i take my heart out of my chest - clovis

[leanne cavelli]

Another night. Another fight. Another apology. Another promise. Her life was on a loop of ‘another’s and ‘again’s. Again, they were out of milk. Again, it was her fault. It was always her fault. But again, as always, she would make up for it. Leanne had set her alarm that morning for eight o’clock, but she hadn’t needed it. The honeymoon period of her relationship with Graham had come back. He had awoken her before work with soft kisses that were at first repulsive when sat beside the ache in her shoulders and the pounding nerves in her head. But she was lucky, grateful even that he had forgiven her. Happy that he could lie beside her and tell her she was beautiful before he got up to go to work. They were just words, she knew as much. Lies for the liar at best, but it helped make things more bearable. She moved through the apartment now, quietly to Marie’s bedroom door and let herself in, smiling at the tiny sleeping figure. She looked warm and safe there. Maybe it was a mother thing, she didn’t know but she hated waking her on mornings like these. Who knew what she was dreaming of? Perhaps ponies, or castles or princes and princesses. She had heard stories from her little girl’s dreams and smiled. They reminded her of her own games in youth, and she only hoped that Marie would settle for nothing less than a prince and a pony.

Leanne padded quietly over to the side of her daughter’s bed and sat gingerly down on the edge, smoothing the pale blonde hair away from her forehead. “Marie, darling. It’s time to wake up.” It never got old. Watching her eyes open to the morning light, her tiny fists rubbing the sleep away with little vigor. It made her smile, even at times she didn’t think it was possible. Her good morning kiss was the best part of her day. She was sure that, even in happier circumstances, it would still be the best part of her day. Marie had been left untouched by Graham, unharmed. He was well aware that if Marie were to be harmed, it would be the end of whatever he and Leanne were playing at now, and even though he didn’t quite know what he did want, he knew he didn’t want to see Leanne walk out. No, Leanne was the only harmed one of the pair. Physically, anyway. Marie’s sweet face was still soft under her fingers, untainted by scars or marks left from battles that were not her own. Still an angel, with a mess of blonde hair only her mother could comb out.

Marie had heard things a little girl should never hear and seen things that little girls should never see. But still, she was a ray of sunshine in the darkness that often overtook her thoughts. Who couldn’t smile when that little girl smiled? There were no words for it. “Come on baby, let’s make some breakfast.” Simple, as usual. Toast and cereal for both of them, coffee for Leanne and a small glass of orange juice for Marie. It was their morning routine. Breakfast, and then a trip. Mummy, can we go to the library today? It was a frequent request these days, one that was often fulfilled on her mother’s part. Leanne had been sure to start the love of books early. “Of course. We have to return your other books anyway. But we have to go to the grocery store first, okay?” A small nod and a peanutbuttery grin followed.

It didn’t take nearly as long to prepare the both of them for a trip out as it used to, but Leanne still loved playing dress up with her little girl. With her mother’s approval, Marie had selected a pair of thick pink tights worn under a denim thick-strapped dress. She had selected a long-sleeved pink shirt to go under this dress and her most very special flower headband to keep her bangs out of her face. Leanne felt like a bit of a scrub next to her finely polished little girl, opting instead for an old pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arms covered by a grey cardigan. She pulled her own black pea coat on before she tugged Marie’s bright pink, puffy down-feather coat on, picking her up and placing her into her boots before she put on her mittens. A confident nod and another great big grin came with the ‘all ready?’ question.

As expected, the shops were heaving with people. It was never Leanne’s favourite environment to shop in, but these things happened. After what felt like an eternity searching for a parking spot, Marie was tucked safely in the front of the cart, kicking her little booted legs while they walked down the aisles. She was the perfect little helper, Leanne’s right-hand girl. However, right-hand girls got fussy as well, especially when your right-hand girl was a three year old. The first while was fine. Marie was quite content to sing to herself while her mother picked one thing after another off the shelves, but in time, and as expected, the quiet little whine escaped from between her perfectly shaped, perfectly pink lips. Mummyyyyyy, I want out. Leanne had learnt by now that it was easier to not argue. She hated seeing that little girl pout enough that it was almost instinct to pluck her from the front of the buggy and hold her in her arms, balanced carefully on her hip while she looked over the carton of milk in her hand. She scanned for a date, all the while blissfully unaware of the massive part of her past that was sharing the same air as her again.

