The Broken Meadow

2. Britney

BRITNEY

I took a sip of my coffee as I picked apart the dark edges of the stale cheese danish on the plate in front of me. Slowly peeling off the brownish pieces, as hungry as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to put it in my mouth. The coffee shop was kind of dead, a small quaint little bakery like you’d see in a Hallmark movie. The waitress was slow to serve and spoke with a southern drawl that made it difficult for me to understand what she was asking me. Watching her work in slow motion made me realize where the saying “in a New York minute” came from.

I had never been to Tennessee before, and the town took me by surprise. I guess I was expecting a livelier scene, from what I imagined Nashville would have been like. I had envisioned country music blaring through the streets, mechanical bulls in every bar and tall, burly cowboys ready to line dance with you, given the chance. A far cry from the experience at a local bar the night before. Actually, I had been to three bars and not one mechanical bull, or cowboy for that matter, in sight. But that was most likely a place like Nashville or Austin, not the tiny town I ended up in, with miles of green land and sounds of farm animals lingering through the air.

I glanced down at my watch; she was already ten minutes late. Fear suddenly washed over me that she may not even show up. I was meeting Cali’s sister Chrys an entire year after waking up from the accident. Why the hell was I even doing this? A week before, I was engaged to an amazing man, finally recovering after a horrific car accident nearly killed me. I spent an entire year driving myself crazy, questioning my existence. Why was I the one put into this fatal occurrence? I wasn’t even supposed to be in Brooklyn that night, and all of a sudden, my life was turned upside down. My fiancé Tristin begged me not to leave him, and told me we could get through this together. But I needed space; I needed to figure this out on my own. I took this as a sign, an omen if you will. I needed answers, and Tennessee seemed the likeliest place to start. And, well, the easiest. Was it selfish of me? Probably, but I felt like I was losing my mind, and I needed to do something about it.

Chrys sounded reluctant on the phone, but I had finally convinced her to meet me for coffee. A flashback of the day I woke in the hospital inundated my mind.

“Oh my God, she’s awake,” one of the doctors said in disbelief as he hurried over to me. He held up two fingers in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” I said.

“Do you know your name?” he asked.

“Britney Johnson,” I answered.

“Britney, this is going to be hard to hear, but you were in a terrible accident.”

“My brakes failed,” I said, horrified.

“You’ve been in a coma.”

The bell chimed, jolting me from my daze as a customer walked in, a look of apprehension on her face. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, kind of tall and curvy. I knew immediately it was Chrys. She looked frazzled as she hurried right over to my table. Although there were only two other patrons in the place, I guess you could say in my baby blue halter dress and high-heeled sandals, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she greeted, as she sat down and tossed her pocketbook on an empty seat. Pushing her disheveled hair out of her face, she placed it in a messy ponytail on top of her head with a rubber band she had around her wrist.

“It’s fine,” I said, smiling slightly. “Can I get you coffee or something?”

She squinted her eyes and stretched her neck towards the counter to get a better look of the pastries through the glass. Softly biting on the inside of her cheek, she leaned back in her chair.

“I’ll just have a tea,” she politely said. I motioned for the waitress, who either pretended not to see me, or couldn’t be bothered. I rolled my eyes and smirked.

“It may take a while for that,” I said sarcastically. I pointed at the hardened crust pieces on my plate, indicating that she wasn’t missing much.

“That’s fine,” she assured me. There was an awkward pause for a moment before I cleared my throat uneasily.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” she said, as she finally got the attention of the waitress and motioned for her. I took another sip of my coffee as the waitress came over. They started talking up a storm, like they were long lost friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, about the weather becoming nice and the excitement of the fall foliage, which led right into the town fair the upcoming weekend. At first, I assumed they knew each other, until Chrys ordered her tea, and the waitress addressed her as “Hun”, and it occurred to me they were just being polite. No wonder New Yorkers had such a bad reputation. I couldn’t remember having such a detailed conversation with a barista at my local Starbucks, well, ever.

Turning her attention back to me and wrapping her arms around her waist in a defensive position, Chrys asked, “How are you feeling?” It was clear by the adjustment in her tone that she was merely entertaining my request for a meeting to be nice, which made the encounter that much more awkward, although I had to give her credit for showing up. I don’t think many people would have even bothered to come at all, so she scored points for coming.

“Better, thank you. I had to go to physical therapy for eighteen weeks, but the muscle damage seems to be improving. Of course, you can’t get anything stronger than Tylenol in New York; they won’t even give pain killers to a woman after giving birth anymore. You know, because if you’re in pain, they immediately assume you’re some sort of junkie addicted to opioids,” I said, rolling my eyes. Her mouth hung open a bit, surprised by my statement. I hit my head with the palm of my hand; what a stupid thing to say. “Damn, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I was immediately cut off by the waitress, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere with the tea, to save me from myself. I felt like such an i***t. How insensitive of me to say that, knowing both her sister and her sister’s boyfriend were recovering addicts.

