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I’m doing this so you can live your life is a sentence that plays in Beatrice’s mind like a broken record. Recently, it has seemed to have lost some of its color, the lilt of Ava’s voice when she said it, the image of her eyes as she breathed her commandment unto Beatrice, or even the frantic beat of her own heart as she realized what Ava was about to do.
I’m doing this so you can live your life is a sentence that evolved with Beatrice, sometimes she wonders if she’s done it at all, if she has lived. She thinks she did, to the best of her ability. She lived as much as one could with the grief she fostered.
I’m doing this so you can live your life is the sentence she asked them to engrave on her tombstone. She knows it’s plagiarism, really, it should have been on Ava’s, but she wanted to be remembered as the woman who loved Ava so much she did the hardest thing that had been asked of her: she lived.
As Beatrice lays in her bed, she reminisces. It’s an activity she enjoys indulging herself in, mostly because recently, it’s the only one she can actually complete. Moving has become extremely tiring, a result of years overexerting her body and a life well-spent.
She closes her eyes, letting her mind carry her, going over her life, detail by detail, keeping every memory alive on the back of her eyelids. She wants to have a summary ready in case purgatory is real. She wants to be prepared to defend her belief that she deserves a place in heaven: she knows Ava is there.
Despite repeating that process frequently, Beatrice finds it hard to go back to that day, when Ava came to her on the balcony, to remember how heartbroken Ava looked. Beatrice always starts there, the day she refused to run away with her, she believes – accepts as a more absolute truth than the earth being round or the sun being a star – this is the trigger that pushed Ava to her sacrifice, and she tortures herself with the reminder as punishment. She does not deserve respite.
She often asked herself if saying yes would have changed things. When she’s feeling particularly angry, she’d think that yes, running away with Ava would have at least given her the chance to see things through with her, to love her properly, maybe to lay in their bed in Switzerland and kiss her senseless as they awaited the end of the world. On the very rare occasions when Ava’s voice resonated in her mind – Bea, you’re literally your own worst bully she had once told her when she heard Beatrice scold herself – Beatrice would think that it would not have changed much, Adriel would have found them and taken Ava from her anyway. At least Ava had a life wherever she ended up (this is what Beatrice convinces herself of – she needs to).
Even after she refused to choose life with her, Ava had asked her to live. If one were to really think about it, that had been Ava’s will. She did not have worldly possessions, she only harbored her love for Beatrice and asked her to keep it alive, because really, Beatrice’s life is a love letter to and from Ava.
Beatrice was the only proof that Ava existed, that she lived at all.
So, Beatrice tried her best to live her life, to give Ava a second chance by extension.
She left the convent soon after the mission, promising Mother Superion and Camila that she would keep in touch. She wanted to see the world, travel to places she and Ava had talked about in the safety of their bed when neither could fall asleep.
That bed had been the true witness to their love, not Lilith, not Yasmine, not even god. Their apartment had borne their affections, seen the way their hands danced around each other, noticed how their breaths caught on unspoken I love yous, heard their hearts beat in tandem – one could not work without the other.
She had debated adding the Alps to her list of places to go to, then thought better of it. She would not step foot in that village without Ava. It felt too great a betrayal. She could try new experiences and find new places, but she would never tackle by herself something they had created together. The life they had in the Alps was theirs together, if Beatrice were to visit the bar, she would find that Ava’s essence had not lingered there, that it was a mirage, only Ava’s presence could have made it real, memories would not have been enough to keep Ava alive there.
She stayed away.
During the first year after she let Ava go, Beatrice visited every place she could. She spent days walking through the Louvres, climbed the steps of the Tour Eiffel, admired the leaning tower of Pisa, snaked through the Pyramids of Giza, marveled at the beauty of Petra and the details of the temple of Baalbek, she ate her way through Seoul, tasted the fine teas India had to offer, she even swam in the blue grotto – although she was sure she spent more time crying than enjoying the place. She took as many pictures as possible; she kept a journal of every destination with stamps, retellings of her days, and feedback on the places she had been to, all of it kept safely to give Ava when she returned.
