
Sophie's
Smile
Sheena Harper
Edited by Kyle Harper
Copyright © 2011 Sheena Harper
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover and artwork designed and illustrated by Sheena Harper.
ISBN: 1466266031
ISBN-13: 978-1466266032
To my loving and sweet Husband.
I will love you forever...
We awkwardly stride,
just ready for Yesterday,
not quite owning Now.
~Kyle Harper, Never Ready
~ Sophie ~
Sigh...anxious excitement flooded through my veins as I prepared myself for this new beginning. It was September 11, 1997---the heat was dry and deprecating, the trees a dusty green, the hills lush with a blanket of weeds, and the sky clear as polished glass---my very first day at Sweetwater Middle School.
I was entering the seventh grade---a place feared by some, hated by most; here, the occupant was no longer a child untainted and pure, not yet a teen preparing for the future, but somewhere stuck in between (the dreaded onion in a turkey sandwich). Excited for freedom and more independence. Unsure and misplaced in this world filled with puzzles and mazes. Insecure with wavering confidence, constantly testing and being tested. And for the first time given a mirror to criticize, critique, and understand the person looking back.
If I was wiser, that fact should have made me wary. But I was young. Naïve.
Last April, my family moved all but five miles from our previous house---quaint and fitting for a young family of three---so I could attend the prestigious Sweetwater School District. Education was everything in this upper-middle class community, consisting mainly of hard-working, first-and second-generation Asian-Americans. From a very early age, we tacitly understood that we must attend the best to become the best.
A few months ago, my naivety clouded my better sense of judgment into believing that I would have a fresh start. A new school. Have new friends. Be a new person, a better person.
The night before, I laid out my new clothes, shoes, and backpack neatly by the foot of my bed. I stepped back a moment to survey the parallel stacks and ensure I wasn't forgetting anything---all was crisp and creased, still holding the shape of its original packaging, even after the rolled up papers, plastic shields, and silica packets were removed and discarded. Excitement building. I do not remember falling asleep, but it didn't seem long before I lay here, awake in bed, sun creeping through the slits of the fabric-covered blinds, eyes gleaming wide and round, anxiously waiting for the alarm to buzz, signaling the start of a brand new life.
I jumped out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, changed into my new set of clothes, and took a few minutes to compose myself before heading downstairs. Examining myself in front of the full-length closet mirror, I saw a cute girl full of possibilities---her body small and frail, her face young and innocent.
I forced myself to relax, focusing on my breath---my shoulders lifted as I gulped in as much air as my lungs could hold and then slowly exhaled, releasing all the anxiety and tension. That helped a little. Knots were forming in my stomach as butterflies started to invade, filling the empty space.
Submitting to the butterflies, I gave up and ran down the stairs. Poured myself a bowl of crunchy O's with skim milk and scarfed it down, as if trying to douse them into submission with each bite. It seemed to knock them down a bit.
"Okay, I'm ready to go to school!" I exclaimed as I hurriedly put on my stark white sneakers, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the garage.
My dad grinned as he held up his hand, "Whoa, hold on there, Princess."
I halted and turned toward him, hands on my hips, confused. "What?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
I contemplated in silence---I was clothed, fed, and had my backpack hooked contently over my left shoulder. What else was there---"Ummm?" With a pleading expression, I looked up at my dad for a clue.
My dad let out a laugh and just shook his head. "You have to wait for your mom to get ready so she could drive you to school."
"Oh yea," I answered, feeling dejected.
Now I glanced at the clock; I was about half an hour early. I came over to sit next to my dad on the couch, trying to focus on the morning news. They always looked too happy, too energetic, and much too perfect. There never seemed to be a strand of hair out of place.
I contemplated this until my mom finally came down to join us. My feet and hands twisting, restlessly waiting for my mom to finish her second cup of coffee---one is good but two is better, she always told me. I often fidgeted, much to my mom's angst. I shrugged. Shrugging was my natural reflex in uncomfortable situations.
Finally, my mom was ready. My excitement was slightly unsettling...I had never been more excited for the first day of school than I was today. I hoped I wasn't jinxing myself.
In the car, I fiddled with the radio trying to find the perfect song to fit my mood. I gave up and settled for the KISS station. I didn't understand why there was so much talking and not enough singing on the morning radio. Before I actually heard a complete song, we arrived.
We lived so close to the school I probably could have walked, but the idea of walking never crossed my parents' minds. I wasn't exactly thrilled about the proposition, either---sweating is very unbecoming and I detested the fact that I got my dad's genes in that area---so it was never brought up.
A heavy sigh escaped from my chapped lips as I tried to compose myself before exiting my mom's Lexus. A Lexus might seem excessive to some, but to those attending Sweetwater Middle School it was an average and ordinary family car.
I turned to give my mom a hug and a kiss goodbye and noticed that her eyes were already misting with emotion. Oh geez, she was about to start crying.
"Mom, please," I said as I rolled my eyes, slightly irritated.
"Sorry, it's just you're growing up so fast." She sighed.
I gave up; after all, it is a Mother's right to fuss over her child.
"I know." I kissed her on the cheek one more time and got out of the car.
Gasp. Unable to move, I took in...everything. The size of the school was larger than I imagined. There were thousands of kids scurrying every which way, meeting up with friends whom they haven't seen since June, some whom they haven't seen since yesterday, and others just searching for the location of their first period. Luckily, I scoped out the locations of my classes a day in advance so I wouldn't have to use the map.
Maps were a clear giveaway, signaling to everyone that you were either a 6th grader or new to the school. I didn't want to be singled out just yet.
The eighth graders were also easy to spot. They were the ones who wore smug faces; they were either excited to rule the school, or couldn't care less about anyone and anything. They also looked more mature. After all, they had the entire summer for puberty to hit---generating a type of complex as they got used to their newfound bodies---and had two years to secure their place amongst their peers.
"Buzzz..." I jumped. I panicked. Am I late for my first class? I started running before stopping to think. By the time I realized it was only the warning bell, I already stood out. A few people turned my way and snickered. My cover had been blown. I'm a newbie, and everybody knows it. I hung my head as I slowed somewhat, but still kept a fast pace toward my class. My cheeks flushed. I wanted to get inside as soon as possible to shield myself from utter embarrassment.
A handful of kids were already in my first period class, excitedly waiting to see if any of their friends or crushes would join. I zeroed in on the back corner desk and took it. I wanted to get a grip on my new surroundings before others became aware of my presence. I could feel the curiosity directed my way as I sat down. I took out my notebook and pencil and began idly doodling to pass the time until class started. The room began to fill up and after ten minutes went by, the official bell rang. There were a few stragglers, but the teacher did not seem to mind. I guessed they were more lenient, being the first day and all.
As the day went on, my excitement dwindled and sadness crept in. I found myself hanging my head a little lower, slumping in my chair a little further, and being quiet as a mouse.
Nothing will change, I thought glumly. I will not be a different person at this school, but much the same. I'll be lonely and alone.
I didn't know what I expected. I was never able to draw a crowd. Popularity was never my specialty. Everyone already seemed to belong to a clique, and it appeared by their turned backs and tightly closed groups they were not looking for new recruits. Everyone seemed to know everybody already. Nobody seemed to care about who I was.
Days passed. Weeks. Then months went by without much change. I was still alone and forgotten...that was, until today.
Mrs. Whittle had a spunky personality that fit her fiery red hair and grayish-blue eyes. Her outfits popped with color, fabric breathable and light, like a wandering gypsy roaming the streets of Italy. She was in her early forties, married, no children unless you count her two German Shepherds, and she absolutely loved history. When she was in the seventh grade she probably had no problem making friends, which was why she was clueless as to the impact her little stunt was going to have on me.
Generally, she would be whisking about, humoring herself over some anecdote or another, chalk flying from her hands as she scribbled an identification word here and there. Today, she was standing in front of the class beside a stack of papers.
"Last night I finished grading all the exams," she paused, her lined face stern, "I was disappointed. The majority of you did poorly and will need to step it up on the next exam."
Groans were cast around the room. My body started shaking uncontrollably at the sheer thought that I could have received anything other than an A. I drooped in my seat---color draining from my pallor-stricken face, cold sweat prickling my forehead---awaiting my fate.
As the groans died down, she continued, "But there was one person who got a perfect score."
Her smile widened as her eyes met mine. My heart lifted...that is, until she announced who that person was in front of the entire class.
"Sophie was the only one who got every question correct." She pulled the test from the top of the stack and held it out for everyone to see the large 100% marked at the top of the page. She turned my way and flapped the papers coaxingly, waiting for me to get out of my seat and retrieve it.
My face flushed as embarrassment took hold over my stoic body. I couldn't have been ostracized more. At least before, I was left to my own devices. I was starting to get used to the fact that I was ignored and unnoticed. Now, all eyes were on me. I stood out like a wilted sunflower stuck into a bouquet of fresh roses.
Some were curious, others indifferent, but most were filled with annoyance---like everything would be better if only I were plucked away and tossed out of the picture. I should have felt thrilled and proud, but at that moment I felt sick.
Reality set in; I was now the competition; I was now the eyesore.
Being left alone for the past few months, I was able to observe the dynamic of this school and the people in it. Competition, money, and academic excellence ruled this school. Students were competitive by nature for the teachers' praises and top grades.
It was a vicious cycle. Teachers competed for the best students to boost their rankings, and parents flaunted their money to compete for the best-ranked teachers. An Ivy League University was the main goal for the parents, and the best teachers were fought over to get them there.
Money was well acknowledged and appreciated; shown by the "generous donation" plaques that lined the entrance of the marble library floor, the mahogany desks, the two-story glass amphitheater, indoor swimming pool, and award-winning music and education programs.
As a blue-ribbon school, high test scores and grades were demanded, stressed, and expected. Everyone, from the parents, students, teachers, principal, and even the superintendent, felt pressure. Excellence was definitely in the forefront of everyone's mind.
I focused on my note taking as Mrs. Whittle continued her lecture, in order to divert my attention from the glares and noisy whispers tossed my way.
Class was almost over when she introduced our first project. "This will be a group project that will be worth 30 percent of your grade," she announced smugly as if she were a dictator ruling a communist nation.
More groans. All I could hear was "group" and "30 percent."
"You are allowed to make your own groups of three and will need to pick a time period within the Renaissance to represent." I listened intently as she provided all the rules and stipulations. I didn't want to think about the "group" part yet.
To my surprise, Karen Chu came up to me and said hello. Karen was also in some of my other classes, but she never acknowledged my presence until this moment. I was confused and thrilled.
Karen was head of her clique. A group ranging from three to six girls, who were well dressed, wealthy, and clung to a group of equally popular guys like fleas attaching themselves to a dirty dog. I was in awe as she continued.
"Congratulations for getting the top grade on the exam," she noted, innocently enough. I was sure I heard her snicker when my name was called. I shrugged it off. Maybe I was imagining things.
"Thanks," I replied sheepishly.
"Are you already in a group for this project?"
Karen must have already known I wasn't part of any group, but I guess she never paid much attention to me before. So how would she know that I haven't made any friends since I came to this school?
"No, not yet." I held my breath.
"Well you can join our group if you want." Karen motioned toward her friend Britney Dawns.
I gasped. "Sure. That would be great." I smiled too trustingly, like I was giving something away.
"Great." She flashed her perfect smile and glided out the door.
I didn't even notice that the bell rang. Nor did I notice the harsh glint in Britney's eye once Karen caught up to her. I was mystified and happy. Finally, it seemed like I had a friend, and a popular one at that.
Karen was not conventionally beautiful, but Britney and her other friends were. Karen's parents were very wealthy, both were doctors of some sort, and they gave her a few hundred dollars a week just for spending money. I never understood why she needed an allowance; I was positive she got everything and anything she wanted. She was an only child and her parents must have felt guilty for never being around. If not for the designer clothes, shoes, and overpriced makeup she was covered in, her features were somewhat plain and frail. She had burn scars peppered along her arms, legs, and part of her face. Caked-on makeup could not hide them. Nobody ever talked about it and I wasn't nosy enough to ask.
Her friends, on the other hand, were pretty...no, breathtaking. You couldn't help but look at them when they walked by---especially if they were all together---which they usually were.
Britney had wavy brown hair with hints of gold that glittered in the sunlight. Puberty seemed to set in nicely for her. She looked like a girl that just stepped out from the glossy pages of Teen Vogue.
Ellen was definitely the prettiest among Karen's group, but she was also the shyest. She had a small, angelic face with large brown doe eyes that were held down by thick, feathery lashes. Her slim features and long legs were accentuated by her naturally glowing skin. Her soft brown hair flowed carelessly with the wind but always seemed perfect somehow. I envied them, but I surely was not alone.
My happiness continued as Karen started sitting next to me in History, Math, and P.E. She started including me in her conversations with her circle of friends. She always partnered up with me for school assignments and projects; naturally, we always aced them. Her friends didn't seem to care for me much. They talked to me as little as possible. But Karen made sure I was included...except...well, naturally, I started following her out to the snack and lunch area between classes to continue our fast-forming friendship---strangely, outside the classroom, she always seemed to ignore me.
No. I shook my head. That's ludicrous. Why would she "pretend" to be friends with me during class and not be friends with me outside of class? Friendship is supposed to be limitless, right? Unless...No...I tried desperately to shake the gnawing memory---returning to me like déjà vu---but it was becoming obviously apparent...she could be using me.
I flashed back to second grade when I used to think I was popular. I thought the reason all the kids were calling me after school was because they liked me and they wanted to be my friend. Then one day---I hadn't started on my homework by the time the calls started rolling in---I realized the reason behind my so-called popularity. When I told them I hadn't yet started the basic multiplication assignment, they quickly ended the conversation...every single one of them. They were all using me for answers.
At that moment, when I realized my popularity was solely based on gullibility and being blessed with parents who drilled me religiously with multiplication flashcards a year before my peers, I became jaded and alone. Could the same thing be happening again in the seventh grade? I tried ignoring that nagging thought, but I couldn't shake it.
Days would go by while Karen would happily sit next to me in class, chattering nonstop as she included me in the conversations she had with Britney, Ellen, or one of the other girls, who for whatever reason was allowed into their clique that day, letting me borrow her new pastel pens, or toying with the possibilities of hanging out after school but always having an excuse in her back pocket. Then the minute the lunch bell rang, she would act like I wasn't even there. She would not hear me, would not look at me, would never acknowledge me.
I was always quiet, standing by her side like a loyal pet, absorbing their actions, faces, and subjects of conversation. I noticed their sharp jabs and snide comments toward other students in the school, always careful of using code names so outsiders wouldn't be able to identify their target. They had code names for boys they liked and girls they hated, teachers, friends, and...targets.
They started using the name Horns.
For a few days they mentioned Horns in their conversations. Snickering a little louder than normal. Sometimes I would laugh in response and their snickering would escalate. It wasn't until later that I understood.
I sank as the realization hit me like a ton of bricks: I am being used. Not only was I being used, but also I was becoming the target of their amusement. I was the main circus act. Being primped and prodded just for the crowd's tantalizing enjoyment. I am Horns.
Nights would go by as I just lay there, awake and haunted, pillow drenched with my hot, salty tears, tossing and turning, trying to make sense of it all. Even then, knowing that Karen and her friends were using me, that I was Horns, why would I still join them for lunch? Why would I torment myself and allow them their fun? Why did I keep following her? Why did I let her pretend to be nice to me during class and "help" her ace exams and projects? Why?
My mind racked through all the reasons why she would seek me out from all the others. How could this frail looking, somewhat disfigured girl have acquired so much power and hate? I guess if I really thought about it, I was able to comprehend the reason, but I just couldn't understand how that hatred could be directed to those less fortunate; not just in wealth but in looks and personality. Especially, how could that hatred be directed toward me?
Each night I would begrudgingly fall asleep and wake up as clueless and helpless as the previous night. Was I that hard-pressed for friends? Cruel friends? Popular friends? Yes, that had to be it. I was a victim for the desire to be popular, to fit in, to be envied like I envied them.
Jealousy was definitely more powerful than ego. From here on out, I would always come back to this realization; I would submit to the decisions that followed this understanding and would respond to them willingly. I continued to live beneath the shackles that chained me to my self-created jail, silently writhing in purgatory.
My mom wished me a great day at school, as she did every day. I leaned in to kiss her goodbye, forcing my quivering lips into a smile. Pretend, Sophie...just pretend...
Somehow I was standing on the cold concrete sidewalk, waving goodbye to the back of the golden-hued Lexus with only my thoughts to keep me company.
My thoughts were racing. Always racing. Sometimes I could only wish that there was an "off" button to silence my mind so I wouldn't have to think...to worry...to self-destruct. So many nights I would cry myself to sleep when I simply couldn't handle it anymore. So many nights I lay awake tossing and turning as I replayed that day and the previous days in my head. So many nights just dreading the next day...that would surely come. Pondering my normal, yet excruciatingly painful, existence.
School was the basis of my nightmare; the students were its players, and puberty, its cause. I started to see myself through their eyes and hated myself for it.
Cautiously walking one foot in front of the other, I was suddenly aware of the eyes that were on me, watching me, judging me. Looking down, I sighed in disgust at what the others must see when they looked in my direction...bland, nervous---an easy target.
Wearing the same white tennies every day (now scuffed and yellowed around the grommets), plain faded jeans, and a solid gray t-shirt. No name brands in sight. Knock-off, clearance rack all the way. My hair was tied halfway up with a black scrunchie and white hairclips tried hopelessly to tame my nappy, black hair. My round, greasy face was losing the nice tan I acquired from hours under the hot summer sun, which was replaced with an array of pimples and acne scars; my mom always scolded me for squeezing them, but I couldn't ignore the hideous, tiny red and white protrusions on my face (my fidgeting hands were magnets to them). My face was framed with tiny purple glasses and metal braces protruded from my small full, lips---luckily, my mom talked the Orthodontist out of fitting me in a matching headgear set.
According to my parents, I was beautiful; but I wasn't born yesterday, and I doubted the truthfulness of their superlative comments. Deep down, I knew I wasn't ugly. However, I was not turning any heads, nor was I ever going to be in the running for "best dressed" in the class yearbook. Seventh graders at this school didn't shop at discount stores. They shopped at the mall. Avoided clearance racks like the plague. Wore designer clothes and shoes. I never considered my family to be poor---no, let me rephrase---my family was not poor, but I often worried that people might think that when they looked at me.
My eyes locked on Karen. She was standing within her circle of friends: all wearing designer clothes, sunglasses, shoes, and bags. She stood out from the others, not because she was the prettiest...she was definitely not the prettiest, but she held some kind of invisible control over the group. She was their leader, and as such, was the most dangerous.
She wore a white Guess jean skirt and jacket. The skirt was short enough to be suggestive; that is, if she were blessed with a curvy figure. The jacket stayed unbuttoned, showing a sliver of the satin black tank top she was wearing underneath. My eyes locked on her shoes. I cringed in jealousy. On her feet was a pair of the most perfect black half-inch Marc Jacobs heels---I was obsessed with shoes, mainly because my feet were the only part of my body I found to be worth admiring. She also carried a black Jansport backpack that held her colorful gel pens, patent leather purse, and well-used pager.
She caught my glance and held it, her lips curved into a slow smirk. My heart pounding too fast, the hole becoming evident.
I was born with two tiny holes in my heart...literally...one closed on its own, so I was left with the one in the otherwise thick, sinewy septum between my left and right ventricles---fittingly called Ventricular Septum Defect (VSD).
My throat caught on the thick air that I was trying so desperately to inhale. Her eyes diverted back to the group and she rejoined the conversation flawlessly, which looked to be centered on the upcoming Winter Dance.
I wasn't liberated to freely immerse myself in the fantasy that surrounded the Winter Dance---my first real dance---because I was too worried about the idea of being a target.
Again, I helplessly realized: yes, I am an easy target. I am plain looking with the usual teen handicaps (glasses, braces, and zits) and I am too eager to be popular.
It was unfortunate that I was not good at anything except academics. Not good at anything that mattered socially. I wished I could be good at something that would grant me a free pass in this school. If only I were beautiful, funny, or charismatic...if only...but no, I was plain, smart, shy, and boring...in short, an easy target.
What I could not understand was why I so desperately wanted to belong to Karen's group. To be one of the Popular Girls. I longed to be accepted and be thought of as popular. I wished so hard, but of course I didn't have luck on my side. Sometimes I wondered if in my past life I had a rotten soul, fouled by a black heart and cruel demeanor, cursing me in this life to be antagonized in the same way I used to shun others.
As I walked by, I heard snickers. "Look at her shoes!" Karen exclaimed, loudly enough so I could hear.
I flinched. Karen's laugh was as glorious as a lioness tearing into her prey. I rushed by, pretending I didn't notice the sideway glares, the smirks, and the pity in the eyes of a few who actually felt bad but were too weak to say anything. I understood. They didn't want to get on Karen's bad side on the off chance that they would have to join my fate.
Don't trip. Don't trip. Don't trip. I recited in my head over and over again as I tried to focus on my balance and speed. I rushed as fast and as carefully as I could, straight to homeroom. Once I found my seat, my breath and heartbeat slowed and my shoulders curved inward as I slouched in my seat; my nerves tamed. I was safe.
"Here," I whispered as I raised my hand. Mr. Chazkowski, known simply as "Mr. C," nodded once, checking the box next to my name on the attendance list, as my eyes quickly looked back down to the floor, to the tiny tear in the matted gray-and-brown, institutional carpet.
Mr. C rambled on for thirty minutes, discussing the upcoming standardized tests and how we'd be expected to score no less than 70 percent. He passed out practice tests and "encouraged" us to "Practice! Practice! Practice!" while timing ourselves during our "free" time at home.
Once again the time flew by. As the bell rang, and each period ended, I rushed to my next class. I dreaded feeling alone and helpless. Being in class, I tried to immerse myself in the lectures, projects, and discussions. Giving my brain something to fixate on, instead of my social qualms and anxiety, seemed to help some. It was being in close proximity to teachers, who provided the illusion of protection and comfort, which ultimately became my safety net. At least during class, I was accepted. I could pretend for my own sanity.
Before I became aware, the lunch bell pierced through me. I sighed as those around me---those who had a corner of the lunch area in which to relax, friends to laugh with, and activities to be a part of---scurried to collect their belongings and rush out the door. Above the clamor, two of the popular boys began to shout across the room to one another.
"I'll race you to the courts," Conner exclaimed as his boyish excitement overtook his handsome face.
Brandon moaned, "Aren't we going to eat first? I'm starving." He looked down at his stomach, which was obviously grumbling.
"You're always starving. Just grab something at the cafeteria and come find us."
"All right. I'll meet up with you guys once I hit the cafeteria."
Brandon suddenly zoned out. The sliver of saliva that escaped from his slightly parted lips gave his thoughts away too easily...he was dreaming about the hamburger they served every Tuesday for lunch.
Conner chuckled. "All right, man."
As the boys were discussing their lunchtime basketball game, Karen brushed past me as she tried to get Conner's attention. The bell, which indicated she was no longer my friend, made me freeze with caution and observe.
Karen had an obvious crush on Conner, a.k.a. "4074" in Popular-Girl-Pager-Code. All the popular girls had bejeweled pagers clipped to their name-brand waistbands or to the straps of their designer handbags, looking both like posh accessories and exclusive, "members only" passes. They often communicated back and forth through this medium, so it naturally followed for their oft-used pager codes to carry into day-to-day conversation.
Conner was the cutest boy in our grade (being in the background all my life, I learned to be an excellent observer and noticed the tiny minute details, although this was an easy read).
She tried flaunting her flat chest and frail figure, batting her long, heavily-darkened eyelashes as she cooed, "Oooo, maybe I'll come and watch."
Conner turned to see where the squeal came from and shrugged, indifferent. "Uh. Sure, I guess."
Conner motioned to the guys, Brandon and Paul, to follow him to the courts. He could not care less if Karen was flirting with him. At this stage, he cared more about basketball than girls. But he also couldn't deny the thrill he felt by being wanted. He seemed to love attention, and the power it brought.
He puffed out his chest as he turned toward Karen and flashed a heart-stopping smile. Sigh...I too, longed for a guy to look at me that way. My discouraged heart told me nobody ever would.
Karen beamed, with Britney and Tessa giggling behind her, as they followed the boys out the door. I was relieved that I was left forgotten and wasn't their main focus for entertainment. Maybe lunch wouldn't be so bad after all. Of course, I was wrong.
I took my time in the cafeteria line. I used to bring a sack lunch, but I stopped once I realized that waiting in line passed the time more effectively. Feeling invisible. Laughter, giggles, whispers, yelling...there was so much noise around me, but I felt like a tiny fly on the wall overlooking the chaos. Everyone seemed so happy to escape the boring confines of the classroom. Well, everyone except me.
Then, all too fast, I emerged from the line with a flattened, greasy burger, potato chips, and a soda on a rectangular plastic tray. My tummy made a little noise as I felt it constrict. Sigh. I wished food were not the highlight of my day, and that I could be strong enough to just push it away (or at least go for something healthier). I was slightly disgusted with myself. Stress tended to trigger my appetite.
I squinted as the sunlight hit my face, momentarily blinding me as I stepped out to the lunch area. Anxiety started to creep inside me as I scanned the tables, trying desperately to find a place to enjoy my lunch without being noticed.
Usually in the movies, the ostracized character would hide in the bathroom stall to eat lunch. I would consider that, except the thought of eating in the girls' bathroom absolutely disgusted me.
I noticed a few eyes glancing my way and then dismissing me. No longer feeling invisible.
"Sophie! Sophie, over here!" Karen was motioning me over from one of the few tables blessed with shade.
My heartbeat quickened. I knew I shouldn't move toward her but a part of me longed to belong. I was hopeless, trying to be hopeful.
As I approached, she was smiling innocently. "Come eat with us."
"Okay," I said hesitantly.
I eyed the empty seat and was about to sit down when Tessa glared and said, "Oh, not there. That seat is taken." Tessa slammed her backpack on the empty seat.
Karen smirked.
Ellen, Britney, Ann, and Paige quickly looked down.
I froze. There weren't any other open seats. Who's that seat for? Everyone in Karen's group seemed to be there already. I panicked. I couldn't escape. It was too late. I had already fallen into Karen's trap. I looked at Karen questioningly...pleadingly. The lunch tray wavered slightly in my trembling hands, and the plate holding the greasy burger slid to rest awkwardly against my right hand. Karen shrugged, turned to Ellen, and started chatting nonstop about Conner like nothing happened.
"You won't believe it, Elle. He smiled at me! I think he's interested. Maybe I should ask him to the dance. What do you think...?"
There were giggles and more gossip but I couldn't pay attention to their conversation. I was stuck. Now what do I do? I just stood to the side, balanced the tray on my right forearm, and began eating my hamburger...quietly. I focused on each bite. Nibbling. Counting how many times I chewed. Trying to look busy.
