Kinsley

Driving to Noel's farm is stressful. Torturous.

Noel's driving in the only saving grace. The only thing that eases some of the steel-like tension in my shoulders. He never goes over the speed limit. Never runs a stop sign or red light. He's smart and cautious.

I'm grateful for Noel's driving skills. My gratefulness doesn't overpower the trauma. Every corner we take jolts me. Every abrupt brake movement turns my knuckles white. My mind is a mess of thoughts. Travelling in a vehicle is a rarity. Every time, I'm reminded of my family and Aaron. Of the lives that were lost and the one that survived.

With each minute that passes, trauma's grip becomes tighter. Breathing is difficult. Staying calm exhausts me. At one point, Noel pulls over and asks if I'm okay.

I lie. I tell him the lack of fresh air is getting to me. That I prefer the windows open as opposed to AC. Without questioning me, Noel shuts off the AC and opens the windows. Within minutes, we're back on the road.

Fresh air doesn't help. It worsens my anxiety. Wheat, heated asphalt, and cut grass are beautiful scents. In another world, my head would hang out the window. My hand would be riding the air like waves. My hair tangling while wind whips through it.

But this is no fairy-tale. The noise of the highway terrifies me. I'm sick with negative emotions. I experience flashbacks of the accident, despite the highway being void of any snow or ice. Every time Noel hits the brakes, I dig my nails into my thighs. It prevents me from screaming.

My anxiety is why, when we stop for gas, I excuse myself to the washroom. In there, I down two of my anti-anxiety pills. My anxiety is why I can't enjoy the country tunes filling the silence between us as he drives.

It's debilitating.

I feel no sense of calm until we arrive at the farm. Until the engine is off. Until my feet are on the ground. I'm so relieved that I could kiss the dirt driveway, hug the small pebbles that line it, marry the two large barrels of flowers that rest upon the front porch.

"So," Noel says. He stands beside me, planting his feet in the dirt. His shoulder is close enough it's brushing mine. I shuffle to the left. If it hurts him, he doesn't show it. He's still smiling. "What do you think?"

My brow furrows as I survey my surroundings. I'm convinced we're no longer in Alberta. There are snow-capped mountains. The rancher is painted red with white trim around the windows. Tall willow trees dance in the breeze. The barrels of flowers are filled with petunias, bidens, potato vines, and bacopa. Beyond the side view of the porch, I see the barn out back, as well as acres of pasture. The cows are little dots on the horizon. It's all encompassed by mountains and blue sky.

The view has rendered me speechless.

Now I understand why Noel loves returning home.

I can't help but smile when I glance at him. "It's beautiful here."

He grins behind his Ray-Ban sunglasses. "Told you it'd be worth it."

This time, Noel's cockiness doesn't bother me. He has every right to be cocky about his property. It's worth bragging about.

"You grew up here?" I ask.

"Yep," he nods.

Noel doesn't elaborate on his answer. Instead, he gestures over his shoulder. I follow him to the tailgate, loitering beside him while he opens it and removes our bags. He hands me my tote bag, then hauls my other bag out, slinging it over his shoulder. He leaves his bag behind.

"Come on, I'll show you the basement suite. Gramps isn't here. I'll introduce him to you later."

Nervousness stirs in my stomach. Conversations about personal lives have been limited. One thing I know is how much Noel looks up to his grandfather. It reminds me of when I looked up to my dad. He was a great man.

I feel like a fool, too. Why did I think I'd get away without meeting his family members? I sigh. I'm making myself look like a hypocrite. All these connections I'm creating with people... they're not good. Hopefully, Noe's grandfather is old, grumpy, and doesn't like me. That way, I'll have good reason to avoid speaking to him without appearing rude.

I follow Noel down a cobblestone sidewalk. As I walk, I take in more attributes of the surrounding area. The lawn out front is primed to perfection, bright and green, like it was just mowed this morning. Various plants and flowers line the pathway, including roses and daises and lilac bushes that are on the edge of blooming. Reaching out, I run my fingers over the waxy leaves of the lilac bushes and smile a little. I love lilacs. Their colour, their scent, everything. I can't wait to see what they look like when they're in full bloom.

The pathway winds around to a white door on the left side of the house. In front of the door is a small slab of cement with a doormat on it that says 'Welcome.' Noel kneels down and pulls out a key that's decorated with the Calgary Flames logo.

The corner of my mouth twitches. "The Flames?"

Noel looks at me, surprised. "You watch hockey?"

I shrug. When my dad was alive, he was a major fan of the Winnipeg Jets. So was I. We watched game after game together. Since the accident, I haven't been able to watch any hockey games. I know I should—to honour Dad's memory—but it hurts too much.

Letting Noel in on my secret would be a mistake. Although my heart is bleeding, hockey continues to be our topic of discussion.

"Not as much as I used to," I reply. "University doesn't give me a lot of time to watch the game."