[clovis d'aubigne]

He was dreaming again. Same as always, she was standing before him, her blonde waves dancing in the ocean’s breeze. Their feet were bare, mere inches apart on the sand. He watched her toes wriggle and nestle themselves beneath the grainy particles. He smiled. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came out. She began to turn. His hand reached for hers, but she was a mere vapour. He could feel his heart shattering into thousands of tiny fragments. “Lee,” he croaked helplessly, but she was already gone.

“Clovis!” He woke with a start, half expecting to find the love of his life tucked, warm and safe, against his side. Instead, his youngest sister sat on the edge of his bed, legs swinging haphazardly this way and that. Groggily, he lifted his upper torso to lean onto his elbow as he watched her carefully. She was so much taller than she was a month ago; he was certain that she had grown two inches, at least. Already, she had surpassed his own height by a full three inches. He may not have been particularly tall, but she certainly was making up for his own lack of height. Her auburn hair was cut just above her shoulders and pulled into a messy bun, her long, thin frame clad in a pair of blue jeans and a fitted, green t-shirt. Quite the contrast to her twin, Michelle was all legs and arms, the sort that one might think to be a walking death trap. She appeared to be rather awkward, gangly as she was, and certainly no stranger passing on the street would have been surprised if the five-foot-six thirteen year old girl tripped over her own legs.

This was, however, not the case. It was Camille that one had to be wary of. Although nearly the same height as her identical twin, she was also significantly more round. This, surely, had no bearing whatsoever on her balance—nor, thought Clovis, the number of boys who were on his hit list for looking at her for more that two seconds, as there were quite a few—but Camille had the tendency to find accidents in every place imaginable. She tripped over invisible cracks on the sidewalk, fell down flights of stairs, toppled out of trees and chairs, and choked, at least once per week, on some form of beverage or food. She may have lacked her sister’s natural grace, but made up for it with her gentle demeanour and sharp wit. It was interesting, he thought, how two people could be so different, yet make up what could easily be considered a whole.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” Came the accusatory question, complete with harsh glare and Michelle’s all-too-typical fists-on-hips stance. His first response was, naturally, Forgotten what?. However, this hardly seemed a proper response for the moment, so he chose instead to wrack his brain for what he possibly could be forgetting. It was not an uncommon occurrence, not in the slightest, but he could typically remember what he had forgotten, once given motivation to do so. Before he could think of a proper answer, however, she interrupted him with a loud huff. “It’s Félicité’s birthday today, Clovis! Mama said you would take me and Camille.”

No, that couldn’t be possible. Could it? Was today Saturday already? Clearly it was, but he had no idea how the week had gone by so quickly. He turned his head to glance at his clock, only to hear her shrill voice beside him once more. “Clovis!”

“Calm down,” he told her softly, smiling as he flopped back against his pillow. “It’s only just eight. You have to be there at, what? Nine?” At her nod, he said, “Good, then. Get out so I can put pants on.” With a playful swat that came nowhere near reaching her, he sent her from the room before beginning his morning routine. Choosing to forgo his usual shower—his underarms didn’t smell horrific, after all—he donned the pair of black jeans he had laid out the evening before, then carefully manoeuvred himself from bed to chair before wheeling to his dresser to find a suitable shirt. What did one wear to a sister’s friend’s party, anyway? Did it matter what he wore if he would be seen for no more that two minutes? Shrugging the question away, he quickly settled for a long-sleeved, blue and grey plaid shirt before wheeling himself down the hall and into the kitchen. Breakfast, as well, was forgone, thanks to the nagging of Michelle and silent leg jiggling of Camille. He took the shopping list that his mother handed him—“Since you will be out, dear”—and headed for the garage.