She never did. Beatrice did not immediately give in to that fact the moment the first anniversary knocked on her door. She refused to agree with everyone that it was a lost cause, but she did change her perspective. Ava was not a correspondent anymore, she did not continue with her journals or catalog her pictures, Ava became a companion. Beatrice assumed she was living every moment with her rather than thinking it was a missed opportunity she’d have to tell her about later.
Which is why during the second year she decided to find a place to stay, indefinitely. Switzerland was out of the question, for the rest of her life, Beatrice did not return to it, not even when grief got too strong she wished she could sleep in their bed again. Spain seemed too easy and perhaps almost as painful as Switzerland because Mother Superion and Camila reminded her of all that she’d lost. They had added two stones in the convent’s cemetery, one for Mary, one for Ava, and they hugged her with too much care, as if their combined grief could break her – and it could. Even Lilith was kind to her during the few times they had met – Beatrice had sought her out, begging her to try and contact Ava somehow, a dead-end really because she did not seem to have connections to other realms. She could not hide out at Jillian’s, although the woman had offered as they kept in touch, both leaning fleetingly on each other to get through their grief (neither of them did get through it, they learned to shoulder it, to bear their cross as they moved through life). She did not want to go back to London, even though she knew life there and it reassured her. She chose France.
Relying on the money left to her – accidentally – by her parents, she found a quaint little apartment, a little bigger than the one in the Alps and with a much different set-up so she wouldn’t live in a constant reminder of the life that had slipped through her fingers. She found a job at a local library, she reveled in the routine that her shifts brought her, both in schedule and in the actions she had to carry out. She found activities to engage in (book club, painting, embroidery, pottery…), not all of them stuck, but they helped her make friends. She had her small group of people, ones she could invite over for a dinner she prepared (recipes Ava had loved) or go out with when they suggested (dancing like Ava had craved).
And dance she did. Alone, with her friends, and even with strangers. Beatrice had forced herself to let go on many occasions, to push the boundaries of her comfort because she wanted Ava to be proud of her, to find a changed woman when she came back.
She never did. When that second year became a third, Beatrice decided to visit a church. She did not want to pray, much less to attend mass, she simply wanted to light a candle for Ava, a promise that as long as she was alive, as long as her body took breaths and her mind was conscious, she would wait for Ava. The moment Ava got back to her, Beatrice would drop whatever life she had built and take her up on any offer she presented. She would.
Which is why Beatrice allowed herself to try to live more.
The first time she went on a date, she found it to be pleasant. Jude had been a lovely woman, she hadn’t pushed when Beatrice did not elaborate on her time after graduating from school, she engaged in conversation all at the right time, and even offered to walk Beatrice home. When they had parted ways, Jude had kissed her on the cheek, it did not tingle like it had with Ava. Beatrice was only grateful she had not kissed her on both sides, at least she had not completely written over Ava’s touch.
The first time someone kissed her lips, she had a panic attack. Not directly, Beatrice would not have wanted to explain to Augustine why she was crying about having been kissed. She had waited until Augustine dropped her home, until she had locked her door and played some soft music to make sure her neighbors wouldn’t hear her. Then she had broken down. She ran to her bathroom, dry heaving, on her knees next to the toilet. She scrubbed her lips raw. She hated that she had one less reminder of Ava, her lips had been hers, Ava had been her first and only kiss. Not anymore. Now Ava became part of a chain, one that put her at the beginning where she would always be remembered – not because of the primacy effect, but because of how much she means to Beatrice – in a spot that indicated there would be many following her. Beatrice’s lips would now mold to other women’s, the sculpting of Ava’s lips forgotten to history.
The first time she had sex, she cried, right as she reached orgasm. The whole experience had been so foreign for her, both because it was her first time – ever – and because she desperately wished she could cry out Ava’s name instead of Veronica’s. The woman had been kind to her afterwards, helping her through her emotions – as much as she could with the little Beatrice had told her. Later, when she left Veronica’s bed and returned to her own, Beatrice did not sleep, she cried again as she realized her grief would most probably never make sense to others. She could not summarize it and say I lost my girlfriend or My partner passed away, Ava had not been hers, she also couldn’t spend an hour every time she met someone new telling them why Ava meant so much to her, she felt like she owed them vast explanations, mainly because the world seemed keen on labels and without one, she had to justify the depth of her sadness. And the majority still didn’t get it. They didn’t understand why Beatrice had not made a move, why Ava hadn’t stayed, why they hadn’t made the most of it if they already knew Ava was going to die. Beatrice supposed they couldn’t, she lived through it, and she could barely rationalize it. How could strangers do it with even less context and details?