The sun, which showed mercy on the beauties seated just a few inches away from me, baked and glared against my greasy face, seeming to burn away the air in front of me. I choked on my breath as I tried to both chew and breathe. A fly pestered my hair; as I tried to swat it away, my napkin slipped and went flitting across the asphalt toward the neatly painted basketball courts. My feet burned as I shifted uncomfortably from side to side, trying to lean against the pole behind me but feeling an old, rusty bolt jab into my back.
I held back the tears that were starting to burn behind my eyes. No way was I going to let them have the satisfaction of breaking me. I wanted desperately to disappear, but my feet were like lead and I was planted there by my ego. Stupid Korean ego. Time crawled by; each second dragged longer than the last.
Then Leigh rushed by and Tessa called out to her, "Leigh, sit here." Tessa was pointing to the empty seat as she moved the backpack onto the ground beside her. Slightly confused, Leigh thanked her and sat down. Everyone started talking to Leigh as if she were the guest of honor. I was horrified. The seat wasn't saved for someone, it was saved for anyone except me---Tessa just didn't want me sitting next to her.
I mopped up the plate with the last bite of hamburger. Finally, the bell rang. Without a napkin, I hurriedly wiped my hands against my thighs, leaving dark smears along the hem of my gray T-shirt and matching smudges on my jeans. Pitifully, I jetted away to my next period, P.E.
I felt so self-conscious standing in the locker room, changing into my hideous gym clothes. I changed into the polyester/cotton blend, cobalt blue t-shirt and drawstring shorts (hideous P.E. clothes with our names printed in black sharpie within the dedicated white box). As I was putting on my RK tennies, Karen, Ann, and Ellen came over.
"Why is your hair so frizzy?" Karen casually asked. Her curiosity was overshadowed by her smirk.
"Um---I don't know." I stammered. I felt trapped.
"Well, your baby hair curls up to look like you have horns." Karen laughed as she pointed to my hair and Ann giggled in response.
My face burned from embarrassment. My hands moved instinctively to the disobeying hairs that caused my anguish. I didn't have a chance to pin my hair down after I changed into my P.E. outfit.
Then her words struck me like a handful of thorns---it took all but a few seconds for me to contemplate the words she attacked me with---h---o---r---n---s---so that's why they came up with that nickname. I winced from the sudden realization.
"Nice shoes." Karen said nonchalantly, as she walked past me to finish getting dressed.
I looked down at my white-and-gray RK tennies and cringed. Apparently, I wasn't wearing the correct brand. I looked at Karen and her friends, as they were each putting on a pair of stark white Filas, most likely bought from the same store at the same time.
I was about to leave when Karen stopped me.
"Do you want to borrow some of my lotion for your ashy legs?"
"Umm, okay...thanks," I stammered as I hung my head. I was mortified, but my legs were dry and I forgot my lotion at home. She tossed me her almost empty bottle of Victoria's Secret apple lotion.
Apparently she, and the rest of the girls, shopped at Victoria's Secret...I wasn't sure why, but the lotion smelled good.
At that moment I wanted to shop there, too. I wanted to be invited to go to the mall with them and purchase delicious-smelling lotions and try on cool clothes. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of Karen's group. I was even willing to sacrifice the humiliation it took to get me there. In the back of my mind I hoped that if I was able to withstand all there cruel jabs and insults, they would accept that as my initiation and let me join. It was a longshot, but I hung onto that appealing idea as if it were a cup of water in the blistering desert.
Nothing special happened in P.E. Meaning no one bothered me during class. I felt hot and gross as sweat rolled down my back, under my bra, and through my shirt. Armpit sweat must be the most unattractive part for someone who sweats as much as I do. Why did my body produce copious amounts of sweat when someone like Ellen just glowed under the sun? Ugh. So unfair. I made sure my arms were pinned to my sides throughout the entire period, covering the large indigo patches that oozed onto my shirt. I didn't want to give Karen anything else to use against me today. I would not be able to handle it.
Sigh. I made it through another day. Relieved, I looked out the passenger side window lazily as I went over the events of the day in my head. Picking apart the conversations, slight jabs, and my responses to them. I tried to pinpoint how I brought it upon myself; I couldn't figure it out. I was lost in thought when my mom interrupted me.
"So, how was your day?" My mom asked me this same question every single day when she picked me up from school. My mom had the heart of an angel, but lacked in originality. I guess it wouldn't have irked me if I actually had a pleasant day at school.
I provided her with my usual response. "Fine," I answered, still gazing out the window.
My mom waited for the stoplight to ask me her next question, so she could look at my face when I responded. Worry creased her eyes. I must not have been able to hide my emotions. She was about to ask me something else and then decided against it.
She always worried about me. I was her only child and was very sensitive. While I was still in her womb, she constantly dreamed about protecting jewels---protecting me. Always running away from someone or something that was trying to take the precious stones away from her. Once in her dream, someone actually tried taking her gold necklace, the one with the sun-shaped pendant, and the delicate chain broke into tiny pieces. Luckily, she picked up the pieces and ran. After I was born she realized the significance of the broken chain---the broken chain signified the holes in my heart. She honestly believed that if she hadn't picked up and protected all the pieces, the holes would have been too large to mend on their own---of course, one hole remained. The theory, although odd, was interesting.
A few seconds passed. Then she said, "I noticed the poster for the Winter Dance. Are you going?"
"Maybe," I shrugged. Hiding the truth, I tried to act like the dance didn't matter.
"Did anyone ask you?"
"What?" My cheeks flushed as I instantly thought of Conner.
"Well, you know it would be okay if a boy asked you. You're so pretty, of course guys will be lining up to take you to the dance."
I rolled my eyes. Oh no, my mom is going to give me "the talk" again...here it comes.
She continued. Once she started there was no stopping her. "It's fine going to the dance with a boy, but don't get too attached. You're too young for a boyfriend. I don't want you to even think about having a boyfriend until college. You need to focus on your studies. Besides, they only want one thi---"
"Mom!" I interrupted. Ugh. I hated it when she cornered me in the car for talks like this one, where there was no escape (except for jumping out, which I considered on many occasions). I had been hearing variations of this "talk" for a few months now, ever since I started developing in the chest area.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm not interested in anyone and nobody is interested in me. If I go to the dance I'll just be going with some of my friends." Sigh, friends...I'll really need to get me some of those.
"Oh, okay. Like Karen and Britney?"
"Yes." I didn't want to tell her that Karen was not my friend and was the reason why I was always so moody and miserable. Luckily, I was able to chalk it up to puberty and hormones.
My mom seemed satisfied...for now.
The minute I got out of the car, I raided the fridge and cupboard. I took out skim milk and double chocolate chip cookies...chocolate...mmmm...I was thoroughly enjoying my afterschool snack, already thinking about my next meal, when my mom came into the kitchen.
"Maybe you shouldn't eat that." She questioned in statement form. Worry was marked all over her face as she glanced down at my slightly exposed belly. I quickly tugged down on my shirt as my face burned.
Puberty seemed to hit me a few months ago and breasts were not the only part I gained. I started to gain weight so fast I didn't know what was happening until I was twenty pounds heavier. I started wearing larger shirts to cover my tummy rolls, but I could never hide it from my mom. She saw everything.
That was it. I broke. Hot, salty tears rolled down my cheeks. "Fine!" I exclaimed a little harsher than I meant to, and stormed up to my room and slammed the door.
I plopped onto my down feather bed and cried until my pillow was drenched. My heart pounding so hard, the beat slightly off. Why was this happening to me?
I thought I was a good girl. I always obeyed my parents and teachers. Always doing the right thing and never talking back. I never worried about what and how much food I ate. I never wanted desperately to be friends with a mean girl like Karen.
It used to be easy. Simple. Now, everything was just messed up and I didn't know what to do. I'm lost. So lost.
Once the bell rang, everyone jumped out of the yellow plastic seats. I still hadn't figured out why the school did not opt for more appealing chairs to set beside their ostentatious, donated mahogany desks. I supposed they were waiting for the next "generous donation" from their parental patrons. I rushed out the door among the clamoring herd. Nobody was able to concentrate today. It was the school dance.
I decided to stall and stop by the bathroom before I went to the dance. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one who had that idea. There was a line out the door as girls were primping and changing.
Karen and her friends were also there, putting on way too much makeup and deciding on what outfit to change into. Somehow she had with her a garment bag full of designer dresses. I didn't think the dance was going to be that big of a deal since it was right after sixth period in the school gymnasium, but boy was I wrong. I waited patiently for my turn since the other bathrooms were probably just as full as this one, moving side to side as the urgency became apparent.
"Look, she's going to pee in her pants!" Karen snickered. All of the sudden, four sets of twinkling eyes darted in my direction. More giggles.
I pretended not to notice and quickly entered the now empty stall. It took a little longer than normal because I had to compose myself before I got out.
"Hmm. She didn't change out of her boring outfit so why do you think she took so long?" Karen was supposedly whispering to Tessa but she obviously wanted me to hear.
"Not sure...but it sure stinks in here." Tessa chimed in, covering her nose.
Before I got to the sink, Karen yelled out in a sing-songy voice, "Oh Sophie, remember to wash your hands, you don't want to infect anyone at the dance!"
"Ha. That'll only happen if anyone asks her to dance."
"Oh...right. That's true. Never mind. You don't need to worry about it, then."
Karen and Tessa started doubling over in laughter. They started shrieking like Hyenas do before consuming leftover scraps.
My face flushed, burning a perpetual shade of red. I rushed to wash my hands. I didn't even bother getting a paper towel and just wiped them on my jeans, leaving behind the dark, rumpled stains I so often wore on my upper thighs. Turning, I made a dash for the exit. My foot caught a lip in the floor tiles, causing me to stumble forward, triggering even more laughter as Ellen and Britney entered the bathroom. I could not get to the dance fast enough.
The gymnasium was decked out with blue and silver balloons, glitter, ribbon, and gossamer fabric to cover the tables. The lights were dimmed and a DJ was stationed on the stage with boxes of records. He was rushing to get set up but looked bored just the same. I couldn't blame him. Think about it: if you were a DJ, why would you be excited to play for a bunch of hormonal pre-teens who had never done anything worse than kiss for five seconds on the lips? Chairs were lined up against the back wall and I zeroed in on the one in the corner. I sat there patiently, waiting for the room to fill.
As the gymnasium began to fill, I noticed the boys had the same idea as me and were crowding in with their backs turned. Standing in circles that coalesced and divided like oil droplets, they boisterously yipped and yapped about macho topics. A hacky sack emerged in the all-male droplet nearest me, and my mind sparked visions of a black eye, bruised shin, or worse, being jeered for ruining an otherwise "epic" volley. No thanks.
I got out of my seat and hurried to the dance floor were the girls were circling each other and dancing to Britney Spears, Baby One More Time. I tried my best to blend in. Listening to the deafening music as my body flowed to the beat. I was actually having a great time. Then the music slowed. Savage Garden's, Truly, Madly, Deeply came on.
The boys scurried toward the refreshments, distracting themselves by getting a cup of fruit punch and some cookies. The girls started zeroing in on the boy they wanted their friend to dance with. It was a madhouse. Groups of three to five girls would run up to a boy, try to convince him by pleading and dragging him to the dance floor toward their friend who was acting coy and equally resistant (but obviously elated).
She probably dreamed of this very moment, except in her dream, the boy would have walked up to her willingly and asked her to dance in some fairytale manor; the moment would have been so perfect like in She's All That. A few seconds more of coercion and the two, soon-to-be item, were dancing to the slow song...moving side to side at arms-length. The Pope would have been proud.
Scanning the room, I saw Ellen dancing with Brandon, Britney dancing with Paul, and of course, Karen dancing with Conner. The boys didn't look nearly as thrilled as the girls were, but that was to be expected.
Most of the kids were uncomfortably, impatiently waiting for the song to end. There were a few more fast songs and a couple more slow songs. Then the dance was finally over.
I never got asked to dance. No surprises there. I guess I could have tried asking...no...I couldn't...what if they said no and laughed at me...anyway, the boys are supposed to ask the girls, aren't they? I'd just have to wait. Yes, wait...but for how long?
In the months that passed, Karen and her friends eventually moved their evil attention to another poor and hapless target and I was given the restricted freedom of living out the rest of my teen youth unscathed. I felt sickened as I watched from afar: Karen and her crew sneered unabashedly and tormented their new pet.
Stacy Ko seemed worse off than me. She had a round face and an upturned nose. She was a little slow in the brain and was always a full step behind the rest of us. But she seemed happy nonetheless; and, at least she was ambivalent to their open gibes and pig comments.
"Oink, Oink," Karen would squeal as they passed her at lunch. I winced. Oh, how I wished I had the strength to befriend Stacy, become a thick shield to protect her, and if I only had the compassion to learn who she really was. Instead, I was a coward. A coward relieved, for Karen was able to find someone else to torment.
I later learned that Stacy had a mild case of autism and her interest in art was strong enough to send her to New York City with a full scholarship.
As for Karen, well, she got her fair share of comeuppance. Her friends turned on her; she had a scarlet letter branded on her chest like Hester Prynne and was run out of town before she could be burned at the stake.
I was not sure how it started, but petitions circulated with fifty to a hundred signatures from students who hated Karen Chu. Nasty lists were also created, such as the top ten reasons to hate Karen---number one being the hideous burn marks covering her body.
I didn't take part in any of it. It was immature and cruel. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her in a way, but I also felt no real sympathy.
When I heard her family had moved to another city and she was now being homeschooled, I was relieved. A part of me hoped that she was the reason for my depression and social shortcomings. That maybe I wasn't the wilted sunflower after all. That maybe Karen was just the thorny rose pressed into my side for so long, keeping me down. That with her plucked out of the picture, I would be able to let go and free myself from the struggles of adolescence. And just be carelessly happy.
The relief was short-lived.
As the years passed, not much changed; I was still the same shy, plain looking girl, with no boyfriend, who said little during lunch, and cried herself to sleep. I learned to feel nothing. To be numb.
I was going through the motions of a teenager: laughing when a joke was made, crying when I saw someone in pain, angered when my mom provoked me, and saddened when hope felt lost. But below the surface, deep inside, I had no feeling.
I always heard that teenagers felt too much. Felt everything hit them at once. That it would take years to decipher those feelings and separate them, to compartmentalize them, to control them. I wasn't sure if this was just a false hypothesis, or if I was categorically unique.
I lived in the comforts of my parents' four-bedroom, three thousand square foot house, surrounded by my loving parents, attending one of the best public schools in Southern California, and heading toward a life full of wealth and success. I lived in a bubble where parents actually loved each other and their families, where wealth was an afterthought, crimes were unheard of, and drugs and alcohol stayed hidden underground. So, why am I not happy?
To an outsider, I was living the perfect life. To me, I was crippled, a vegetable, anxiously waiting for my death. Please don't get me wrong---I loved my parents, but I hated my existence. I would never contemplate suicide but I constantly dreamed of death.
As my mom drove me to school and back I secretly hoped that a car would crash into us and I would die instantly while my mom was left unscathed. I would be sitting in the classroom, dreaming of an earthquake to envelop me in its chaos. I would instantly feel guilty for having these thoughts and tried brushing them off, but they always sneaked back into the forefront of my brain.
I never felt like I belonged. I couldn't relate to anyone my age. I looked toward my mom and her friends and I wished I could be them. To skip through my teens and twenties and start fresh in my thirties. I dreamed of being thirty. I dreamed of being an adult.
A few years later, after trying to hurt myself, and thus hurting my parents, I wrote a letter:
Dearest S,
I will love myself above all else. I will take care of myself and do whatever is best for me. I will never hurt myself in any way.
I won't be weak or lazy. I will succeed. I will study hard and if I don't understand something I will seek help. I won't be afraid to ask for help. I will be able to look at myself in the mirror and smile.
I deserve to be happy. I am a good person. I know right from wrong and come from wonderful parents who love me above all else. I am fortunate, but I also deserve to be fortunate. I am a good person.
And even though I am overweight, I won't be for long. I will exercise and control my diet because I love my body and myself. I will not judge others just to judge myself. I shall accept all consequences and will learn from all mistakes. I won't give up on myself.
I am only 18 years old. I have my whole life to be happy and watch myself succeed. The only person I can disappoint is myself and I won't do that any longer.
Any free time I have will be out doing something that makes me happy, that I enjoy, or that is good for me. I am the only one who can make me happy or feel beautiful, and I intend to follow this through. I won't give up on myself. I mean too much just to give up.
I am beautiful...I am smart...I am wonderful. And I will be happy. Mark my words. I will succeed. I won't give up. I will love myself! Thanks for giving me a second chance. I will not fail.
-Sophie 12/21/02
I could not understand that the unhappiness I felt was an illusion I created. I was the only person who could make myself happy and steer toward a great life. My perfect life. I did not understand, could not understand---my naivety always the key factor---that is, until my Junior year of college, when I met the man who would change all that.
Wandering through hell,
Flames licking at my boot heels;
I should have gone right.
~Kyle Harper, Wrong Turn
Liam
I jolted up from my rumpled sheets. My head pounding. My eyes hazed. The music was deafening. What the fuck? The clock read 2:00 A.M. Noise was blazing from...what seemed like was just outside my bedroom door. I looked like a mess with my muddled, mousy-brown hair and boxers that resembled Swiss cheese. I grabbed my gold-rimmed eyeglasses, pulled my jeans on and headed toward the door.
I winced. The cold floor stung my feet. It was Christmas morning and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why anyone would crank the stereo. I felt sorry for the Christian family next door who was probably resting in anticipation of a busy day ahead of them. I just hoped, for the parents' sake, that Santa already came to visit. I opened the door.
The space was filled with a cloudy haze of smoke. A sweet and sour aroma filled my nostrils, evidence from the events of only a few hours ago. Empty Filippi's pizza boxes, beer cans, stacked newspapers, and dust cluttered the room. Dad---a broad, husky fellow with Ireland in his blood---was stuffed on a torn couch, covered in a thin quilt my sister made him a few years ago for Father's Day, and had his pillow planted over his head.
At the foot of the couch was the stereo, the only fixture in the place that was clean and in impeccable condition, blasting Right Next Door to Hell by Guns N' Roses. And there was John, in his skivvies, with a beer in his left hand and his right fist pumping the air yelling, "Merry Fucking Christmas Everybody!"
The brief exposé was over and John went back to his room, stereo continuing to blast. I left everything the way it was and went back to bed. This was John's house and we were his guests.
After the divorce, my sister, Emily, ran away with her high school sweetheart, Dan Wyley, to who knows where---she sends me a postcard from the various places they've traveled every now and then, letting me know that she's doing well and not to worry. Hopefully, for her sake, she is fine and not stuck in some hellhole, ditched by her idiotic boyfriend, scrounging for money, and too proud to come back home.
Home. I guess there is no longer a home to come back to. The home that we once belonged to, the one Dad built for us, was a small cottage house---in Lake Tahoe near my mom's parents' cabin---charming, and tirelessly built with his sweat and love. We lived in a small apartment in San Diego before that. Dad worked and scrimped and saved to make Tahoe happen, to make us happy and together, and we finally moved up there when I was eight years old. Apparently, the plan did not go as planned...
My mom, Brenda, flew to Italy---with the money she won from the divorce settlement, which was pretty much the whole kit and caboodle---to go find herself.
As for me, well, since I was only thirteen, I decided to follow Dad back to sunny San Diego and live with him there. Since Dad was only left with a trash bag full of stuff, mainly his clothes, and a few dollar bills in his pocket, John was nice enough to let us crash at his place in the suburbs until things got better.
Christmas was no longer the color-book Disney fairytale it once was. Just a few years ago, my family---Mom, Dad, Sister, Grandma, Grandpa, aunts, uncles, and cousins---were spending Christmas at my grandparent's cabin. We all huddled by the fireplace, opening what seemed like hundreds of presents to a nine year old, laughing and drinking hot cocoa or eggnog by the beautifully lit noble fir tree.
I remembered it vividly. Memories filling my nostrils as I breathed them in, forming indelible pictures in my mind. The room smelled like pinecones, cedar, cookies, and apple cider. The Charlie Brown Christmas CD was set on repeat and playing quietly in the background.
I was sitting on a comfy upholstered couch, staring into the flowing wax that pooled beneath the wick of each calm, unflickering flame. Minutes and sometimes even hours went by as the aroma emitted from the dazzling flame hypnotized and intrigued me. Candles were lit throughout the many rooms---a nice accent to the blistering flames arising from the nearby hearth.
There were stockings full of treats, reindeer candle holders, red paper napkins with tiny Christmas trees printed around the borders, stuffed Santas, wreaths, candy canes, and Christmas knick-knacks galore (on book shelves, on tables, and on the floors). Grandma always went crazy for the holidays. She created a warm and inviting place where my family could express their love. It was cozy. It was comfortable. It was Christmas. And now...well, now there was John.
It was 2:00 P.M. when I decided to roll out of bed for the second time that day. I put on my blue track pants, white undershirt (sniffed the yellowed armpits first to make sure they were clean), socks, tied on my running shoes (probably the most expensive thing I owned), threw on a hooded sweatshirt and ran out the door.
The crisp air bit into my face as I started picking up speed. The scenery was not as rich with color as I was used to, but it seemed fitting with its dusty browns and wet dirt roads. Passing houses one at a time, using telephone poles as mile markers.
My throat burned each time I inhaled, and my chest throbbed from the cold. My skin started to prickle and I knew it would just be minutes now before I got adjusted to the cold. My ears and face were numb as I ran. I ran faster. Faster. Until my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might come out of my chest.
Would that be so bad? Sometimes I wasn't sure. Would death be worse than my life right now? Running helped clear my mind. I could run for hours. Constantly hoping I could outrun the misery and hate that drugged my veins. Running until it hurt to think. Running until I could feel.
To me, "feeling" was better than the alternative. The general numbness that often overtook my natural state was deadly. It allowed me to hurt myself and that was never good. Trust me; you do not want to feel nothing.
"Hey, Dad.Going to Justin's."
Dad was, as usual, slumped in the tattered orange recliner with a beer in his hand, watching a football game.
"Okay. Have fun, Bud." Bud Light being his beer of choice.
His eyes never flinched away from the tube. Our relationship no longer was being Dad and Son but more like roommates... no, friends. He no longer kept tabs on me. I think he felt like he no longer had the right.
I used to admire him. He loved baseball so I practiced hours a day until I loved baseball. He wore ball caps and I wore ball caps. He hated the video camera so I avoided it. He was everything I wanted to be and more. He was my hero.
Now, all I felt was sadness when I looked at him. All hope lost. No ambition. Broken, especially his heart; and like Humpty Dumpty, I didn't know if he'd ever be the same again.
I put on my plaid wool-lined jacket, pulled down on Dad's old Padres baseball cap---San Diego was where he grew up and I was raised before we moved to Tahoe---stuck my hands in my pockets and headed over to my best friend Justin's place to hang out.
Justin Knoxx and I were pretty much like brothers. We grew up together in San Diego before my family moved to Lake Tahoe when I was eight. We did everything together...well, mostly he got himself into trouble and I was right there beside him trying to help him out of it. Somehow I always managed to get us out scot-free. Except for the time he got into his dad's new Mini Cooper and pretended he was a racecar driver, accidently started the ignition and backed into the garage door. I couldn't get him out of that one, but I did try hiding him in my room for a few hours.
A week ago he convinced me to steal some booze from the local drug store. Justin flirted with the cashier, twice his age, distracting her with his charm (and horrible impersonation of a French accent), while I slid a bottle or two in my backpack. He was good with the ladies, and the people that worked there were usually young, bored and ignorant. Plus, Justin always got what he wanted. He was a charmer when he wanted to be. We joined up with a few other curious (and titillated) schoolmates, sneaked the vodka and rum over to his room where we sat in a loose circle and fired up the Nintendo 64, passing the bottle around between rounds. Each time sipping cautiously, grimacing, coughing, then qualifying our reaction with some canned, masculine marketing phrase such as "yep, it sure goes down smooth." Grunts of approval each time. All eyes glazed, all eyes on the screen. We kept this up until we were too trashed to continue the video game (it didn't take long). We turned on some music, stretched out on the beige shag carpet, and stared at the ceiling distorting and floating above our watery pinwheel eyes. Man, we sure felt cool.
Justin was an only child whose Mom was nearing the age of sixty. His dad was even older, and quite obviously gave up on Justin years ago. Both parents came from previous marriages and had other children. Justin was the unexpected product of their late love affair. Justin's upbringing was one of half dysfunction, half spoiling. His personality matched his upbringing---he threw tantrums at the drop of a hat; later, he would be comforted by mommy and showered with gifts. To sum it up, Justin was either a big, soft teddy bear or a force to be reckoned with. And you did not want to be there for the latter.
Today he wanted to play chess. His dad taught both of us the game back when we were seven, which is probably why he always won. We hadn't played chess since we were eight, before I left for Tahoe.
"Do you mind?" Justin asked as he started setting up the 32 pieces on the black-and-white checkered board.
I shrugged. "Sure." I really didn't care what we did as long as Justin was in a good mood and I was distracted. It didn't really matter how I felt, anyway...Justin always got his way. I learned to accept it. It was easier for everyone that way.
This was a good game. An hour went by and I was in full focus. Justin was fidgeting, his mood deteriorating with each capture and move I made. My heart was racing. Could this be? Will I finally win a game of chess? I had to focus. And then there it was. In that moment the pieces glowed and the chess-gods were finally on my side. It was like the angels were singing and Glinda was leading me down the yellow brick road toward---.
"Checkmate." I said nonchalantly. I was trying to hide my smug, elated face as I won the game. Justin's cheeks turned from tan to crimson in a matter of seconds.
Shit...I knew it was too good to be true.
"What the Fu---!"
Chess pieces started flying and the next thing I knew there was a gaping hole in the living room wall. I wasn't shocked. It wasn't the first time, and I'm sure it wouldn't be the last. I was more...well, disappointed.
Come on, Justin, grow up. You probably already won like a hundred times...can't I just win once? Of course I didn't say that. I just did what I always did. Stood by, silently, trying to stifle my laughter, watching as Justin tore up the room like Cookie Monster ripping through a box of cookies. Looking back, I probably should have just let him win, but at this point I knew there was nothing I could do; there was no reasoning with him, so I left. After witnessing my parents' divorce, I had no more tolerance for tantrums and selfishness. I was over it.
Days, months, and then years flew by without a single word from Justin. If it was anyone else I probably would have been concerned, but it was Justin. I was a little peeved but not surprised. He was the biggest baby I knew, and honestly I no longer cared whether or not we remained friends. With friends like that, who needs enemies.