It was, apparently, astonishing that a paraplegic man could drive. He had received more stares than he could count, often coupled with questions of how he could possibly drive with his condition. However, he could credit neither himself nor some miraculous advance in medication. It was, rather, technology that he had to credit for this gift, as well as a significant financial contribution from his uncle Marcel. So, as he carefully pulled himself into the car before dismantling his chair and stowing it on the passenger side, he gave no real thought to what he was doing. Instead, his mind drifted back to his sleeping hours, to the face that had eluded him in reality for the last three years. He had heard, by way of his mother’s hushed phone conversations and the gossip of his youngest sisters, that Leanne was back in St. Michel. It was enough to make him dance around the house for a month—if he had mobility in his legs, that is—and cry himself to sleep every night for the same month. A swirl of emotions had turned in his gut at the news, but what had followed had only plunged him into something rather akin to full-blown anxiety, though with his usual joyful demeanour mixed in somehow. The one piece of information that had been neglected initially, the one that brought him such emotional pain, was that Leanne had not come back alone. She had a boyfriend.

Since hearing the news, he had spent nearly every moment thinking about what this would mean for him. St. Michel was not a particularly large city; surely he would see her sooner or later. What could he possibly say when he knew that she no longer cared for him? Should he apologise for whatever he had done to upset her? Should he ignore her? It did not matter how long he thought about it. It did not matter that he had been thinking about it for weeks, or that he thought about it the entire way to Félicité’s house and on to the market. He could have thought about it for the rest of his life, he thought, and be no closer to knowing what the proper response was. Thus, he chose to put it out of his mind and dwell on happier things. Perhaps he would go down to his usual spot to rap for a bit. He would have to go home after shopping, anyway. He could even pull out his neglected guitar and bring it with him. Smiling as he reassembled his chair outside of the car, he nodded ever so slightly. Yes, this was precisely what he would do.

He looked down at the grocery list as he pushed himself forward through the doors of the shop. The list was simple and relatively short. At the top, in his mother’s curvy, elegant writing, was scrawled a single word, Milk. He half-laughed to himself. It had surely been only a week since they had last bought two full gallons of milk. Michelle herself could go through half a gallon in three days, when she felt inclined to do so. It was no wonder that there were months when they struggled to pay the bills on time. But, no matter. They would survive. They always had and surely always would. In any case, he had been given more hours at his job as of late, and more hours naturally meant more money. They would be fine.

As he pushed himself along the dairy aisle, he heard to his right the whine of an impatient little girl. Mummy, I want out. He smiled again and shook his head slightly. What child honestly wished to sit still for any length of time? He was certain that he, in his younger years, had refused to sit in shopping carts altogether. He turned his head to look at the little girl and give her a friendly finger-waggle from behind her mother’s shoulder. She was a cute thing, with golden hair that shone brilliantly, even in the artificial lighting of the store. He could almost imagine that she was another girl, the one who lived in his dreams and told him to wish on shooting stars. He could almost imagine…

In that moment, the girl’s mother turned her head. He caught sight of the shining, blue eyes, her sharp jaw line, and gasped. The carton of milk he had been holding tumbled from his grasp, only to fall to the floor and begin leaking all over the tile. Wide-eyed, Clovis ignored the slow glug of the gallon and backed his wheelchair up, jumping when he hit the side of the refrigerator case. He righted himself quickly, then took in the mess at his feet. He could not leave things this way. He could not simply walk away from her the way that she had walked away from him.

“Leanne,” he breathed. He meant to ask her how she was doing, to apologise for the mess. He meant to make things right, if he could. Instead, he said in a tone that remained far gentler than the state of his still-broken heart, “You... you have a daughter.”

[leanne cavelli]

It didn’t take long for Marie to hush once she was up and comfortable, switching between surveying her surroundings to playing with a few strands of her mother’s hair. The first carton she had grabbed was out of date, and with a crinkle in her nose Leanne put it in her cart to give to an employee when she came across one. She had never been a fan of putting things like that back – why should anyone else have to be the one to return it when their coffee had lumps in it? She picked another from behind the glass door and made to read the label when she heard a giggle peel from between Marie’s lips. She smiled, turning her head to look sideways at her little girl, who was currently waving – fingers spread- at someone behind them. Leanne turned her head just a little more to see who it was, and it only took a moment for her heart to leap out of her chest and into her throat.