It took her a while to try all of it again, the dates, the kissing, and the sex, eventually, though, she did. Three years turned into four, then seven turned into eight, Beatrice did not want to live alone, really, she would have stayed a nun if she did, she had a few girlfriends. She did not mind the kissing and the sex, sometimes she could say she genuinely enjoyed it. What she found hard to digest was the domesticity. Domesticity was where she and Ava lived. She did not have sex with Ava, they barely kissed once, but they had shared a home, a routine, a bed. She could not bring herself to invite someone else in to do this. She lost her girlfriends over this; they could not fathom that Beatrice was not ready to have them move in or to move to their house, to share her life with them so intimately.
Until she met Julia. Julia was really patient with Beatrice, she understood that Beatrice had not properly grieved Ava, that she had not externalized her sorrow, and that it would stay with her. Julia also had a child, Philippa, and at first, she was only looking for a friend. Beatrice was an excellent friend, she helped Julia when she was stuck at work and needed someone to watch over her daughter, she attended doctors’ appointments and participated in commemorative family photos. One day, Julia kissed her, she kissed her back, soon enough, kisses became sex, sex became dates, and dates meant that Julia wanted more so Beatrice agreed. She loved Philippa and she cared for Julia; Beatrice figured this was as close as she could get to happiness. She moved into Julia’s place, it made more sense seeing as Philippa’s room was there, she had her known environment, and they did not want to shake her up. The first few nights, Philippa slept between them, content to have her two mommies encasing her. Beatrice was grateful not to have to cuddle her girlfriend. She eventually had to, when Philippa finally returned to her own bed. Beatrice had studied the options before her, either she would have to hold Julia – and dethrone Ava from one more spot – or she would have to be held by her – and allow Julia an indulgence she had refused Ava. She opted for the latter, preferring to keep her body’s memories of Ava intact.
Their life was good, Beatrice was a doting parent and an attentive partner, despite not always being fully present in the moment. Julia knew she had to give Beatrice her moments of solitude so she could be with Ava.
Beatrice doesn’t know why Julia stayed with her all these years, why she agreed to build a life with her when she knew she would always come second, that she could not surpass Ava in Beatrice’s mind. She loved Julia, truly, she did, but it was never in an I am in love with you kind of way, it was in an I’m grateful I have someone to care for during my life kind of way because she never could be in love with someone else, not for a lack of trying. People often repeat that one does not forget their first love. Some would argue this was her case, Beatrice would call bullshit – Ava would be so mad to know she now swears openly. Ava was her first love and her only one. Beatrice never moved on, mostly, she believed, because she had not been allowed to explore that love, to expand it and let it die on its own (when both she and Ava died) which is why she felt she could not get over it. It was like an itch she could not scratch, a rash she could not treat, it was ever present but she could not do anything about it, she could not hug Ava, she could not kiss her, she could not tell her she loved her, she simply had to let it consume her and hope she could remain functional enough to live her life.
Or maybe she did know why Julia stayed, maybe because despite everything, Beatrice loved Julia how she had wanted to be loved. She had given her everything Julia asked for in acts and services, she had loved her daughter as her own. Perhaps that added to the difference between Julia and Ava, with Ava, she had loved in her own way, in a Beatrice manner, where she made sure to turn on her alarms for work or to bring sunscreen to training. She had offered parts of herself in loving Ava, gladly chipping away at her being to grant it to Ava. With Julia she only gave her time and her attention, she did not merge their love languages, she never gave her heart or her mind.