Noel contemplates my words before nodding. "Fair enough. Maybe we could catch a couple of games while you're here. The playoffs are on, after all." He pauses. "Which team?"

An old spark reignites in my stomach. I remember what it was like to watch the playoffs. I remember how loud my family was, how fast my heart was pumping, sitting on the edge of my seat.

I miss watching playoff hockey with them.

"Maybe," I reply. "I'm a fan of the Winnipeg Jets."

Noel rolls his eyes. "Of course you are. Stupid question on my part."

His boyish reaction makes me want to smile. I smother those emotions. Smiling is a friendly gesture. I can't be too friendly with Noel.

Smothering my smile doesn't fool him. Noel's smile turns into a smug grin. He knows he's struck a chord in my heart. He says nothing, though. Instead, Noel unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping back so I can enter first.

Tote bag hanging over my arm, I walk down the small flight of stairs into the basement suite.

At the bottom, I'm overwhelmed by how much space there is compared to the cramped dorm room I share with Tristan. There's a beautiful, old-fashioned kitchen on the far wall, complete with all the basic appliances, cream-coloured walls, barn-wood cabinetry, and a marble countertop. A living room with a fair-sized flat-screen TV and a comfy-looking couch. The dining area is small, only comprising a small circular table and four matching chairs. I'm assuming the hallway leads to the bedroom and bathroom.

Excitement stirs in the depths of my gut. It's childish and stupid, but I can't prevent it. This space is all mine. I can cook my own meals, watch whatever I want. Heck, I could even walk around in my underwear if I wanted to.

A smile blossoms on my face when I realize I'm going to get my own private bathroom.

I could kiss Noel for offering me this place.

"Like it?" Noel asks.

"Uh, yes," I reply. The tone of my voice scares me. It doesn't sound like me. Excitement is rich in my voice. Nothing's excited me since... since before the accident.

"Great," Noel smiles. "So, um, are you comfortable? I want to unpack. Then I have some work to do."

I nod. My emotions are tugging me in opposite directions. I'm caught between shock, excitement, and happiness. These positive emotions are overwhelming. They saturate every cell in my body. Each time I survey the area, these uncommon emotions chip away at my guilt. Even my logic is telling me it's okay to be happy. I'm here to complete my education for my family. There's nothing wrong with that.

"Okay," Noel says. He holds the key out to me. "Well, you know where to find me if you need anything. I'll see you later."

I take the key from Noel, my fingers brushing against the palm of his hand. His soft skin causes my hand to tingle. My cheeks to heat.

He notices my reaction. His next breath is shaky. His Adam's Apple bobs unevenly. Without another word, Noel spins on his heel and heads upstairs.

I stare after him, wondering why my body reacted the way it did. Even with Aaron, who I'll always love, I never reacted so. Maybe it's because before we became a couple, we were best friends. I was already immune to his touch. Not to downgrade the importance of Aaron's touch. We had our own language. He brightened the surrounding colours.

Suddenly, I need to talk to someone.

Setting my tote bag down, I pull out my phone and type Mads' number in.

My finger lingers over the "call" button.

Then reality crashes down on me.

My phone slips from my hand.

I can't call Mads. She can't give me advice regarding my predicament with Noel.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I limp to the couch.

Noel has given me a sense of freedom. By allowing me to stay here for the summer, there is space encompassing me. But space doesn't subtract from my personal prison. I'm trapped in my mind. My mind is a contradictory place where the sun shines but also provides no light.

Sometimes I wish I could forget the past. Let go of everything that's happened.

Forgetting the people I lost is wrong, though. Without their memories driving me, life would be nothing.

I sit on the couch, dropping my face into my hands. Any positive emotions have now been replaced with negative emotions. Trying to gain control of my tears is impossible. I wish I could make sense of these complicated feelings. But everything is so connected through trauma that my thoughts are affected by my feelings. My logic side is murky. My heart is broken. The walls I've built are a ghost of my previous foundation.

The thought of letting go saturates me with guilt.

Not living my life is toxic.

Trauma will not let me decide.

I also feel foolish. I've accepted their deaths, yet I still do stuff like this. Calling or texting them comes naturally. Slip-ups should be part of the past. Sometimes I can't help it.

Happiness is something you want to share with others, to make them happy as well. Jessa, Mads, Aaron, and my parents were the people I shared my happiness with.

I sigh, wiping away my tears.

I'm sick of this. Sick of going back and forth between being happy and being sad. With all the rehab and counselling I went through post-accident to deal with my injuries and grief, I should be better. Any normal person, at least by now, could accept everything and move on without feeling guilty.

But the guilt sticks to me like tree sap when it gets in your hair. A tangled, sticky disaster.

I want to eradicate it.

My counsellor said I should focus on and cherish the memories we were lucky enough to make. Embracing them and appreciating the time we got together should be enough.

But I'm afraid it never will be.

Survivor's guilt and trauma are my best friends. They never falter. Never leave my side.

No matter what I do, they will not leave me alone.