Stamina 8
Title: Stamina
Chapter 8: The Dawning
Author: caraaazy and livelovelearneg
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sequel to 'Closer to Desperation' and several others, all located at my journal. This portion is set six months after the end of C2D.
Standard Disclaimer: Don't own, Don't profit.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |
Callie ----
After what feels like hours of standing, she guides me silently to sit with her on the couch. I'm lucky we are so in tune with each other by now because I was on the verge of collapsing. My muscles are tight, my jaw clenched, my fists tightly balled in my pockets as deep into them as they can go. I reluctantly sit next to her, still as a statue, suddenly unaware that she's even in the same room. My mind is blank and I can vaguely make out the ticking of the clock on Derek's desk, slowly keeping beat with my heart that's now thumping loudly in my ears. The only thing I feel, or can put a name to anyway, is lost. Like, everything is going by at a million miles per hour, and the only thing keeping me from disappearing altogether is remaining completely still. I've only really ever felt this way once before, ironically, at Joe's the night Arizona kissed me.
Then, I feel it, but just barely, her hand. She placed it over my left fist, now tightly clenched in my lap. I again find myself looking at her hand on mine. The room is still dark, but I can see the clash of our skin against one another. I know if I keep looking at them I'll feel loved, or connected, I'll feel something for her, but I can't. I know she's trying to find some way to comfort me, some way to let me know she's here for me, I know she is, I know her. I mean, I love her for it, of course, more than anything, but I can't feel, not right now. I look to my right hand instead, needing the distraction. My thumb is loosely tucked between my middle and index finger. It's something I've done my whole life. When I was younger I would hold my blanket with my other fingers, rubbing the fabric with my middle finger against the bottom of my thumb. No matter what is or was going on in my life, when I feel like I'm losing control, my thumb always finds its way right to that spot. Then it hit me. Hard. A simple memory from long ago that I'd all but forgotten. I remember when I was a kid, when my Grandma died, sitting in this huge Catholic Church next to my mother and sister. Not sure if I was more terrified of the coffin draped in white at the front, or the giant statue of Jesus behind it; I dropped my head to look down at my hands, trying to escape the fear that plagued me. I noticed my mother on my right; slowly rubbing the bottom of her thumb with her middle finger, and looking to my left, seeing my sister do the same thing. It was a comfort thing. I vaguely remember asking my mom about it afterwards, she said my sister and I did it in the womb and had ever since. A Torres women tradition of sorts. My mom. I instantly snap up to look at Arizona, wide eyed and terrified. "Arizona, my mother is dead." All she does is nod slowly, and in that instant I realize that my whole life just been flipped upside down.
Arizona ----
“Arizona, my mother is dead.” She says the words like she’s telling me the time, ‘Arizona, it’s three o’clock.’ She hasn’t reacted, or rather, she hasn’t reacted how I had expected. She’s silent, stoic, internal. I see the fight in her eyes, in the clench of her fists; in the way she’s avoiding the small contact of our hands. But through all the emotions and anger I see simmering just below the surface, I see the scared little child that she’s been transformed into with the loss of her mother.
She’s doing the hand thing. She’s never explained it to me, but it’s easily detectable as a gesture of stress or anxiety. The fragile rubbing motion is soothing for her. It’s what she does when we hold hands, her thumb always smoothes over my knuckles. Or when we’re lying in bed at night, she’ll pull herself snug to my back and with the arm that’s draped around my waist, she’ll delicately circle over my hip bone. Even in the beginning of our relationship when everything was “Sex! Sex! Sex!” the action was never lust-filled for her. Just habitual.
Now, however, the action is reminiscent of two sticks rubbing together, slowly igniting the preeminent inferno. Bringing her closer and closer to the spark that will burn the whole façade down. Bringing my hand to her face, I gently rest it on her cheek. My thumb collides with the silent tears and carries them away. I’d tackled the first hurdle of telling her, now came the real task; keeping her here.
Callie ----
I stare at her face, not processing, once again, the words leaving her mouth. I almost look straight through her head as if she's not even there. I hear her softly call my name in an echoed tone, "Calliope? Baby?" and feel her try to coax me from my distance as her thumb strokes my cheek again. Unbeknownst to me, tears have silently escaped my eyes, suddenly blurring my vision. But really, it's a freak occurrence because I feel nothing inside. Nothing for the woman sitting next to me, nothing for my dead mother, nothing. I am completely empty in every sense of the word. Void of emotions, of thoughts, of feelings, of life. And as I peer at Arizona, I am utterly unsure of everything I once knew. Who I am? No idea. Who Arizona is? Clueless. Who my family is? What my family even is now? I couldn't tell you if I was threatened at gunpoint for the answer. Nothing. Emptiness.
Arizona wipes the tears as they fall, trying to coax me to come back to her. What she doesn't understand is that I have no idea what reality is now. My mother was my best friend. The one person I could always go to no matter what. Her smile made my life every single time I saw it. Her laugh? My favorite sound in the entire world. Her hugs? The one true place that I felt completely safe and loved. Nothing compared to her hugs. Moving away from home was the single hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Leaving her? Harder than all my years of school, every case I've ever worked on, all the life hurdles I've faced combined; being cheated on by George, being left by Erica? Nothing compared. But she and I both knew there was nothing left for me in Miami, and with her blessing, I moved across the country.
We wrote to each other almost daily, something only Arizona ever knew. It was something tangible, something to hold on to, something to touch and smell, something of her and of me that we could share with one another from thousands of miles away. Even if it was just a simple, "I'm thinking of you" or "I'm proud of you" or even just "I love you", she always wrote. And those written words are something an email could never ever compare to. I've saved every single one, keeping them in a safe box in my closet. One of those fire proof ones, so that no matter what happened, I would always have those letters from her. That's how much they meant to me, how much she meant to me.
