Something I Can Never Have Read online

  Something I Can Never Have

  A Solitary Tales B-side

  By Travis Thrasher

  Contents

  Author Note

  April 14, 1997

  May 18, 1997

  May 26, 1997

  June 3, 1997

  June 19, 1997

  June 28, 1997

  July 14, 1997

  July 29, 1997

  August 10, 1997

  August 24, 1997

  September 9, 1997

  September 14, 1997

  October 12, 1997

  October 31, 1997

  November 14, 1997

  November 24, 1997

  December 5, 1997

  December 31, 1997

  January 1, 1998

  About the Author

  Books By Travis Thrasher

  Copyright

  Author Note

  This is just a nice little warning for those of you who will read this short novella.

  As the title and the cover copy state, this story is what I’m calling a B-side to The Solitary Tales. I’m old enough to remember B-sides. Once upon a time, before downloads and iTunes, musicians would release albums. I’m not talking about records—no, I’m not that old. But albums, usually consisting of about ten songs. Many times they’d release a few singles from the album. And on those singles (records, tapes, CDs), there would be B-sides.

  Some of my favorite songs have been B-sides.

  To me, a B-side doesn’t mean it’s garbage that the artist is just throwing out there. No, usually it’s a song that’s a bit different from their others. Perhaps it’s not as upbeat. Perhaps it doesn’t fit with the album. Perhaps it’s just an experiment. But it’s still a decent song worthy of putting out there.

  So consider Something I Can Never Have as a B-side to my teen series The Solitary Tales.

  My warning is to those of you who have never read Solitary or Gravestone.

  Earlier this year, the publisher gave away Solitary as a free download for a couple weeks (after I begged them for a while to do this). Over 52,000 copies were downloaded. This was awesome, of course, because it meant the book was getting into the hands of readers who would otherwise never buy a copy or even know about it.

  Some of these readers, however, were less than thrilled. Because Solitary doesn’t exactly have a lot of closure at its end. In fact, the ending leaves you openedmouthed, wondering what the heck just happened.

  There were a few people that didn’t understand the meaning of the word tales and thought that Solitary was a stand-alone work. Thus, they were a bit miffed. They shared those thoughts in some reviews.

  So my warning is for those of you curious about this B-side and thinking you’re going to have a nice, interesting story … well, you might be a bit miffed too.

  This isn’t exactly an appetizer to the rest of the meal. It’s more like a shot of whiskey taken halfway through your dinner. It’s short, gives you a jolt—but you need to know what you’re getting.

  For those of you thinking I’m just cashing in on the cash cow that is The Solitary Tales, well, you’re right. I actually had a ghostwriter whip this up in one night while I was dining on my yacht on Lake Michigan. (And if you believe all of that, then please, DO NOT read the rest of The Solitary Tales. Or else you’ll be calling the authorities and telling them to head to Solitary, North Carolina.)

  For fans of this series, I wanted to do this as a way to give you something between the releases of books #2 and #3. Temptation will be here in April, followed by Hurt. At this moment, I’m nearing the finish line of Hurt. Many questions will be answered, I promise. I’ve grown rather attached to this creepy town and our wonderful narrator. It’s a pity that in the end …

  Oh, well, I won’t spoil it now.

  Travis Thrasher

  11/12/11

  “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist.

  And like that … he is gone.”

  —from The Usual Suspects

  April 14, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  Please accept my apology for not having written sooner. I know you’re not a fan of computers and e-mails, but I’ve gotten so used to both that it’s been difficult to put a literal pen to paper. It was good to hear from you last night. Thank you for calling and checking up on Heidi and me. You asked about some things—some things you said you could detect in my voice—and I said I’d write to you about them. But first things first.

  The church is amazing. The pastor is a wonderful man with a really nice family, and he’s doing a lot of good things. His heart is really in the right spot. It seems that God has put him there for a reason, just like he put me here. The students I’m working with are great. There are so many—at least a hundred or more high school students. Some are really on fire for the Lord.

  It is interesting, however, that the subjects of Hell and Satan have come up more and more lately. I tell you that because I’ve been forced to try and figure out what I truly believe about those things. Head knowledge is one thing, but what a man believes deep in his heart is a wholly other thing. Throughout my time at Harvard in the divinity school, I was never asked the question point-blank. I guess it was always assumed. But never—not growing up in Solitary, not during my time in Cambridge—did anyone ever sit me down and ask me whether or not I believed in the notion of Hell.

  Recently I’ve felt like I’ve been making things up. Being vague and simple. But to be honest—and since you’ve done so much for me and have always been there and been so honest in our conversations, I feel I must do the same—I just don’t buy it. I don’t believe it. I can’t see how a God who is all-loving and all-knowing and all-powerful could create a place where people would be sent to suffer eternally. It doesn’t make sense. Evil—yes, I can believe in that. I saw that growing up in Solitary. I saw a great many things growing up in Solitary that I never understood and that I still feel don’t truly make sense. But devils and demons? No. I just don’t buy into that.