I picked up my acoustic guitar, which I spotted at a seedy pawn shop two years ago, and started strumming mindlessly. I focused on the melody that rose from each chord I struck, creating glorious vibrations, just by strumming on the taut nylon strings. Unconsciously, I started repeating the chords to James Taylor's You've Got a Friend, starting over each time a note was slightly out of place, trying to perfect it.
That was my fault...always trying to perfect everything...to be perfect. To some, I guess it would be considered a strength, but to me, I only looked at it as a dangerous weapon that could someday lead to my death, a weakness.
I didn't have a choice, it was my way of coping, it was the only thing I had complete control over---to be perfect. To work night and day until I perfected the new song I learned. To weigh out each ounce of flour on a digital scale before dumping it into the mixing bowl, in order to make sure the cookies tasted flawlessly delicious. To throw the baseball 500 times a day until I could strike out everyone on the opposing team.
I could control this part of my life and I thrived on it. I held onto this ability, numbing my sanity along with it.
I wasn't able to control my parents' love for each other or stop them from getting divorced. I wasn't able to control Justin's immature actions. I wasn't able to have my spontaneous sister or artsy mother move back. I wasn't able to escape my dark depression and my ability to feel, all too strongly, the emotions of those around me.
I found myself starting to give up on myself---on life---all too willingly, as if accepting my fate---to live alone and in a constant stream of sadness.
Dad worked hard the next few years in order to move out of John's place and into a place closer to town. A place of his own. Of course, a few days were harder than others and on those days he hid out on the recliner---with a beer in his hand, eyes, glued to the tube.
Time seemed to pass without much change. Days, months, and years seemed to blend together with equal despair---closing our eyes and ears to the unhappiness that loomed over us like a dark impending cloud.
A glimmer of hope arrived the day we finally bid John farewell with one last carne asada beer bash. Worried the long-awaited sun would sink back behind the thunderous clouds, we anxiously packed up Dad's truck with our meager possessions, and headed out the next morning.
The place was decent for the two of us: one-story, 550 square feet, built in the '40s, walls were lined with flowery paper, yellowed with age, and torn at the corners---this was the first to go---oak flooring, caked with decades of floor wax and neglect but otherwise solid, bathroom needed an overhaul (rust was evident around the faucet and shower head, toilet needed to be replaced, handy plunger was always near), but it was the kitchen that won him over. It was the crowning jewel to this old, decrepit place.
Large range, sub-zero fridge, extra-deep cast iron sink with high gooseneck faucet, stainless silver appliances, white cabinets, tile backsplash, slate floors, granite countertops, and a corner island for extra counter space. Recessed lighting transcended a radiant glow to the black, white, and gray color palette lending nicely to the colorful knick-knacks that Dad enjoyed.
Cooking was Dad's activity of choice and the kitchen was his retreat. Owning a restaurant was his dream---far-fetched in his eyes, but to me, it seemed achievable like a ripe fruit just waiting to be plucked. He was a wonderful cook, especially when it came to Italian cuisine---Pizza Pie, his specialty. Like me, he was cast in a shadow of despair, lost in the depression to which he all too easily succumbed. Sure, there were roadblocks that led him there, hard losses, and negative twists of fate, but he had a choice and he chose wrong. I took after him in many ways...learned his ways...all too accurately followed his mistakes.
At times he would toy with the idea of what his restaurant would look like, how he would run it, what would be on the menu. He even went so far as searching the listings in the newspaper or scanning the "for rent" signs as he drove back from work---taking the long way home---waiting for the perfect venue for his restaurant.
I would occasionally join in, excitedly, candidly expressing my approval and pitching in my own ideas to bake desserts for his restaurant. But in the back of my mind I always feared that this dream would be just that, a dream, and would never amount to anything more. That he would never be able to open up a restaurant. That his depression wouldn't let him.
This terrified me. Although I loved my father and he had been my hero since I could remember, I inherited his negativity, and bluntly, his bad luck. I strongly believed that my fate would mirror his and I would live the rest of my life in pain, despair, and...loneliness. I thought I was destined to be alone; the future seemed bleak and unwelcoming.
Sporadically, the sun sprayed its rays upon us, but having spent years under an opaque mask suppressed our ability to enjoy its warmth.
Sometimes, it seemed too easy, too enticing to resist escaping this desolate future. To take my own life. Once in a while, depression overtook my sanity, and I was close...too close...but I controlled the urge to finish what I started when I felt the pain I would be inflicting on my family.
That pain shielded my depression long enough to make me stop. Long enough for the knife to fall from my shaky fingertips and the thick blood that oozed from the self-inflicted wound to clot and blacken. Long enough to regain composure and hate myself for it---hate myself for being a disappointment.
Today seemed like one of those bleak days. It was the morning of my twenty-first birthday. I'd been on a hiatus for the past year; dropped out of UC San Diego, got dumped by my girlfriend, quit my job as an intro-level software developer, quit my next job collecting tickets at a museum, then at FedEx, and then 24 Hour Fitness, and now I was just hiding out for a while taking odd jobs for my father whenever he needed an extra hand at the construction site.
Fall was in the air---crisp and clean. Yellow, red, and orange leaves colored the branches outside my window. October was usually my favorite month of the year, not only because it was my birthday month but also because it held one of my favorite holidays. Halloween was the day you could be anything you wanted. You could be a wrestler, gremlin, or fireman. It was fun, creepy, and scary. There were tricks, treats, and excitement.
My favorite part as a kid was going with Dad to the pumpkin patch down the street and picking two or three dilapidated pumpkins. The ugly, lumpy pumpkins always worked best for carving the grotesque, grimacing, contorted faces that were not only my trademark, but were an art form I found to be excruciatingly amusing. The last time we went on a pumpkin adventure was the Halloween before the divorce; since then I hadn't carved a single pumpkin.
Birthdays were different. Halloween seemed to get better with age but birthdays never were as good as when I was little. When you're a kid, you get tricked by the excitement of turning a year older, of the showering of presents and love from your family, the piñatas filled with candy, the vanilla cake and marble fudge ice cream, the power you get from feeling special...that all deteriorates when you grow up. Divorce ages a kid. Birthdays now just reminded me of each year I was alone and depressed.
There was a hard knock at the door. As I walked past the kitchen, I noticed a note scribbled on a single napkin that was held in place with a single, white-frosted cupcake.
Happy Birthday Bud!
Sorry, I won't be back to celebrate until late tonight.
Go out and have fun.
Love, Dad.
He always took up extra jobs around the month of October. I think it was his way of avoiding this month altogether, our month. That was okay. I understood. The memories are sometimes too much for me, too.
"Knock! Knock!" Someone behind the door was becoming impatient. I opened the door without checking the peephole to see who it was (I wasn't afraid and I didn't care). To my surprise, Justin Knoxx stood at the doorway. His eyes were cast down, shoulders slouched, his hands in his pockets.
Sheepishly he said, "Uh...hey...I mean, Happy Birthday."
I was surprised, so I just stood there.
Shuffling his feet, he shifted his weight from his right side to his left. "Um...so I went to John's and he told me that you guys moved," shifting again from his left side back to his right, "Can I...come in?" Justin's eyes were still cast down, tracking the threads of his boots as he scratched out invisible symbols onto the door mat.
I opened the door wider and stepped aside. I walked toward my room and Justin followed. I sat down on the floor and waited.
Justin's eyes scanned the unfamiliar room as he chose to lean against the window. Looking out toward the bright neon signs of the taco shop across the street, he seemed to be collecting his thoughts; apologizing wasn't high in his vocabulary.
"So---I'm really sorry about how I acted and not calling or anything. Uh...you understand...?"
He continued since I didn't reply. "I'm sorry. Okay? Can you just forgive me?" He was looking at me now, irritation peeking through.
Unaware that I was holding my breath, I heard myself exhale, "Sure."
I didn't really expect a better apology than that, nor did I care for one. I just didn't feel like being alone on my birthday.
Exchanging manly fist bumps and a hard pat on the back, we buried the hatchet.
"So, what do you want to do?"
Justin grinned. "I got a plan." His eyes twinkled, which was never a good sign. Justin was back and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it.
Justin hung out with me while I washed my used '87 gold Volvo sedan. It was pretty beat up when I got it, but dependable. I needed something dependable in my life. We caught up on the last eight years or so of estrangement. He had two and a half girlfriends since---the half, being a one night stand---the current, being his on-again, off-again girlfriend Kelly Johnson, a real looker who wasn't too bright in the noggin' based on what he was telling me. She had already tried calling him six times since he came over. He promised that she wasn't allowed to attend tonight's festivities. I believed him. Justin was always very loyal to his friends and if Kelly wasn't willing to accept this, she might as well give up now and not waste her breath.
I got ready to go out. I wasn't sure where Justin was taking me, but he told me to dress nicer than usual and that he'd be back around five o'clock to pick me up. At ten past four I dropped down to complete a set of fifty push-ups, hopped into the shower, shaved, put on layers of deodorant, and searched through my meager wardrobe until I settled on a blue button-up striped dress shirt, black slacks, and shiny black dress shoes---I still had a couple of business suits and shirts from my software development days.
I walked to the kitchen, ate the generic supermarket cupcake, turned the napkin around and wrote a note to Dad:
Hey Dad,
Justin's taking me out for my birthday.
I'll be back late.
Love, Liam
As I waited for Justin to pick me up, I decided to play Brian Setzer's Stray Cat Strut on the guitar. Belting out the lyrics, I was just getting into my groove when---
"Meow-ow-OWWWW!" I heard in stereo from the porch.
I stopped playing and turned toward the door. I heard two sets of laughter outside. One was definitely Justin and the other was probably Lance Greenfield---a mutual friend of ours whom we got to know through Little League. I placed the guitar back on its pedestal, grabbed the keys and headed out the door.
"Hey guys. Nice harmony." I smiled, trying to look pumped up. "So where are we headed?" By this time, I was curious.
Justin and Lance looked at each other and belted, "TJ!" They started dancing around me with imaginary shaker instruments in their hands, the Macarena, their song of choice.
I was already prepared for a wild night for three reasons: Justin was in charge, I just turned twenty-one, and we were guys. But TJ?
"I don't think I have enough money on me. Can we stop by the ATM?" Checking to make sure I had my ID in my wallet, I noticed I only had a five and two ones.
"Don't worry about it. I'm treating you." Justin patted my shoulder, nudging me toward his black pickup truck.
"Thanks," I said.
We parked the truck just outside the border and walked across taking the next available taxi. Before I knew it, Justin was taking us to the red light district in Tijuana. Brothels, strip clubs, prostitutes, and bars lined the streets of TJ's north zone. This was the kind of place where men came to lose their virginity, drink until they were swimming in liquor, and let their lust and penis take control. I was not one of those men. I had a sinking feeling that things were not going to go well. Justin led the way to the first strip club on Calle Coahuila Street.
Clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke filled the dusty room. We made our way to the last three empty bar stools. The tables were sticky and smeared with lime and salt. The noise was deafening, drowning out the obnoxious catcalls the crude men were throwing at the scantily clad ladies that worked the room and stage.
The girls' faces and ages were obscured with a pound of makeup caked onto their faces. I couldn't tell if they were hideous or pretty, blond or brunette, twelve or thirty. Honestly, I felt disgusted and vile. I had an ill taste in my mouth and it wasn't from the countless shots of Tequila or the pitchers of beer that Justin and Lance tossed my way. It was the atmosphere.
I felt sick and appalled as I drunkenly scanned the slap-happy eyes of the men around me. I could feel their lust and horny cravings pierce through me as the girls flaunted their perky tits and round asses---I couldn't tell who was the hunter and who was the hunted---all I could think about was the fathers who sat at home worrying about their daughters and the mothers who lived in agony as their little girls were taken to live in sin; the girls who had no hope, their virtue shattered and their soul trapped by the devil---moisture started to well up in my eyes...
There I was, at a bar in Tijuana, celebrating the night of my twenty-first birthday with two of my good friends, and I was miserable. Not only was I crying...I was bawling.
"¡Fuera!¡Fuera!" Large, intimidating men in large double-breasted suits pushed us out. My tears, being so out of place, frightened them.
"Sow-ree guys." My eyes were bloodshot and my speech slurred.
"That's all right. We should get back anyways. It's almost midnight." Justin ignored the fact that I was a mess because we probably couldn't get in anywhere else without fronting a lot of dinero.
"Uh-oh..." The infamous two syllables that everyone dreaded.
Justin hurriedly grabbed Lance's wallet without his permission. I watched as Justin opened the empty billfold, staring at it as if money would magically appear if he stared hard enough. I should have foreseen this. I should have known that Justin sneaking off to the "back room" would lead to trouble. We were out of money.
Somehow we made our way through the poorly lit streets and dark alleys. The smell of piss and vomit got to be too much, and ten minutes into our blind journey we each added our own contributions to the vile aroma. Using the little Spanish I retained from High School, I was able to get us past the danger and across the border to San Diego without going to jail, being robbed, raped, kidnapped, or mutilated. This had been, what you would call, a bad trip.
No one said a single word driving back home---we were too stunned, sick, and distraught. It was 3:00 A.M. when Justin dropped me off. I went straight to my room and crashed. I could hear Dad snoring in the next room with the TV blaring---a failed attempt to wait up for me and chew my ass for not checking in.
If he had awoken without seeing my scuffed shoes tossed helter-skelter in the entry, my bedroom door left ajar, and my fouled body scattered across my rumpled sheets, he would have probably called 911 in a panic. I knew he was often worried about me, but I also knew he would never mention the extent or even question my whereabouts the next morning. The crisis was averted. I was safe. End of story.
In the next few months I suffered silently but loudly enough to cause Dad and my grandparents grief and worry. My grandparents sent me to various therapists who did nothing but force prescription drugs down my throat, and listen to my basic, drawn-out thoughts.
Somehow among the inanity, they managed to work in all sorts of invasive questions: if I heard voices, and if yes, if those voices ever told me to burn things; if I ever wanted to kill myself; if I had any STDs; if I was happy with my penis; if I masturbated regularly; if I was ever touched inappropriately by an adult.
Besides the medication, they recommended I try creative writing---they thought it would be some kind of therapy shit. I tried. This is what I came up with:
Mr. Rammm
I'm never going to amount to anything. I'm a dabbler; jack of all trades, master of none. I live in a subsidized one-bedroom apartment, where I usually drink my dinner. I smoke American Spirits and drive around for no reason. I start a new hobby, then walk away once I've invested just enough time and money to make it interesting. I had a job, but I quit that, too. It was an easy gig down at the museum, handing out pamphlets and making sure no piss-ant kids snuck out with anything valuable. I didn't really care if they did. I once saw a boy---couldn't have been more than thirteen---walk out of the gift shop with a whole sack of shit he didn't pay for. Must have been a hundred dollars' worth. He walked by me and looked me in the eye the whole time, as if he was legit as shit. I think he even spoke to me. I didn't give a fuck. I just sat there and watched him break for the door like he was goddam clever. What a dumb fuck. He'll probably get caught the next time he tries something like that in front of someone who actually gives a shit whether or not the sun will come up tomorrow; then he'll spend the next five to ten taking it up the ass in some greasy prison shower room. I bet he'll think of me the whole time, and how clever he was. That'll teach him.
I usually sleep in, 'cause I'm not really a morning person. I get up around two or three in the afternoon, and have a smoke out on the balcony in my chonies. I decided to stop shaving about three weeks ago. Sometimes I'll shower, but most days I'll just throw on whatever I was wearing the night before and head down to the liquor store. I don't understand why people would drink in a bar. It's so fucking expensive. And loud. Why should I have to pay some jerk-off to make me a shitty, watered down drink while I sit like a real douchebag with some handmade stool rammed up my ass, the kind where you feel like a fucking shrimp because your feet don't quite reach the footrest? So I'm sitting there, five bucks in the hole and I haven't even taken a sip, and some dried out skag in low-rise jeans and a halter top looks at me like "don't you wish you were lucky enough," and I just want to put a goddam bullet in my head. Hers too. By the time I'm trashed out of my mind, I have to sleep in my car 'cause I can't even get the key in the goddam ignition, and I've spent the entire paycheck that was supposed to last me until my next job comes around. Fuck that. I'll just settle for a bottle of Log Cabin and a porno, in the comfort of my shitty ass home.
The words flowed effortlessly onto the computer screen, but obviously it didn't work. I felt just as shitty as when I started, maybe more, now that I have it in writing.
Eventually, I stopped going. Not because I was ashamed or that I felt even crazier while I was on the medication, but because I was fucked. I had already given up, and all I wanted to do was not feel.
I tended to camp out at Justin's most nights, slummed on his couch listening to him have reckless and noisy sex with the various girls who came by, usually wasted or pretending to be. I was thankful that he offered a place devoid of judgment. A crash pad. A hide-out.
Eventually, I drowned my sorrows in weed and shrooms, carefully tabulating each self-medicated dose and its effects. I recorded my observations in a journal that I hid among the dust bunnies beneath my bed. I considered myself a lab rat, living for nothing, but curious about everything. Although I looked to be a danger to myself, I wasn't stupid and I was carefully cautious of every bad decision I decided to subject myself to.
Everything I suffered through was premeditated and fixed. I was a scientist, performing mindless experiments on myself for my own interest. Of course, there were times that I overmedicated myself, but slip-ups are expected in this kind of volatile set up.
If anyone was watching over me, they should have realized that I needed guidance and perhaps a kick in the right direction. What I needed was a safe place to explore my many talents and skills. A place where I could flourish and be proud of something bigger than myself.
Although I wasn't a child anymore, I was still fixated on my failure for being the son that was unable to mend his parents' woes. I was so caught up in the aftermath of my parents' divorce, I couldn't tell right from wrong and all I saw when I looked in the mirror was disappointment.
All I could see when I closed my eyes was my parents during the final years of their downward-spiraling marriage. Screams and threats lined with words of hate and bitterness pounded my eardrums. The lasting image of my family's demise still scars me.
Dad plopped on his trusty recliner after two eight hour shifts, one beer down the pipe and another obediently following, bellowing with full force, "We live like fuckin' MONKEYS!" Mom making matters worse by screaming in retort from the other end of the house, "Fuck you too, asshole---you clean that shit!"
It is safe to say that I have few fond memories of my parents. The only one I can pluck from the cobwebs of my brain is of Easter, '87. Mom brought Dad a cold beer from the cooler, he popped the cap off and handed it back so she could take the first sip; their eyes met and they sidled closer to one another in an almost automatic way; Dad wrapped his arm around her and ran his rough, carpenter's hands in soothing circles over the small of her back. And the only reason I was able to conjure up this heartfelt memory is because I viewed it on one of Grandma's home videos a while back.
The day the madness stopped and I decided to turn my life back on track was the day Grandpa collapsed while mowing his couple acres of land. I was a few yards away trimming the overgrown trees while Grandma was tending to the tulips in her award-winning flowerbed.
The thud of his body dropping to the recently-cut grass lawn---like a sack of potatoes---set off a wave of panicked hysteria. I hurried to the house to call 911 since Grandma, bless her soul, was already hovered around her beloved husband, sending out a silent prayer pleading for God to save his life, even if that meant taking hers.
I returned as quickly as I could to start CPR. Everything grew silent and dim, locked in an adrenaline rhythm that could not, would not cease as long as I had breath in my lungs; I continued until the sweat poured down my shirt in long bands, and the blue-gloved hands of a strong paramedic finally pulled me away so his colleagues could rush in.
The following events went by in a blur. Ambulance coming and going. Masks and tubes covering his ashen face and body. Calls made to the rest of the family. The cold white waiting room of the hospital. The ticking of the clock that hung in the room above the broken chair. The astringent smells of antiseptics and bleach. The tears that fell as we sat and waited. Relief and cries of joy when he awoke. And the silent, ominous understanding that he would be taken from us again, and soon.
This understanding was what forced me to wake up. Grandpa's fall became my kick in the right direction. Michael Baker was a proud man. He lived his life not taking shit from anyone. Never letting anyone or anything keep him one peg lower from the rest. If he wanted something, he got it. If he didn't know how to do something, he studied and figured it out. If he needed money, he worked hard to earn it. Dad was my hero, but Grandpa was a close second. Why was I shitting my life away when Grandpa worked so hard to live his?
Paradise is but a dream
To keep the hungry sated, the
Runner running, the fighter fighting,
The doubtful hoping.
Chase the Dream, and never look back.
~Kyle Harper, Tick
~ Sophie ~
The lecture hall echoed, my flip-flops snapping beneath me, as I walked down the looming staircase toward an empty seat. York Hall was dimly lit, except for a buzzing, fluorescent band of light descending from the top of the blackboards, which stretched across the entire breadth of the front wall. The air in here was hazy, seeming to be filled with outgassing from the murky browns and yellows of the walls and seats. The periodic table of elements loomed large above the blackboard, near the ceiling; it seemed to peer down from on-high, mocking, contemptuous.
I decided on the middle section of the room, the seat closest to the left aisle, next to no one---just in case I needed a quick escape. Over the past two years at this institution, I developed a hatred for being seated in close quarters with strangers---specifically, those prone to sneezing, wheezing, coughing, fidgeting, being nosy or loud, and especially, those with repulsive odors and lack of hygiene.
Across from me, a boy with a bowl haircut and white tennies leaned forward, and with repetitive, inane urgency, scratched his head with his overgrown nails---dandruff flakes floated down, creating a light snow bed on his dark shirt.
Cringing, my eyes diverted to my Fall Quarter schedule, waiting for lecture to start, and I sighed. This quarter will definitely be challenging and time consuming. I smirked. Not like I have anything else filling up my schedule. My social life was lackluster at best...not like it had ever been stimulating in my twenty-one years. I mulled over the schedule---P-Chem, Econ 1A, P-Chem lab, and Mam Phys---until my thoughts were no longer drowned by the loud murmurs that echoed through the cold, air conditioned building. P-Chem lecture was starting.
The first week was easy enough. Introductions only, but I was beginning to worry if I would be able to handle my strenuous schedule. I quickly decided to drop out of P-Chem lab since it wasn't a graduation requirement, and the workload became slightly more manageable. Lab reports were time consuming and complex. Exams were intricate and creative, and the grading was harsh: As were untouchable, Bs hard to come by, Cs were accepted graciously, and anything else was feared. All in all, college was not what I expected. It was cold, difficult and lonely.
Now in my third year at UC San Diego, I began to analyze myself and my future---my strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, where I saw myself in two years and then ten. Most of all, I analyzed the reason behind my unfailing depression.
First off, I hated school. My depression seemed to stem from this institution---and I hated science. I just wasn't good at it. My brain could only handle so much when it came to scientific theories and formulas.
General Chemistry, Biochemistry, Organic Chemistry, Inorganic Chemistry, Physical Chemistry...I took enough chemistry courses to know for sure: I disliked chemistry.
This led to my second realization---I didn't want to continue my education beyond getting my undergraduate degree from UC San Diego. I wasn't going to apply to pharmacy school, a goal my parents had instilled in me since the eighth grade. My parents seemed to accept this willingly enough, although they were unsure if my head was clear and my choice was well thought out. I think they clung to the hope I would change my mind after I took a year off.
Third, I realized I would enjoy working. Getting a job, any job. I wanted to support myself.
My parents were always there to support me, especially financially. They wanted to do everything they could to ensure I would have an easy life. They paid my way through college, insisting that I use my time to study and get good grades...that was my job, and would be my only job until I graduated.
I accepted this. My goals were always shortsighted, always looking forward to the following year, as I graduated past elementary school, middle school, high school, and now I eagerly waited to complete my undergraduate degree.
I yearned for that moment. Seemingly close enough to see the light, teasing me with its warmth. The end was near and once I walked across that stage in my cap and gown, diploma in hand, I would be free. Free of this glorified institution and hopefully also free of my own personal hell. I would be left to my own devices, free to do as I wish...to live out the rest of my life in solitude, peacefully.
Hormones...endocrine function and the hypothalamic-hypophyseal axis...pages 205-232.
"Ugh..." sighing, I picked up my yellow highlighter, getting ready to do some serious damage, when my roommate, Tiffany bounced in.
"Watcha do'n?"
Tiff planted herself on my bed, riffling through the recent copy of Cosmo magazine. Her long legs stretched out and her crystal blue eyes gazed at the glossy pages in sheer boredom.
"Tiff, what does it look like I'm doing?"
"Mmmm...not sure.Something boring as usual."
Her glossed-over eyes flickered in disgust.
"Why are you studying anyways, it's Friday night. You have like all next week to study. Let's do something fun."
Tiffany Preston was strikingly beautiful with her slender frame, beach blond hair, and bright blue eyes. She also was lucky enough to be blessed with buckets of free time---she was taking one online class each semester and working part time, filling the rest of her schedule with dates, parties, shopping, movies, and all the other things people my age loved to do.
"Why don't you call Rachel or your boyfriend over to hang out?" I suggested.
Tiff pursed her thin, red-stained lips, "Rachel has a date with Justin and Ethan is having a guy's night at his place."
Tiff's doe-eyes turned hard as ice as she suddenly became lost in thought over all the things Ethan might be doing at this very moment---unbeknownst to her, he and his friends were down the street ogling half-naked school-girls, chugging down jugs of frosty beer, and enjoying a belching contest between gorging on "wings" slathered in "secret" sauce. She was contemplating what excuse she should use to sneak over there later when I interrupted her.
"Sorry, Tiff. I have two midterms next week that I have to study for. I promise, after the midterms I'll hang out. Okay?"
I was pleading now. I really needed to get back to studying.
Tiff seemed to be contemplating something before answering, "Alrighty."
"That's it? You're not going to whine or beg?"
"No, silly. This weekend you need your quiet time to study. I understand." She smirked. "But next weekend you're mine and we're going to celebrate my twenty-first birthday in style! I'm going to go start on the invites right now!" She squealed, extremely happy with herself for finding something to do, and left my room.
Sigh...her twenty-first birthday party...drinking...dancing... strangers...ugh...I think I'd rather be studying. I decided years ago that a social life wasn't for me. I was content with the facts: I would probably never find the love of my life, and I would be a virgin for eternity. Of course, that's not what I really wanted, but I just didn't think it was in the cards for me.
I regained my focus for a few more hours until I started drifting off to sleep, dreaming of Prince Charming:
I was walking through a field of sunflowers...golden rays of the sun washed over his handsome face as he brushed his lips on my cheek...I felt happy...but then he was gone...it was nighttime and I was alone...where was he?...I had to find him, be with him...I ran...I felt like I was running knee deep in sand...I needed to run faster but I couldn't...and then I woke up.
My face was damp with sweat. I shivered. I was puzzled by this recurring nightmare. It always started off so perfectly and then ended so abruptly, so horribly. Then I realized the lights were still on and I was still at my desk, drool smudging my notes. I closed my book, turned off the lights, and went to bed.