The love of her life. The reason for her reason to smile. The most damage she’d ever done, combined in one and sitting in front of her like a sign. She knew she would run into him soon. She had thought about it time and time again, and tried to push it out of her head time and time again after that. Clovis had been a part of her daily thought process every day for the last thirteen years – that much hadn’t stopped after she’d left. But she had made the decision. She had broken it, and she knew very well that she had no right to even want to curl up in his lap now, hold him and kiss him and ask him to make everything all right again. She had no right to love him still, the way she did. All of these things ran through her mind, and for a moment she stood there, staring at him. His words didn’t register in the roaring of her head, the fact that his chair was situated in a puddle of milk either.

It all came back to her. How he had held her hand on their way home from school, the endless games of make-believe in one of their gardens until night fell and they were forced to part until the next day. Laying under the stars with him, telling him that he had to make a wish on the ones shooting across the sky like rockets. For a second, her hand reached to her throat to toy with the necklace he had given her all those years ago. The two gold stars hung there as ever, the two of them. Always together, even if it was in a capacity that would never be enough to make her happy as happy as she was when she was where she belonged – with him. It wasn’t as easy as she had hoped – moving her lips to form a sentence proved to be impossible with the movie loop rolling through her head. It was tragic, it was sad, but it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. So much wonderful that she had passed up in a moment of panic and had never been brave enough to face again. To apologize for the mistakes she’d made and try to make it better with him. He had begged, he had pleaded with her to stay. She had so badly wanted to make him see that she was doing it for him – that he was better off without a little girl tying him down to a family life both of them were far too young for.

It was because of this little girl that Leanne woke up, her reverie stopped suddenly by the sound of a little voice in her left year. Mummy, that man knows your name. How does he know your name? It was the most bittersweet question she had heard come from Marie. For a second, Leanne wanted to tell her everything. He knew her name because he had loved her once upon a time, when she was a different woman. When she laughed at silly things and stood on the street corner with him while he rapped to a slowly growing crowd. He knew her name because she had always been so proud of him, and he of her whenever they achieved something, be it separately or together. He knew her name because he was the father of her child, whether he knew it or not. She wanted to tell Marie that his face was the most vivid part of every dream she had now, and that he was the reason she was here. Leanne knew she held a great piece of him in her arms, and that piece of him still toyed with her hair while looking at her, just a little bit confused. She deserved at least something of an explanation.

Leanne found her voice. ”This is my friend Clovis, darling. We knew each other the first time I lived here.” Friend. Lived. Loved. There were so many words that needed to be switched out of the sentence and added in in their place. Her best friend, her boyfriend, her lover. The first time she had lived, the only place she had ever actually lived. Aside from Marie, the last two years had been about going through the motions. When he had started hitting her, a very strong part of Leanne had died. The girl standing in front of Clovis now was not the girl he had loved all those years ago. He couldn’t possibly love her now. Leanne turned her blue eyes to his and offered him a smile, faint and etched with a kind of pain that, if anyone in the world would know it, it would be him. ”Hello Clovis.” She had to force out the words, not because she was unhappy to see him, but because if she could hold onto this moment forever, she would. She didn’t want to spoil it with words. ”Yes…this is my daughter, Marie.” Another sentence that needed a word switch. Our daughter. Your daughter.

What was right when you didn’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore? She had wronged him, she knew that much. She had taken away the very best thing she had ever done with the very worst thing she had ever done. She’d made a trade she had never had to make in the first place, and now she was so lost in the maze of her life that she didn’t know which end was up anymore. She noticed now that his milk jug was empty and all but sprang into action. ”Clovis, your milk…” She motioned for him to move forward, for in the time that it had taken for her to open her mouth an employee had been notified to come and take care of the spill.

[clovis d'aubigne]

For years, he had dreamed of this moment. Eyes open, eyes closed, she had invaded his imagination with that soft, sweet voice and the gentle touches that made up the history of his life. He had carefully designed a script, mentally creating and rearranging words until they sounded just right, only to scratch it all out and start again the next day. Thoughts of her had permeated every moment of his day, neatly etched patterns of stars and tiny, clasped hands pulling him from reality at the most unexpected of moments. He had grown to find comfort in those memories, in the lingering feel of her hands on his skin. She was the only woman who had seen fit to love him, to touch him, to give herself to him. Who would want a handicapped man? But Leanne had willingly pressed herself into his arms, fitting so naturally that they may as well have been one. He, despite all his selfish desires, had managed to love her more than himself. He had given her everything. Even so, she had left.