When my dad visited and disowned me, I never worried about my mother doing the same. Not once. But when they all stayed silent, and two weeks passed with no letter, that's what broke me. Not my father or sister's reactions, not the missing trust fund or the extra shifts or the exhaustion, not even the distance from Arizona. No, it was my mother's silence. One night Arizona found me huddled on the bed, surrounded by all the letters, sobbing. She climbed up next to me and questioned what was going on. I finally decided just to tell her of my relationship with my mother, about the letters, about leaving home, about my mother's silence, everything. Apparently, Arizona wrote to her after that, telling her who she was, how much she loved me, that she would stand by me, protect me, and that my mother had broken me with her silence, and she promised to be there for me no matter what her response was. Not five days later I received a letter from my mother. My heart stopped and I had to have Arizona read it to me when I saw the return address stamp. She explained that she wasn't ignoring me, that she was simply waiting to hear from me, knowing that I would need to come to her with this. Regardless of what my father told her, I had to be the one to come to her. And she concluded in telling me to love Arizona with all my heart and no matter what, never, ever let her go. I will never forget the smile Arizona had on her face that night, the love that shone through her eyes. And I imagine that same love shone through my mother's eyes as she read Arizona's letter. That was my mother. My everything.
I never really bought into the whole notion of "soul mates". Mostly because that word implies that there is no work involved, that they're just destined to be your perfect match, poof! Just like that. And also, that there is only one real soul mate. No, I don't believe that. I have two, without a doubt. My mother and Arizona, without either of them I would be incomplete. I would be missing part of my heart, of my soul, because they are the ones that make up the two largest parts. I know that sounds overly dramatic and overly romantic, but it's the truth. Those two women make me whole. And it took finding Arizona to realize that. To really feel whole for the first time. And now? One of the largest pieces of who I am has been ripped from my chest, leaving nothing.
Slowly I come back into this new, strange reality as Arizona softly repeats "Baby?" over and over while holding my face with both her hands. Making me hear her, see her, feel her. I look into her eyes and my heart twinges with the love and concern I see in them. It's barely there, but I feel it, and it instantly makes me wince in pain. But all I can think about is my mom. I desperately need to remember her glow, her smile, and the beautiful sparkle in her deep brown eyes. How can this be happening? I don't understand why it had to be her. She gave so much to so many people, never wanting any kind of thanks or praise. She was a genuinely selfless and amazing person. It should have been me. I wish I could have taken her place. I would have. I need to. "It should have been me.”
I speak the words before I’m aware I had even thought them, and then suddenly, four more follow them. “Can I see her?”
Arizona ----
Panic. That’s the first thought, first emotion, first real sensation that I feel when she asks to see her. Carmen was, there it is again; past tense … stunning. My Calliope got every ounce of her looks from her mom and it was obvious. She was a wealthy, well-pampered woman, but it was natural for her. Under the make up and manicures and expensive clothes, Carmen was, inside and out, a gorgeous woman. Callie needed to remember her as such. Not as the bruised and burnt woman lying lifeless in the cold, dark morgue.
“Callie, what is your last memory of your mother?” I know I’m being incredibly insensitive by making her remember right now, but I also know this will make her see.
She looks at me blankly for a moment before her gaze flickers to the wall behind me. Her tears rush forward and a silent sob is choked back, making her sniff loudly and gasp for air. It’s almost lost in her strangled crying, but a single, harsh laugh pushes through the breaking front. “She caught me staring at you across the party.” She pauses and hastily wipes the tears with her sleeve as a subtle gleam appears in her eyes. “She asked me for a favor and, of course I said yes. She told me to let you love me, and that I should love you in return. But most of all she asked me to be happy.” Another strangled laugh is caught in her chest as she returns her gaze to me. “Then she gave me a kiss and told me to go save you from my father.” This time the laugh breaks through cleanly. And although it’s fleeting, it’s music to my ears.
Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, I marvel at her beauty for a moment. Even in the worst moments of her life, she’s still breath taking. My musing is shattered by a ragged sniff and sob. Focusing back on reality, I usher her tears away with my thumb. “Remember her like that. Remember her face with a smile upon it and love in her eyes. Remember her last request to you, her daughter. Remember how much she loved you. That’s what you need to remember her as, not as what she is now.” I see the flash of pain in her eyes as I again reaffirm the fact that she’s dead. “Because years from now, when the pain has dulled and you’ve healed, you want that to be your memory of her. You’ll see her smile and remember all the greatest parts of your mom. That’s what you’ll have.”
My own tears well up now. Her pain resurfaces my own. It’s been years now since he died, it gets easier but it never disappears. I wish someone would’ve told me these things. Told me to revisit our greatest childhood memories and to freeze-frame his equally super magic smile in my mind. But, no. Instead I stood in a hangar. Now when I think of Daniel, my memories always fade out to the image of a single triangle-folded flag that was placed in my mother’s arms, and the soft words of thanks from the country he died for. She deserves better than that. Deserves more than a painful jolt every time someone even says the word “mom”.
She’s nodding, but I can tell it’s instinctual and not out of actual understanding. She’s going, I can see her mind crouching, preparing her to flee. “My mom told me to be happy and kissed me. Then she died.” Her panicked eyes connect with mine and the emotion swirling in their depths sends shivers up my spine. “She died, Arizona.”
Her body rushes into mine and I hesitantly wrap my arms around her. I should be grateful for the contact, for the affection. But all I can think is, ‘It’s my fault.’
Callie -----
"She died, Arizona.” My heart rips in two and the sobs that wouldn't come before finally do. I throw my body desperately towards Arizona who, after a moment of shock, accepts me into a tight embrace. I can feel her softly kiss my temple; silently crying tears of her own, as they gently wet my hair and mix with my own on my cheek. "I...I'm so sorry..."
