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Nearly three years ago, on a lazy
Sunday afternoon, I decided to start writing a story that was in my head. I’d
always been a daydreamer. I’d fabricate characters and spell out their lives in
my mind. The girl I started writing about was named Sadie. And Sadie was a hot
mess. She’d been on my mind for months before I ever even typed the first word.
And when I typed that first word, I already knew the ending. Check it out:
“Hey, Sadie, did you know
about this?” I heard from the back part of the bedroom.
“Know about what?” I asked.
“All these notebooks. He must have kept them forever, there’s a
million of them.”
I got up and went back there
to take a look. There were three boxes
of spiral notebooks and loose leaf notebook paper. He was looking at one, I picked up another. I opened it to the middle and felt a rush
through my body. Seeing his handwriting
sent me reeling through the past.
She’s my
sister and I know she is right, but I love Sadie.
I closed it and picked up
another one. Tomorrow she is going to sign her contract. I can’t believe how our
lives our coming together. The wedding
and everything. I can’t help but think
that God is still there.
What? He thought about God?
What was all this? He kept journals? How
did I not know about this? “What does yours say?” I asked.
“He’s talking about
John. Look at these loose pages.” I picked them up. They were more recent. God
wants me to do for others. Wow. I
felt so overwhelmed just by seeing his writing, let alone knowing there was
probably years of his thoughts written here.
“Sadie, did you? Did you know
about this?”
“No. No, I had no idea. I don’t know how I didn’t know, but I
didn’t. I’m wanna take these home. I want to read them. All of them.”
He stared at me for a minute,
trying to understand. I know he was
wondering if this would be a trigger for me.
I hoped it wouldn’t be, but I had to read them. How could I not? He had been the center of my life for most of
my life. He caused me a lot of pain over
the years, but I know I hurt him, too.
Maybe these notebooks could help me in someway.
“I’m fine. I want to leave, though. We can come back tomorrow.” I gathered up the books and pages that were
on the floor and put them back in the open box.
He carried them downstairs and put them in the truck without saying a
word. He knew I needed to do this.
Once at home, I went through
all three boxes and put the notebooks in order by date. I read little pieces here and there, but
tried not to. Every word I read evoked some
memory in my mind. Emotions were stirred
and I fought back tears. There was only
one notebook dated after the loose leaf pages.
Now that I had them in order, I started reading. I couldn’t stop until 2:30 in the morning. I didn’t even stop to eat. I was lost in the past, reliving the
memories; good, bad, and even the horrible.
That night I lay in bed and
relived some of the best and worst memories of my life with new perspective.
They say there are two sides to every story.
I always knew my own side, I knew how I felt. Now I know his side. I know how he felt and I can see our life
through his eyes. As, the sun started to
come up, I came to a decision. I was
going to write my story, from my point of view.
It would be good for me. I could
get it all out in the open and have no more secrets.
This is the original unedited
version of what is known as my original Sadie story. This scene is the first
scene I wrote even though it doesn’t take place until nearly the end of the
book. This scene was entirely thought out and the name of who Sadie is talking
to is purposely left out to add to the mystery of the outcome of Sadie’s story.
When I started writing, I did it
just to write. I never thought about writing a book or what that would require
or anything like that. I felt weird telling anyone, even my husband, that I started
writing some made up story. I hated when people asked me what it was about. But
I became obsessed with writing and filled my spare time with writing about
Sadie’s life. My hubs said I had to show him what I was working on. He kept
asking and asking and finally I caved, letting him read it on my laptop. He enjoyed.
But he’s my hubs; he’s, like, required to like what I do.
Next I mentioned to a co-worker
that I was writing a story. She wanted to read it. I think I gave her 25 pages.
The next day, after she read it, she simply said, “More.”
After that it’s all a blur. I lost
track of how many people wanted to read what I wrote. They read scenes like
this:
We arrived at the radio
station and met the two DJ’s. They were
both middle aged, one tall, lanky and balding, the other was shorter and
overweight with long hair. But they were
funny. And they were star struck; I
think more by me than Ryan. They paid
way more attention to me than Ryan and I could tell he was getting
frustrated. When we actually went on the
air they did ask Ryan a bunch of questions about the band and how they got
started. During the break the tall guy
said that they wanted to touch a little on the rumors about Ryan and me with
the wedding and stuff. He directed those
questions mostly to me.
“So, Sadie, how did you and
Ryan meet?”
“I really don’t know. We’ve known each other forever, since we were
kids.”
“We’re you guys high school
sweethearts?”
“No. We actually started dating after high
school. I was his best friend’s
girlfriend in high school.” I looked at
Ryan when I said that.
“Uh-oh,” the fat one
said. “You stole her from your best
friend, Ryan?”
Ryan laughed, “No, they were
over way before that. It was about a
year after they broke up, right?” he looked to me and I agreed.
