“Sadie, just know that I’m fighting right along with you. I’m trying to get you through this any way that I can manage to figure out.”
“I know, Mom. Thank you for hanging on.” It sounds like a simple thing to be grateful for, but it means so much more. Her finding the strength to keep hanging on means that I don’t have to travel this journey alone. Her hanging on means that I have the greatest ally a person could have. I have my mother, the person most motivated to see me make it out of this.
“You got it, honey. I’ll always hang on.”
I feel so guilty. I wish I had someone to talk to, someone safe to explain how much I hate the way I am, where I’m stuck. I know I’ll be making that call again later. It’s all I have. It’s my only choice.
Chapter Four
Weight
April 22, 2013
Tybee Island is an enchanted little speck on the coast of Georgia. Even in my depressed state of being, I can appreciate this place. Mom and Dad took me and Jenna when we were little. I vaguely remember it. I don’t recall it looking exactly like this, but I was six years old and far too young to appreciate everything that the island had to offer. I was only interested in building sandcastles. Even then I was in love with sculpting.
It’s a charming island, quiet and spattered with quaint cottages, beach homes, restaurants, a few tourist-friendly resorts, and shops of all sorts. It’s not teeny tiny but it’s certainly nothing like Atlanta. It’s so much calmer here. There’s no city buzz swirling around me. There’s no hurried pace driving everyone into a speed walk. There’s tranquility here.
Since Jake died, I thought that staying in Atlanta suited me just fine because it’s the right sized city for a person to disappear in. It’s ironic, but there are so many people in Atlanta that it’s like there’s no one person at all. Like some massive ant mound, there is no single ant, it’s just the colony, a single heap of life moving and breathing in unison, as one life form. I liked the idea of disappearing into the crowd. Being invisible has meant that coping with things is that much easier to ignore.
Being here makes me second guess that philosophy. It’s a small place and disappearing would be next to impossible, but the perks are definitely there—the sea breeze, the sound of the water meeting the shore, the tranquility, all of it make Tybee a prefect respite. Making the four hour drive down here in my own car was a wise choice. I could hang out for a few days doing nothing. I could hang out here and just breathe in and out, which has proven to be a task in itself on most days at home.
***
“Now, if you need anything, my name is Dawn. You just give me a call or stop by the desk and I’ll be glad to help.” The older woman with green eyes and short grayish hair smiles sweetly as she hands me the key to my room. She’s kind and must be around 60. I imagine I could carry on a conversation with her easily. She just seems like that type of woman. Some people are easy to interact with and I can tell she’s one of those people.
“Thank you, Dawn.” I leave the lobby following the directions Dawn gave me to my room.
Back out the door, take a left, and it’s just down the path. Room number four.
The motel I’m staying in is small but very nicely maintained. I can’t imagine that there are more than fifteen rooms in this place, but that’s what makes it nice. There are flower boxes full of blooms rimming every inch of the outside of the motel and, based on the worn gardening gloves that were sitting on the counter in the office, I imagine they’re all Dawn’s handiwork.
I take a look around, actually admiring my accommodations. The motel itself is painted pale yellow, trimmed with white shutters and white rain gutters. Sheer curtains are drawn back from every window, exposing the well-furnished, clean rooms through the white plantation blinds covering the windows. They’re tilted open, allowing for a view of the space within.
Even the small parking lot is tidy. I especially like that there are no plastic keycards to contend with. I hate those damn things. They almost always mess up when you try to get into the room that it is suppose to unlock. Instead, Dawn, the innkeeper, handed me a real brass key attached to an oversized blue plastic keychain in the shape of a surfboard with the number “4” printed on one side and “The Beachcomber Inn” on the other.