“Shh, it’s okay baby.” I hear her say the words against my head, but all my body will allow me to do is sob and grasp her tighter. I hear her repeat "I love you" and suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, all I want to do is escape. Escape this moment, this situation, everything. I jerk up suddenly, pulling away from her embrace. She looks at me with worry, shock, and a hint of hurt. No. I need to get away from this, from feeling, from sobbing, from her emotions, from her, from this hospital, from memories, from life, from death. I make up my mind and instantly rise to my feet, almost gliding to the door, not sure what's propelling me, willing me to move, but I know I have to, it's too much. I need out. I need air. I just, need. And as my body runs from the room, down the catwalk above the surgical floor I know so well, I vaguely make out a frantic Arizona screaming after me.
"Calliope! Stop!"
But all I can do is keep running, as if my life depended on it. And in all honesty, it does.
Arizona ----
I knew it would happen, I’ve been preparing myself for it since Derek called her time of death. I thought I had all my bases covered and all the doors locked. Yet, there she goes. She’s running.
Mark had warned me, and of course I knew to expect it too. But I was expecting emotional escapism, not literal running. The Callie I know doesn’t run, the Callie I know fights. She plants her feet and stands her ground. My Callie never flees.
The imaginary light bulb hovering above my head dings on; this isn’t the Callie I’ve known and loved. She’s shut herself off so much that she’s lost herself. She doesn’t know anything beyond the escape that she craves. And so, she runs. She runs so the burn in her legs will overpower the burn in her heart, she runs to forget what she’s even running from.
The only thing I can think to do is to chase after her. She may not know who she is right now, but I do, I know what she's feeling, I remember all too well. So, I run too, I run after her, I run to save her from the one person she's desperately trying to escape, herself.
My stride increases as I see her near the exit and I desperately lunge forward. My hand grasps her elbow and it stops her. I immediately double over, trying for the life of me to catch my breath. From where I’m bent over, I keep an eye trained on her shoe, not for a second letting her out of my sight.
I stand upright after I allowed myself a few moments to catch my breath, and as I meet her gaze, the look in her eyes startles me. It's one I haven't seen in what feels like years, but in reality, it was only mere hours before. I see this look every day, when I bring her coffee, when we hold hands under the table at lunch, when she’s cooking our dinner, when we’re bathing in the afterglow of ecstasies. The look that was born of her first declaration of love, it’s the look that sets my soul on fire every single time. And this time is no different.
I savor it; imprint it deeply into my memory. The way her tangled hair falls around her shoulders and clings to the damp skin of her neck. How red and puffy her eyes are from the waves upon waves of tears she’s shed. The ill-fitting men’s scrubs she had thrown on in the ambulance. I drown in her gaze. And I suffer in the thought that I might never see it again.
Callie ----
I've been running so fast I can barely breathe. My muscles are numb, my body simply moving on autopilot. Running down countless stairs, past doctors and nurses who stare at me with shock. Colleagues, my adopted family reaching for me, trying to stop me, asking what's wrong, but all I can hear, all I can feel, is my own heartbeat. And even that is too much. I know where I need to go, and no matter what, that's where my body is taking me.
Just as I finally reach the employee exit doors, I feel my body being jerked violently to a stop. Arizona stands behind me, hands on her knees, doubled over, trying to catch her breath. "Callie, stop! Stop running from me! I'm begging you!" she pants between gasps for air. I finally see her for the first time since we held each other and I promised her the moon. She looks exhausted, drained, and not just from the run she clearly had not intended on taking tonight. I see her. I see the love of my life in the baggy EMT clothes from earlier, sweat on her brow, eyes frantic, breathing heavily and she takes my breath away. It's the first time, even just for a second, I've felt safe. "You're beautiful, you know that?" She looks at me like I've grown a second head, so I continue, at least owing her this. "I'm sorry. I just...I need to get out of here. Right now. I can't, I can't be here. Please." She nods slowly, reaching for my hand and firmly says to me like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Lead the way."
Just as quickly as I had been stopped, Arizona in tow, I sprint toward my destination, determined not to look back, not to think back, and just, run. Fast, hard, pushing my body to a painful point of breaking. I need that control back, over myself, over my circumstances, over my life, so I sprint harder, the searing pain of my muscles and lungs bringing me a sense of comfort. Such a strange reaction, I know, and that isn't lost on me, but I really don't care, even I can appreciate the irony in it. I keep going, barely, if at all, comprehending my surroundings. I stare at the pavement as my feet hit it, creating a Zen-like line of focus. Not more than two steps in front of me. That's as far ahead as my brain will let me think, two quickened, hurried, rushed steps ahead. The past and the present remaining still, silently coming to an agreement to spare me, if only for the few seconds I can run faster than they can.
I have to keep going, I need this. My heart frantically beating in my chest, my lungs gasping for air, but all I can focus on are my feet as they violently pound against the pavement. I continue the silent path my body creates for me until my shoes hit the dew moistened grass. The grass that probably hadn't been cut yet, as I can feel the soft, cold dampness coating the top of my ankles, contrasting the burning heat radiating from every pore of my body. I stop suddenly, but only when my body collides hard with the wooden bench, and I don't even try to stop myself as I topple to the ground from the force. I rest there on one knee, too exhausted to find a comfortable position until I hear, what I assume is Arizona, finally catching up to me. As she gets closer I hear her gasp, as she drops to her knees in front of me, touching every part of my body with her fingers, making sure I was unharmed from my fall. I still have yet to acknowledge she's here with me, it's too much. Right now? This moment? The most I can do is haphazardly shift to sit, bringing my knees up to my chest and grasping hold of them with all the energy I have left.
Arizona ----
“Where…the hell…did she…learn to…run…like this…” I wheeze out between ragged gasps of air. She’s far enough ahead where she wouldn’t hear me, I can't let her know that I'm struggling to keep up with her. I have to be strong even though I'm no distance runner. Sure she’s in shape, a blind man could see that. But this? This was the pace of someone fueled by more than just endurance and sports drinks. This was someone running for her life, running for freedom.
I round the corner to the park at the precise moment that she topples over the solitary wooden bench. “Shit!” I kick it into a gear I don’t really have and sprint to her side. Hurriedly yet carefully appraising her body for the wounds that should be there after a tumble like that, yet she doesn’t even flinch. Instead she sits back onto the cool grass and brings her knees to her chest.