“No worries. So why exactly did you want to meet me?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I, um…” Damn, I had practiced this over and over in my head. It wasn’t any easier explaining the insanity that was about to spew out of my mouth in person than I hoped it would be. “I have tried to get in touch with Josh, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls.” She let out a chuckle as she took a sip of her tea.

“That’s interesting. You couldn’t get a hold of the millionaire CEO of a modeling company, like you could so easily with a nobody like me?”

I grabbed a piece of my long blonde hair, as I uneasily twirled it around my pointer finger, studying each grain of my hair, suddenly doing a full-on split-end examination. Everything I said was coming out wrong, and I immediately regretted my decision to contact her.

“I’m an author,” I blurted out.

“So was my sister.” It was nice to see her referring to Cali as an author, after no one seemed to take her new career seriously once she quit acting.

“She’d be happy to know you were referring to her as an author,” I said.

“And how would you know anything about what my sister would feel? Were you chatting it up with her while you were both in a coma for a year and a half?” she snapped, like I hit a nerve at the mention of Cali.

“About that,” I said, as I reached in my tote and retrieved a book and slid it across the table. She pulled it in towards her and examined the cover.

“542 Days?” she read the title out loud. “What the hell is this?”

“See, that’s the thing. We weren’t in a coma; your sister, Cali, was holding me under a spell or something. She had me in some sort of trance where she told me the entire story…”

“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked, with annoyance in her voice. I shook my head.

“No, no it’s not.”

Chrys slid the book back towards me, pushed her seat out, and stood up. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. It was nice meeting you, Britney. I am glad you’re feeling better…” I stood also, my body language pleading with her not to leave, as she grabbed her pocketbook, and I leaned my palms on the table.

“I promise you; she wanted me to write it. The same as she wrote Bounded by the Bond in her, in your last life,” I reasoned. She stared at me in shock, until she finally grabbed her seat and pulled it back out, slowly slumping back into it.

“How do you know about that?” she asked, just above a whisper.

“She told me.”

“While you were ‘under her trance’?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes. Look, I know it sounds insane; seriously I do. But if anyone could understand or believe this, I thought it would be you. Or Josh. How could I possibly know all this stuff?”

“The Internet is a dangerous place… you can dig up a lot on someone. Morgan, Cali as you know her, was a high-profile actress…”

“Exactly. And you think I was ‘accidentally’ placed in a private room, with a celebrity, in the middle of a pandemic?” I asked, making air quotations to emphasize accidentally. If there was anything Cali’s story taught me, there were no “accidents”. Coincidences did not exist. She stayed silent, processing what I had said.

“Even if this is all true, what do you want from me?” she finally asked.

“What happened to Mason?” I asked. He had been on my mind ever since I woke up from the experience. I thought about him often; I felt like I knew him. I found myself constantly worrying about his well-being, wondering if he was okay. He occupied a large portion of my thoughts now. But the larger part of my mind was consumed with thoughts of Josh.

“He lives with me. His mother, my sister, was arrested. I was next of kin. You have kids, Britney?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Why don’t you have kids?” she questioned. Well, this became an interview I didn’t see coming. I started pushing the tarnished pieces of the danish around my plate with my fork.

“I find it disheartening that in 2022 we still have to explain to people why a woman wouldn’t want children,” I answered harshly. “No, I didn’t put it on hold to pursue my career. No, it’s not for lack of commitment to a man, either, and I am not a lesbian. The truth is, I just don’t want kids, never did. Plain and simple.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, softening her voice.

“You didn’t. Not much ‘offends’ me,” I assured her.

“Well, I ended up a single mother to an eighteen-year-old boy. And he hates me, and despite everything I give him, can’t seem to find his path. He won’t go to school, he refuses to get a job, and just last month I had to pick him up from the police station because he stole a car. So, if it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t judging. Nor can I say I blame you. It’s not easy.”

“I’m sure he’ll find his way; he’s been through a lot…”

“Yes, I am certain he will also, and hopefully before I drop dead from a heart attack,” she let out a chuckle. “Now, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off rude, but is that why you wanted to meet with me? To check up on Mason?” I put my fork down and looked directly into her eyes. I could feel the desperation oozing from my stare, but this was it, my only chance for answers… Here goes nothing.

“Not exactly. I was hoping you could help me. I really need to get in touch with Josh.”