“So, you guys were together
for a long time, you were engaged?” the
skinny one was looking at me for an answer.
“Yeah, we were.”
“But now you’re single?” the
fat one said.
I laughed, “Not exactly.”
The skinny one said to the
fat one in a teasing tone, “What? You think you got a shot with her?”
“Well, I was gonna see if
maybe she wanted to get drinks after the show tonight.”
Ryan was laughing, too. The guys weren’t serious (at least I didn’t
think they were) so it was comical.
The skinny one looked at me,
“So, you want to get drinks with my buddy here?
He’s a really great guy, good job, plenty of money. He’s really nice…”
“Hey, you know what they say,
don’t you?” I asked. Ryan was watching me with a look on his face
I hadn’t seen in a while. It was the
smitten look. “Nice guys always finish
last. A good friend told me that just
last night.”
“Really?” said the fat
one. “So should I be mean to you?”
“Well, no. That probably wouldn’t get you very far. It’s just a saying. You know another one I like?”
“What’s that?” one of them
said.
“Pretty girls always win.”
“And what’s that mean?”
“It means pretty girls always
get what they want.”
“Ah. She was pretty high maintenance, wasn’t she,
Ryan?”
Ryan was still watching me.
“Just a little,” he said with a laugh.
When we left Ryan turned to
me as we pulled out of the parking lot, “Nice guys finish last? I don’t think I was very nice and I
definitely didn’t win.”
“You don’t think so?”
He laughed a little, “No, I
don’t.”
“Well you’re here with me
now, aren’t you? Besides I’ll get what I
want and probably get some things I didn’t even know I wanted.”
We had reached a red light
and Ryan looked over at me. Our eyes met
and my heart melted. I don’t know if it
was the buzz wearing off or the hot sun and the air conditioning that hadn’t
fully kicked in yet, but my head was swirling.
Ryan leaned into me and our lips met and I felt fireworks in every part
of my body. I had missed his touch, his
lips, his scent, his everything so bad.
The kiss lasted until someone behind us honked. We drove the rest of the way in silence,
partly because Ryan’s cell phone rang.
It was Corey wanting to go to breakfast.
So we picked him and Trevor up at the hotel went to eat. Ryan and I didn’t speak to each other, but
our eyes talked plenty.
And they read scenes like
this:
I opened the patio door and
stepped out into the humid air. It was
way too hot for September. I walked
slowly down to the lake, taking in the quietness of the morning. I sat on the pebble beach where the land met
the water. The water was smooth and the
sunrise was reflecting off of it making a beautiful spectacle, but I barely
noticed.
The ball of yarn in my head
was gone. I wasn’t sure what had
replaced it, but I knew something was wrong.
I couldn’t complete any thoughts; I couldn’t concentrate. I could only think about the things on the
surface of my life. I couldn’t think
past the outer crust of myself to peel through the layers that needed
inspected.
I picked up a handful of
pebbles and tossed them towards the lake, watching as they made little plopping
sounds when the hit the surface. My
whole life had fallen apart. Who was
this girl in my body, controlling my mind?
My behavior since coming here had been unbelievable. There was no excuse for what I had done in
the last twelve hours.
I shuddered thinking about
it.
I stood up and stepped into
the lake. The water was cold on my bare
skin and I backed out by the time the water had reached halfway up my
calves. I backed up to the pebbles and
looked around. Ryan had talked about
building a boat dock, but never had. It
would be handy about now.
The sun was above the water
as I walked backward away from the lake.
When I reached the grass I stopped and changed my direction, running
straight into the lake. When the water
got up to my waist I dived. My whole
body submerged I started to swim as fast as I could into the lake. It was as if I was swimming to save my
life. Either that or I was trying to run
away.
I stopped to catch my breath
and turned to admire my distance. I had
gone a decent distance and the house looked small, maybe because part my view
was obstructed by trees. I was treading
water while I tried to think clearly. I
needed to know what to do next. I let my
legs stop and allowed my body to descend into the depths of the lake.
Eventually, I came up for
air. I felt like pebbles were being
dropped into my head at a very rapid pace, each one shooting into a new
direction, forming the beginning of a new thought. Ryan.
Trevor. Corey. John.
Jenny. Whitney. Solo contract. CD party.
Rehab. Coke. Heroin.
Vodka. Needles. Airplanes.
Rape. Nightmares. Babies.
My parents. Brooke. Shawna.
This house. The bed inside. The kitchen counter. The bathroom counter. My necklace.
Engagement rings. Aaron.
Why hadn’t I just chosen
Aaron, I thought as I started back to the shore. I would be so happy, I was sure of it. We would have kids and our own beautiful
house. I would be happy and I would have
forgotten Ryan years ago. He never would
have died. He never would have died
because I would have always kept him in my arms.