"Yay! It's party time!"
Tiff was in her baby-blue terry cotton robe---face fresh and flawless---sprawled out on the couch with a box of Cheese Crisps, lazily watching Oprah. I envied her. I probably looked like shit. My eyes felt sunken in and bloodshot, my hair was greased and pulled into a tight ponytail. I had on my gray UCSD sweatshirt, jeans, and flip-flops. I was exhausted.
"Maybe later. I just finished my midterms and I need a long, restful nap."
I wasn't in the mood to be around her fresh-faced, relaxed, and idle presence at the moment. I wasn't in the mood for anything except sleeping.
"Soph. But you promised," Tiff whined, pushing her bottom lip forward.
"Tiff, please. Just give me a day to recover and I'll be all yours tomorrow. Okay?"
"Fine. I'll hold you to that." Tiff was up and about now, ready to start her day, looking like she had been waiting all morning and afternoon just for me to get home. She's the Queen of Milking It.
"Thanks," I said as I headed straight for my warm bed to pass out for the rest of the day, revisiting the confusing nightmare of Prince Charming lost into the night:
The field of sunflowers turned a desiccated brown...fading into the desert, and I could feel the heat...the rays pounded into my flesh and I could feel my blood boiling. I felt his presence but he was nowhere in sight. I panicked. My ears tickled and when I scratched, thick blood flowed down my arms and dripped onto the rusty sand below. Drip. Drip. The wind blew and I could hear him calling...sounds like my name...Soph...Soph...
The next day, I woke feeling agitated yet refreshed. I took a long, hot shower, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and got ready for whatever Tiff had in store for her birthday. But first I needed to eat. I was famished.
I decided on making myself some scrambled eggs with a side of toast. I was salivating just thinking about it. As I was removing the eggs from the fridge, I saw a note Tiff left for me on the whiteboard:
Soph. Get pumped up for a fun-filled night!
Stepped out for some last minute shop'n.
Be back in a few.
Invitation and agenda is on the table.
ethe Bday girl (finally 21!!!)
I immediately spotted the black envelope on the table and decided to read it over breakfast, as if it were the morning paper. I didn't read the newspaper; who did these days, when the Internet was easily available and didn't leave black smudges on your fingers?
The invitation was printed on plain white cardstock:
The occasion: Tiff's 21st Birthday
The date: (today) November 11, 2005
The time: 7:00 P.M -- tomorrow morning (I cringed.)
The attire: Black and White
The plan: Potluck and Drinks, Limo and Drinks, Clubs, Bars, Dancing, and many Drinks, etc., Pass out on floor. (I cringed again.)
Although I just had a satisfying breakfast, there was a large pit starting to form in my stomach. This was going to be a long night and I wasn't sure how much I would be enjoying it. I just hope I don't have to take care of anyone tonight---being sober at a party when everyone is tossed and half unconscious was never a good idea. Well, I could always just pretend to be drunk and take a taxi home once everyone seemed hazy enough to not pay attention. Yes, that'll be the plan.
I washed the dishes and started cleaning up the rest of the apartment. If we're going to have a party here, it needs to be somewhat clean and presentable. I was in the middle of vacuuming the entryway when Tiff came back with bags full of food and booze, and of course, a new outfit and perfectly manicured hands and feet.
"Hello, hello, hello-o," Tiff sang happily as she brushed past me, quickly unloading the bags onto the floor and rushing out to grab more. After three trips, each time returning with armloads of adult beverages, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes with a victorious grin. I shut the vacuum off.
"Happy Birthday, Tiff!"
"Finally, I'm twenty-one! Yay! I can finally go out with everyone to bars and clubs and experience the joys of getting carded!"
Her smile immediately turned downward into a hard-pressed line. "Humph. I didn't even get carded when I bought all of these."
Tiff pointed to all the booze as she lifted the glass bottles out of the many rumpled brown paper bags and began positioning each one carefully on the countertop. There was so much booze: Jack, Jose, Absolut, Grey Goose, Smirnoff, Captain; cases of beer (Blue Moon, Coors, and Heineken); and, of course, you couldn't forget the mixers.
"Can you help me with the rest?"
"There's more?"
"Just bags of ice for the ice chest."
Relieved, "Sure."
Outside, the bags of ice were cast aside onto the baking cement, ice melting prematurely. I shook my head in disbelief. This was so like Tiff. Common sense would have been to bring the ice bags in first, but no, Tiff went straight for the booze.
As we lugged in what remained of the ice, Tiff casually asked, "What are you gonna wear tonight?"
I shrugged. "Not sure."
Tiff was eying me now. I could see the excitement building. She loved makeover shows and she loved making me over, especially.
Shuddering, I flashed back to last summer when she got the urge to make me over. I ended up looking like a mix between one of Gwen Stefani's Harajuku girls and Jane in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It took three shampoo and conditioner washings to get the kinks out of my damaged hair, and four towels doused with make-up remover to get all the gunk off my face.
Quickly, I added, "I'm sure I'll find something to wear."
"I could help."
"No. I should be fine." Tiff's bubbly anticipation was crushed, so I added, "If I have any trouble, I'll definitely ask you."
She seemed satisfied with this.
Tiff helped me finish cleaning the kitchen and living room---she straightened the pillows, decorated, and arranged the utensils while I scrubbed, washed, and vacuumed. Music from her birthday playlist, graciously supplied by Ethan, was blasting from the entertainment center: songs from The Pussycat Dolls, The Black Eyed Peas, Gwen Stefani, Sean Paul, and Rihanna. After two grueling hours, the dishes were dried and put away, the carpet was devoid of lint and hair, the tile floor was scrubbed clean, and the counters and table tops were wiped down.
Washing off the sweat and grime I accumulated during the past few hours was a pleasant respite to what lay ahead. Wrapped in a towel, I trudged toward my closet, hair dripping onto the clean beige carpet. I had no idea what I was going to wear, and after reviewing my meager wardrobe, I found my choices to be limiting. After much debate, I decided to go with my spaghetti strap black camisole top and white linen pants.
Next was the hair and makeup. Opting for a simple up-do, I twisted my hair into a loose bun. I nodded to myself in the mirror, That should tame my frizzy hair and help with the impending heat of the suffocating clubs.
Usually, my face is kept clean with a single layer of mineral makeup, a brush of mascara, and clear lip gloss, but today I dusted on a few more layers, played up my eyes with a few additional coats of black mascara and liner, added a rosy blush to the temples of my cheeks, and finished with a shiny layer of Siren red lip gloss.
After I applied the finishing touches, silver bangles and black strappy heels, I was ready. With a love for fashion I knew how to put a nice outfit together---a gift from my mom---and I felt pleased with my makeshift ensemble. The reason my wardrobe selection was at best satisfactory was my dislike for spending money---specifically, money I hadn't earned---on nonessential items that I could easily do without. More reason for me to graduate and get a job. Glancing one more time into the mirror, I went upstairs to see how Tiff was doing.
Walking into her room, I was stunned. There were clothes and shoes strewn all over the carpet, on her bed, off the hangers, and even in the bathroom. Her bathroom countertop was hidden under a sea of makeup, jewelry, hair products, and hairpins. Tiff was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, setting her hair into soft curls that landed at the middle of her back. She was still wearing her baby-blue robe---that knowingly brought out the blue in her eyes---and her face was a blank slate.
"What have you been doing this entire time?" I asked quizzically, while looking around at what seemed to be a warzone rather than a bedroom.
"Oh, you know. This and that. I couldn't find the right shoes for my new outfit so I tried looking for something else to wear."
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No, not yet. Will you help?"
At this rate, it would take her all night to get ready. "Sure. Where's your new outfit?"
"Over there. On the hanger."
I turned to her closet, and sure enough there was one item left hanging on the bar. Letting out a silent breath of relief, I relaxed. At least I didn't have to dig around her room painstakingly searching for a needle in a haystack.
The black dress was simple enough, with a plunging neckline and a very short hemline---a dangerous twist to the well-known expression of the little black dress.
After a few minutes of rummaging through her piles of clothes and accessories, I quickly found the perfect shoes to go with her outfit---white platforms with a stripper heel. Tiff squealed in delight.
The doorbell rang. I looked at the clock; it was a quarter past seven. Perfect timing, the first guests had arrived and the guest of honor was just starting on her makeup.
"Soph?" Tiff, using the mirror to reflectively look at me, tilted her head toward the door, pursed her lips and sweetly said, "Be a doll?"
"Sure," wagging my finger at her reflection, "you just continue getting ready, I'll get the door."
Eager to have something to do, I quickly obliged.
When I got downstairs, Ethan and a few of his friends startled me when they passed me by the stairs. I forgot he had a key. "Hey Ethan, Tiff is still getting ready."
"Yup, I figured."
Instead of heading upstairs to check on Tiff, he headed toward our makeshift bar and the guys each grabbed a cold Heineken from the ice chest to wet their beaks.
Ethan was a brawny fellow, built much like a football player---I'm sure Tiff mentioned that he played in high school---but other than his frame there wasn't much else to look at. He definitely got the better end of the stick when he landed Tiff as his girlfriend, although he sure didn't act like it. Tiff could do better. Ethan and his friends all had the same rugged look and dumb, mindless expression. They had on wrinkled black slacks, white collared shirts, untucked, and black blazers. I left them to fend for themselves and went back upstairs to check on Tiff.
"Ethan and his friends are here."
"Oh, yay. I'm glad he made it. Sigh...I just love that guy." Tiff gushed, "He's the best, isn't he?"
Hoping it was a rhetorical question, I said nothing.
She was almost finished with her makeup, and I could already tell that my face would look plain beside hers.
The bell rang again. I figured, from my first examination, that Ethan would not do the honors; so I ran down to get it.
There he was, stopping me dead in my tracks, as I neared the bottom of the stairs; I would have run over him if I didn't see the hand he extended. The handshake was quick but strong. I glanced up and my heart fluttered.
"Hi!" I let out, a little too elatedly. My face was flushed from the little exertion of running down the stairs, but hot from embarrassment.
"Hello." He had a clear and soothing voice.
"I'm Sophie, Tiff's roommate."
"My name is Liam; I came with Rach and Justin." He paused, then continued once he saw recognition on my face. "Tiffany told Rach that it was an open invitation and Justin asked if I would come along."
"Oh yea. Sure. Of course." I pointed to the kitchen. "Drinks are over there and the food is on the table."
"Thanks." He stepped aside as Rachel and Justin came in. I gave them each a hug, and the three of them headed for the kitchen.
More people arrived, flooding the room with stifling smells of doused cologne and perfume, gel and hairspray, belches and beer. I was going to head back upstairs when Tiffany came down. Sigh, she sure looked gorgeous.
Her dress hugged her in all the right areas and accentuated all her best parts. She glowed from head to toe. She glided down the stairs effortlessly, greeted her guests one by one, and then placed herself strategically in the center of the room so all eyes could be on her. All eyes that is, except for two.
Liam's eyes were staring straight at me. I held his surprised glance for a few seconds before he turned to Justin to answer some question, which led to a lengthy, but from the looks of it, amusing conversation. It gave me a chance to really look at him.
Liam had a slight build; a few inches shorter than Justin, narrow face angled at the chin, streamlined nose, apple cheeks, full lips, soft eyes, distinguished eyebrows, and perfectly gelled, chestnut hair. His face was clean of any lines and looked soft and gentle. What intrigued me most was his posture. There he sat on the bar stool, rigid and straight, as if a metal rod were surgically implanted in his spine. He seemed uncomfortable but his slow, turning smile implied otherwise. He stood out from the other guys, mainly because he didn't have a drink in his hand, but also because he was wearing a tie, tucked in shirt, and wasn't ogling Tiff. He wasn't original in his black pants and white shirt, but his outfit looked neatly pressed---collar starched, stark black tie perfectly placed, and black shoes shined. He seemed so put together a gay man would have been impressed. He sat near the food, so I decided to get a closer look while also examining the delicious finds at the table.
I immediately absorbed myself in the food selection. There was, of course, the usual chips and salsa, but there was also mac-and-cheese, croissant sandwiches, dumplings, cheese and crackers, cookies, brownies, and...
"Why don't you try a cream puff?"
The soothing familiar voice startled me. I didn't realize how immersed I was in the food. He pointed toward a plate lined with foil. There were about a dozen or so puff pastries dipped in...chocolate, I assumed.
"Cream puff?" I never particularly liked cream puffs.
"Yeah, it's the first time I tried baking them. I wondered if you wouldn't mind tasting them for me. One is filled with chocolate pudding and topped with dark chocolate ganache, while the other is filled with vanilla pudding and topped with white chocolate," he chuckled, "I tried to stay with the theme of the event."
Really? He bakes? I was completely fascinated, but what surprised me more was how good it tasted. I tried one of the dark chocolate cream puffs, since dark chocolate was my favorite, and I was in heaven.
"Wow! That's so delicious!" I was speaking through mouthfuls of chocolate and I didn't care, I was in love...with the cream puff.
He grinned like he already knew my critique would be five stars, but he was thrilled at my response just the same.
I grabbed a few more, just the dark chocolate ones, and ate them happily. After licking my lips and fingers I realized that he was still watching me, tickled now with amusement. I was in my own little happy place and I totally forgot I had an audience. Flustered, I reached for a napkin to regain my femininity and turned toward him. His light brown eyes, still looking amused rather than disgusted, put me at ease. I noticed that when the light hit him just right, gold flecks sparkled through the caramel of his eyes. He had soft, kind eyes, but there was also a hint of sadness in them. I wouldn't be sure of the reason until later.
Effortlessly, we broke into conversation, discussing our hobbies and interests, family, friends, jobs, school---we talked without pause until the limo arrived to take us to our first destination. I learned that he loved baking, was best friends with Justin since they were five, had an interest in plants, and was in the process of being readmitted into UC San Diego. He seemed slightly embarrassed for taking a few years off from school. He also mentioned he was leaving the party early, so he could turn in and be able to help his dad install a new bathroom sink and toilet tomorrow morning---implying that he was handy, responsible, and family-oriented. From our brief conversation, I gathered the impression that he was an overall unique, well-mannered, kind, and incredibly smart man.
It surprised me just how easy it was to talk to him. He knew enough about anything and everything to have a comment or add to whatever subject we landed on. He impressed me.
The rest of the night dragged on. Liam waved goodbye as the buzzed, grinning, entourage piled into the limo. As I watched him drive away, my insides flip-flopped against a hollow lining. I found out later that he pitched in for the limo even though he knew he wouldn't be riding it.
I sat through all the dancing, drinking, yelling, crowds, stink, and uncouth behavior. Somehow, we all made it back into the limo unscathed---where we discovered that Brian and Ava had their own "fun" on the large, buttery leather seats while the rest of us were in the club---and back to our apartment by two in the morning.
A few of the partygoers immediately passed out on the couch and living room floor; Brian and Ava wanted to drive themselves home so they could continue their little escapade---we should have insisted they stay until the morning but nobody had the energy to argue; I went back to my room to replay the better part of the night in my sleep.
Meeting Liam was so unexpected, so pleasant, and so surreal. It seemed like my company genuinely captivated him. No Soph, you were probably just imagining it. He was probably just trying to be nice, and was probably bored since Justin was there with his girlfriend and he didn't really know anyone else. But why me? I mused over that question until I drifted off to sleep.
A week passed and I nearly forgot about Liam; that is, until Tiff asked what I thought about him.
"Who? What?"
I was puzzled why she'd ask. She seemed so consumed in herself and her friends during the party I didn't think she noticed me at all.
"Liam. You know Justin's friend. The guy you were talking to at my party," she frowned, "well, that is until he left early. At least he had the decency to pay for his share."
"He pitched in? He didn't need to do that."
"Yah, I know. But I'm glad he did. Anyways, you're avoiding my question."
"Which is?"
"Soph," exasperated now, "what do you think about Liam?"
"Oh, I don't know." I could feel the heat rising in the back of my throat. Truthfully, I didn't know what I thought, so I tried to downplay my answer. "We only talked briefly at the party. There were so many people..."
Tiff wasn't following. "Yah, I know, wasn't the party awesome!"
Tiff started on a tangent, talking about how perfect her outfit was and all the compliments she received and how she made Ethan jealous, etcetera.
Nonchalantly, I stirred her back to her question about Liam, "So...why are you asking me about Liam?"
She stopped, perplexed for a second, and then realized why she came to talk to me in the first place. "Oh, because he asked about you."
Shock was clearly marked all over my face. "He asked about me?"
Tiff shrugged.
"What did he ask?"
"Just vague stuff like what you were like and if you had a nice time at the party...ya know, stuff like that. I told him you were on MySpace and that he could ask you these questions himself." She narrowed her eyes at me and then added, "Good thing I didn't give him your number. You're clearly not interested."
"Huh?" I was rapidly thinking about everything she just sprung at me. Not interested?
"I did think he was a little odd, he didn't even seem to notice me." She fumed, "He seemed to notice you though, but I guess he doesn't do it for you, huh? What's your type, anyways?"
Apparently, I masked my feelings like a champ. "Not sure...I don't really have a type...nothing concrete anyways." I never made a list like most girls did. I always thought it was pointless to write down every quality your perfect guy must possess. I felt it was limiting and somewhat degrading.
"Well, maybe you should think about it, and if he does contact you, maybe you should ask him out. You need to spread your wings a little and experiment."
Tiff had always been rousing me on this subject. She was dreadfully surprised when she learned of my lack of experience with men and everything that comes with it. She'd been trying to set me up with her friends for months now. I guess I could have told her she was wrong and I was interested, but I didn't really want her butting into my personal life. Especially when I didn't know for a fact that he was interested. Maybe he had questions about UCSD...no, he already went there a year before I did. Maybe...hmm...
As I turned on my laptop and waited for the login screen to appear, I removed my textbooks from my backpack to start reading the last section we covered in lecture. The slow hum in the background made my eyes droop like Pavlov's dog.
Once the computer was up and running, I opened my email. And there, in plain black and white, was a message forwarded by MySpace from Liam:
November 14, 2005 8:20 PM
Subject: Hello!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I was searching for "cool people" just now, and whaddya know...I found you! (hehe).
Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, and let you know that the holiday season is BAKING season, so get ready for some treats! ;)
Take Care,
Liam
My heart stopped and I held my breath. If I would have looked in the mirror, my face would probably have a wide, goofy smile planted on it with a hint of shock and confusion. Liam found me and messaged me. Wow. He said I am cool? I was never thought of as "cool" before. I quickly browsed to his page; curiosity led the way, and I scanned through it a few times.
In the blog section there was a short, poetic story about being sad. I'm pretty sure he wrote it, because I could hear his voice through the words. It hit me like a ton of bricks; his lyrical words made sense to me. It seemed like we shared the same insecurities. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. His words were so poetically written and the poem spoke to me, like he already knew me, my deepest insecurities, my soul. I could read his words forever...
When I'm Sad...
I am sad. I don't mean it in that transient way, like a child feels when he or she drops their ice cream cone; as the tide rolls in and out, ebb and flow---that would indicate the existence of a polar opposite---I am not sad in that sense. In fact, the current of my life is usually directed toward the Bright East, lilting in a swell of turquoise and gold, all enveloped by the first rays of the new rising sun. My life is happy; I am sad. Why, after all the gifts to be set at my feet, after all the smiles cast in my direction and tears shed for my well-being, all the time and effort and lessons learned and praise and encouragement would I feel so alone, so without an essential portion of my being? Why would I feel so hollow, so departed? What did I miss, what lesson went untaught; where did I find myself trailing behind the pack, straying a little off the beaten path to explore on a whim---an impulse of imaginative proportion---only to discover the giggles and shouts to have died in the distance, leaving me with only the remnants of a daydream slipping through my fingers in glowing trails and the fragmented ability to fear my loneliness?
Just a little boy, lost in the woods, finds himself enrapt with discovery and the beauty of newness, of neural impulses that could never be preconceived. What pleasure lies in discovery! Like a warm hug in a safe place, memories locked away in a secret box under the bed, these new sights bring a sense of mystery coupled with an awkward nostalgia---it is painful to think about these moments ever ending, while at the same time it is impossible to imagine never having experienced them.
As I wander further, I realize this is not my place...where is everybody? Panic sets in. I freeze. My heart, once so open, now slams shut so violently I begin to cry. I didn't even notice wading into the darkness, first creeping up around my ankles, then knees, now all the way over my head. I am drowning. How unobservant I have been; how lacking in foresight, and unable to perceive my mistakes. It is much too late to turn back. The giggles have faded, and there is no light to see. Now I must wait for tomorrow morning, when the sun will return and kiss my hollow vessel once more, pointing me eastward in a swell of gilded azure, my grief will be encased in bronze, burnished to preciousness, and I will hide it in a special place---with all the warm hugs, in a cedar chest yearning to be filled.
Without thinking, I added a comment and hit Send:
Reading this I feel like I totally understand how you feel. Sometimes I feel like I should be grateful for all that I've been blessed with and all the love and support that surround me, but something is missing that makes me feel...incomplete? Well hopefully you find whatever it is that you are looking for.
Take care,
Sophie
For a moment I regretted it. What if he thinks I'm stalking him? The comment implied that I read the blog and in turn, his private thoughts. No, I want him to know that his words touched me.
Since meeting Liam, I started thinking about relationships, especially after not being able to have a restful sleep when my roommate was banging her boyfriend right above me (I really needed to invest in some state-of-the-art surround sound entertainment speakers).
What is required and expected of oneself when one is in a relationship? My mom once told me of a lady who didn't get married until forty years old, just because she was afraid of dating and of what may come after. At the time, I didn't really think anything of it but now, never having a boyfriend or having been on a date, I wondered if I was that lady. I was afraid that I would always be alone---incomplete---and wouldn't find happiness until I was way past my prime. Will I have wrinkles and gray hair when I walk down the aisle? I shuddered at the thought.
What comes with having a boyfriend, anyway? Constantly thinking about them, worrying about them, loving them, unable to do anything without them...Would I get hurt? I guess not if I excelled at it...if I was better, perfect---lost some weight, became prettier somehow, increased my cooking skills, was entertaining and charming. The only thing I feared...oh...it would be dreadful if...I couldn't satisfy him...sexually. My cheeks reddened at the thought, the redness intensified as groans and shrieks crescendoed above me.
Would I have sex before marriage? I contemplated this question for years---hearing about all my friends', acquaintances', roommates' sex lives---and I firmly believed that I should wait. I waited this long. I will wait. This I was sure of. I was a romantic and sentimental at heart; hearing my mom's story of how my dad was her first and only, I developed a want for that too, to be able to only give that part of myself to my husband and no one else. He would be the only person to know everything about me. This would be my gift to my future husband, and I intended on keeping it.
A few days passed after posting the MySpace comment, with no word from Liam. I was getting nervous. What if he thinks I am a stalker, a freak? I relaxed when the unread message highlighted my Inbox---Liam sent me another message:
November 26, 2005 6:56 PM
Subject: Thank You!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I read your comment, thank you for your kindness :)
Time just FLEW by (you know, with Thanksgiving and all). Also, I've been in the mood to bake some banana bread...do you like banana bread? I'll bake extra for you if you do! Or we can bake some together, and I'll share my top-secret recipe with you (and I won't even have to kill you, consider yourself lucky). I have some good news as well...UCSD readmitted me! I'm back! I'll see you there Winter Quarter, I'm sure...we will need to hang out and "act cool" on campus.
-Liam
P.S. my number 619-352-5487, so you don't always have to use MySpace as a means of communication. Feel free to call anytime.
I froze. He gave me his number...voluntarily? After reading the message for the sixth time I realized I might be going on a potential date, I would be seeing him in school, he was grateful for my comment, he gave me his number, and he wanted to see me again.
Wow. I felt like I was on cloud nine. I contemplated calling him, but I didn't know what to say. I was getting antsy...I really wanted to hear his voice. I can't believe I am already smitten with this guy, a guy that I barely know.
Am I this easy? I had to be careful...I could get hurt...I couldn't lie to myself; I was already in it too deep. Would we go on a date? No, I couldn't. Finals were approaching and I had to focus on that. Breathe. My head was swimming with questions. Don't make it into a bigger deal than it is. Liam is probably just a nice guy who wants another friend.
I decided to be safe and message him back with my phone number:
November 26, 2005 7:44 PM
Subject: RE: Thank You!
Body:
Hi Liam,
Yea, I understand. Congrats on getting readmitted!
Finals is coming up so I've been cramming for that.
Banana bread is great, I would love to learn your top-secret recipe.
My number is 858-425-1256.
-Sophie
I rewrote this message so many times before I hit Send. I wonder if I should've said more. No, short and concise is better. Ugh, I'm so bad at this.
Walking out of my last final exam felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I didn't care that a few of the questions went over my head, or that I was sleep deprived and unsightly. At this moment I felt happy. I changed.
I felt like I finally learned this quarter, focused on my priorities. Overeating was still an issue at times, but I actually felt good about the way I looked and felt. I think I just needed to realize that I wasn't perfect and didn't need to be. As long as I was happy and content with myself, I would be fine. It was a mundane concept---one even a Kindergartener could have understood---but it took me twenty-one years to realize it.
My entire life, I tried to mold myself into the person I thought I should be---perfect daughter, perfect student, perfect person---and I lost my way in the process. I was overcome with depression, sullen and internally suffering from my own insecurities, my false perceptions of the world and of myself. I was my harshest and only critic and I was unable to cope with the fact I could never be perfect. What I believed to be perfect may not have been perfect after all.
I did not need to be the smartest person. I did not need to make exorbitant amounts of money. I did not need to be a social butterfly and be popular. I did not need to be model-thin or Jessica-Alba-beautiful. I did not need to be anything but me.
My definition of being perfect would be if I could be happy with what I have and what I have to offer, without having to change anything about me. At that moment I felt an overwhelming surge of energy, like I could run an entire marathon in one healthy breath. I realized that being unique makes someone special and interesting. No one can be perfect, nor can anyone be loved by all. The one goal I had for myself was to be HAPPY and healthy. I finally wanted to live in this world---not just exist in it.
December 12, 2005 9:29 PM
Subject: Yay! Finals Are Over!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
Take a deep breath (bring in the love, push out the jive), because finals are over! Hooray! I hope they went well for you, stressful as they may be.
I'll give you a call in the next couple of days, maybe we can get together this weekend.
Talk to you soon,
Liam
My heart fluttered again and my palms started to tingle. Why do his messages always get to me like this...make me feel anxious, but in a good way? He hasn't forgotten about me and he still wants to hang out? Now what does this mean? What should I do? Should I just wait for his call? I muddled through all my juvenile questions and decided it was best to wait. Just wait.
Wednesday came and went. So did Thursday. If he wasn't going to call, then what did his message mean? Does this mean he already had plans this weekend and just forgot...or maybe his "couple days" actually is code for "never in this lifetime"? Sigh, why am I getting worked up over this. Stupid. Wait. Is that my phone?