  I guess with the year 2000 approaching and people so focused on the end-of-the-world, the question of eternity continues to come up. As if Y2K is going to kill us all and we’re going to wake up the next morning in our eternal destination. It’s amazing how powerful fear can be. I see the fervor of members of our congregation when the pastor is preaching a morning message. Of course this is a large suburban church, so there are few shout-outs or hysteria like that. But still—the passion I see in the eyes of some is amazing. But it sometimes equals the fear I see in others.

  One student—a freshman new to our church—recently he told me he felt like his mother was demon-possessed. I asked him why he felt this way. I wanted to see if he was just another teenager obsessed with so-called “dark” things, one who might have seen too many movies about demons and witches. He told me he would see his mother switch sometimes to another personality, leading me to believe that perhaps she needs some medical help. I couldn’t completely dismiss what this boy said. The fear in his eyes and in his body—it almost made me sick. I ended up telling him that there was no reason to be afraid of these demons, that sometimes a devil might simply leave the body if there is much prayer—that sort of thing. I didn’t consider this to be a lie. I considered it to be giving this boy hope.

  What I really wish I could have done is to tell him the truth. But in my role, especially my very new role, I couldn’t.

  Ah—I see that I have digressed into matters of the church and of my job. Please forgive me. You don’t need to hear such lengthy details. Summing up the job at the church, I have felt welcomed and embraced here. It’s nice to finally be working, not to mention receiving a steady paycheck.


  You asked about Heidi and then detected some amount of … well, not sure what you detected. But you detected something, so I will be honest with you. Things have been a bit rough since the move and the new job. I will readily admit that I’ve been putting in many hours. But that is what you do when you first start a new job. You want to impress the people you work with. Doing a good job as a youth pastor means putting in an exorbitant amount of hours. And Heidi doesn’t understand that. At least, that is what I think.

  We’ve been here six weeks, and I know that we’ve only been married for a few months, but the honeymoon doesn’t last forever. I love Heidi dearly. More than anything else in this world. And she knows that. Things won’t always be like this, but for now, my schedule is going to be very busy. Heidi has seemed—well, mostly she seems lonely. I know that it was a big deal for her to move from Massachusetts, since that’s where she grew up. But that’s what you do when you marry, right? You create one life, and that one life goes wherever it is destined to go. I don’t ascribe to this whole “man-of-the-house” bit. But Heidi knew what she was getting into when we married. At least that’s what she told me. She told me that she’d be content being a pastor’s wife. Yet lately, I feel there’s been little contentment in her life.

  Yet it’s only been six weeks. She’s still getting adjusted to the new house, the new neighborhood, the new everything. She’ll be fine, I know she will be. We both want to start a family soon. Heidi reminds me that I need to be in the same house and the same room in order for that to happen.

  I guess things take time, and I know that I’m impatient when it comes to life.

  Thank you again for your wonderful wedding gift. And for calling.

  I will end this letter because it is late and I’m still at the church office. Writing about Heidi has reminded me that I need to probably get home. Chances are she will be asleep, and she is not one who likes being awakened. It’s so interesting how different personalities end up coming together. Lately, I’ve been finding that I’ve been sleeping less and less. I guess it’s just because I’m so excited by the new job and new possibilities.

  All the best and look forward to talking with you again soon.

  Jeremiah

  May 18, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  I can assure you that things are fine here. I understand the issues you brought up in our last conversation. I know that Heidi doesn’t fully understand my priorities and my mission. I’m giving her time. In the end I believe she will come to understand and accept the road that we’re both on.

  We have been talking about a family a little more. The thought of a family—the image of the picture on the Christmas card—is a nice thought. But when I really start to dissect what that looks like, it scares me. It feels too soon for it. I think for Heidi, it’s that she wants some kind of identity besides “the pastor’s wife.” The youth pastor’s wife. She’s made some friends, but it’s not always easy for her. It’s easier for her to be behind the scenes. And sometimes that means she’s hidden and isolated. I’m far too busy to be constantly making sure she’s in the midst of everything happening and that her needs are being taken care of.

  Sometimes the intimacy … unfortunately, sometimes it’s not there. Not like it used to be. That’s partly because of me, because of the fact that I’m not around. Yet even when I am around, it feels like Heidi is far away.

  I understand when you tell me to be careful. I’m very careful. But I don’t think I need to watch her. I’m not sure why you’re assuming I need to. Her privacy and slight depression are just part of who she is. I’m not afraid she’s hiding something big. I don’t drink, and I know she drinks a little here and there but that’s no big surprise. She doesn’t hide it from me. I never want her hiding something from me.

  Our relationship is the same as it always has been. When I asked Heidi to marry me, I told her that I didn’t want to grow old and get set in our ways and to do what every couple does—forget where we came from. And this is just a phase, because we’re not going to forget the things that made us work. The things that made us us.

