“Thanks,” she muttered. She looked over her shoulder again and again as she left. Her mother was bent over the counter, resting her head in one hand, the other keeping a tight grip on her glass. Ashlyn looked back at the house as she threw her longboard onto the street and hopped on, kicking off to get her going at a nice speed to her grandparents’ house.

“Ashlyn, come sit with me.”

Ashlyn walked over to her grandmother tentatively and sat down next to her on the couch. She had already been given the money she asked for. She would be able to buy her uniforms and play soccer at school. Her grandmother looked at her with sad eyes the entire time, though. She reached out to take Ashlyn’s hands between both of hers. They were warm and wrinkled and familiar.

“Ashlyn, what would you say to staying with me and your grandfather for awhile?” she asked, one thumb rubbing comfortingly across Ashlyn’s skin. Ashlyn bit at the inside of her cheek. “It might be better for you, honey.”

“But then…” She trailed off. Who would take care of Mom? That was what she wanted to ask. But something stopped her, and it made her sick. She didn’t want to be the one there to take care of her. She didn’t want to pick up after her or watch her struggle or hear her slurred promises or face her when those promises were broken. She didn’t want to be there.

She looked up at her grandmother and scooted herself closer to her, folding herself into her arms like she was a little kid again. “Okay, Grandma,” she agreed, closing her eyes as she felt her grandmother stroke through her hair.

The alcohol changes the chemicals in the brain.

This wasn’t a choice.

--

Ashlyn knew that Ali was trying to give her space when she came back to the apartment. She looked at her for a long time when she walked in and kissed her lightly and took her jacket. Ashlyn knew she wasn’t going to ask until Ashlyn said something first.

She didn’t bring it up until after dinner, when they were cuddling together on the couch. She was still working things through a little — what she’d had to remember and talk about, what the man had explained about addiction and alcoholism, depression and guilt. She hardly knew how she felt walking out of that office. She hardly knew what to say.

“I think I understand why she did what she did a bit better,” Ashlyn told Ali. “And I understand that she probably didn’t want to hurt me so much, but it was out of her control.”

“You want to know what Kyle told me after he got sober?” Ali asked. She was playing with Ashlyn’s hands from where she was seated in between her legs, laying back so that she was enveloped in Ashlyn’s body. “He told me that he knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was so far gone that he couldn’t stop. But, he said, he was trying every day to change. There was always the struggle there and there was always the fight and I think that’s how it was for your mom, too.”

“You think?”

“Well, she’s related to you,” Ali started, “And you’re one of the strongest people I know.” Ashlyn’s grip around Ali’s waist tightened as she rested her forehead against the top of Ali’s head. “I don’t know how you do it, Ashlyn, but you are so strong and you inspire me every day.”

“You inspire me, Princess,” Ashlyn murmured in return. “I love you.”