My heartbeat accelerated. I ran toward the plain, old-school ringtone, tripping over my feet as I went. It was Liam. I felt heat rush through my body. At that moment, the only thing running through my mind was that he called. Liam called.
Liam
"Hi," her quiet voice wavered as it warmed mine.
"Hi, Sophie? This is Liam."
"Hi, Liam."
I could feel the sweat rolling down my back and face, my heart beating fast.
"So...I was wondering if you had plans this weekend, or if you did, do you have anything going on later today?" Talking faster now, "Because, maybe we can meet up for coffee...or something." Geez, I couldn't be more of a rambling idiot.
"Um..."
Great. She's going to turn me down. Of course she probably has plans today or this week. Coffee? Idiot. She probably has lots of guys asking her out to fancy dinners or a movie or a picnic on the beach...
"I'm free later. Coffee sounds good."
Really? Excitement was building inside me. I can't believe she...Liam, focus. Think. Where's a place we can meet that's near her place?
I hadn't actually thought through my plan---although I'd been thinking about what to say for the past few days now; always picking up the phone but too nervous to dial the numbers, the numbers that now are forever engraved in my memory bank. I never dreamed she'd actually agree to go out with me.
"We can meet at the Coffee Bean up the street from where you live. Uh...let's say three-thirty?"
"Yea, I know where that is. Perfect. I'll see you there at three-thirty."
"Great. Bye."
"Bye."
Click.
I let out a slow, deep breath. Sophie said yes. She actually said yes. This went much better than I expected. I had psyched myself out, ready for rejection (or at least delay and hesitation). I was no longer sure why I waited so long to call. Oh yeah, Finals Week. I wanted her to be able to focus on her final exams---a convincing rationale to hide my sheer cowardice.
I was starting to forget what she looked like, but I hadn't forgotten how she made me feel. Ha. I can't believe I wasn't even gonna go to Tiff's party. Parties like Tiff's always made me feel uncomfortable and out of sorts, especially when attending sober. Sophie definitely made it worthwhile.
I made a mental note to thank Justin for urging me to go. He'd been trying to get me out of my funk (i.e., get me laid---to him, getting laid solved everything) for a while now...ever since that disastrous trip to TJ...ugh. Quickly I thought back to Sophie, letting the grizzly memory dissipate into the darkness.
Sophie was different. Her smile. Her smile lifted my spirits when she tasted my dark chocolate cream puff. I grinned. She didn't even touch the white chocolate ones. I'll have to make a mental note of that. She also seemed a bit shy and slightly uncomfortable that night. I noticed she stayed off to the side most of the time. She almost caught me staring at her...I hope she didn't notice.
Her almond shaped eyes, tinted in rich brown, unnerved me as they seemed to uncover all my hidden secrets. Her heart-shaped lips, high cheekbones, and short chin highlighted her femininity. Her midnight-black hair glistened against her golden complexion, and when she bent over to adjust the straps on her shoes I caught the gentle swell of her breasts. I was slightly ashamed that I even looked, but hell I'm a guy, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice. She's a knockout, that's for sure.
Excitement and nervous energy were building inside me as I got ready for the date.
"Dad, I'm heading out."
"Okay, Bud."
I could feel his questions mounting as he watched my erratic behavior over the past hour. At that moment, I was glad he was not one of those parents who nags and wheedles all the information out of you. I needed to stay calm, or at least create the illusion of calm.
Driving to the Coffee Bean, I stared at the dashboard clock nearly as much as the road ahead. I parked within site of the café, giving the dashboard one last glance before I killed the engine---it was 3:25 P.M. Good. It'll give me just enough time to get a table and collect my thoughts before she arrives. Walking in, my heart stopped; my hands turned ice cold. Sophie was already sitting at a side table, a coffee cup in her hand, lost in her thoughts.
She was early. She looked up, her eyes sparkled, there was a slight crinkle at the bridge of her nose, and her glossy lips slowly curved into a smile. She was beautiful.
"Hi, Sophie." I leaned over to give her a hug. I felt her slight hesitation before she responded back.
"Hi."
"You're already here."
"Yea, I decided to walk over since it was so close."
"You already got a drink?"
She nodded.
"Oh, I was going to buy you something...," I mumbled, trying to calm my nerves, "Um, let me get a drink and then we can hang out. Did you want anything else?"
"No, I'm good."
"Okay." I ordered a large house coffee and we went over to the side table.
A breeze kicked in as an old man strolled in, sporting a pale yellow polo shirt, matching trousers, and a bright teal fanny pack. Looking up, once I got over the startling sight of the fanny pack, I noticed an empty table right outside the door. "Maybe we should sit outside. It's such a nice day out."
"Sure."
There was slight chill in the air, but it was sunny and the crisp breeze felt refreshing. I thought I was about to suffocate inside.
Sophie had her eyes on her coffee as she sipped slowly, like she was calculating her sips---one sip, two sips, three sips---lost in thought. I wonder what she's thinking about? Hopefully she's not regretting coming. Maybe she's trying to think of an escape? I cleared my throat.
"So, how were finals?"
"Difficult...I'm just glad they're over."
"Well, I'm actually looking forward to finals."
Shock and curiosity filled her eyes. She cocked her head to the side. "Really?"
Horrified that I showcased my "nerdiness" too early, I backpedaled, scrambling to collect my thoughts. "Um, yeah. I mean, you know, after being out of the loop for a few years, it'll be nice to get back into the swing of things. I'm just glad to have a second chance."
She perked up, "Hmm. That's good." She seemed to be contemplating something. "You said you wanted to study...botany, right?"
Her recollection calmed me. My death grip loosened just in time, before the coffee cup surrendered to my nervous tension. She remembered.
"Yes, that's right. I've always been fascinated with plants, especially bonsai. There's just something peaceful about them, like you're meditating while pruning and shaping them. But honestly, I pretty much just picked it out of a hat."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I was tired of being unsure. My first time around, I started with a math major and then I changed to engineering, and then pre-med, and then econ...I was getting nowhere, so I dropped out. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have done that...but I was kind of lost."
"I understand." She sounded sincere. "At least now you seem pretty confident about what you want to pursue and if you're interested, you'll probably do really well."
"I hope so." I didn't really want to talk about my delay in education, but she seemed to be taking it in stride. Or she's just trying to be nice. Either way, it was pleasing just to hear her soft voice.
"So, do you have any sisters or brothers?"
"No, I'm an only child. You?"
"I have an older sister, Emily."
"What's she like?"
I hesitated. "Well, she's outgoing, stubborn, and loves life. She's traveling with her boyfriend, Dan."
Sophie caught the hitch in my voice when I mentioned Dan. "And you don't like him."
"No, I don't. He's not good for her. He convinced her to run away with him after my parents split, when she was still just seventeen."
"Oh. That must be hard on your parents."
I shrugged. "I guess. I haven't really seen my mom since the divorce, either. Emily and Mom are similar. They ran away from all the stress and tension and went to go 'find themselves.'"
"What about your dad?"
"I'm like him. We're introverted. He keeps to himself mostly. I feel bad for him. Everything was taken away from him...anyways, I live with him now to save money."
She nodded, taking another careful sip of her coffee.
I wonder how much I should say. I probably told her way too much already. I sure hope this doesn't scare her off. There was something about her that made me want to spill my entire life story.
"How is it, living with your dad?"
"It's good. We have more of a friendship relationship than a true Father-and-Son relationship. He pretty much leaves me alone and I go and come as I please."
"Oh." She contemplated this. "That's kind of good I guess. I would probably live with my parents, too, if I lived so close to school. But that would be hard. My parents would worry about me if I was out too late or something."
"That's nice. Sometimes I wish I had that."
"Yea, sometimes," she mused. "They really are wonderful." Her face shined when she mentioned her parents, and then she smiled. This smile was different from the rest; it was natural, full of overwhelming love and happiness. Her shimmering eyes met mine, and at that moment, I fell in love. I couldn't believe it. What I felt at that moment took me by surprise. Could I love someone this soon? I didn't even know her.
The rest of the afternoon passed by, filled with the same ease of conversation. I asked questions and she answered them. She asked questions, and then I answered. We talked for hours. We probably could've talked forever if it weren't for the biting cold. It was almost eight o'clock by the time the conversation subsided; we sat quietly, smiling at each other. The sun had already set a couple hours ago, and the breeze intensified. I noticed her shiver at the larger gusts, but I didn't want this day to end. I was feeling selfish and I had pressed on until it was simply too cold to continue. She never said a word about the temperature.
"Do you want a ride back to your place?"
She hesitated, "Um, yea, that'll be great. Thanks."
I led her to my Volvo and was relieved that I had the foresight to clean it out. When I opened her door, she seemed genuinely surprised. I started the car, cranked up the heater as it idled, and pulled away from the parking lot. Dusty-smelling warmth began to seep out of the vents, soaking into our chilled bodies in calming waves.
I wished the drive was longer, but I started to get nervous again. Should I kiss her good night? I glanced at her. Sophie was sitting quietly, looking straight ahead, her small, soft hands resting on her lap. No, not tonight.
I walked her to the front door and we hugged goodbye. A part of me wished she would invite me in. It was only eight o'clock on a Friday night. We could have talked more, or listened to music or something. All I know at this moment is I do love her, and I will do anything she wants or needs me to do so I can be a part of her life...even if she just wants to be friends.
I paced back and forth across my room. When that didn't help, I landed face-up on my bed and tossed a baseball toward the ceiling. I focused on the ball, trying to throw it up to the same yellow speck on the ceiling (never try juggling Hi-Liter markers without making sure the caps are on tight). I was stalling. I wanted to call Sophie right when I got home, but I didn't want to seem creepy. So I bided my time.
I actually asked Justin for his opinion. He was thrilled when I told him that I liked Sophie. He also told me that I should wait a few days before calling her---probably something he picked up on an episode of The Simpsons or found in one of those dating for dummies handbooks. Play it cool. At the time I thought he was right, but it just wasn't me. So, I called.
"Sophie? Hey. It's Liam."
"Hi, Liam." Surprise and enthusiasm infused her voice.
"I just wanted to call and let you know I had a great time yesterday."
"Me, too. I can't believe we talked for that long," she giggled.
"Yeah, I know," I didn't giggle; I was too nervous to giggle. "Um, I was also calling because there is this White Elephant Christmas Party this coming Thursday. My friend, Justin and his girlfriend, Rachel are throwing one this year and I was wondering if you wanted to come."
"Oh," she hesitated, "sure...but...what is a White Elephant Party?"
"It's where you bring a wrapped gift, something stupid or off-the-wall funny, and there's a game out of it. It should be fun."
"Oh, okay."
I cleared my throat. "And it'll probably be better if I drive you there, because there isn't much parking over at their place."
"Sure. I can drive over to your place if you want, and we can go from there."
"That works. I'll message you all the info later today."
"Okay. Sounds good."
Today was the big event. I was going to see Sophie and I was hoping for a kiss this time. I'd been thinking about kissing her since I dropped her off the other night.
I woke up before my alarm rang. The sun hadn't even poked through my window yet. I decided to run off my nervous energy before I got ready for the evening.
The run was just what I needed. The air was brisk and cold. My body lurched forward in response and I pumped my arms and legs as hard as I could. I brushed past the bare trees and soaked in the biting, cold air. I greeted the passersby with a friendly "Hello," noting how many people actually acknowledged me and reciprocated...an astounding one out of five. (What's wrong with the world these days? Where is the hospitality and good-natured warmth of human interaction?)
Two hours later, I submitted to the soreness of my legs and aches from the arches of my feet, retreating back to the house. I resigned myself to living with the nervous energy that remained.
The rich aroma of coffee beans and vanilla flooded my nostrils and the crackling of turkey bacon tickled my ears.
"Hey, Bud. Want breakfast?"
My stomach growled in response. "Definitely."
The benefits of living without women---I could be dripping with sweat, covered in a thick aroma of sour gym socks, and wouldn't have to wash up and change my clothes before plopping down at the table to eat.
Dad poured me a mug of hot coffee, dished some eggs and bacon, with a side of toast and orange marmalade and placed all the deliciousness on the table while I washed my hands. Can't be too careful of those pesky germs.
"Thanks, Dad."
"Sure. Hey, Bud---"
He hesitated, choosing to go for a slow sip of coffee instead of finishing his sentence. I felt Dad eyeing me curiously. I knew he'd been worried about me for the past few days...well, technically years, but he never talked to me about it. I was startled when he actually continued.
"What have you been up to recently?"
"Uh. What do you mean?"
"Well, you seem...different lately...good different...and I just wanted to know the reason. Did you meet someone?" He bit hard into a piece of marmalade-slathered toast.
Wow, he was more perceptive than I gave him credit for.
"Actually, I think so. Her name is Sophie. Hey, I'm taking her to Justin's Christmas party tonight---if you're home, you'll probably get to meet her. She'll be over around five-thirty to meet up."
"Okay. That's great, Bud." Worry still marked his voice. It didn't surprise me that he was concerned or hesitant. Dad did not have much luck in this department. He pretty much blamed women for his current, Eeyore-like state.
Wiping.Sweeping. Laundry. Dishes. Scrubbing. I spent the rest of the day getting ready for Sophie. I heard Dad's quiet laughter as he, not so discreetly, observed from his recliner. He decided to go to the market to give me some space.
Satisfied with my cleaning job, I returned to the kitchen and started preparing the banana bread. I recalled mentioning to Sophie that I was going to bake her some of my "special" banana bread. Really, it wasn't that special, but I thought it tasted good and I was trying to perfect the recipe---any excuse to make another trial batch was a good one in my book. I slid the two pans into the oven, cleaned the kitchen a second time (Should have waited, I thought to myself), showered, shaved, dressed, and moved to the living room to try and relax.
Instead of relaxing, I flitted around the room, adjusting the angles of things, picking small pieces of lint from the furniture, and reevaluating the décor. I lit a pumpkin spice candle. Then I started the fireplace. Dad had already decorated the living room for Christmas; a lighted mini-tree brightened the corner table, and a fragrant wreath of freshly-cut greens, tied with a red velvet bow, hung over the fireplace. I decided the room looked cozy enough.
I heard a car crunching up the gravel driveway. Glancing at the clock, it read 5:20 P.M. I smiled. Always a little early.
I waved to Sophie as I guided her to a spot where she could park her silver Civic. When she stepped out, my breath caught in my throat. Her striking beauty, making me numb, making me lost for words.
"Hi."
"Hi, Liam."
Dad was out in the garage. I brought her over to see him.
"Dad, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is my dad, Jack."
"Hi, Sophie. It's nice to meet you."
"Yes, it's nice to meet you, too." Relief set in when I caught the approving glint in his eye. It surprised me how much his approval affected me.
"Please, come in." I led her through the kitchen door. Perfect. The sweet aroma of banana bread filled the kitchen. The warmth surrounding us now, calming my nerves. I carefully watched her as she slowly, cautiously, glided through the kitchen to the living room; her movements were as graceful as a ballerina. Her eyes seemed to catch everything, take it all in, like she was a detective searching for clues to crack an open case. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I let out a harsh exhale. She jumped, turned, and smiled. I had a strong urge to take her to the couch, wrap her in my arms and hold her. Of course, I didn't...that would be like committing suicide. Instead, I headed toward my guitar and started mindlessly tuning it.
"Would you like to hear a song?"
Her eyes brightened, "Sure."
She sat back on the couch and eagerly watched as I showed her another piece of myself. I played her James Taylor's, You've Got a Friend, since I was sure I could play that piece flawlessly.
"Just so you're forewarned...I don't have the best singing voice."
She nodded.
As I played, I took quick glances her way---I didn't want to distract myself too much and mess up, of course. I noticed recognition in her eyes as I played. She perked up and held a soft smile, her eyes never straying from me, mouthing the words in a silent duet. Happiness and confidence flowed through me.
Sophie's smile widened as she clapped.
"Wow. You were so good!"
"Thanks." I felt a little smug, but also a little sheepish.
"You know, that's my dad's favorite song."
"Really?" Now I recognized meaning behind her smile. It was the same one she had the other day when she mentioned her family. It was filled with love.
Buzzzzzzz. The oven prevented any encores.
"The banana bread must be ready. Just give me a minute." I jumped up to check on the bread, hardily noticing her quiet footsteps behind me.
"Mmm, that looks delicious."
"It came out perfectly. I decided to bake a loaf to bring to the party tonight. I made the second for my dad. It'll make him happy. He has cravings for banana bread during this time of the year. You can take some home, if you'd like."
Sophie nodded silently, smiling.
I smiled. She's so cute.
When we arrived, everyone was already there: Tiffany and Ethan, Brian and Ava, Justin and Rachel. I hesitated, stealing a quick look at Sophie. I was sure she'd figure out this was an intimate party of couples. I hoped she didn't feel uncomfortable. Who am I kidding, of course she feels awkward. She's not brainless like some women I know. Thankfully, falling right into her hostess role, Rachel came over to break the ice and ask Sophie if she wanted anything to drink.
"What do you have?" Sophie asked softly, almost inaudibly. Yep, she's nervous.
"Well, I could make you a mixed drink." She noticed Sophie's slight cringe. Rachel quickly continued, "We also have wine, Diet Coke, Sprite, orange juice, or water."
"Diet Coke, please."
"Coming right up."
The night seemed to be going better than I expected. Everyone seemed to try their best to make Sophie feel comfortable and included. They also didn't make any snide remarks or underlying punches and jokes, which was a typical pastime among this group.
There were moments when I held my breath: when the fart jokes started up, when Justin stood on the table and reached for his belt (thankfully aborting the idea of casting a full, hairy moon on the party), and a few choice times when the f-bombs flowed like wine.
We ate pizza, drank, and laughed. Sophie seemed more relaxed, and easily fit right in. But then the White Elephant game started.
The first gag gift was a candy thong. Ethan tried it on over his trousers, and everyone laughed at the horror of it. Brian stole it, tried to be funny by taking a bite out of it, but it just made our stomachs churn. Ethan's next gift was a book, 100 Ways to Please Your Partner. Tiffany opened a board game...that you have to play in bed (everyone wanted that one). See the trend?
Sophie tensed up and her back straightened. She was definitely uncomfortable and I was stressed; my stomach tied in knots. She was smiling, but her eyes showed fear. It was her turn. Her gentle hands roamed over the gifts. She hesitated and opened one. She let out a tiny gasp and then a nervous giggle when she showed her gift. It was a love potion kit.
"I wonder who you're going to use it on, wink-wink," Tiffany butted in.
Sophie stifled a nervous giggle and I glared at Tiffany. She seemed dumbfounded by my disapproval. She was definitely one of those brainless blondes.
The game went around a few more times. I got a foot scrubber and bubble bath kit. I felt Sophie sink in her chair. My smile widened. Sophie must have brought this one. Her innocence was refreshing.
We got back around midnight. One light was on in the house. Dad must've left it on for us. Walking Sophie to her car, I noticed my pulse race; my hands were shaking. I quickly jammed them into my pockets before she noticed. I shuddered. Luckily, it was chilly tonight. As we walked, it seemed like we were knee deep in sand. Neither one of us said anything. My mind went blank. I have to say something. I cleared my throat.
"Um...I like your...style." Fuck! What was that? I felt like punching myself.
"Uh...thanks?"
There was silence again. I wasn't about to say something stupid...again. We finally got to her car. I can do this. I can do this. Just lean in and kiss her. Come on, be a man. I leaned in, hesitated, and then she turned slightly and...hugged me.
"Good night. It was fun."
"Um, yeah...fun. Night."
She got quickly into her car and left. I just stood there, dumbstruck. What in the hell just happened? I panicked. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and started texting:
I was going to kiss you tonight.
Somehow, I walked back inside, went straight to my room, and landed on my bedspread without even bothering to take off my shoes. I stared up at the wall, fully dressed, and cried. Hot, salty tears burned my face. My body curled into the fetal position. I was horror-stricken. I felt crippled. Hurt. Anxious. I was drowning in...feelings. I was crushed. That was pathetic. I am not a man, just a little boy. She must be so weirded out, so turned off. Have I just lost her?
~ Sophie ~
Exhausted, I walked into my room and got ready for bed. That was weird. I wonder if...NO. No, he was just giving me a hug goodbye. I shook the ridiculous thought away and finished washing my face and brushing my teeth. I turned off the light and grabbed my phone to set the alarm when I saw the text message:
I was going to kiss you tonight.
My mind went numb. I started shaking; heat crept up inside me and I pushed it down. I needed to think. How do I feel---good...excited...numb...? Yes, numb. Is that weird? How should I feel? Is this real? I mulled it over in my head. He---was---going---to---kiss---me.
If I hadn't made that quick move and hugged him first...I could've had my first kiss...Isn't it too early? Sigh, I don't know...I don't know. Why now? Why like this? Why can't it be a little easier? I shut down. I decided not to text him back, to wait until I knew exactly what to say.
Once I was able to feel my pulse slowing, I finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I decided to send him a quick message. I wanted to make sure I said everything I needed to without being distracted by his soft eyes or kind voice. I wanted to be coherent, not flustered, so I did the cowardly thing and messaged him:
December 23, 2005 8:22 AM
Subject: Text...
Body:
Hi Liam,
I got your text msg. I'm not quite sure how to respond to that but here it goes...
I didn't really know that you were try'n to kiss me...so...sorry?
Hahauhh yea...
I'm not quite sure exactly how I feel about you...I mean I like you and it's great spending time with you, but I'm just not used to all of this..."all of this" in terms of "seeing/dating" someone...sooo...
I'm kind of stuck with this explanation right now and I'll continue later, but I just wanted to say something about it right now.
-Sophie
I felt a little more relaxed after I sent it. I hoped it might give me some time to process my thoughts and figure out where I stood. I was more in shock at that moment than anything else. I just couldn't believe someone liked me enough that he wanted to kiss me.
Since I waited so long for this moment, I had to be sure he was the one I wanted to give that first kiss to. Was I being rational? Picky? Cowardly? I settled on picky. Yes, picky is a good thing when it comes to this stuff.
Only thirty minutes passed when Liam sent a response message. Wow. That was fast. His words surprised me:
December 23, 2005 8:52 AM
Subject: RE: Text...
Body:
Sophie,
I'm really sorry...I hope I haven't offended you. I shouldn't have sent that text message, but I was all nervous. I mean, I was wishing I would have kissed you, and then I chickened out, and I just felt really weird and awkward afterward. And that party already had me feeling anxious because I was trying to participate but all that stuff just makes me hyperventilate. Gosh, I'm SO bad at this stuff. Like when I said "I like your style," what I meant was to say that I like YOU. Nothing ever comes out right with me. By sending that message I just made things worse...please don't feel bad! I'm an IDIOT...Look, we don't really know much about each other's "dating" experience, but I can assure you I am much more afraid of it than you are. I like you, Sophie, and would like to spend more time with you (no pressure, or "dating" or "seeing")...let's just get comfortable with each other! I have no time table, no expectations, I'm just a real moron. I understand if you'd rather not see me anymore, though, because man am I lame. SO lame.
I hope you have a great weekend, and hopefully we can talk when you get back. Sophie, however it works out, I'm glad I met you.
Liam
Humble. Honest. Pure. Pain. Liam's words stung me. He sounded hurt and guilty. I didn't realize how much he liked me. I didn't think it was possible. What have I gotten myself into? No matter what, I liked Liam and I knew he was a very sweet and humble guy. Much too humble.
I decided to message him again so he would know that I was really fine, and he shouldn't think twice about it. I didn't want him to have the wrong idea:
December 23, 2005 9:17 AM
Subject: RE: RE: Text...
Body:
Hey Liam,
Don't worry about it. No, you didn't offend me nor should u feel bad, nervous, etc.
We'll just hang out sometime after Christmas?
Merry Christmas!
-Sophie
I hoped my message came across as chipper and carefree. Waiting by the computer, I received a response an hour later:
December 23, 2005 10:53 AM
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Text...
Body:
Hi Sophie,
Thank you for being okay with everything...I'd love to hang out with you sometime after Christmas.
Merry Christmas to you, too!
Liam
That sounds better. With that taken care of, I felt a little relieved and...hopeful? Ugh...what's wrong with me? Isn't this what I have been waiting for? Dreaming about? Liam was cute, smart, and sweet. He already opened my car door, baked for me, and serenaded me. Shouldn't I be jumping for joy? Screaming, YES, at the top of my lungs? I was confused; why am I feeling so...numb?
Christmas Day should be filled with happiness and joy, love and laughter. But all I could do was think about Liam and that text message.
"Sophie. Sophie?"
"Huh? Oh. What?"
"Where did you go?" My mom was waiting for me to pass her the kimchi.
"I was just thinking about my grades," I lied.
"Okay."
I couldn't follow anything my family was talking about during dinner. I poked at my food, which never happens, and I mostly just stared off into space. We opened presents and then I quickly excused myself to my room.
Knock. Knock.
"Sophie, can I come in?"
Sigh, I just want to be by myself right now. "Sure."
My mom sat down at the edge of my bed. "So, what's going on? You've been in your own world lately. You've been brooding."
"No, I haven't."
"Yes you have. Just talk to me."
I hesitated, "Well, there's this guy." I paused.
She looked pleasantly shocked but she let me continue.
"He's white, a year older than me, he took a few years off from school to figure out what he wanted but he's going back to UCSD to study botany, he bakes, plays the guitar, and he's really smart and kind. We went out on a date...well I guess two, nothing serious. But, I think he likes me and I...well, I'm not sure what to do."
"How do you feel about him?"
"That's the problem. I'm not sure."
"Well...you obviously like him. I think you're just overthinking it and being your careful, calculated self."
"I guess." Fidgeting with my pillow. I hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay that he's not Korean?" I hadn't thought about this until now, but I always thought I'd be with a Korean guy and I was sure my mom hoped I'd be with one, too.
My mom pondered that question for a moment and then replied, "Well, I prefer if you were with a Korean guy just because I would be more comfortable. But as long as he's a decent guy and treats you well, I'll be fine with whomever you date." She paused, before exclaiming, "Wow, I can't believe you're all grown up." She was gushing...typical.
She was actually happy about this. It made me feel better. In a way, I was worried about what she might think. Her opinion mattered more than I cared to let on.
"Okay."
"So, why do you think he likes you?"
"What?" I was shocked and slightly angry. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Just curious."
"Uhhh...I don't know."
Feeling my angst, my mom abruptly stood up, "Okay. Well, I'll leave you alone. Let me know if you ever need to talk."
What the hell was that? Isn't my mom supposed to think every guy should find me attractive? I tried chalking it up to her slight English barrier---sometimes her Konglish missed the mark---but it still made me feel distraught. I pondered this until my phone rang. It was Liam.