It had somehow been enough though, because she and Julia had spent the last forty-something years together. They had seen Philippa grow up, graduate school, then college. They had witnessed her milestones, she had moved out, gotten married, and had children. Through it all, Beatrice did her best to pass on Ava’s memory to her family – without giving it a name, she had broken Julia’s heart enough times already – by letting Philippa lick the spoon as they baked, by helping her grandchildren in avoiding curfew once or twice, or even by making Julia late for work one day because they both hadn’t had sex in a while and needed it. She also made sure to keep Ava alive in her, in the way she bathed in the sun just to enjoy the warmth, or the way she danced to a random song at least once every day just because she could. She kept Ava alive when Camila and Mother visited, her memory swaying alongside Mary’s. One day, Mother Superion’s stories joined theirs, when Camila started showing up on her own.
She tried to keep tabs on Lilith, at first out of desperation to make her final scene with Ava real, then out of genuine need to have a conversation with one of her few original friends. She had lost her trail in her thirties, Lilith did not want to be found, much less by Beatrice. Over the years, she lost contact with Jillian, the woman had distanced herself slowly from anyone who reminded her of that time of her life, eventually Beatrice received the news of her passing.
Content with the analysis of her life, Beatrice opens her eyes for a quick survey of their room, pictures of her, Philippa and Julia littered the walls, some had Camila and Mother Superion in them. There was their wedding picture, it had been a day Beatrice dreaded, she was not keen on getting married, Julia had expected it and she had reasoned it would make sense and make things easier. It had been a small ceremony, a few of their friends, Camila, Mother, and Philippa had witnessed it. Beatrice had engraved their rings with an In this life because she had promised her next to Ava. There was a picture of Philippa and Camila making finger guns and pointing them at Beatrice behind the camera. One frame held Mother Superion and Philippa on her wedding day, another was of Beatrice and Julia holding their two grandchildren. Her favorite though, was of a sunset she had taken a few years ago, when she had visited the beach after traveling to Cat’s Cradle. She had run barefoot in the sand, much like Ava had told her she had done, she had heard a random Bea yelled by some kids, it had sounded just like her, and she had cried, letting the ocean wash her face when she was done. Julia and Philippa call her Bea, it’s not the same though. When they do it, she still feels like Beatrice, the formal version of herself, when Ava had called her Bea, she would feel this shift in her, like she was softer, freer, more loved.
She exhaled.
Julia was at their neighbor’s enjoying a cup of tea, her visits had been less frequent in the past months what with Beatrice’s health deteriorating, but the woman was glad for the universe’s show of mercy, she wants to be alone, she wants to send herself off in the only way she had dreamt of: with a prayer to Ava.
Her friends and family had wondered – she knows Julia did – about why Ava was so important to Beatrice. She had known her for a total of about a hundred days, yet she meant more to her than most – if not all – people in her life. Beatrice cannot answer simply. If she wanted a quick summary, she would say Ava gave her life. Not only because she had asked her to live it, therefore forcing Beatrice to do it as she would never disobey an order, but also because in the short time she knew her, Ava had broken her chains, the ones locked unto Beatrice by her parents, by duty, and by herself. Beatrice finds her reasoning to be reductive. In reality, what made Ava so crucial to Beatrice was that she had given the prospect of Beatrice’s death value. Before Ava, Beatrice had been an object, a pawn in a game of power that would readily discard her for the greater good. Sure her sisters would be a little sad, maybe Mother Superion would have shed a tear, all in all though, they would have had to move on quickly, to give the Halo to the next in line and perhaps not even have time to bury her – she had seen it happen to her own friend. But Ava, Ava made Beatrice believe she would be missed if anything happened to her, that someone – Ava – would be sad if she got hurt. Beatrice loved Ava because Ava showed her that Beatrice’s death could never be a non-event, she mattered too much for that. This would be her honest answer.
With labored breaths, she reaches into the drawer of her nightstand for the picture of Ava she kept there. It was one of the rare tangible remainders of Ava, one of the few pictures she had taken of herself. She grabs the necklace she had left behind – the one Beatrice had gifted her when they were in the Alps – and the unfinished letter Ava had dropped on their bed at Jillian’s – the Dear Beatrice had lost its sharpness, a shadow of the words they once were. She lays them all down on the bed, slowly pushing herself to the edge of it so she can drop herself to her knees. She isn’t completely sure she could get up from her position unaided, this would be a problem for later – Julia would likely find her there, stuck, quiet, and gone.
