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There's a here and now and people to be loved
There are ways to be discovered
There is a green next to the rough
And sometimes I am not afraid to live
Most of all there is you and what you give

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Part Eight – Turn Around
My continued apologies for the delay

Previously…

“He loves me….He loves me not….he loves me.” She closed her eyes and recalled the smile that Alex seemed to wear nearly all the time; replaced for the most part by the look of care that made him so handsome. A man who might see himself to be only plain had he cared about such things. A man whose compassion was duplicated In such a wonderful way in Jo, had her disdain for herself not obstructed her view.

“He loves me not….” With one last gasp she dropped to the floor of the shower and leaned against the wall and sobbed freely feeling completely unworthy of love and believing quite erroneously that Alex Dmitri Petrovic would never love Josephine Marie Bianchi.

At the precinct a few days later...

Alex lazily reclined at the far end of the row of lockers in an old wooden and leather rolling desk chair he had rescued during the precinct rehab earlier that year. He had a cold, unopened can of Dr. Pepper against the left side of his face; less from sinus pain and more from frustrated pain over the lack of movement in whatever his relationship with Jo was choosing for them both. Easy shifts contrasted hard with difficult navigations in the seas of romance for him with Jo but especially for Darla and the ever-elusive Beseema Heartthrob.

Darla, on the other hand, sat on the bench in front of her locker; head lowered as she stared at the worn photo on the inside of the locker door. She sighed and shook her head. Lost in a confusing world of conflict; guilt of all shapes, sizes, and intensity seemed to literally push hard on her shoulders to weigh her down. Amani’s smile was frozen in a happier, safer time. The smile that seemed to reflect the fantasy infatuation she thought she had with Beseema, but now she was filled with doubts about everything and everyone.

Darla survived, failed to protect, moved on, stood still but had begun to live her life while lamenting every act, choice, thought and emotion. That feeling of helplessness permeated her existence. Her mother’s cancer arriving on the heels of her long hoped-for reconciliation did little to ease her confusion.

Her Aunt Jo’s loneliness seemed to pull at that belief that Darla needed to fix everything and protect everyone…and anyone. And try as she might, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jo and wonder if her Aunt’s lot in life of loneliness portended her own.

“This seat taken?’

She turned to find Officer Lisa Kovic sitting only a few feet away in a similar pose; right down to the near-mirrored frown Darla also sported..

“Hey, Leese….” Darla said weakly. Lisa winced at the mere acknowledgement. Darla seemed to be instantly energized; the guardian forgetting her own problems in the face of another’s. She sidled closer; not too invasively close, but close enough to see that Lisa had been crying; her normal bravado nowhere to be seen.

“Are you okay?” That question there is no okay other than will she be okay. Lisa nodded; slowly but with little conviction.

“Uh….. I’m alright,” she replied weakly as she looked away. “Uh….I… gotta go…” she said abruptly and rose to leave. Darla put her hand out. Lisa took the proffered gesture and squeezed Darla’s hand before running out of the locker room, leaving Darla more confused than ever. Was it just her vulnerability, or did Lisa always look…. Pretty? Either way, Darla immediately reverted to form; feeling as if she betrayed the memory of her late fiancé or worse yet; had she just dropped the torch she had been carrying for Beseema. She shook her head and bit her tongue, overwhelmed with guilt from merely being human. Darla turned to Alex, who shrugged his shoulders and replied,

“She and doctorwhatshername broke up.”

"Oh.." Darla nodded reflexively even as her twin default settings kicked in; wanting to comfort the crying girl who had just fled while feeling inadequate to the task. And a recently added custom option fired up as well; the ever-growing belief that she did not deserve to be happy. She sighed and lowered her head pmce again; cautiously hopeful that no one would be able to spot the tears rapidly welling in her pwn eyes.

Jo’s apartment, that evening….

Jo sat on the couch; her legs curled underneath. Her cell phone softly interrupted the silence with Faure’s Pavane; a new app which suited her of-late mood.

“Hello? Oh, hi Alex….Thursday? Oh… I….Yes, I…. no, Alex. What? Well, yes…burgers can be less formal. One sec?” She faked a cough and bit the inside of her mouth nervously. It was just too…”

“Too soon…what…oh… no… Just a sec.”

She hadn’t meant to speak that out loud. Sighing, she jumped back into conversation, hoping she could speak her mind without falling apart. She stood up and began to pace nervously between the couch and her bedroom door; as if to seek sanctuary from any decision. Alex’s voice interrupted her retreat and she spoke.

“Thursday for burgers? I may be slotted for a double… I left my planner in my locker…no .. I’m not… Let me check and I’ll call you back…no, I’m not…really, Alex…Yes…okay….I love you….too….” The dial tone signaled all clear. She sighed again; relieved that she held it together. Sitting down, she stared at the phone, feeling an odd dread. Her eyes widened in embarrassed recognition as she recalled his last words and her echo.

“I love you.”

Louise’s apartment, the next day…

“It’s okay. It hurts no matter what,” Louise sidled close to Darla on the big couch; smiling with an almost easy resignation. Darla hugged Louise; her embrace still tentative and awkward, as if hugging would somehow break her mother. And as if the hug would promise mioe than either could give.

“We…I want to spend all of my time begging for forgiveness, but that would just hurt us both. You already forgave me.” Louise shook her head and Darla nodded. In only a few short weeks, Louise had dwindled in nearly every way but one; her skin was growing even more translucent and taut, but her resolve to exist had grown as well; perhaps to complete her life as best she could.