"Hi, Liam." I was thrilled that he called, which I should have seen as a telltale sign that I liked him.
"Hi, Sophie.Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
"How's your family?"
"They're good."
"Good. So, when are you coming back?"
"I'll be back on the 29th."
"Cool." There was a long pause. "So, I was wondering if you'd like to hang out with me on the 30th."
"Sure."
"Great," his voice lifted, and there was relief in his tone. "Do you have anything in mind, or do you want me to think of something?"
"You could surprise me."
Hearing his voice made me happy. I realized I had been wishing Liam would call the entire day; now that he had, I felt revived somehow. That was my answer. I was just so nervous. Why am I over thinking this? I'd wanted this for so long and now that it was finally within my reach, I was letting it slip away. No. I needed to just relax and let whatever was going to happen, happen. See where it took me. Yes, just let it happen, I thought, unconvincingly.
Butterflies were filling my tummy as I sat, patiently waiting for Liam to pick me up for our third "official" date. He told me to dress comfortably and wear some walking shoes, so after much thought, and a few selections later, I settled on a purple fitted shirt, jeans, and sweater. I carefully did my makeup and curled my hair, and had been ready for an hour now. Sigh. I'm always so early.
I tried pacing in my room, and when that didn't help I distracted myself by watching some mindless show on TV. Each time I heard a car drive by or someone cough, laugh, or speak from the other side of our paper-thin apartment walls, I would jump and think it was Liam. By the time the doorbell rang, I was exhausted.
Throngs of nervous butterflies now fluttered in my stomach, and my throat felt dry and lumpy. Worry drained from my body once I opened the door. There Liam stood; he sure was handsome. I felt a twinge of insecurity when I looked at him. My mom's words stirred in my head, "Why does he like you?" His words seemed so sincere, his look was honest and sweet, but he seemed a little too perfect...too ideal. His smile provided some comfort, and when we hugged hello it just felt right.
"You look nice."
"Thanks, so do you."
I couldn't help but look at him. He was dressed casually enough with a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops, but I was drawn to his face. He was clean shaven---a hint of aftershave wafted into my senses when I leaned in to hug him---his soft brown eyes showing glints of gold, and his full lips spreading into a cheerful smile across his youthful and vibrant face. He smelled clean, not like those guys doused in cheap cologne, but like Dove soap. I couldn't help but smile in response to his.
"So, where are you taking me?" I questioned teasingly.
"I was thinking about taking a walk at the beach, along Sunset Cliffs," Liam said as he fiddled with the CD player in his car.
"Hmm, I've never been." I was excited and a bit nervous. Aren't beaches a bit romantic?
"Really? Well then you're in for a treat. It's nice over there. I just thought it'd be a nice change of venue." Liam sure was chipper today. I'm glad he seemed to have gotten over the text message incident. I was hoping it would be dust under the rug and not mentioned ever again.
I felt myself analyze the words that Liam used, the subjects he talked about, what piqued his interest, and what didn't. I quickly realized that everything interested him---plants, languages, working on houses, having a family. I had never been much of a talker, so it was refreshing that he was able to fill the silence with ease and comfort. I started to become in awe of him. Liam is the most fascinating person I have ever met and I'm pretty sure I'll never meet anyone more intriguing.
Sunset Cliffs was a bit cold, but the atmosphere was calming and peaceful. The soft ripples of the waves crashing against the smooth light sand, the seagulls gliding effortlessly above, and the feeling this entire set was intended just for us.
We walked slowly and carefully around the large, rough rocks and the small, unhinged ones, stopping every so often so I would be only one step behind. Liam was careful and considerate. He always took the first step when the rock seemed unstable, and would offer his hand to help me over. I felt safe and protected.
Liam started limping slightly as the incline became more apparent, wincing every so often.
"Are you okay?" I was genuinely worried.
Sheepishly he replied, "Yeah, don't worry about it. I kind of overexerted myself at the gym yesterday. I added a few too many 45-pound plates on the Smith machine and did a few too many squats."
"Oh, okay." I was relieved he wasn't hurt...I was starting to care about him.
Liam must have noticed that I was cold. "Are you ready for dinner?"
"Yes." Actually, I'd been hungry for a while now. But, I just nodded and smiled.
He drove us to a quant, historic village near downtown. I'd never been there before. I was astounded by all the new activities and places Liam showed me in this short amount of time.
"Wow. This place is really cool."
"You look surprised. Don't tell me you've never been to Old Town!" Liam definitely was shocked.
"I think it's starting to become a trend. You taking me to places that I've never been to."
"But, Old Town...everyone's been to Old Town. It's one of San Diego's great historic places to visit."
"Sorry."
"Well I'm honored to be the person to take you here," he said proudly.
We stepped into Café Cristobal, a vibrant and lively Mexican restaurant---the complete opposite of the beach.
The menu was overwhelming, especially with this being my first real date; I was unsure of everything. The waiter swooped in way too soon.
"Buenasnoches, what will you have, señores?" His large sombrero, thick mustache, and gold-embroidered matador's outfit made him appear jovial on the surface, but his dark, expressionless eyes and pursed, downturned lips belied the Disney facade. I didn't mind; I chose to take this experience at face value.
I hesitated as I hastily scanned the menu, "Umm, what are you getting?"
"Well, I always get the black bean burrito, but you should try whatever sounds good to you." Liam urged me to get anything I wanted, but I seriously had no idea.
"That sounds good. I'll have the same."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I want the black bean burrito, too." I spotted the burrito just then on the menu and it was $8.99. Perfect. I didn't want to spend too much money on dinner.
"Okay, that's easy." He turned to the waiter. "We'll have two black bean burritos and...what would you like to drink? Did you want a margarita or something other than water?"
"I'll have a Diet Coke."
"Okay," Liam turned to the matador-waiter, "and I'll have an iced tea."
We handed off our menus to the slightly disgruntled waiter and we started chatting again about whatever came to mind. There were musicians coming around all the tables taking song requests, old women trying to hand long-stem roses to girls while asking suckers to buy them---a perfect scheme---and people laughing a little too loudly because of the grande margaritas kicking inside them. The mood was infectious and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
"I really like this place," I said, an octave higher.
"I'm glad. It's one of my favorite hangouts."
The food was delicious and filling. I probably could have finished the entire plate but I stopped myself at half, especially since he didn't seem like he would be able to eat more than that himself. I didn't want to frighten or disgust him.
"The portions here are large."
"Yea," I responded, resisting the urge to sneak in another bite.
When the check came, Liam grabbed it before I even had a chance to blink. He took out his card and placed it in the folder...it was like he was trying to win a race. I chuckled.
"Are you sure?"
He grinned, "Of course. It's my treat."
"Thank you."
"Thank you for coming on a date with me."
On the way home our conversation faltered slightly. I wasn't sure what was on his mind, but mine was on what was coming up. Anxiety crept upon me. My hands fumbled beside me, so I clasped them on my lap. As he pulled up my driveway and set the car in park, Liam took a deep breath, his eyes looking forward---over the dull lawn and few scrappy plants that were reduced to black and gray smudges by the night sky---intent on his thoughts and committed to sharing them with me. I'd been starting to notice that he was an open book.
He suddenly turned, eyes fixed sincerely on mine. In a quiet and calm voice he mustered up the words, drawing them out as fast as he could deliver them, "I wanted to talk about the 'text message' debacle-kiss-thing again and let you understand my reasons and why I'm so bad at all this 'dating' and 'seeing' stuff."
"No, really. It's okay," I cringed. My heart raced and suddenly I felt nervous, not for me but for him. I realized he was still hurt by how I took the message, his heartfelt words and his bold feelings. He sure wears his heart on his sleeve.
"No, I need you to understand."
"Okay," I whispered.
"Well, like I said in the message, I don't have much experience in the area and I know you're probably expecting more from me or something different, maybe even better, but I've only had a total of...maybe five girlfriends...if you could call them that, but only one serious relationship that ended badly about 2 to 3 years ago."
Liam paused then, his eyes showing pain and anguish, and I knew he would never explain in detail what happened in that relationship; I promised myself that I would never press him for more than he was willing to share.
He shook it off and continued, "But that was when I was working forty-plus hours a week at this software company and failing school, which caused me to drop out and rethink everything. I wasn't at a good place to be in a relationship then, but at this point in my life...a relationship would be nice." He flashed a sheepish grin, briefly, as a reflex to the discomfort.
"I don't think you understand where I'm coming from." I glanced at him before I went on---his eyes quizzical---he didn't expect this turn of conversation. "You just said you had some experience, but I don't have any."
"What do you mean?"
"I've never been on a date; well, not until you, but never before. Not in elementary, middle, or high school. Not at UCSD. Not ever until you asked me."
Shock filled his eyes as he processed what I just told him. "Never? How?"
"Well, nobody ever asked me out. I mean, I went to dances and school events, but always in a group and never more than friends."
His lips curved into a large smile and he let out a large gasp. "So, I'm the first guy who ever asked you out? Wow...well, now that makes sense...I just thought...no, assumed that...well, look at you." I blushed and he went on guiltily, "Sorry, I just assumed you had more experience than me so that's why I tried rushing...the kiss...now I really feel like an idiot."
"No, don't. It's fine."
"This changes things. Don't worry, I won't rush anything on you. We'll just take things slow."
"That sounds perfect. Thank you."
"No, thank you."
He hugged me good night and waved goodbye as he waited for me to get safely inside. I felt comforted by the fact that he seemed to accept my non-experience with happiness and understanding rather than uncertainty and judgment.
I didn't get my kiss tonight, but I felt relieved. I'm clearly not ready yet. "We'll take things slow," he said. Yes, we'll take things slow.
I went to visit my parents for New Year's, as I do every year, but all I could do was think about Liam and our last conversation. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when I thought about his one serious girlfriend. I wondered who she was, what she looked like, how far their relationship got before it turned ugly, who was at fault...
I also felt comforted knowing that he had at least one serious girlfriend. I was glad he probably---no, most certainly---lost his virginity. Probably to her. He didn't seem like the guy to have one night stands and flings; he didn't seem like any guy I had ever known. I needed to know that I would be in good hands. I needed to know he had been through more, experienced more, so he could guide me and take the lead. I wanted my first experience to be a good one.
When the clock struck midnight---watching the ball drop on Dick Clark's iconic countdown to the New Year---cheers and champagne glasses lifted and kisses were passed around, but all I could think about was Liam. What is he doing at this moment? Who is he with? Is he thinking about me? I missed his glimmering eyes that pierced through me, leaving my heart unlocked and vulnerable. His senses seemed to be highly in tune with mine, and that rattled me.
Debating briefly, I grabbed my cell and texted him:
Happy New Years!
I missed him and at that moment---when he didn't return my text---I wondered if I was starting to fall harder for him than he was for me. My actions and my emotions seemed to be like oil and water, and it left me feeling confused.
If I committed myself to him, what if it didn't work out? Would I get hurt in the end, or would he? No, I can't worry about that right now...I have to take things slow and see. But I'm worried it's too late. The countdown had already commenced. It seemed inevitable that I would deeply fall for him.
When I returned to my apartment in San Diego, I was happily surprised to find a message in my Inbox:
January 3, 2006 8:31 PM
Subject: Happy New Year!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I was so surprised and happy to get your text message today...my phone is apparently malfunctioning! Thank you for thinking of me when the clock struck 12, I was thinking of you, too! :)
We should get together this week, because school is nearly upon us. As of now it looks like Thursday is open, and Friday afternoon/evening, and the weekend is good, too. I'll just call you tomorrow, so we can talk about it then.
I'll talk to you soon,
Liam
I couldn't help wondering if his phone really did malfunction or if he decided he no longer liked me. Then why did he want to make plans to see me again? He did say he was thinking about me. Ugh. What is wrong with me? I'm definitely getting too attached.
"Here's a nice place to sit and wait."
Liam led me to a quiet corner next to the Landmark Theater in Hillcrest. We sat off to the side, at a quaint little iron table, chatting idly, watching passersby and the people working out inside the glass-front gym a few yards away. The night was still, with a cold breeze that occasionally interrupted our warm thoughts.
Liam pointed toward the gym. "Do you see that guy on the stair stepper?"
I followed his gaze and nodded. He was a husky guy, tanned, stiff with hulking muscles. He looked as wide as he was tall. "What do you think his story is?"
Liam's eyes lit up and filled with childish laughter, "Mach naime est Sven," speaking now in a horrible German-Russian hybrid accent, "ach need to paump, paump, to get beeg and strawng so Ach ken go bach end mek pessionete luff to mach luffer."
I grinned, "Do you think his lover is a woman or a man?"
"Probably a man, you know, considering." Liam was referring to the town's colorful finesse and charm.
"Ahhh." I nodded in agreement. "He probably had a lover's spat and is working off his steam on the stair stepper."
"You're probably right." We started laughing uncontrollably. We were having so much fun we almost forgot about the movie. He glanced toward the theater and noticed the line starting to form. "Oh, we better get moving or else we won't get good seats."
Inside, the theater was small but fitting. We sat near the back of the theater since the middle was already filled with older couples. This crowd was different than what I was used to---mostly people in their forties and up, people came alone, as couples---same sex and opposite---as families, and then there was us. We had to be the youngest couple in the room.
All the critical acclaim for Brokeback Mountain was valid. As I watched the tragic love story unfold between two cowboys, I laughed, cried, and sat in awe. Midway through the movie I noticed Liam fidgeting in his seat, his hands shaking, flexing, gripping, placed on his lap, then back to the armrest. His hands were constantly moving. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, like the movie held no interest.
Laughing so hard, my right hand instinctively moved to cover my mouth. At that moment I noticed Liam's left hand move toward me---the hand halted in midair, then retracted back to his lap. Liam mumbled something unintelligible.
"Did you say something?"
"No, never mind." He looked nervous and sat awkwardly. I didn't want to be rude so I didn't ask.
My attention went back to the screen and another funny comment was made. I laughed, again, covering my right hand over my mouth. Liam's hand moved again in conjunction with mine but this time his right hand reached across and grabbed my free hand...my left one, awkwardly. His cold and clammy hand stayed were it landed, unable to let go as if it were suddenly held in place by some powerful force.
We continued to sit there, not moving, uncomfortable, but happy. I was thrilled. Liam started to relax, his mood lightened, and I realized that this was his mission from the start. His thumb started massaging my palm, rolling in tiny circles as if to try and lower my pulse, but only increasing it. Heat and sweat started to build as the tight grasp smothered the little air that remained, choking it.
The movie ended and we just sat there while others clapped and exited the theater. We didn't want the moment to end, so we just sat there silently, tension building, until we were the only ones remaining in our seats. He reluctantly let go. My swollen hand felt relieved, cooling as the sweat started to evaporate and the feeling returned.
Pressing his hand gently against my back, he guided me out of the theater. The warmth of his hand felt comforting and nice. When we neared the elevator he grabbed my hand again---the correct hand---this time it felt less awkward, but the grasp was just as strong and intense.
The ride home was quiet and whimsical. I stared out the window, hazed in a dreamy state, thinking about the events that just took place. The way the heat emanated from our grasp, rushing through my veins to reach my heart, causing beats to play up-tempo, beats that no experienced dancer could follow. The rhythm was accompanied with extraordinary notes and colors, and somehow I understood it beautifully. It was a glorious song. It was the first time I heard it play, and I smiled while thinking about this song---our song.
Suddenly, we were standing at my front door, saying goodbye. We hugged. He then grabbed my hand, looked straight into my eyes and said, "I had a great time."
His smile flashed into a wide goofy grin that melted my heart. Liam was a gentleman, through and through. I realized he was taking it one step at a time with me, letting me sample a lovely cliché in each memorable experience.
The next morning I noticed that Liam sent me a message at 12:07 A.M., meaning he sent it the minute he returned from our date last night:
January 7, 2006 12:07 AM
Subject: I had a great time tonight :)
Body:
Hey Sophie,
I just wanted to tell you again that I had a wonderful time with you tonight.
Also, I'm already thinking that if you don't have any plans this weekend, maybe we could squeeze in seeing each other one more time before school starts (maybe Sunday morning, go for a walk or something?).
Give me a call if this sounds good; otherwise, no biggie, I'll just call you sometime this week and we can chat then!
Liam
P.S. You are beautiful
My heart stopped. I had to catch my breath on those last three words...You---are---beautiful. My mind was racing and I lost feeling in my limbs. If I wasn't already sitting down, I probably would have stumbled over. He said I'm beautiful. I didn't realize how much I craved to hear those words, to have them directed at me.
I smiled. He's good. Really good. He strings along one new gesture, one new look, one new phrase, just enough to surprise me, hold me, the spell increasing its power each time, making me spellbound. Yes, I was wavering, but I was beginning to think he was worth it.
I started getting ready for our date, humming to myself while putting the finishing touches to my makeup and hair. Mid-twirl, I caught Tiff eyeing me from the doorway and lost my balance, blushing hot with embarrassment.
"So," Tiff said with a smirk, "Is someone falling in love?" Drawing out the last word, she eagerly sat on my bed writhing with excitement for some juicy details.
"Hmm? No, I'm just getting ready to go out."
"With Liam."
"Yes."
"Sunday morning."
"Yes."
Frustrated, she pushed on, "Soph, tell me the details already. Is he a good kisser? Have you seen everything he has to offer yet?"
"Tiff!" Now I was frustrated, heat rising to my cheeks. Who did she take me for---another Tiffany? "No, we've just been hanging out, getting to know each other."
"So he's not a good kisser and he has a small package."
"Ugh..." Tiff was hopeless. "I don't know to both accounts."
"You mean he hasn't even kissed you yet? Is he gay?"
"Geez, Tiff."
She held up her hands in defense, "Sorry."
"If you must know, he's a gentleman and he doesn't want to make me feel uncomfortable."
"Why would kissing make you uncomfortable?"
I was starting to perspire, "Because it would be my first kiss."
"Really? You never told me that."
"You never asked."
"Well, I just assumed you had...at least once, and that you weren't dating right now because you were just...well, picky."
"Yea, well, that's the truth. So please let's not talk about it anymore, okay?" I asked pleadingly.
"Okay." She seemed dissatisfied but she took her cue and glided out of the room anyway.
Tiff was a great roommate and friend, but like everyone else, she seemed to only know a part of who I was; this was probably my fault, as I never let anyone completely in, never let myself be completely open and vulnerable, so I couldn't blame her for not understanding my reasons for taking things slow. But somehow Liam understood.
Well, I can't let her get under my skin now. I needed to get excited for the date. Worry and dread started to ease their way back into my head. Why can't I just feel overwhelmed with excitement?
"How was yesterday?" Liam asked.
"It was fine. Did laundry and cleaned a little." I didn't tell him about the part where I agonized about wanting to see him, touch his hand again, and smell his clean scent. Sigh...he looked good. His hair was combed back, set in a soft hold. I wanted to run my fingers through each strand and feel the texture against my skin.
When he greeted me I noticed his smile, as he looked me over, sending goose bumps across my skin. I couldn't help but feel pleased.
"So, where are we going for the walk?" I was curious if it would be another new place, or if maybe he finally ran out of new places to take me.
"I'm going to take you to a place that I go to when I want to escape and get away. A place that I run. I think you'll like it."
I noticed the sign first---Lake Murray---it was painted in faded blue on a worn piece of wood. The clear blue water sparkled, like millions of tiny diamonds shimmering under the morning light, and I was breathless. The air was crisp. The last of the morning dew had faded, and some early-risers had already staked out a place to cast their fishing rods from the shoreline. People ranging all fitness levels and ages were jogging, biking, walking, and strolling along the wide, even track encircling the lake.
"Wow, it's beautiful."
He grinned, "Yeah, but not as beautiful as you." His eyes were sincere and heavy with warmth. I believed him but I still felt doubtful.
"Thanks," I said softly.
Thankfully he changed the subject. "I thought you'd like it here. It's a nice place to go for a run, but don't worry---we're just going to take a little stroll today." He winked as he glanced toward my flip-flops. I invariably wore the wrong type of shoe.
"Well, I don't think I'd be able to run anyways."
"Oh?" His eyes lit up. He seemed to crave learning new facts about me.
"Yea, I'm not much of a runner. Actually, I wish I was good at it, it seems very rewarding. But I get worn out and tired easily, especially after a short run or jog.
"Hmm. I see." He seemed to be contemplating this for a while and then noted, "Do you think it has anything to do with your VSD?"
I was surprised he remembered. I told him about the defect briefly on our coffee date. "Huh. I've never thought about that. I guess that's possible."
"Well, then we'll just keep it at a gentle walk. Sound good?"
"Okay."
As we walked, I noticed the ducks swimming in the lake and the birds singing in the trees. Liam knew, by name, all the types of trees, ducks, and birds that inhabited the area. Most of all he loved the trees.
As we passed by he pointed and exclaimed, "There's Eucalyptus camaldulensis. Oh and there's Tamarix ramosissima, Salix gooddingii, and more Eucalyptus citriodora." He told me that the reason why all the Eucalyptus here were so tall and wispy was because they were growing too close together and were often flooded by the lake when the water rose in the winter.
I found out that Populus fremontii (Western Cottonwood) made his favorite sound in the world. That made me smile. Who has a favorite sound? He said he liked the way the leaves rustled in the wind due to their flat petioles. He went on to describe their unique side-to-side waver---making a "so-so" gesture with his hand to demonstrate.
Throughout my unexpected botany lesson, I quickly observed his passion for the environment. For being open to the public, the area was clean and well maintained but of course there was the occasional candy wrapper or plastic bottle thrown carelessly, a few feet from the bright blue trashcan. I watched, amazed, as Liam casually bent over to pick them up, dumping them in the next available trashcan. He had a large heart, filled with more compassion than most have in their little finger.
We stopped at a stone bench a couple miles in, which was marked by generations of hearts, initials, and love notes. We sat for a while, taking it all in: the calmness, the exquisite natural beauty, the soft chirps of the birds, and the fluttering of ducks' wings as they dove down below. The water's edge lapped near our feet as we sat there, inches apart. The breeze cooled the prickling sweat from our backs. Liam's hand met mine, first awkward and stiff but as he entwined his fingers through mine, the awkwardness faded; then he slowly, passionately, moved his thumb inward to have contact with my palm and gingerly rubbed it like he did during the movie. The small movement frightened me, not because it hurt---no it didn't hurt, it felt nice, good---but because it felt too good. We didn't speak, we just absorbed.
After a while, we rose and continued our loop around the lake. While walking, our conversation picked back up. I learned that he used to play baseball and was good enough to contemplate trying out for the pros (he probably would look good in the uniform). I learned that he used to be depressed, so much so that everyone he loved was worried about him. I learned that his parents' divorce crippled him into an even more depressed state. I learned that his favorite color was green, that he dreamed of traveling around the world, wanted to learn more languages, wanted to own a house by the time he turned twenty-eight (a random age, most people would choose a round number like thirty), and above all, he looked forward to becoming a wonderful grandfather. (Wait, doesn't he have to be a father first?)
In just a few weeks, I learned so much about him and he about me; wanting to know more, craving to know everything. I even started noticing his tiny inflections when he looked at me, the way I made him nervous each time I caught him looking my way, and the way he lit up, eyes softening, when he talked about his grandfather.
My feet were throbbing by the time we got back to the car. Feeling the tender spots where my skin was rubbed raw. We took a moment, overlooking the lake---we were up the hill now, the entire lake spread out below our feet---soaking up the beauty. I sighed and he made his next move.
He let go of my sweaty hand and abruptly placed his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to his side. The move was so fast that he pinned my right arm. His hold was strong and the position uncomfortable---I felt myself tipping slightly forward. I decided he wasn't planning to let go anytime soon; if I wanted to make this more pleasant, I would have to wiggle out from his hold and place my arm around his waist, like a drawn out sideways hug. After much contemplation I made my move. It felt more comfortable. It just felt right. I could feel his breath quicken and his heart thud with each beat. My stomach tightened in response and I could feel myself longing for more, to stay there forever.
"I guess we should head back," Liam said.
I forgot about the dreaded winter quarter, which was starting tomorrow. He definitely would want to be prepared for it. I understood. But at that moment I was feeling selfish and I wanted to hold him there, make him stay with me longer. I was sure if I asked he would have stayed, but that would be wrong of me to do so. I kept quiet and just nodded.
After he dropped me off, I turned on my computer and waited, like a loyal dog that painstakingly waits for its owner to return, to hear from Liam.
Half an hour later I happily read Liam's new message:
January 8, 2006 2:54 PM
Subject: Hey
Body:
Hi Sophie,
Thanks for hanging out today...it was nice and relaxing to spend some time at the lake, and of course, it's always nice to spend time with you.
Good luck with school this week!
Talk to you soon,
Liam
Easily now, I eagerly responded:
January 8, 2006 3:03 PM
Subject: RE: Hey
Body:
Hi Liam,
I also had a great time today. It's a great place for a walk. Just next time I have to remember to wear tennis shoes.
I hope your first day back to UCSD goes well. Tell me how it went. -Soph
The first day of Winter Quarter dragged on. More classes I didn't want, and more teachers I couldn't understand. I could feel myself looking for him everywhere---in the lecture halls, along library walk, in the bookstore, by the library---but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Idiot," I thought to myself. UC San Diego is a large campus and since I didn't know his schedule, chances would be slim-to-none that I would run into him today. But I couldn't help but hope. I gave up and texted him instead:
How's your classes going?
That was lame. Ugh, I was unraveling to the core. The more I tried to divert my attention elsewhere, the more it came back to Liam. I felt pathetic.
Liam's message for me was waiting in my Inbox when I got home:
January 9, 2006 10:11 PM
Subject: Yaaaay! First Day of School!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
Thanks for the text message...you are so thoughtful! It makes me feel good to know you are thinking of me; I think of you often during the day and it always makes me feel so happy! :)
How was your first day? I hope everything went well, and your professors aren't too crazy (yet).
So I'm back in business! It felt really good to be in school again...but I can tell that I'm a little behind on what I should know (It's been a LONG time since I've taken this stuff). But I think I've dusted out the cobwebs enough to get on track soon. Today was really fun, though.
See you soon,
Liam
P.S. Yeah, my feet hurt a little too (wrong shoes). Just look out, though, 'cause next time we'll be ready (muah-ha-ha-ha...)
Liam sure knew how to make a girl smile.
The rest of the week crawled by. Each time I walked around campus I'd think of him, look out for him, and wish he were there. I'd think I saw him by the tree, locking his bike on the nearby rack. Or by the coffee stand, fueling up for another grueling day in Peterson Hall. Each time being a random guy who was clueless to the fact that a second later I could have made a fool of myself.
It all felt too weird, surreal even. I couldn't stop thinking about him, wishing he'd call me, asking to see me. Every time I saw a couple walk by I thought of him. I felt pitiful. I finally felt myself seeing him as more than a friend, which was scary and exciting, but also very confusing.