  The sleeplessness is still there. I appreciate your suggestions. It will pass eventually. I know it will. I find myself thinking of the past events and conversations from the day and what lies ahead during the week. Sometimes I have strange dreams, ones that feel so real but that I know are simply dreams. Dreams that always seem to include some raging fire. They’re emotionally draining. Especially the ones that aren’t so happy. I don’t want to call them nightmares. I hate that term. They’re just bad dreams, I’ll leave it as that. They happen. But more and more, sleep doesn’t happen.

  I continue to believe in the great work ahead that you talk about. Sometimes, stuck in a day full of teen drama, I can’t imagine I’m doing any good for anybody. Kids believe in God. Isn’t that enough? All the other things—you know my feelings on those. You’re the only one. Heidi doesn’t even know, though I doubt sometimes she’d worry, considering some of the doubts and frustrations she shares with me. As if her husband is supposed to have the answers. I never have the answers she’s looking for. Or the time. Or the character.

  I’m getting ahead of myself. I think it’s the doubt that you’ve planted in me with our conversations. I shouldn’t doubt. We’re still newlyweds, right? But I guess we’re not really acting like newlyweds, not behind closed doors.

  As always, I appreciate your counsel. Thank you for continuing to be my counselor and mentor even after leaving Solitary. You have been like a father to me, as I’ve said a hundred times before, so thank you.

  Jeremiah

  May 26, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  I know that it will still be a couple of weeks before our monthly talk on the phone. I know I’ve said in the past that I don’t feel like we need it anymore, but now I’m having second thoughts. I’m wondering if we might be able to have a conversation every other week. I didn’t want to call and alarm you. I’m fine. Really. The medication is still working fine. It’s just—the visions have come back. And Heidi has seen me after a few of them.

  I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Twice this past week I woke up in terror. Once I went sleepwalking and wandered outside of our home. A neighbor saw me and called Heidi. I wasn’t wearing anything but my boxers, so that had to be quite the concerned neighbor. I’m glad that it was an elderly man who doesn’t go to our church and who keeps to himself. He probably figured the new youth pastor had a little too much to drink that night. But I don’t drink. You know that.

  The worst part of that was the next day. Heidi didn’t say a word. She didn’t ask me how I was feeling or what happened or why I might have sleepwalked. She just went about her business.

  It made me think that perhaps she has witnessed it before.

  The other thing—the more disturbing thing—the thing that of course I can only tell someone like you (simply because I feel like I’m losing my mind half the time)—was what I saw. I’m not sure because I didn’t want to ask—I was afraid to ask after the stuff that happened when I was sixteen—but I thought I saw bruises on Heidi’s neck. She wore a shirt that tried to cover them, and she wasn’t around me much, but I still saw them.

  My first thought was that I did that in my sleep.

  The second thought was that someone else did that.

  Neither thought was particularly good. Of course that’s why I didn’t want to ask.

  The second time I had a nightmare, I swore someone was in our house. Another man. Someone who meant to harm us, especially Heidi. I saw his shape and shadow—an outline in the dark, just hovering there. I got the gun out, and that was when Heidi went off. She knows about our gun, of course, but the fact that I was half dreaming really scared her.

  We talked about that the next day. Nothing came out about the past, about my teen years and the trouble and the counseling. And, of course, about my parents … Yet I still wonder if she doesn’t know about you. She’s been more distant than ever. I ha
ven’t needed you to question me about her. I worry myself. And now with those bruises …

  That’s all behind me. I know that. I think it’s just the move and the tough time Heidi has been having adjusting that’s affecting me. I’m still managing to do a great job at the church. I know you’ve said I should give this a good year or two just to get some experience under my belt.

  I will call in another week if the nights don’t get any better. Maybe I’ll need a different kind of medication. Thanks.

  Jeremiah

  June 3, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  Thank you for the prescription. It’s only been two nights, but it’s been helping. Heidi still hasn’t spoken to me about the other night, the night I called you about. I don’t blame her. I don’t want her to leave. Plain and simple.

  But I just can’t get into unpacking my past. To try and explain the “bad stuff” to Heidi would be impossible. She would need hours of the transcripts between us, and even that wouldn’t give her the whole picture. She would need to come to Solitary, first of all (and hopefully, that day will be coming sooner than we think). She would have to understand my mother and my stepfather. Along with the others.

  Maybe the worst part about all of it was the fact that it happened during a rare intimate moment with us and not during a nightmare. I just—I disappeared again. That’s what scared me the most. I wasn’t dreaming or sleeping. I was making love to my wife and then I just—vanished.

  Thank goodness that she only had one bruise around her lip. That was all. And it was a Sunday night, so church for her could wait a whole week.

  I told her that I must have taken the wrong dosage of anxiety medication mixed with something else—I told her I actually had some alcohol. But I didn’t, because I know how that’s messing with a fire ready to start blazing at any second. Heidi believes me but now seems to be someone else completely. I know you said give it time, and I will, but this—it was too much. I hate it because we were trying. It was a good night for us and everything was going well. But then it happened again.