I watch her now. She sits there with her chin on her knee, arms wrapped firmly around her legs, gently rocking herself. So gentle, in fact, I’m almost positive she doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it. I sit down next to her, but keep to myself. This is her time. I know throughout this grieving period she’s going to want her space, and that’s going to be that hardest part for me. Having to hold myself back when all I want to do is hold her. Wrap my arms around her until I risk strangling her, whisper my love in her ear until it sneaks past her defenses.
Tearing my eyes from her form, I finally realize where we are, where she fled to: our park. This is our place, where we go when nothing else feels right. “It’s so beautiful here” she remarks, perfectly mirroring my own thoughts. I brought her here on one of our first dates months ago, and we’ve shared it ever since. Any time we’ve fought and one of us left, we would always find each other here, at this bench. When the last thing we want is to be lost, this is where we come to be found.
The notion that she ran here is a welcome feeling. She remembers us, remembers our love, that she remembers me. Through all the pushing and blocking and running that she’s done, and will continue to do, she came here. To be found.
I reach over to still her worrying hand and knit our fingers together in the same way we always do; my thumb over hers. After a few moments of nothing, her thumb resumes the careful circles that it always draws. This, more than anything, gives me hope.
Callie ----
I feel the grass ruffle next to me and I can only figure Arizona has moved to sit too. I lift my head slowly, looking out past the trees to the city. I can't even begin to count the number of times either of us has found one another here. Whether just for dinner or lunch, or if we'd ventured here after hearing of the other's poor surgical outcome. This place is the only spot that I've ever found an ounce of solace from, an ounce of peace in the chaotic world we choose to live in. This place, this space, it's ours. "It's so beautiful here" I hear myself say. I don't expect anyone to respond, and I can only vaguely feel her presence next to me, but the words escape me all the same. I shift some, resting my head back on the seat of the bench, looking to the stars. Not really looking for answers, just, looking. They are so bright here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, away from the mess of the hospital. The act is simple, but for the first time I really take notice of it, allow myself to feel it, maybe even need it, as she once again reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. I feel a tiny bit of warmth from the touch and the feeling literally shakes me. I'd honestly never expected to feel that again.
I turn my head slowly to look at her, her blonde hair glowing in the moonlight, and I try with all my might to smile at her, to give her something of me, anything. I have no idea if there is anything left, but if there is, she deserves to have it. All I can manage is a small twitch with the corner of my mouth, but I see it in her eyes that she caught it. She always does. I look at her silently, just in an attempt to lose myself in her beautiful blue eyes. Trying to soak up some sense of what our amazing life was like before...
As if she sees the panic suddenly resume its place at the realization that, yet again I remember that my mother is dead, she shakes her head, effectively snapping me out of my train of thought. I open my mouth, trying desperately to speak, but she shakes her head firmly once more, reaches her other hand up and places her finger on my lips, shushing me. My eyes fall to the ground in defeat, all my will lost, as she slowly draws my chin up to look at her. No words are exchanged; none are needed, as we tell each other everything that's on our minds, that's weighing on our hearts, just by being in that moment together. She smiles warmly and shifts her body again, and presses her fingers to her shoulder, offering my weary, exhausted head a place to rest; never once letting go of my hand, knowing she is the only reality I now know. We sit there in silence, no expectations, no need, no desire, no feelings, just, a presence. She looks to the city below the clearing, as I still allow myself to gaze at the stars. And if I allowed myself any resemblance of feeling, any other time, I'd realize just how much I love the woman sitting next to me, in the wet grass, without a coat, as the cool Seattle night air softly blows past us. I would normally feel guilty as she shivers from the cold, but I can't, not tonight. Instead, I do the only thing I have left; I lean over and lay my head on her shoulder. Before I drift to sleep, the sheer exhaustion of today's events finally catching up to me, I hear her softly whisper, almost inaudibly: "I love you", and I allow myself to forget everything that happened, just for a moment. Opening my mouth, hoping it'll find its way out somehow; I manage to whisper...."I love..." before falling.
----
I find myself standing in the house my mother grew up in, that I grew up in, watching myself as a child, running around my Grandmother's backyard with my cousins. Laughing, playing, enjoying each other, enjoying the weather, the big back yard, the comfort of her home. As a child I always loved going there, visiting her. There were always a plethora of cousins to play with, always amazing, homemade food to eat, and always my Grandma and her warm, comforting hugs. I always felt safe there, at home, loved. It was one of the biggest parts of my childhood.
I walk out the back door, and walk over to the swing my Grandma always sat in to watch us play, and the first thing she does is smile at me. It‘s an exact replica of my mother‘s smile and the foundation from which I earned mine as well. The one Arizona says she loves so much, and marvels every time she sees a picture of my parents, how identical we are. I make a mental note to show Arizona my grandmother’s pictures, to show her the dominant Ramirez gene that passed from grandmother to mother to daughter.
She extends her hand and I take it, slowly bending my knees in preparation to sit as the swing comes forward. But as it does, I fall back hard against the seat. She smiles again, and I can't help but giggle slightly at the foolishness of that happening to a grown woman. She coaxes me down and pulls me to rest my head in her lap, just as I did as a child, slowly combing her fingers through my long curls. I laugh to myself when I see a young Aria, running past our cousin Diego, shoving him to the ground, and laughing like a maniac. I'm pulled from my view when I hear her say four simple words.
'How's your mama, Calliope?"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, silently trying to collect my thoughts, trying to figure out what to tell her, how to tell her. Do I tell her the truth? That her only daughter is dead? Am I even ready for the truth and finality of those words? I suddenly realize I'm holding my breath in anticipation. As I begin to feel lightheaded, I can only open my mouth, no words escape, and I suddenly can't breathe, even though I'm desperately trying. I frantically grab at my chest, hoping to release the air that's trapped in my lungs. My mouth opens once more, finally finding the words I need to say, but instead of my own voice, I simply hear Arizona's come from my lips...