Hooray! It was Friday night and Liam asked me to the movies. We headed toward Fashion Valley to watch Tristan and Isolde, another romantic love story.
The theater was filled with teenage girls, giggling every time James Franco filled the screen. The story was lovely, another version of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, but the physical scenes put me on edge---I could feel Liam's hand tense around mine (we always held hands now, our hands attracted to each other like magnets)---so much so that I was relieved when the movie ended.
Liam was quiet on the way out. We headed toward his Volvo in silence. Mumbling a few words and comments about how good the movie was, and so on.
We were heading back toward my place when he asked, "Do you want to call it a night or do you feel like doing something else?" His question was filled with hope, hoping that I would choose the latter.
"I'd like to do something else."
"Great." He grinned. There was meaning behind that grin, but I was too happy to notice.
"So what do you want to do?"
"Hmmm...well I have an idea."
A few moments later I realized we were headed toward the bay. He parked in a remote lot at the southern end of Mission Beach. Darkness filled the night sky as we headed toward the sand with the blanket he always kept folded neatly beneath the back window of his Volvo. The air was cold and the gust nipped my face. Liam seemed to be calm as he held my hand with his. I was curious, but it felt nice just to be with him so I didn't pry. I just watched as he stopped next to a simmering bond fire---most likely cast by a group of teens enjoying the warmth as they roasted marshmallows on a stick and washed them down with smuggled adult beverages. He unfurled the thick blanket, which was made of wool and woven with the intricate patterns and colors reminiscent of Mexico. I wondered if he purchased this item from Old Town, as I flashed back to the vivid colors, textures, patterns, aromas, and flavors of our date there.
We sat silently on the blanket for some time, huddled by the scarce fire, watching as gray clouds blanketed the blackened sky, graced by the moon and stars in subtle, cottony openings. The waves crashing on the shore before us, continually moving, continually breaking, increasing in strength and stamina as the tide flowed in.
Lost in observation, I suddenly felt his breath on the nape of my neck. Felt his full lips brush gently against my cheek. Felt him move closer, his breath hot and filled with desire. He mumbled a few words but I couldn't hear him against the breaking waves.
He mumbled again, this time a little more urgently, each word stressed by his intensity, "I want to kiss you right now."
I heard the words and froze. Uh-oh, I thought.
And as I turned toward him I knew it was too late. Too late to react. Too late to second guess. Too late to stop him.
His lips darted toward mine. His kiss was slow at first, soft and gentle, as if he was being careful not to break me. His slow kiss turned into soft pecks...pecking my lips, my cheeks, my hair, my neck, always coming back to my no-longer-virgin lips.
His breath heavy and his pulse quickening. He moved closer now, his lips parting mine...caressing them with the tip of his tongue...lingering...roaming...slow, soft, and sensual. Constantly moving as if he was using his tongue to navigate through the darkness.
Then the kiss became more vigorous, as the waves breaking against the sand, his lips pressed against mine with such force my mind went blank. I could feel his uncontrollable lust and desire as he crushed his mouth to mine, numbing my lips with the pressure. Soft moans escaped from his lips as he moved even closer.
With one cold hand, he swiftly guided me backward toward the thick blanket. The sand felt hard against my back. The light from the dying fire flickering against the night sky. With one hand supporting me he tangled the other in my right hand. Stopping momentarily---his breath ragged and hungry---to whisper, "I knew that once I kissed you I wouldn't be able to stop...I wanted to kiss you for so long." And then he continued to do so.
I felt his kisses, each kiss making my body tingle in response. I tried to let go and respond to his movements but I just lay there stiff, stunned, and scared. Looking up I counted the stars, watched as the moon glimmered, quietly masked by the graying clouds.
I never told him to stop. I allowed him to continue, to take as much as he pleased. Worrying about how much he would end up taking.
He would sometimes come up for air and whisper, "Are you okay?" It was like he knew that this intimate act frightened me but was still unwilling to pull in the reins. And all I could muster was a faint, "Yes."
As the fire died so did his lips. His kisses lessened and when he was finished, he hesitated, his body quivered from the cold. His eyes were filled with excitement, caution, and nervous understanding. I could tell it was everything he dreamed and hoped for, but for me I felt dazed and stunned. The intense passion took me by surprise. My lips felt swollen and numb as if I had just received a shot of Novocain. When we reached my front door, my lips still tingled.
That night I couldn't sleep. I touched my lips in the morning and they ached. I had no idea that kissing would hurt. I turned on my computer and checked my Inbox. Liam sent me a message. That was quick. I hesitated before opening it:
January 15, 2006 9:34 AM
Subject: Good Morning :)
Body:
Hi Sophie,
Good morning to you!
Liam
P.S. I made a "modification" to my profile...you may find it interesting ;) (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
My pulse quickened. Modification? I tricked myself into not believing what I already knew to be true. Updating his profile could only mean one thing. At that moment my eyes saw what my brain already knew...his status changed from Single to In a Relationship. I felt numb once again, lost, confused, nervous, scared; I just had a rush of confusing and compounding feelings.
I'd read about this, watched it in movies, seen my friends go through it...but I'd never experienced it...no basis to go by...I didn't know what to do...how to do it...so here I was, having everything I ever dreamed of wanting offered to me on a gold platter...and how did I feel? Numb.
Me, feeling numb? Me, a girl who "feels" things constantly, a girl who is so emotional she cries at the drop of a hat, and now I feel nothing?
I never heard of a girl feeling nothing when she was about to start a relationship, especially after experiencing a night like last night.
In his next message, he explained the modification:
January 16, 2006 11:19 AM
Subject: RE: RE: Good Morning :)
Body:
Hi Sophie,
(...)So, about the profile change. Well, yeah, I was thinking that I really like you, and I want you to know that I'd like to be your boyfriend. That is, if you'd like to be my girlfriend. I mean, there doesn't have to be a "definitive point" in which we are "now officially together", but I want you to know that I've found what I'm looking for in you. I'm more of the school of thought that relationships evolve incrementally, and don't need to be forced or rushed. Me, changing my profile, is just a way of communicating to you that I would be honored (and happy!) to continue seeing you, and to have the chance to enrich your life in every way I am able...I guess I'd rather see you in person to explain this further. But, for now, just know that I like you A LOT! :)
-Liam
The week that followed flowed by easily. Liam and I started meeting up between classes; we would study together in the gray, spaceship-like building known as Geisel Library, and he walked me to class if time permitted. We were starting to become inseparable.
We even started talking via instant messenger each night and every moment we were apart. We learned a lot more about each other using this means of communication; we were so often planted in front of a computer, and relished the study breaks:
Itchy Bonsai (6:14:32 PM): how are you doing over there?
Pinkie16 (6:14:51 PM): do'n okay
Itchy Bonsai (6:15:06 PM): awesome! (just checking in, since you popped in my head)
Pinkie16 (6:16:05 PM): awww u think'n of me?
Itchy Bonsai (6:16:19 PM): I sure am...only always, GOSH! Haha
Pinkie16 (6:15:52 PM): haha k...don't lie now
Itchy Bonsai (6:17:10 PM): okay, well I do sleep sometimes
Itchy Bonsai (6:40:02 PM): have you seen the movie "Amelie"?
Pinkie16 (6:40:16 PM): nope
Itchy Bonsai (6:41:21 PM): oh, okay...because I was thinking of things to do on Saturday, and I thought maybe we could watch a movie over at my house. I think you would like that one.
Pinkie16 (6:41:57 PM): I heard it was a good movie
Itchy Bonsai (6:42:05 PM): It's in French (subtitles), but it's cute as long as you don't mind subtitles
Pinkie16 (6:42:30 PM): no, I don't mind them
Itchy Bonsai (6:43:28 PM): good...oh yeah, and you still haven't been down to India Street!
Pinkie16 (6:43:53 PM): wut's india street?
Itchy Bonsai (6:44:07 PM): It's "Little Italy" in SD with all sorts of delicious restaurants
Pinkie (6:44:23 PM): Mmmm
The next day I received a message from Liam. We weren't sending messages to each other as often since we started talking more through online chat, so this was a nice surprise:
January 20, 2006 5:00 PM
Subject: Just Because
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I haven't checked MySpace in a while, so I thought I'd send you a message "just because." :)
You know, I also wanted to tell you that you are a very thoughtful person; you are as kind as you are beautiful (I really mean that). When I get your text messages, or see you, or think about seeing you, it just makes me feel so calm and happy inside. (Okay, I'll stop before your ego gets too big...haha). But really, Sophie...you are a wonderful person and I appreciate it SO much.
I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!
Liam
My heart fluttered in response to his honest and heartfelt words---any girl would be crazy not to be affected by them---but, I was petrified. I thought back to that night on the beach. I felt his heart throbbing with raw emotion, an uncontrollable hunger surging through him, and I felt his need for more. More than I felt capable of giving him.
Little Italy was a charming neighborhood along India Street, near the heart of downtown San Diego. The street was lined with Italian restaurants, cafés, bars, shops, and apartments. Colorful awnings, hanging flower baskets, potted plants, strings of lights, historic lamp posts, dogs being walked, people laughing and chatting, smells of tomato sauce, garlic, oregano, and freshly-baked bread wafted in the wind.
The line for Filippi's Pizza Grotto was long but moved steadily along. Wrapped in my thick jacket, I shivered amidst the cold January night air, my stomach grumbling as it anticipated the delicious Italian cuisine. We neared the entrance, watching customers leave in overwhelming satisfaction (and guilt) as they lugged their leftovers happily along with them.
Inside now, the cold at our backs, we squeezed closer together down the narrow pathway, through the market---shelved with cans of tomato paste, sauce, anchovies, olives, olive oil, wine, handmade noodles and gnocchi, cookies, candy, meats, cheeses, and bread. The obtrusive, fishy odor of salt-cured baccalà overpowered our senses as we entered, even before we could make out the open barrels of dried and salted fish fillets in the far corner. For a moment we were in Italy, and I took it all in.
"This is wonderful," I exclaimed, marveling the cluttered yet clearly structured store. "I've never seen anything like this."
Liam grinned, "I'm glad I brought you here."
"Me too." I was so absorbed in my surroundings, I fell behind as the line continued moving forward.
The people behind us were slightly annoyed---clearly hungry and impatient---as Liam gave me a slight nudge to help ease the tension that was forming.
"Oops."
Liam suddenly pulled me closer. I turned and it seemed this time I had been blocking the path to the exit---a large Italian family was about to stampede through me, and filed past with slight annoyance, tempered by satiety.
"It's a little crowded in here."
"Yeah, it's always this busy." Liam continued to hold his grip on me so I wasn't more than an inch away. His hands were strong and ice cold. I shivered.
"Are you cold?"
"No," he replied, "I'm actually warm now that we're inside. Why, are you?"
"No I'm fine...it's just, well, your hands are like ice."
"Really?" He put his hands to his cheek. "Oh, you're right. I haven't noticed."
"Table for two?"
I turned, to find a middle-aged lady with a hard face, stocky build, and careworn eyes impatiently waiting for us.
"Yes," Liam answered.
"Follow me." She turned and briskly walked, heavily on her right leg, toward a side table. We sat down across from each other on lacquered wooden chairs with vinyl seat cushions. The square table was covered with a red and white checkered cloth. A candle flickered in the center of the table from within a bulbous jar. The hostess handed us each a large laminated menu and left. Her hard presence left me slightly perturbed.
The menu was simple in its bold red headings and easy-to-follow structure, but complex in its newness.
"The pizza is really good here," Liam said. He must've heard my soft sigh as I scanned the menu, I thought. He recognized my hesitation, noticing my little inflections when I couldn't make a decision.
"Really? Hmmm, how big is it?"
"They only have one size, medium, so if you'd like we can split a pizza."
"Okay." I looked back at the pizza section of the menu and frowned. "Which one should we get?"
"Well, I'm partial to the Vegetarian, but we can get something else if you'd like."
"No, the Vegetarian sounds good." I was just relieved I didn't have to sit and painstakingly try to choose between all the delicious toppings.
"Would you like anything to drink besides water?"
I glanced at the price for the Vegetarian pizza and answered, "No, I'm fine with just the water." I wanted a diet coke but I didn't want Liam to pay for it.
He looked at me questioningly, but didn't push it.
He decided we should get the half carafe of Chianti to share.
After he placed our order, we sat, drowning out the chaos around us---drunken laughter, slurps of pasta, babies crying, and our stomachs grumbling---with our own chatter. My hands were comfortably folded on the table when he carefully reached over, enveloping one of my hands in his. There our hands stayed until our bubbling pizza arrived.
My mouth watered as Liam cut the pieces and placed one large slice on my plate. The cheese was slightly browned and the crust crackled underneath, indicating a perfectly cooked pizza. I doused it in red pepper flakes and used a knife and fork to cut into the thick-crust pizza topped with bell peppers, onions, black olives, mushrooms, and oozing with cheese that bubbled from the intense heat of the wood fired oven. Each bite filled my mouth with intense flavor, calming my nerves, and filling my stomach with satisfaction.
Liam's mouth curved into a wide and satisfied grin as he happily watched my growing enjoyment with each bite.
"I love to watch you eat."
"Huh?" Liam caught me mid-bite. "Oh," I said as I realized how absorbed I was in my meal.
"No, don't be self-conscious. You enjoy your food so much; it makes me feel good to watch you eat. I'm glad you aren't like most girls who pick at their food and just order a side salad with no dressing."
"Well, you won't catch me ordering a side salad for my main course. I love food and I'm not a picky eater, which is why I have a difficult time dieting."
"You're not trying to diet right now, are you?" Liam questioned, concerned.
"No, not really.Although I probably should consider it."
"Why? You're perfect."
I believed him, but I still felt uncomfortable by his candid honesty. "Thanks," I mumbled.
"Really. You are beautiful." He soft brown eyes stared longingly into mine and held there until I smiled.
After dinner, Liam unexpectedly turned the opposite direction from where we parked, strolling down the street, passing a few heat lamps, until we ended up at Café Zucchero.
"What are we doing here?" I asked, puzzled by the second Italian Restaurant.
This one seemed fancier, with its rich brown canopy and outdoor heat lamps. Two hostesses stood beside a fixed lectern dressed in black, hair tied back, a smile fixed on their pretty faces, greeting the people as they strolled by, and the gourmet dishes that filled the crowded room looked expensive.
"We, my dear, are getting dessert."
My eyes bugged out as we faced the glass cases by the door, lined with delicate pastries, cakes, and gelato. The smells of rich chocolate, creams, and espresso beans lined my nose. Although the seams of my jeans were already tight against my content belly, I couldn't control the urge to taste something sweet.
"Wow."
"Would you like to eat here or take it back to my place?"
"I'm stuffed. So we should probably take it to go."
"That's what I thought."
"Have you tasted cannoli before?"
Question marked my face. "No, but I'll try it."
"Okay, we'll split one because it's kinda large."
The man over the counter carefully packaged one cannoli in a white Chinese-take-out-style box and handed it to me. A cannoli looked like a crispy pastry tube filled with thick white cream, sprinkled with powdered sugar, and dabbed at the ends with miniature chocolate chips.
"What's the filling made out of?" The texture looked thicker than cream.
"Ricotta cheese. It's good. Trust me."
"I trust you."
And I did trust him. Ever since I met him, his perfection left me wary but his actions and words were filled with honesty and careful concern for me. His attention never deviating to an obviously attractive, suggestively-clad girl that stood across the street. He was always fixed on me, ever so carefully, as if he was worried that I'd run away or break apart.
Once we got to his place our stomachs miraculously made room and we dispatched the cannoli in a couple bites.
"Mmmm..." I murmured.
The shell was buttery and flaky, as it crisped into the soft pillow of thick, sweetened ricotta custard. The mini chocolate chips added a bittersweetness to the dessert. It was delicious.
I followed Liam to the living room. Carefully watching, as he lit the fireplace and a candle, left the lights dimmed, turned on Amelie, and brought a blanket to the couch. He motioned for me to sit directly in front of him, angled so we both faced the screen, feet stretched out on the couch, his chest as my pillow, his arms wrapped around me, hands tangled in mine, and the blanket covering me as I was covering him.
It was difficult following the movie, not because it was French and I had to read the subtitles, but because Liam was behind me, pressed against me, constantly smelling and petting my hair, leaving his warm breath on my skin, his lips lightly kissing the crown of my head.
The movie finally ended. He let go, I let out a deep breath---I didn't realize I was holding it---and was mentally preparing myself for the date to end.
"The movie was good."
"Yes," he murmured as he returned the movie back into its case and changed the settings on the TV from movie to music. My pulse quickened as I began to realize that Liam hadn't meant for the night to be over quite yet. He had other plans.
I froze quietly on the couch, sucking in my breath, as he headed back toward me. He sat next to me as he leaned in to kiss me in one, fluid motion. His lips softly met mine, lingering hesitantly at first, lovingly. My lips instantly parted against his and his tongue took its cue to explore---hot and wet, but not as hungry as it was at the beach. His hands started to roam along my back, pressing me closer to him. He moved calculatingly fast.
The next moment I was lying beneath him, his lips never leaving mine, his haggard breath waiting patiently for some oxygen, his chest bare and skin hot. My eyes hazed over as I desperately tried to regain focus. I noticed a large tattoo inked into his left arm, tried focusing on it, but I couldn't make out what it was.
My body sent chills downward as his hands started down my neck, along the dips in my shoulders, lingering, ever so slightly, against my quivering skin.
My reaction to his touch delighted him in many, unforeseen ways. His eyes seemed dazed and cloudy, his mind was shut-off and numb, but his body was writhing, constantly, against mine. I felt his urgency heighten and soften. His motions animalistic and in a way somewhat innocent.
My body began to crush under his weight and I felt something harden uncomfortably against my thigh. I tried twisting slightly to lessen the jabs but I was held captive against him, under him.
While my body was thrilled and excited, tingling for more, responding to his, my mind was frantic and terrified, wondering when he would stop and how far he would go. I seemed to be having an out-of-body experience. And by some miracle or another, my clothes stayed where they should, on my body.
I felt a tiny relief when he stopped. Composing himself before he lost complete control---funny, I thought he let go completely, but I guess a part of him was able to turn the switch in his brain back on.
I was quiet and still as I watched him. He looked haggard but happy. His eyes dancing and his face beaming with a childish grin. Looking down, I noticed what was jabbing my thigh a few minutes ago and I gasped. He definitely enjoyed himself.
The drive to my house was quiet and uncomfortable. Then, as if he knew I needed some reassurance, Liam cleared his throat, "So, I wanted to explain the whole status change on MySpace. I wanted you to know that for me, I am very committed to you. I don't feel like I need to look around for something better because I like what we have going. And for me, there isn't anyone better."
I just sat there listening, so he continued, "I feel like I have a responsibility to you...a responsibility to make your first relationship special and wonderful in every way that I can. I understand that everything is new for you so I am fine with going as slow as you want. Okay?"
All I could muster was a faint, "Okay." He seemed fine with that for now as he leaned in to kiss me good night.
We can go as slow as I want? That's what I heard but that's not what happened. No. I shook my dizzying head. No, that's definitely not what happened.
Of course I didn't stop him, I didn't say anything really except for "No" when he tried reaching for the clasp, which thankfully, I was able to do. What's going to happen next time?
Everything seemed to be progressing to the next level each time we met. What should I tell him? He seemed so happy and enthralled by my presence---I couldn't assume he would be satisfied with my performance...or lack thereof---and here I am, so stirred up in the fantasy of it all.
Liam
Returning home, my heart continued to pound and my limbs were still trembling from the mind-numbing excursion. Feeling as if I had taken a feel-good drug, I was oddly rejuvenated and carefree. The experience left me in a daze; I all but floated back to my room. Somehow I was able to get ready for bed, and as my head connected with the pillow, my body instantly retreated into the most restful, deep and dreamless sleep of my twenty-three years.
The next morning I woke up grinning like a bastard, humming the Happy Days theme song.
"Hey Bud, you're in a good mood," Dad commented, his eyes puzzled but content.
"Yeah I am. It's a wonderful day."
"Uh...okay," Dad said as he glanced out the window, catching a gust of wind strangling an already limp hibiscus, blurred by the gray fog that blanketed the morning sky.
Whistling now, I smeared a thick slab of peanut butter across two slices of toast at once, squeezed a squiggle of honey over it, poured myself a tall glass of OJ, and brought it to the table to enjoy.
Dad watched me now, carefully, as I wolfed down my breakfast and chugged my glass of OJ.
He cleared his throat and then casually asked, "So, how's Sophie?"
"She's wonderful," I gushed.
"That's good." Hesitantly, he continued, "You know, you should probably take it easy...you don't want to get hurt...like your old man."
"Dad, don't worry. Sophie isn't like anyone I've ever met. She's special. Hell, she's not like anyone you've ever met, either. Actually, you probably should worry more about her than me."
"What do you mean?" He asked, puzzled and concerned. Shock plastered his face as he continued, "You're not forcing anything on her, right?" His tone was stern and shockingly parental.
"Dad, I'm not a perv."
He let out a harsh breath, "I know you're not...so, what do you mean?"
"Just, that she's naïve, sweet, and pure. She's twenty-one years old and I'm the first guy to ever approach her and notice her...well probably not the first to notice her, but I am the first to ask her out and take her on an official date."
"Really?"
"Yup. So don't worry. I'm careful, but she is probably more careful about me than I am about her. Also, well, I'm already too smitten by her to backtrack now. It's too late. All I can do is hope she feels the same way about me."
"Good luck, then," he said as he gave me a hard pat on the back. He turned so I wouldn't notice the shimmer in his eyes.
"Thanks, Dad."
Opening my general Chemistry book, I decided to get a head start on Monday's lecture. I booted up my computer, first checking my email, and my eyes widened as I spotted one unread message in my Inbox from my angel, Sophie:
January 22, 2006 4:08 PM
Subject: ...about last nite
Body:
Hi Liam,
First I just wanted to say that you're a great guy and I enjoy spending time with you. Last night was really nice, but I've been thinking A LOT about where I stand in relationships as a whole and I wanted you to know that I don't see myself having sex anytime in the near future.
First off, I always valued the idea of saving myself for my husband and second, I just don't think I can handle worrying about the chance of getting pregnant, etc.
I just wanted to let you know this so you can determine if you want to continue in a relationship with me. I totally understand if you don't because I know it's difficult...for anyone, but that is where I stand. I didn't know how to bring it up in person but we'll talk about it later after you had a chance to think about it.
So, if you're okay with this I'd love to be your girlfriend and if not, I understand, but I don't think we could continue being in a relationship.
-Sophie
Her pure, honest words struck my heart and brought tears to my eyes. Thinking back to last night, the way I allowed my needs to take on a life of their own, made me cringe. I overstepped my bounds and took more from her than she wanted. I felt a twinge of resentment...only a twinge, for I couldn't help what I did. I couldn't help my feelings for her. They were even hard for me to understand. It happened so fast and my desire for her grew to be more, much more. I needed her in my life.
I reread and reread her message, each time confirming her importance to me. A girl like her didn't come around and fall in your lap very often; hell, it probably only happened once in a lifetime or once in a century of lifetimes. I found her and I will do everything I can to be a part of her life. I love her.
I clicked to her MySpace page and instantly my worry ceased; I was again grinning like a bastard. She changed her status to In a Relationship.
January 22, 2006 5:39 PM
Subject: RE: ...about last nite
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I am completely fine with that, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for being honest and open with me.
I agree with your feelings on not wanting to bring a child into the world that I'm not ready to care for fully, and I admire so much that you're wanting to save yourself for marriage. That is SO rare these days. You shouldn't feel at all ashamed to feel this way, it just means that you are a woman of intelligence, strength, and high moral character. You're setting yourself up to have a great life, Sophie, and the more I learn about you the more I want to be a part of your life.
I'll talk to you soon :)
-Liam
Focus Liam, Focus. I tried focusing my attention on the thrilling laws of Thermodynamics instead of thinking about Sophie, but the laws of manipulating energy with heat and work just made me think about her more. That's it. I can't focus. I needed to see Sophie. I must see her. Especially after she adamantly voiced her concerns.
Without thinking it through, I closed the bloated textbook---which would be best served as a paperweight or doorstop---and grabbed my keys as I headed out to see her.
Standing in front of her door, I felt a little stupid. I should have called her first and asked if I could come over. Moron. What if she doesn't want to see me? Too late. If she's not ready to see me, I'll leave. But what if she's not there? I would actually have preferred that over Sophie glaring at me with disgruntled eyes. A thin film of sweat lined my brow and the air seemed to clog my throat. My hands became cold and clammy. My nerves crescendoed when I heard footsteps near, but my tension lessened when Sophie---my Sophie---opened the door.
She looked beautiful, with her hair loose and flowing, her shirt clinging to her gentle curves, and a pair of lounge pants that looked soft against her thighs. Her eyes were dazed from studying and then surprise---a good surprise, I noted---took hold.
"Hi," she mustered, as the shock of me standing there started to wear off.
"Hi," I said as I closed in to embrace her in an affectionate and long hug. "Sorry, for barging in on you like this, I just wanted to see you."
I could feel my face heat up and I couldn't shake the goofy grin that must have been planted squarely across my face. I felt like a huge dork.
"Oh wow, no, I'm glad to see you too. I'm just surprised." Her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled.
"Can I come in?"
"Oh yea, sorry, please come in."
Disappointed that she didn't lead me back to her room, I sat with her on the couch in the living room.
"I won't stay long." Hearing that, she loosened up a bit. "I just wanted to see you and tell you thank you in person. I'm really glad that you feel comfortable enough with me to be honest and open about where you stand. It really makes me feel good."
Sophie shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes, so I continued, "The more I know you the more I like you."
She seemed to be contemplating my words before replying, "Thanks for being so understanding and respectful...I feel lucky." She smiled then, a soft and slow, beautiful smile.
"No Sophie, I'm the lucky one."
I put my hand over hers and held it there for a brief moment so she could feel my sincerity. Her eyes met mine and I longed to hold her close and never let go. I resisted the urge.
As I left, I kissed her softly, longingly on her luscious lips; before we parted, I whispered, "I saw your profile." She fluttered her lashes in response, which, embarrassingly enough, started to arouse me. I turned and left before my urges could take over.
Throughout the week we chatted mostly through instant messages, seeing each other briefly between classes. Because we only saw each other on campus, I was only able to hold her momentarily and kiss her gingerly on the cheek. At times I had to clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists so I wouldn't take more, demand more, reminding myself that all this tension and restraint would be rewarding one day.
Our hours of online conversation bounced through our thoughts, our upbringings, and to our growing fondness of each other.