I reached the shore and
collapsed on the pebble beach. My
breathing was labored but I barely noticed because my mind was operating like someone
was flipping through a picture album of my life, only letting me see each
picture for a split second. I wanted it
to stop.
I let out a blood curdling
scream that may have woken the dead. I
stomped my feet in the rocks and flailed my arms. It did no good.
The sun was much higher than
the last time I had noticed. I decided
to go back to the house and face the hell that I had made my life.
What exactly was this story about?
It was about how the wheel of life continues to spin. It was about how we don’t
really have any control over what happens to us. It’s about how bad things
happen no matter what. It’s about so many things.
People would ask me how many more
bad things would happen to poor Sadie before something good would happen. Poor
Sadie. I put her through so much. She faced addictions to drugs and alcohol.
She faced domestic violence at the hands of a childhood friend turned
boyfriend. She faced the loss of someone she loved. She faced betrayal by
friends. She faced unplanned pregnancies. She faced death. She made mistakes.
She made bad decisions that would impact the rest of her life.
How can she go through so much?
Well, how can any of us go through
so much?
I stayed in the extra bedroom
downstairs. Most days I would just lay
in bed and sulk and cry. John and Ryan
took turns staying with me. I couldn't tell them what I remembered, so I just
let them think I didn’t remember.
Neither one said a cruel word to me.
On Valentine’s Day, Ryan was the one with me. He came into my room around noon to see if I needed anything.
“If we would have gotten married
this wouldn’t have happened,” I told him.
He came over and sat on the
foot of the bed. “Don’t say that,
Sadie. You can’t control what
happens. It could have happened
anywhere, to anyone.”
I shook my head, “No. They knew who I was. They were doing it on purpose. And I have to control what happens. I have to make up for all the years I wasn’t
in control.”
Ryan stood up, probably upset
by what I said. He headed towards the
door and tears started to come out of my eyes.
“My whole life is a disaster,
Ryan. I don’t even want to live. I wish they would have killed me. Why didn’t you just leave me there?”
He turned around and walked
back to the bed and sat next to me.
“Don’t talk like that,” he said.
“Well, it’s how I feel. I always thought that someday I would be
married and have kids. I never wanted to
be who I am. I hate myself. Now I’m never going to have a baby…and I have
had so many chances.” Ryan looked
away. “I don’t want to go back to
LA. I just want to be normal again.”
Ryan looked at me. “You were never ‘normal,’ Sadie. Not since the day you were born. Right now you’re just upset and that’s
expected. But to think you want to be
normal…it’s not gonna happen. And are
you sure you want to have kids? You’re
an addict. What kind of mom would you
be?” His tone was soft. He wasn’t trying to be mean to me, just
trying to make me be realistic.
“I remember all of it,” I
told him.
“All of what?”
“What happened to me.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows, “Do
you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I rolled away from him and started to
cry. Ryan lay next to me and put his
arms around me. I fell asleep in his
arms and he was still there when I woke.
He made me feel so safe and secure.
“I don’t want you to hurt anymore,” he told me.
Things get better. The pain and the
hurt, it fades. The memories stay, but they make us stronger. They can help
other people.
At lunch I opened up to
Krista about my addictions and how it had impacted my own life and the lives of
those around me.
“Hearing it from you is
nothing like hearing it on the news.
They make you look like any other messed up famous person. You have a story; everyone has a story. You know what you should do? You should write a book. It would sell like hot cakes; everyone would
buy it!”
I laughed. “No they wouldn’t. No one cares that much.”
She considered that. “No, they don’t care, per say, but they are
curious. Especially after how things
ended for Mile 258. That’s the stuff America
“Right.”
“And you were just a regular
Joe. But now, with your status, you can
make an impact. People will listen to
you. You could take a stand against
addiction or domestic violence or anything for that matter and people will
listen.”
I started to wonder if these
were the plans God had for me. I viewed
myself as regular old Sadie still, not as someone who could make an impact in
the lives of others. But what Krista
said had merit.
No, I’m not famous. But I believe
my story can help others. And in a way, Sadie’s story is my story. (Now, I know
if you’re reading this and you’ve read Sadie, you’re freaking out. It’s not my
story like that.) I have had A LOT of ‘things’ happen in my life. And there
have been times that I have wondered how much more can really happen. My
experiences can help others. I know they can.
Many people told me how reading my
Sadie stuff helped them through certain things they were dealing with. People
cried. I don’t want people to cry, but if they’re crying is caused by my
writing then I’m doing something right. I’m touching their emotions. My words
are real.
I have a story. I have a lot of
stories. I’ve survived them. Sadie
survived. I love Sadie, and all the Sadie’s out there. I love her brokenness
and her determination and her bad decisions. God pulled Sadie through bad times
just as He keeps pulling me through.
You can’t save a Sadie. You just
have to stand by her side while she lets God save her.
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