"She's gone."
Chapter 8: The Dawning
Author: caraaazy and livelovelearneg
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sequel to 'Closer to Desperation' and several others, all located at my journal. This portion is set six months after the end of C2D.
Standard Disclaimer: Don't own, Don't profit.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |
Callie ----
After what feels like hours of standing, she guides me silently to sit with her on the couch. I'm lucky we are so in tune with each other by now because I was on the verge of collapsing. My muscles are tight, my jaw clenched, my fists tightly balled in my pockets as deep into them as they can go. I reluctantly sit next to her, still as a statue, suddenly unaware that she's even in the same room. My mind is blank and I can vaguely make out the ticking of the clock on Derek's desk, slowly keeping beat with my heart that's now thumping loudly in my ears. The only thing I feel, or can put a name to anyway, is lost. Like, everything is going by at a million miles per hour, and the only thing keeping me from disappearing altogether is remaining completely still. I've only really ever felt this way once before, ironically, at Joe's the night Arizona kissed me.
Then, I feel it, but just barely, her hand. She placed it over my left fist, now tightly clenched in my lap. I again find myself looking at her hand on mine. The room is still dark, but I can see the clash of our skin against one another. I know if I keep looking at them I'll feel loved, or connected, I'll feel something for her, but I can't. I know she's trying to find some way to comfort me, some way to let me know she's here for me, I know she is, I know her. I mean, I love her for it, of course, more than anything, but I can't feel, not right now. I look to my right hand instead, needing the distraction. My thumb is loosely tucked between my middle and index finger. It's something I've done my whole life. When I was younger I would hold my blanket with my other fingers, rubbing the fabric with my middle finger against the bottom of my thumb. No matter what is or was going on in my life, when I feel like I'm losing control, my thumb always finds its way right to that spot. Then it hit me. Hard. A simple memory from long ago that I'd all but forgotten. I remember when I was a kid, when my Grandma died, sitting in this huge Catholic Church next to my mother and sister. Not sure if I was more terrified of the coffin draped in white at the front, or the giant statue of Jesus behind it; I dropped my head to look down at my hands, trying to escape the fear that plagued me. I noticed my mother on my right; slowly rubbing the bottom of her thumb with her middle finger, and looking to my left, seeing my sister do the same thing. It was a comfort thing. I vaguely remember asking my mom about it afterwards, she said my sister and I did it in the womb and had ever since. A Torres women tradition of sorts. My mom. I instantly snap up to look at Arizona, wide eyed and terrified. "Arizona, my mother is dead." All she does is nod slowly, and in that instant I realize that my whole life just been flipped upside down.
Arizona ----
“Arizona, my mother is dead.” She says the words like she’s telling me the time, ‘Arizona, it’s three o’clock.’ She hasn’t reacted, or rather, she hasn’t reacted how I had expected. She’s silent, stoic, internal. I see the fight in her eyes, in the clench of her fists; in the way she’s avoiding the small contact of our hands. But through all the emotions and anger I see simmering just below the surface, I see the scared little child that she’s been transformed into with the loss of her mother.
She’s doing the hand thing. She’s never explained it to me, but it’s easily detectable as a gesture of stress or anxiety. The fragile rubbing motion is soothing for her. It’s what she does when we hold hands, her thumb always smoothes over my knuckles. Or when we’re lying in bed at night, she’ll pull herself snug to my back and with the arm that’s draped around my waist, she’ll delicately circle over my hip bone. Even in the beginning of our relationship when everything was “Sex! Sex! Sex!” the action was never lust-filled for her. Just habitual.
Now, however, the action is reminiscent of two sticks rubbing together, slowly igniting the preeminent inferno. Bringing her closer and closer to the spark that will burn the whole façade down. Bringing my hand to her face, I gently rest it on her cheek. My thumb collides with the silent tears and carries them away. I’d tackled the first hurdle of telling her, now came the real task; keeping her here.
Callie ----
I stare at her face, not processing, once again, the words leaving her mouth. I almost look straight through her head as if she's not even there. I hear her softly call my name in an echoed tone, "Calliope? Baby?" and feel her try to coax me from my distance as her thumb strokes my cheek again. Unbeknownst to me, tears have silently escaped my eyes, suddenly blurring my vision. But really, it's a freak occurrence because I feel nothing inside. Nothing for the woman sitting next to me, nothing for my dead mother, nothing. I am completely empty in every sense of the word. Void of emotions, of thoughts, of feelings, of life. And as I peer at Arizona, I am utterly unsure of everything I once knew. Who I am? No idea. Who Arizona is? Clueless. Who my family is? What my family even is now? I couldn't tell you if I was threatened at gunpoint for the answer. Nothing. Emptiness.
Arizona wipes the tears as they fall, trying to coax me to come back to her. What she doesn't understand is that I have no idea what reality is now. My mother was my best friend. The one person I could always go to no matter what. Her smile made my life every single time I saw it. Her laugh? My favorite sound in the entire world. Her hugs? The one true place that I felt completely safe and loved. Nothing compared to her hugs. Moving away from home was the single hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Leaving her? Harder than all my years of school, every case I've ever worked on, all the life hurdles I've faced combined; being cheated on by George, being left by Erica? Nothing compared. But she and I both knew there was nothing left for me in Miami, and with her blessing, I moved across the country.
We wrote to each other almost daily, something only Arizona ever knew. It was something tangible, something to hold on to, something to touch and smell, something of her and of me that we could share with one another from thousands of miles away. Even if it was just a simple, "I'm thinking of you" or "I'm proud of you" or even just "I love you", she always wrote. And those written words are something an email could never ever compare to. I've saved every single one, keeping them in a safe box in my closet. One of those fire proof ones, so that no matter what happened, I would always have those letters from her. That's how much they meant to me, how much she meant to me.