She’s often heard that people know when their time comes, they can feel it in their body. For once, people have not lied to her. Over the past week, she’s felt awkward in her body, as if it was wilting, condensing her soul to one place, shrinking Beatrice from the entirety of her limbs to a few ribs above her heart. She knows that today is her last day. She’s already had her goodbyes. Camila had dropped by a few days ago, they talked about Ava, Mary, Superion. Beatrice even brought up Jillian, and Lilith, and Shannon. She made Camila promise to put her stone next to Ava’s in the cemetery of the convent. Philippa and her husband had visited with their kids just yesterday. The kids were too grown-up for her to ask them to indulge her in silly things like painting on her hands as they used to do when they were younger, instead they had watched a movie together. Philippa had cried as she hugged her, every time she let go, she would turn back for another embrace. Julia gave her a kiss before she left for the neighbor’s, a knowing and bittersweet smile gracing her features as she squeezed Beatrice’s hands. Perhaps she had left on purpose, not wanting to watch her wife die. Beatrice does not understand, she thinks she would have been devastated to imagine Ava dying alone. She does not criticize her wife though; she knows she and Julia have had very different formative years.
Her knees ache as they lay on the floor, they are now just bones, no youth in them to protect Beatrice from the pain. She clasps her hands together and takes a deep breath. It feels weird to pray without the ritualistic aspects, without the signing of the cross or the feel of the rosary beads between her fingers, but Beatrice carries on. She hums a tender tune first, to get used to her own voice, she doesn’t like speaking to herself out loud. She hopes she can draw out her prayer until her body finally gives out, she also wishes her body would give her a sign somehow, she has a very specific sentence she wants to end her speech with.
Dear Ava,
you asked me to live my life, and here I am, telling you I have. I have traveled the world, I have met people, and I have loved. I have loved my friends, I have loved my wife, I have loved my daughter, but above all, I have loved you. With every single breath I took, I have tried to honor your memory and your sacrifice.
I was so mad at you, I still am sometimes, because you took the choice away from me. You didn’t give me a warning that you were going to sacrifice yourself, you didn’t consider me in your plans. Maybe you didn’t see a necessity for it seeing as I had refused to runaway with you. My anger is stupid, I know, because I was training you for this fight, I knew what was coming but sometimes anger resonates louder than love and I need a reminder of the feelings you left in me.
I know it’s rude of me to say this, but living has been hard. Each year I had hoped you would show up on my doorstep, knock on my door, and whisper softly Hi Bea. If you hadn’t asked me to live, I would have given up years ago. Food doesn’t taste as good as when you ate with me, sleep isn’t as comforting as it was when you held me, air isn’t as fresh as it was when you breathed alongside me. I know you meant it as a gift, but life without you has been torture.
I hope wherever you ended up was good to you. I like to think you’re in a parallel universe, one where you got to be a bartender full-time, where you got to swim and dance and love. I really hope you got to live as well. I think God owes you as much for saving his church.
Did you see me from wherever you are or are you completely oblivious to my life? Either way, I’m sure we’ll talk all about it when I see you again, because I will, God owes me as much for giving up so many years of my life for him.
I think a lot about the things you’ve said to me. Did you have to be the last warrior nun? Couldn’t you have kept the heroics for someone else? Couldn’t you have made history differently?
Did you hear me after you went through? I’m sorry for not saying it immediately. I hope you know I love you. I hope you know that you have freed me, Ava. I lived a life where I was beautiful, people love me for being different. You allowed me to look for that.
Do you remember what was inscribed on Adriel’s tomb? Et defunctis requiem. I refused to let you rest, you were always with me, I don’t believe you really died, you simply moved to another world. I promised not to leave you, and I haven’t. I still chase the winds that feel like your hands on my skin, I still dance to songs that sound like your excitement for things.
I apologize, I am rambling, my thoughts get ahead of me now, a downside of growing old.
I am done with this life, I’m ready to go.
I hope you are waiting for me in the next.