“You feel guilty?” Not really a question so much as permission for Darla to feel in order to move forward.

“I know it’s been years since Amani died…..” A gasp of sad pain escaped her lips.

“And….I know she….Beseema…. she’s like a ghost…..a ghost I dream about…dreamed about.so much.” Louise wanted to hug her daughter, but between the small insertion of her own guilt for her nearly life-long neglect as a mother and Darla’s need to be heard, she held back.

“I….swear, Mom….this…” Darla looked away, picturing the recently-revealed vulnerability of the ‘new’ girl. Was that it?

“Is that what I’m here for? To be a guardian? To turn around all the time to hold onto the past? How the ….how am I supposed to fix anyone’s …I’m not supposed to fix anyone, And I can’t save anyone…” Darla shook her head; convinced almost she herself was beyond salvation

“Some guardian, huh? Amani is dead and Beseema maybe dead too. Lisa…fuck, Mom. I don’t even know her.”

Louise smiled and provided the only motherly advice she would ever give her daughter. Years of advice for a child who she never appreciated. Decades of wasted breath over words meant to bring her pwn comfort rather than Darla’s. There still would be important precious, and perhaps life-changing moments in the weeks or even days she had left, but she spoke softly in question rather than statement.

“You may not know her….Darla?” The mention of her name enfolded her even as weak hands touched her face.

“But...Do….do you want to get to know her?” In the tick of the clock of time, Darla felt her mother’s words give her permission to release both the precious past and any wondrous future as she sighed.

“Yehhh yes.” She went to pull away in one last burst of guilt and shame-fueled energy, but Louise pulled her into a hug; her own energy like the last dash toward the tape after a hard-run marathon.

“Don’t go, Mommy. Please?” Louise held Darla; offering no promises other than that moment.

“Shhhh,” she cooed through her own tears, repeating the endearing solace that had been abandoned until of late. And the recent feelings of safety from her mother's final surrender to their mutual, desperate need for the mother-daughter love once again resumed; gently pulling away every remaining defense as Darla sobbed in her mother's arms with love reinforced by words both needed to hear,

“Mommy’s here.”

Alex’s apartment, early evening…

The commentator on SNY was lamenting about some inconsistency in the Mets’ middle relief; lulling Alex into a drowsy half-dream when his cell chimed in with Mal’s song from Firefly.

“What? Jo? Oh hi!” He perked up and smiled. Muting the TV, he went to speak, but stopped short.

“You can’t? Okay. Maybe…. What? Oh… but I thought?” He sighed in frustration;wanting to argue with the fragile soul, but that would have been selfish. He spoke as carefully and plainly as he could, hoping he actually could keep it about her; whatever that might finally become.

“Listen, please? I know, and I respect that. I’m here if you and Darla need me, Yes. Okay…yes….see you.” The abruptness of the dial tone nearly shoved him into self-pity, but if there was anything he believed, it was that he loved Jo too much to push; maybe that unconditional love he remembered from Sunday school when he was a kid. He blinked back some oddly peaceful tears and un-muted the TV; hoping to get lost in the evening’s baseball scoreboard.

About an hour later, his peace was interrupted once again by his cell. He grabbed it and clicked ‘call;.’ so hoping for a reprieve from Jo that he failed to notice the number on the display.

“Hello? What? Sorry…. One sec?Let me turn the TV down.” Hitting the mute button once again, he returned his attention to the call.

“Yes? Oh, Captain Sayers? Farnetti? No, not since yesterday after shift? Her number? Yeah, that’s it? One sec?” It wasn’t like her to leave her phone off, but Jo had said things were getting much worse for Louise, and neither Jo or Darla could hope for more than a week at a time.

“Sorry, Cap. I can swing over to her place? Tonight? What’s the hur…what? Oh…” Alex’s face grew pale as he near-grimaced at his captain’s words.

“Yeah…. Sure thing…. Be there in thirty….maybe longer if she’s at her mom’s…. yes.” He clicked off and let out a very frustrated breath, finishing with a lamenting expletive.

“Son of a fucking bitch.”

He grabbed his car keys but paused;trying once to get Darla on her cell. The call went right to voice mail and he clicked off. He really didn’t mean to make it about him, but an all too familiar punch-in-the=gut feeling visited him as he went to rise. He had held Darla's hand when she was still Aldo and had lost Amani and the others. The guilt they both felt since Alex got called back at the last second for another mundane assignment while nearly everyone else got blown away that afternoon by an IED. He survived that afternoon out of providence and Aldo died, so to speak, as Darla emerged for good from sad impetus gained from the loss his/her/their loss.

And now, even as he sat down to regain some strength for the task at hand; he couldn’t help anticipating that his best friend finally gotten her mother to recognize her only surviving child as Darla her daughter. And that Darla’s Aunt Jo was regaining a sister after her own estrangement with Darla’s mom as well. The task of consolation would now be doubly challenging and painful and now cruel because he would have to find Officer Darla Farnetti to deliver that sad news that Beseema Farouk; Mossad agent and most recently an operative of some unnamed American agency…. Beseema Farouk was dead.

Then I turn around and I do that all the time
Going there feels wrong but the past is so much fun
And all memories are sweeter 'cause they're gone
I always want to turn around

Next: All of This Past

Turn Around
Words and music by the performer
Sarah Bettens
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOlPwO6cP4E