When my dad visited and disowned me, I never worried about my mother doing the same. Not once. But when they all stayed silent, and two weeks passed with no letter, that's what broke me. Not my father or sister's reactions, not the missing trust fund or the extra shifts or the exhaustion, not even the distance from Arizona. No, it was my mother's silence. One night Arizona found me huddled on the bed, surrounded by all the letters, sobbing. She climbed up next to me and questioned what was going on. I finally decided just to tell her of my relationship with my mother, about the letters, about leaving home, about my mother's silence, everything. Apparently, Arizona wrote to her after that, telling her who she was, how much she loved me, that she would stand by me, protect me, and that my mother had broken me with her silence, and she promised to be there for me no matter what her response was. Not five days later I received a letter from my mother. My heart stopped and I had to have Arizona read it to me when I saw the return address stamp. She explained that she wasn't ignoring me, that she was simply waiting to hear from me, knowing that I would need to come to her with this. Regardless of what my father told her, I had to be the one to come to her. And she concluded in telling me to love Arizona with all my heart and no matter what, never, ever let her go. I will never forget the smile Arizona had on her face that night, the love that shone through her eyes. And I imagine that same love shone through my mother's eyes as she read Arizona's letter. That was my mother. My everything.
I never really bought into the whole notion of "soul mates". Mostly because that word implies that there is no work involved, that they're just destined to be your perfect match, poof! Just like that. And also, that there is only one real soul mate. No, I don't believe that. I have two, without a doubt. My mother and Arizona, without either of them I would be incomplete. I would be missing part of my heart, of my soul, because they are the ones that make up the two largest parts. I know that sounds overly dramatic and overly romantic, but it's the truth. Those two women make me whole. And it took finding Arizona to realize that. To really feel whole for the first time. And now? One of the largest pieces of who I am has been ripped from my chest, leaving nothing.
Slowly I come back into this new, strange reality as Arizona softly repeats "Baby?" over and over while holding my face with both her hands. Making me hear her, see her, feel her. I look into her eyes and my heart twinges with the love and concern I see in them. It's barely there, but I feel it, and it instantly makes me wince in pain. But all I can think about is my mom. I desperately need to remember her glow, her smile, and the beautiful sparkle in her deep brown eyes. How can this be happening? I don't understand why it had to be her. She gave so much to so many people, never wanting any kind of thanks or praise. She was a genuinely selfless and amazing person. It should have been me. I wish I could have taken her place. I would have. I need to. "It should have been me.”
I speak the words before I’m aware I had even thought them, and then suddenly, four more follow them. “Can I see her?”
Arizona ----
Panic. That’s the first thought, first emotion, first real sensation that I feel when she asks to see her. Carmen was, there it is again; past tense … stunning. My Calliope got every ounce of her looks from her mom and it was obvious. She was a wealthy, well-pampered woman, but it was natural for her. Under the make up and manicures and expensive clothes, Carmen was, inside and out, a gorgeous woman. Callie needed to remember her as such. Not as the bruised and burnt woman lying lifeless in the cold, dark morgue.
“Callie, what is your last memory of your mother?” I know I’m being incredibly insensitive by making her remember right now, but I also know this will make her see.
She looks at me blankly for a moment before her gaze flickers to the wall behind me. Her tears rush forward and a silent sob is choked back, making her sniff loudly and gasp for air. It’s almost lost in her strangled crying, but a single, harsh laugh pushes through the breaking front. “She caught me staring at you across the party.” She pauses and hastily wipes the tears with her sleeve as a subtle gleam appears in her eyes. “She asked me for a favor and, of course I said yes. She told me to let you love me, and that I should love you in return. But most of all she asked me to be happy.” Another strangled laugh is caught in her chest as she returns her gaze to me. “Then she gave me a kiss and told me to go save you from my father.” This time the laugh breaks through cleanly. And although it’s fleeting, it’s music to my ears.
Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, I marvel at her beauty for a moment. Even in the worst moments of her life, she’s still breath taking. My musing is shattered by a ragged sniff and sob. Focusing back on reality, I usher her tears away with my thumb. “Remember her like that. Remember her face with a smile upon it and love in her eyes. Remember her last request to you, her daughter. Remember how much she loved you. That’s what you need to remember her as, not as what she is now.” I see the flash of pain in her eyes as I again reaffirm the fact that she’s dead. “Because years from now, when the pain has dulled and you’ve healed, you want that to be your memory of her. You’ll see her smile and remember all the greatest parts of your mom. That’s what you’ll have.”
My own tears well up now. Her pain resurfaces my own. It’s been years now since he died, it gets easier but it never disappears. I wish someone would’ve told me these things. Told me to revisit our greatest childhood memories and to freeze-frame his equally super magic smile in my mind. But, no. Instead I stood in a hangar. Now when I think of Daniel, my memories always fade out to the image of a single triangle-folded flag that was placed in my mother’s arms, and the soft words of thanks from the country he died for. She deserves better than that. Deserves more than a painful jolt every time someone even says the word “mom”.
She’s nodding, but I can tell it’s instinctual and not out of actual understanding. She’s going, I can see her mind crouching, preparing her to flee. “My mom told me to be happy and kissed me. Then she died.” Her panicked eyes connect with mine and the emotion swirling in their depths sends shivers up my spine. “She died, Arizona.”
Her body rushes into mine and I hesitantly wrap my arms around her. I should be grateful for the contact, for the affection. But all I can think is, ‘It’s my fault.’
Callie -----
"She died, Arizona.” My heart rips in two and the sobs that wouldn't come before finally do. I throw my body desperately towards Arizona who, after a moment of shock, accepts me into a tight embrace. I can feel her softly kiss my temple; silently crying tears of her own, as they gently wet my hair and mix with my own on my cheek. "I...I'm so sorry..."
“Shh, it’s okay baby.” I hear her say the words against my head, but all my body will allow me to do is sob and grasp her tighter. I hear her repeat "I love you" and suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, all I want to do is escape. Escape this moment, this situation, everything. I jerk up suddenly, pulling away from her embrace. She looks at me with worry, shock, and a hint of hurt. No. I need to get away from this, from feeling, from sobbing, from her emotions, from her, from this hospital, from memories, from life, from death. I make up my mind and instantly rise to my feet, almost gliding to the door, not sure what's propelling me, willing me to move, but I know I have to, it's too much. I need out. I need air. I just, need. And as my body runs from the room, down the catwalk above the surgical floor I know so well, I vaguely make out a frantic Arizona screaming after me.