His mental script floated hopelessly to the dusty floor of his memories. It was useless in this situation. She was no longer his Leanne, whom he had played with as a boy and kissed softly as a man. She belonged to another now, a fact that was clearly proclaimed by the child she held in her arms. A mini Leanne, there to taunt him, to remind him of days that had long since faded away, never to be returned to him. If he could have remained in those times, he would have been happy forever. If only time could freeze. But he had been caught up in the tides of time and was now stuck where he least wished to be. He needed to get away. And yet… he could not find the will to move.

If the child had not spoken, he may have indeed been stuck there forever, in the horrific reality of his own loss. Leanne’s face was all that he could see, framed in soft, blonde waves that could have given the appearance of a halo if Clovis had not experienced such pain at her hands. He was hurt, yes, undeniably so. But, even more, he was angry. He was angry with her, for leaving, and with himself, for caring. He was angry with this new man, for stealing her away, and her little girl…

But no. His anger stopped at that soft, angelic face that he at once knew so well and so longed to know. She was her mother born again, yet with her own fire and inquisitiveness shining behind perfectly blue eyes. He could not be angry with this child for existing, no more than he could be angry with a bird for trilling its song outside of his window in early morning. The emotion that may have been there was quickly negated by the beauty surrounding this particular instance. He could not be angry with this girl. She was too perfectly innocent, too much of what had been, to invoke anything but a smile in the midst of his heartbreak.

“This is my friend Clovis, darling. We knew each other the first time I lived here.” The words, though not spoken to him, hit him like a dull knife to his heart. If he had imagined that he could feel no more pain, he was wrong, for the edge of those words sawed at the edges of his soul, deepening the hole that had been opened in her absence. So, that was it. He was a mere friend now, one who had known her once upon a time. Yes, I knew you, he thought bitterly. I knew you in the purest form of the word. You let me believe that you loved me…

Such emotion was not typical of him. He had been gifted, for his entire life, with the innate ability to find happiness in any situation. In every cloud, there was surely a silver lining, and it was that he had held on to in the darkest of times. However, his silver lining in years past was now the source of his pain. He could only find joy, however small, in the life she held in her arms. In his pain, something beautiful had been created. Perhaps, he thought, her daughter would be such a blessing in another’s life, the same way that Leanne had once been. Perhaps she would learn from her mother’s mistakes and exemplify only the good in her. Perhaps there would be a benefit in this for another.

“Yes…this is my daughter, Marie.” The words were spoken at him now, and required a response. But, when he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come was that of the deep breaths that took so much effort on his part. He was close to tears in his desperation, in his longing for the woman that he had once—no, that he still—loved. He hoped that she had forgotten how he worked, that she could not see the pain that was so plain in his gaze, even as he dropped it to his lap. What could she do for him now, anyway? She loved another. He could not ask her to love him again. Despite everything that had happened, he could not bear to ask that of her.

“Clovis, your milk…” The words jolted him out of his misery, his head jerking up to see a rather impatient young man waiting behind him to clean up his mess. “I’m sorry,” he told the employee, quickly wheeling forward though his heart insisted that he should scoot back, past the man, and leave. The wheels of his chair sloshed through the puddle of milk, wetting the sides of his hands, and his stomach churned. He didn’t have money to throw around. Even the price of one wasted gallon was enough to make things tighter. He would have to see if his boss had any extra hours for him, rather than using his day off to rap. He needed to leave. Instead, he returned his gaze to the small child in Leanne’s arms and smiled.

“Marie, is it?” He longed to take her, if only for a moment. He was selfish, and he wanted a bit of that joy for himself. “Your mother and I were great friends once upon a time.” The words were pointed at Leanne, but he kept his gaze on her daughter. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you called me Uncle Clo.” He could have smirked, had his heart not hurt so much. So, he continued with his small smile as he added one final thought.

“Marie,” he asked thoughtfully, with a hint of childish playfulness in his voice, “have you ever ridden in a wheelchair?”