"Calliope! Stop!"
But all I can do is keep running, as if my life depended on it. And in all honesty, it does.
Arizona ----
I knew it would happen, I’ve been preparing myself for it since Derek called her time of death. I thought I had all my bases covered and all the doors locked. Yet, there she goes. She’s running.
Mark had warned me, and of course I knew to expect it too. But I was expecting emotional escapism, not literal running. The Callie I know doesn’t run, the Callie I know fights. She plants her feet and stands her ground. My Callie never flees.
The imaginary light bulb hovering above my head dings on; this isn’t the Callie I’ve known and loved. She’s shut herself off so much that she’s lost herself. She doesn’t know anything beyond the escape that she craves. And so, she runs. She runs so the burn in her legs will overpower the burn in her heart, she runs to forget what she’s even running from.
The only thing I can think to do is to chase after her. She may not know who she is right now, but I do, I know what she's feeling, I remember all too well. So, I run too, I run after her, I run to save her from the one person she's desperately trying to escape, herself.
My stride increases as I see her near the exit and I desperately lunge forward. My hand grasps her elbow and it stops her. I immediately double over, trying for the life of me to catch my breath. From where I’m bent over, I keep an eye trained on her shoe, not for a second letting her out of my sight.
I stand upright after I allowed myself a few moments to catch my breath, and as I meet her gaze, the look in her eyes startles me. It's one I haven't seen in what feels like years, but in reality, it was only mere hours before. I see this look every day, when I bring her coffee, when we hold hands under the table at lunch, when she’s cooking our dinner, when we’re bathing in the afterglow of ecstasies. The look that was born of her first declaration of love, it’s the look that sets my soul on fire every single time. And this time is no different.
I savor it; imprint it deeply into my memory. The way her tangled hair falls around her shoulders and clings to the damp skin of her neck. How red and puffy her eyes are from the waves upon waves of tears she’s shed. The ill-fitting men’s scrubs she had thrown on in the ambulance. I drown in her gaze. And I suffer in the thought that I might never see it again.
Callie ----
I've been running so fast I can barely breathe. My muscles are numb, my body simply moving on autopilot. Running down countless stairs, past doctors and nurses who stare at me with shock. Colleagues, my adopted family reaching for me, trying to stop me, asking what's wrong, but all I can hear, all I can feel, is my own heartbeat. And even that is too much. I know where I need to go, and no matter what, that's where my body is taking me.
Just as I finally reach the employee exit doors, I feel my body being jerked violently to a stop. Arizona stands behind me, hands on her knees, doubled over, trying to catch her breath. "Callie, stop! Stop running from me! I'm begging you!" she pants between gasps for air. I finally see her for the first time since we held each other and I promised her the moon. She looks exhausted, drained, and not just from the run she clearly had not intended on taking tonight. I see her. I see the love of my life in the baggy EMT clothes from earlier, sweat on her brow, eyes frantic, breathing heavily and she takes my breath away. It's the first time, even just for a second, I've felt safe. "You're beautiful, you know that?" She looks at me like I've grown a second head, so I continue, at least owing her this. "I'm sorry. I just...I need to get out of here. Right now. I can't, I can't be here. Please." She nods slowly, reaching for my hand and firmly says to me like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Lead the way."
Just as quickly as I had been stopped, Arizona in tow, I sprint toward my destination, determined not to look back, not to think back, and just, run. Fast, hard, pushing my body to a painful point of breaking. I need that control back, over myself, over my circumstances, over my life, so I sprint harder, the searing pain of my muscles and lungs bringing me a sense of comfort. Such a strange reaction, I know, and that isn't lost on me, but I really don't care, even I can appreciate the irony in it. I keep going, barely, if at all, comprehending my surroundings. I stare at the pavement as my feet hit it, creating a Zen-like line of focus. Not more than two steps in front of me. That's as far ahead as my brain will let me think, two quickened, hurried, rushed steps ahead. The past and the present remaining still, silently coming to an agreement to spare me, if only for the few seconds I can run faster than they can.
I have to keep going, I need this. My heart frantically beating in my chest, my lungs gasping for air, but all I can focus on are my feet as they violently pound against the pavement. I continue the silent path my body creates for me until my shoes hit the dew moistened grass. The grass that probably hadn't been cut yet, as I can feel the soft, cold dampness coating the top of my ankles, contrasting the burning heat radiating from every pore of my body. I stop suddenly, but only when my body collides hard with the wooden bench, and I don't even try to stop myself as I topple to the ground from the force. I rest there on one knee, too exhausted to find a comfortable position until I hear, what I assume is Arizona, finally catching up to me. As she gets closer I hear her gasp, as she drops to her knees in front of me, touching every part of my body with her fingers, making sure I was unharmed from my fall. I still have yet to acknowledge she's here with me, it's too much. Right now? This moment? The most I can do is haphazardly shift to sit, bringing my knees up to my chest and grasping hold of them with all the energy I have left.
Arizona ----
“Where…the hell…did she…learn to…run…like this…” I wheeze out between ragged gasps of air. She’s far enough ahead where she wouldn’t hear me, I can't let her know that I'm struggling to keep up with her. I have to be strong even though I'm no distance runner. Sure she’s in shape, a blind man could see that. But this? This was the pace of someone fueled by more than just endurance and sports drinks. This was someone running for her life, running for freedom.
I round the corner to the park at the precise moment that she topples over the solitary wooden bench. “Shit!” I kick it into a gear I don’t really have and sprint to her side. Hurriedly yet carefully appraising her body for the wounds that should be there after a tumble like that, yet she doesn’t even flinch. Instead she sits back onto the cool grass and brings her knees to her chest.
I watch her now. She sits there with her chin on her knee, arms wrapped firmly around her legs, gently rocking herself. So gentle, in fact, I’m almost positive she doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it. I sit down next to her, but keep to myself. This is her time. I know throughout this grieving period she’s going to want her space, and that’s going to be that hardest part for me. Having to hold myself back when all I want to do is hold her. Wrap my arms around her until I risk strangling her, whisper my love in her ear until it sneaks past her defenses.
Tearing my eyes from her form, I finally realize where we are, where she fled to: our park. This is our place, where we go when nothing else feels right. “It’s so beautiful here” she remarks, perfectly mirroring my own thoughts. I brought her here on one of our first dates months ago, and we’ve shared it ever since. Any time we’ve fought and one of us left, we would always find each other here, at this bench. When the last thing we want is to be lost, this is where we come to be found.
The notion that she ran here is a welcome feeling. She remembers us, remembers our love, that she remembers me. Through all the pushing and blocking and running that she’s done, and will continue to do, she came here. To be found.
I reach over to still her worrying hand and knit our fingers together in the same way we always do; my thumb over hers. After a few moments of nothing, her thumb resumes the careful circles that it always draws. This, more than anything, gives me hope.
Callie ----
I feel the grass ruffle next to me and I can only figure Arizona has moved to sit too. I lift my head slowly, looking out past the trees to the city. I can't even begin to count the number of times either of us has found one another here. Whether just for dinner or lunch, or if we'd ventured here after hearing of the other's poor surgical outcome. This place is the only spot that I've ever found an ounce of solace from, an ounce of peace in the chaotic world we choose to live in. This place, this space, it's ours. "It's so beautiful here" I hear myself say. I don't expect anyone to respond, and I can only vaguely feel her presence next to me, but the words escape me all the same. I shift some, resting my head back on the seat of the bench, looking to the stars. Not really looking for answers, just, looking. They are so bright here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, away from the mess of the hospital. The act is simple, but for the first time I really take notice of it, allow myself to feel it, maybe even need it, as she once again reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. I feel a tiny bit of warmth from the touch and the feeling literally shakes me. I'd honestly never expected to feel that again.
I turn my head slowly to look at her, her blonde hair glowing in the moonlight, and I try with all my might to smile at her, to give her something of me, anything. I have no idea if there is anything left, but if there is, she deserves to have it. All I can manage is a small twitch with the corner of my mouth, but I see it in her eyes that she caught it. She always does. I look at her silently, just in an attempt to lose myself in her beautiful blue eyes. Trying to soak up some sense of what our amazing life was like before...
As if she sees the panic suddenly resume its place at the realization that, yet again I remember that my mother is dead, she shakes her head, effectively snapping me out of my train of thought. I open my mouth, trying desperately to speak, but she shakes her head firmly once more, reaches her other hand up and places her finger on my lips, shushing me. My eyes fall to the ground in defeat, all my will lost, as she slowly draws my chin up to look at her. No words are exchanged; none are needed, as we tell each other everything that's on our minds, that's weighing on our hearts, just by being in that moment together. She smiles warmly and shifts her body again, and presses her fingers to her shoulder, offering my weary, exhausted head a place to rest; never once letting go of my hand, knowing she is the only reality I now know. We sit there in silence, no expectations, no need, no desire, no feelings, just, a presence. She looks to the city below the clearing, as I still allow myself to gaze at the stars. And if I allowed myself any resemblance of feeling, any other time, I'd realize just how much I love the woman sitting next to me, in the wet grass, without a coat, as the cool Seattle night air softly blows past us. I would normally feel guilty as she shivers from the cold, but I can't, not tonight. Instead, I do the only thing I have left; I lean over and lay my head on her shoulder. Before I drift to sleep, the sheer exhaustion of today's events finally catching up to me, I hear her softly whisper, almost inaudibly: "I love you", and I allow myself to forget everything that happened, just for a moment. Opening my mouth, hoping it'll find its way out somehow; I manage to whisper...."I love..." before falling.
----
I find myself standing in the house my mother grew up in, that I grew up in, watching myself as a child, running around my Grandmother's backyard with my cousins. Laughing, playing, enjoying each other, enjoying the weather, the big back yard, the comfort of her home. As a child I always loved going there, visiting her. There were always a plethora of cousins to play with, always amazing, homemade food to eat, and always my Grandma and her warm, comforting hugs. I always felt safe there, at home, loved. It was one of the biggest parts of my childhood.
I walk out the back door, and walk over to the swing my Grandma always sat in to watch us play, and the first thing she does is smile at me. It‘s an exact replica of my mother‘s smile and the foundation from which I earned mine as well. The one Arizona says she loves so much, and marvels every time she sees a picture of my parents, how identical we are. I make a mental note to show Arizona my grandmother’s pictures, to show her the dominant Ramirez gene that passed from grandmother to mother to daughter.
She extends her hand and I take it, slowly bending my knees in preparation to sit as the swing comes forward. But as it does, I fall back hard against the seat. She smiles again, and I can't help but giggle slightly at the foolishness of that happening to a grown woman. She coaxes me down and pulls me to rest my head in her lap, just as I did as a child, slowly combing her fingers through my long curls. I laugh to myself when I see a young Aria, running past our cousin Diego, shoving him to the ground, and laughing like a maniac. I'm pulled from my view when I hear her say four simple words.
'How's your mama, Calliope?"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, silently trying to collect my thoughts, trying to figure out what to tell her, how to tell her. Do I tell her the truth? That her only daughter is dead? Am I even ready for the truth and finality of those words? I suddenly realize I'm holding my breath in anticipation. As I begin to feel lightheaded, I can only open my mouth, no words escape, and I suddenly can't breathe, even though I'm desperately trying. I frantically grab at my chest, hoping to release the air that's trapped in my lungs. My mouth opens once more, finally finding the words I need to say, but instead of my own voice, I simply hear Arizona's come from my lips...
"She's gone."