On Monday, we discussed the topic of hickies and the good-bad-and-ugly of being an obedient kid:
Pinkie16 (5:52:29 PM): Tiffany got a big ugly hickie on the back of her neck today!
Itchy Bonsai (5:52:42 PM): HAHAHAHAH!! Was she embarrassed?
Pinkie16 (5:53:14 PM): Yea, she's embarrassed every time. Ethan loves to give her hickies and she hates covering them up.
Itchy Bonsai (5:55:13 PM): Haha. Well you know what that's all about, don't you?
Pinkie16 (5:55:48 PM): No, what?
Itchy Bonsai (5:56:02 PM): indirectly or directly, it means that he wants EVERYONE to know that Tiff is his property. I think hickies are passive-aggressive.
Pinkie16 (5:56:23 PM): yea, you are probably right...so you've never given someone a hickie?
Itchy Bonsai (5:57:13 PM): Nope. Never.
Itchy Bonsai (5:58:17 PM): Actually, I did get a hickie once, when I was like 16. I was SO embarrassed, and I got in trouble from my dad...not good...
Pinkie16 (5:58:27 PM): You got in trouble for it??
Itchy Bonsai (5:58:58 PM): Yeah, I did, because he said I "deceived" him...not my finest hour
Pinkie16 (5:59:04 PM): awww dat sux
Itchy Bonsai (5:59:33 PM): well, luckily I didn't get in trouble too much because I was a good kid...helps you get away with stuff! (j/k)
Pinkie16 (5:59:51 PM): well, actually it isn't that good cuz they just get disappointed
Itchy Bonsai (5:59:56 PM): Yeah, you're right. It's like once you set the precedent of being "good" (in school, morals, behavior, etc.) they begin to expect a little more...and more...and MORE
Pinkie16 (6:00:05 PM): Yea...I know
Itchy Bonsai (6:00:47 PM): but I think that it's mostly self-imposed, because good parents will love their kids no matter what. So we're just hard on ourselves
Pinkie16 (6:00:56 PM): yea of course
Itchy Bonsai (6:01:33 PM): yaaay! I met another "good kid" who felt a lot of pressure during childhood! We're peas in a pod!
Pinkie16 (6:01:41 PM): u know...my upper lip (left side) is dry because it got irritated by ur stubble :C
Itchy Bonsai (6:02:04 PM): I'm sorry! :C
Pinkie16 (6:02:22 PM): haha dats okay. It's not bad, just dry
Itchy Bonsai (6:02:41 PM): I guess we'll have to keep it under 2 hours next time...I used a new razor and everything! Gosh!
Pinkie16 (6:03:02 PM): haha. Maybe you should ask for a refund. Tell them ur gf said it doesn't work
Itchy Bonsai (6:03:40 PM): haha. C'mon, it's got like 5 blades, and there is a picture of a jet on the package!
Pinkie16 (6:04:40 PM): Is that supposed to mean something?
Itchy Bonsai (6:05:41 PM): (shrug) I guess I haven't really had to take into account the delicate, beautiful skin of a woman of your caliber before
Pinkie16 (6:06:15 PM): haha oh jeez
Itchy Bonsai (6:06:55 PM): yeah, take that! Actually though, I'll try to have a more "kissable" shave in the future (all kidding aside) cause I don't want to rub your face off or anything
Pinkie16 (6:07:00 PM): haha k
Then on Tuesday, we discussed my tattoo, Sophie's bellybutton piercing, scars, and weight issues:
Pinkie16 (6:30:46 PM): Ugh, Ethan was over and left the toilet seat up again. Why can't guys just put it back down after they're done?
Itchy Bonsai (6:31:29 PM): well, around here the seat is always closed when the toilet is not in use. I pride myself on not being one of "those guys" that personifies negative male stereotypes
Pinkie16 (6:31:44 PM): haha we'll see
Itchy Bonsai (6:31:57 PM): well, now that I said it I'm sure you'll find something
Pinkie16 (7:56:52 PM): hey I'm curious about ur tattoo...when did you get it?
Itchy Bonsai (8:01:11 PM): oh, I got it about 3 years ago. A friend of mine was training to be a tattoo artist, so it was like a "bonding thing" between us and he worked on me for free. It was scary to trust him, but he was a good artist and I wanted a tattoo
Pinkie16 (8:01:41 PM): hmm. That's cool
Itchy Bonsai (8:02:06 PM): actually, I want more, but I'm not sure if I'll get more
Pinkie16 (8:02:16 PM): did it hurt?
Itchy Bonsai (8:03:04 PM): If you tap your inner wrist bone kinda hard with your fingernail...that's what it feels like... but it bled a LOT
Pinkie16 (8:03:21 PM): yea, I bet. Wut's it of?
Itchy Bonsai (8:11:07 PM): a dragon, but it's more like a tribal, I guess. He used to draw dragons on me all the time, so that's why I picked it. Unfortunately, he went crazy on drugs and I don't see him anymore. I was kinda like a father to him, as weird as it sounds. He was a foster kid, 3 years younger than me
Pinkie16 (8:11:59 PM): oh so like a "big brother" type...that's nice
Itchy Bonsai (8:12:14 PM): yeah but I felt really bad when he lost it. He just made a lot of bad decisions and I couldn't be a part of it anymore.
Pinkie16 (8:12:37 PM): yea, dat's tough
Pinkie16 (8:13:17 PM): well, I don't have any tattoos but I got my bellybutton pierced freshman year of high school, but I had to take it out cuz my skin got too thin so you could see the bar and now there's a scar :C
Itchy Bonsai (8:14:05 PM): really? How did that happen?
Pinkie16 (8:15:00 PM): my skin just didn't accept it. But it's okay, it was a little annoying when I had it...always getting caught on my shirt or jeans or something
Itchy Bonsai (8:15:52 PM): oh, why did you get it?
Pinkie16 (8:16:02 PM): because I thought it was pretty
Itchy Bonsai (8:16:31 PM): it just gave you an excuse to wear bare midriff shirts all the time, haha
Pinkie16 (8:17:02 PM): haha no, the rings are really pretty, and I wanted to look like Britney Spears!
Itchy Bonsai (8:18:03 PM): haha. Ugh, not Britney! Well, it probably didn't add much to the pre-existing beauty of your bellybutton. Your body just knew it was pretty enough, that's why it rejected it
Pinkie16 (8:20:20 PM): awww well u reallie knoe the right things to say, don't u?!
Itchy Bonsai (8:20:50 PM): oh, I'm full of 'em (haha)...did it leave a big scar, or just a little one?
Pinkie16 (8:21:04 PM): I think it's a big one
Itchy Bonsai (8:21:15 PM): well, I'll show you my tattoo, then you show me your scar, and we'll call it even
Pinkie16 (8:21:23 PM): well...okay
Itchy Bonsai (8:21:51 PM): you're like "o-kay, whatever THAT means..."
Pinkie16 (8:22:17 PM): haha no...actually, it's just I don't really like my stomach...
Itchy Bonsai (8:22:57 PM): oh, okay, if it makes you uncomfortable, but you have no reason not to like it...you really have no reason to dislike anything about yourself (I won't rant or anything) but I find you strikingly beautiful in all ways
Pinkie16 (8:23:09 PM): well dat's always nice to hear. Thank you.
Itchy Bonsai (8:23:16 PM): you're welcome and it's the truth
Pinkie16 (8:36:47 PM): I guess it's cuz I had a problem with weight since seventh grade. My hormones went all outta wack and I've always been self-conscious of the way I look in that aspect...and plus my mom always nags me about it
Itchy Bonsai (8:37:01 PM): gaag! Why does she do that?
Pinkie16 (8:37:38 PM): cuz she's my mom, she loves me, and well, most Korean moms do the same thing
Itchy Bonsai (8:38:29 PM): well, maybe it's different for you and your mom because you can picture yourself in the past, while the only image I have is of you now
Itchy Bonsai (8:38:58 PM): I was a pretty chubby kid. I used to get picked on in Middle School, for being the "fat kid"
Pinkie16 (8:39:00 PM): awww, that's sad. I got picked on too.
Itchy Bonsai (8:39:17 PM): kids can be so cruel. Well, you don't ever have to feel self-conscious around me when it comes to your body...you know how I feel
Itchy Bonsai (8:39:40 PM): Have you noticed a scar on my forehead?
Pinkie16 (8:39:54 PM): no?
Itchy Bonsai (8:40:23 PM): yeah, it used to be a big gash...it made me look like Frankenstein and I used to be really embarrassed by it, but now it's pretty light
Pinkie16 (8:40:56 PM): hmmm, no wonder I haven't noticed it...how did you get it?
Itchy Bonsai (8:42:10 PM): I was 4 and playing under a teeter-totter...it came down on my head...actually, it was my fault, I was pushing on it. My sister laughed at me, can you believe it? Haha. It bled a lot, and the funny thing is I didn't start crying until I saw blood
Pinkie16 (8:42:19 PM): awww, that sux
Wednesday came around, and we started talking about illnesses:
Itchy Bonsai (5:00:19 PM): So tell me more about your VSD. Does it affect you much?
Pinkie16 (5:01:47 PM): No, I just have to take antibacterial medication when I see the dentist...it's really tiny but it's easy to hear with a stethoscope
Itchy Bonsai (5:02:28 PM): wow. I don't really know much about them...does it mean your heartbeat is irregular
Pinkie16 (5:02:59 PM): Yea, the second beat isn't there...it's more like a whoosh
Itchy Bonsai (5:03:07 PM): does that mean your diastolic pressure is low?
Pinkie16 (5:03:50 PM): (shrug) All I knoe is that I get tired easily when I do any kind of cardio
Itchy Bonsai (5:05:17 PM): that makes sense
Pinkie16 (5:05:24 PM): yea
Itchy Bonsai (5:07:26 PM): I don't really know of anything like that with me, other than I had jaundice when I was born and I almost died at childbirth...but nothing ongoing that I know of
Pinkie16 (5:07:48 PM): OMG!!!
Itchy Bonsai (5:10:14 PM): the umbilical cord was wrapped around my chest, so I couldn't breathe. I almost suffocated, I guess
Pinkie16 (5:10:22 PM): oh geez...well, I'm glad u made it
Itchy Bonsai (5:10:49 PM): yeah...oh! What time is your presentation on Thurs?
Pinkie16 (5:11:44 PM): umm 3:45p why?
Itchy Bonsai (5:12:50 PM): I just wanted to know, so I can send you happy thoughts. I'll be thinking of you then!
Pinkie16 (5:13:04 PM): awww thanks u'r too sweet
Itchy Bonsai (5:14:17 PM): you make it easy to be...Sophie, I'm really happy to be with you...I can't remember a time I've smiled so much
Pinkie16 (5:14:33 PM): awww, I'm happy too
Then on Thursday, I decided to tell Sophie about my anxiety; it seemed like she had something more to tell me about hers, but she stopped herself:
Itchy Bonsai (6:15:56 PM): I've had some pretty bad anxiety attacks in my day...but luckily I haven't had any lately (like for 6-8 months)...after I was terminated from UCSD, I became pretty depressed, so my family convinced me to start seeing a psychologist. There they tried to put me on all sorts of medication. I took this one anti-depressant for a while, but it's horrible so I stopped that...but for the last year or so I've been feeling great
Pinkie16 (6:17:51 PM): dats good
Itchy Bonsai (6:18:03 PM): I think everyone hits a rough spot in their lives. I've learned that how you handle those troubles is the key (I learned the hard way)
Pinkie16 (6:19:34 PM): I understand...I've had a lot of anxiety too, especially surrounding school.
Itchy Bonsai (6:19:55 PM): well, I admire that you have stuck with your school. It shows that you are a strong person
Pinkie16 (6:20:09 PM): I guess...
Itchy Bonsai (6:22:16 PM): I wish I wouldn't have fallen off the turnip truck for 3 years, but at least I gained a lot better understanding of myself and my goals.
Pinkie16 (6:24:32 PM): well I think it's great that you came back and you have a goal and know what you want to do, and you're working to reach your goal, because a lot of people have no clue.
Itchy Bonsai (6:24:59 PM): thank you for saying that
Finally, it was Friday. I was lucky enough to see Sophie between her BioChem lab and my Chem lecture. We decided to meet on one of the large, concrete blocks along library walk. I bought two small coffees at one of the carts before heading over.
It was easy to spot her. Even though there are a lot of Asian girls at this school, I could always single out her shining smile and watchful eyes in a crowd---masked by a pair of black-framed sunglasses, those eyes seemed to be always fixed on something. You could always count on her brain to be in the "on" position, always turning, thinking, contemplating.
I reached her now. Her sparkling almond eyes met mine, and light creases marked her delicate face around the eyes and lips; bubbling joy filled my soul and lit a fire in my step. The moment we hugged and enveloped each other in a soft embrace, all I saw, all I felt, all I cared about, was Sophie---my Sophie.
Climbing onto one of the cement blocks, she tucked her legs under her chin and nursed her coffee as we began to discuss the day.
She sighed, "I'm not sure what I'm going to do next year after I graduate. Everyone is applying for grad school and worrying about acceptance letters, tests, and essays. It gets me thinking you know...about the future."
She let out a soft laugh, trying to hide her nerves. She was deep in thought.
"Well, you don't have to worry about it now, especially if you're not planning to go to graduate school next year. You can take next year to think about it more once school is over."
"Yea," she mused, "Do you have any plans once you graduate?"
"Well, that won't be for a while." I hated feeling behind and incompetent.
"Yea, I know...but you're planning to go to graduate school after, right?"
I contemplated this briefly, "Yes," I said carefully, "But, I'm not sure if I'll go directly once I finish here, or where that would be...right now it can only be hypothetical."
She quietly sipped her coffee as she brooded over my vague answer. "I was just thinking, you know, hypothetically, if we were still together in three years or so after you graduate, what we would do if you got in somewhere far away."
Her statement surprised me. "Oh, well if that was the case, I don't expect you to follow me or anything. We would just have to see what happens, I guess."
"Yea." She was quiet again. Unfortunately, time ran out and I had to get to my next class.
"I'll see you later tonight, okay?"
"Yes. I'm looking forward to it."
Sophie smiled now, a smile more forced then sincere. We would have to talk more about her questions later. But at the moment, I had to direct my attention toward my Chemistry professor; I can't mess up my chances the second time around.
Sophie seemed more at ease tonight. I decided to treat her to some Indian cuisine at the Star of India. I'd been making it my quest to take her to different and interesting places, and to shower her with new and pleasant experiences. Partly to show her what she'd been missing, and partly to show her how much I could offer and provide.
I felt pleased as I watched her carefully examine the vibrant and gaudy room, take in the spicy fragrances, and exasperatingly look over the foreign menu---sending me pleading looks for guidance and suggestion. She sure tickled me.
"Do you like curry?"
"Well, I like Korean curry." Smiling, she continued, "I would like to taste the curry here, though," she said with a slight hesitation.
"How spicy do you want it?"
"Medium?"
"That's probably smart. We can share one if you'd like, the portions are usually large and if you decide you don't like it we can always go somewhere else. We should also get an order of garlic naan. Naan is really good. It's kind of like the Indian version of pita bread"
"Mmm. Okay. That sounds yummy."
Enjoying our savory meal of BenganBhartha (eggplant curry) and a side of warm, pillowy garlic naan, we continued the conversation we had on campus.
I took a sip of my lemon water, cleared my throat, and casually steered the conversation back to our discussion at the blocks.
"I was thinking after we spoke this morning that I may have come across as being against long distance relationships." Keeping my eyes on hers, I continued, "then I was thinking that I didn't want you to extrapolate that to OUR future...I'm kind of weird like that, always thinking of hypotheticals." She continued to stare, slowly absorbing my words, carefully thinking them over, "Anyway, I wanted to make it clear to you that I'm committed to you and in no way wish to hold you back from your life path, and at the same time I want to be there for you, even if sometime in the near future we end up in different schools, or cities."
With that long-winded speech, she stared, her eyes stunned, her lips pressed into a thin line, and then, after a few seconds to make sense of what I said, she spoke, "Well, I never thought you were against long distance relationships," she paused when I let out a breath of relief, "but, I guess you should know that I am against long distance relationships."
"Oh," my mind raced trying to think of what she meant, and what this meant for us.
She must have noticed the hint of confused sadness in my voice because her voice softened, "What I mean is, I don't agree with long distance relationships. I don't think they work and I would never want to be in one...of course, I could see myself trying if it was with you, but even then, I would be hesitant to move forward if that was our only option."
"Yes, of course I would want to try, too."
"Yes, well, I don't see myself going away to grad school, or any extra school for that matter, after UCSD. And," she blushed, "if we're still together when the year is over, I'll most likely look for a job in San Diego so I can stay near you."
I sat there, staring at her in awe, as her words went straight to my heart. I was glad to be sitting---my bones instantly turned to jelly. And then my joy turned to skepticism.
"Wow, Sophie. But if you got offered a great opportunity or a chance to showcase your talents, I would urge you to go after it, wherever that might be. I would miss you, of course, but I wouldn't want you sacrificing anything for me," I insisted, even though I couldn't help but hope she would never have to leave me.
"Okay, well, we'll see. This is all just hypothetical anyways." She didn't seem willing to agree or disagree with me at the moment.
"Yeah. We'll talk about it more seriously if it ever comes around."
"Okay."
I was thinking about our conversation as I drove her home and I couldn't help but smile. She has been thinking about me, about us, about the future. I hoped I wasn't blind, and she actually was falling for me.
We were outside her apartment then; this moment always stung, always came too fast. I pulled her into my arms and held her there for a moment, long enough to smell the sweetness of her shampoo, the scent of powder on her face, and feel the warmth that exuded from her body. Then, tilting her face up, I placed my mouth over hers, lightly so not to frighten her. She startled me by pressing back. For the first time I felt the urgency of her kiss, the heat flew from her mouth to mine, lingering there until I felt the tremor of her body and the burning from mine.
"You can't kiss me like that and not let me in," I said, my voice thick with desire.
As if I were in a dream, she cocked her head, smirked, and pulled me toward the door by the hem of my shirt. It really must be a dream.
I entered her apartment quietly, trying not to wake Tiffany; that is, until Sophie giggled, "Tiff's not here. She's at Ethan's."
"Oh, is that so," my eyebrows lifted as I tried to analyze for any hidden meaning in Sophie's message, but I couldn't think clearly and decided to just fly from the gut-down on this one. I clicked my brain into standby mode as I followed her down the hall.
Dun-Da-Da-Dah! The moment had finally arrived...she led me to her room. Her space fascinated me: the posters of art, design, and fashion taped up carefully, methodically, covering the glass panes on her wall; textbooks neatly stacked on her desk; the chair she sat on when she wrote to me on instant messenger; the mirror that hung by the door where she gazed before each date; and then there was the bed---low and small, covered with light pink sheets, blanket, and pillow---where she rested her head each night and dreamed, hopefully of me.
The bed was inviting, and my limbs twitched in response. I turned to her now. She stood a few feet away from me, timid. All the teasing and urgency vanished, and she stood there, carefully watching me. Oh, how I would love to listen to her thoughts.
I decided to test her, moving closer, never taking my eyes off her. She sucked in a breath. I took that as my invitation and reached for her. My shaking hands nurtured the small of her back as I caressed her with my lips. Heat bellowed in my chest and I yearned for more, I wanted more. She gasped, her hands trembled as she grabbed my hips for balance. I crushed her lips with mine as I felt her give back. She gave into me, and I was dizzy with the intensity of it.
I led her to the bed, gently. This time I would be more careful, considerate of her naivety, and most of all, I wanted to make her feel everything I was feeling and more. I wanted to fill her with the desire that I felt every time I thought of her. Every time I looked at her. I wanted to show her that she still had the ability to feel good without losing her virginity.
I unclasped her bra and the urgency unraveled inside me. I felt lucky, honored, and even smug, that out of all the guys that crossed her path, I was the only one she allowed into her bed, allowed to touch her, kiss her, and see all of her.
It was the day before Valentine's Day. I laid out everything I purchased on my bed, carefully arranging each item inside a small wicker basket. I winced, remembering all the trouble I had at the mall today. Shaking my head, I thought: Sophie has me going to Fashion Valley, into a sanctuary of all-things-girly, to shop for her. I was grinning like a four year old boy whose dad was about to take him to his first Padres game, opening day.
Sophie's worth it. Worth everything and anything.
The day was long and tiring. I took a Physics quiz and then headed straight for the mall. I decided to get her some perfume---a scent we'd both enjoy---sort of like my version of a hickie, I mused, showing the world, elegantly, that she belonged to me. Smell is a powerful tool. It captures and provokes memories, good or bad, and can also captivate someone, put them under a spell.
The store was a whirlwind, suffocating, with all the scents and products, and with all the prissy, overly made-up women (and men) in black suits that strolled down the aisles. I thought I would get good service when I saw all the unisex, black-clad employees; however, in my faded jeans, running shoes, and wrinkled polo I only got pitiful looks from each well-kempt "specialist" that passed by. I kept telling myself that she is worth it. Holding the box now, weighing it in my hand, pleading that I picked the right scent, hoping my time wasn't spent in vain.
I popped two ibuprofens in my mouth as a nagging headache was forming. I cursed under my breath, reliving all the scents I just subjected myself to, many of which I had to smell at least twice before picking Hanae Mori's Butterfly perfume. I smiled now, remembering the tantalizing aroma and soft sweetness of fruits and florals, and the delicate glass bottle with a butterfly cap. Everything about the perfume spoke to me, symbolized Sophie, my Sophie.
I packaged all the items gingerly, the perfume and a few other pieces, including a poem, in the basket. My nerves were getting to me now, overwhelming me. I worried about the poem, a poem with only a few words but a powerful statement. Powerful words that revealed my feelings. Feelings that I hoped were mutual.
Holding a clear vase filled with hand-picked, personally assorted, red and white roses in one hand, and a basket full of goodies in the other, I stood, anxious and uptight, waiting for my Sophie to open the door.
And there standing before me, elegant as Grace Kelly, mesmerizing as Aphrodite, and with the presence of an angel, was my Sophie. Her eyes radiated with happiness, her tantalizing smile widened, and her face gleamed with pure joy.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I said, extending my armful of gifts.
"Oh wow!" she exclaimed, thrilled by the surprise of the gifts, and hopefully, of me.
"Thank you, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't think I'd be able to see you today. I just assumed we wouldn't be able to see each other until the weekend."
"I know," I whispered, holding her close, "But I had to see you on Valentine's Day."
She blushed as I kissed her lips.
Her eyes gleamed, "Come into my room, I have something for you, too."
She picked up her gifts and all but skipped to her room.
"Here," she said sheepishly, as she handed me a wrapped box and a large handmade card. "Open it," she said eagerly.
"Okay, are you sure you don't want to go first?"
She shook her head, "No, I want you to go first."
I wasn't about to argue with that, but usually women couldn't wait to open their gifts the second they got their hands on them. I momentarily forgot---Sophie's not the norm.
I examined the card first. I felt a lump in my throat, noticing the hand-cut hearts, glued sequins, the time it must have taken to make, and then my vision started to blur as I read the note inside:
Dearest Liam,
I am so lucky to have met a guy like you: kind, considerate, understanding, patient, intelligent, dedicated, passionate for the things and people you love and hold dear to your heart, and of course much, much more.
It amazes me sometimes how a guy like you can like me as much as you do.
I appreciate and treasure all the things that you've done and blessed me with, especially the little things, like the way you hold my hand, open my door, give me the time I need to feel comfortable, shower me with kind words, and most of all for just caring about me.
I've had many first experiences with you: first date, first serenade, first holding hands, first opening the car door, first kiss, first boyfriend, first intimate moment, and my first Valentine...as well as, all the places you've taken me, such as, Lake Murray, Old Town, Hillcrest, Little Italy, and I'm sure there will be more to come.
Thanks for always planning our "date" activities, since now you probably know that I'm pretty indecisive when it comes to these matters, for I generally don't care what we do or where as long as I'm with you.
So, on this Valentine's Day, I just wanted to express my gratitude and appreciation for all that you've done and for being such a wonderful person and boyfriend.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Sophie
"Wow Sophie, thank you," I managed, choking back tears, "It means a lot."
She grinned widely, "Open your gift," she urged.
I was so moved by her words I didn't think she could have gotten me anything that could compare.
"What? Wow, you got me an iPod?" I was flabbergasted that she spent that much money on me.
"I noticed you didn't own one and I wanted to get you one. I thought you could take it with you on your jogs or in between classes."
"Wow." Sophie surprised me again. "This is great, thanks," I added as I opened the box.
She pointed, excitedly, "There's also an inscription on the back of it."
"Really?" I turned the slick black iPod around, and there, in tiny engraved letters read:
liam-wherever u take me
I will be with u-sophie
"Thank you," I breathed, and leaned in to place my lips softly over hers.
"You're welcome."
"Okay, your turn."
"Okay," she anxiously turned to the basket and carefully unwrapped each gift: hand cream, body lotion and perfume.
"Mmm," she noted after spraying a little on the inside of her delicate wrist.
"You like it? I wasn't sure if you would...I mean I like it, and after smelling all the scents, I thought this one fit you best...but if you don't like it I can always get you something else," I stammered.
"No, I love it, thanks."
"Okay."
Then she went over to the box and I reached to place my hand over hers, "Um, I'd rather you wait to open this gift...alone," I said hesitantly.
"Why?"
"Well...um...never mind, you can open it now if you want."
She nodded. My wavering uncertainty piqued her interest.
I watched her anxiously, as she slowly opened the box, watched as her eyes widened and her throat caught on her breath as she pulled out a heart-shaped piece of rose quartz. I knew it would be cold and heavy in her hands, but her warmth would slowly override the chill just like her hands always warmed mine (I hadn't noticed how cold my hands were until I met Sophie).
She then took out the folded piece of plain white paper. My heart raced as she carefully unfolded the note, read my words, taking in the meaning up to the last five words. I read it with her, reciting the words in my head as I watched her eyes fall over them:
Here is my heart,
For it has always been yours from when we first did meet;
To part is not to part if heart joins heart;
Hand in hand, thought in gentle thought,
So long as my heart keeps time with yours, it will always be yours to keep.
I love you, Sophie Park
I heard her gasp as she looked at me, her eyes filled with shock and wonder. Silence flooded the space between us.
I stammered, "I've been thinking it for a long time and I figured I should just let you know," I looked down, sheepishly.
There was a pause and Sophie softly replied, "Thank you."
I guess I saw that coming. Not like I expected her to throw her arms around me and say "I love you" back. I was fine, my ego only slightly splintered; at least she wasn't resistant to my attempt at a Shakespearean love address. Loving her came naturally and it was the right time for me to express it to her. Plus, I would wait to tell her those special three words out loud when she was ready to return them. All in due time.
"Thank you for the flowers and the gifts," she managed, "and thank you for coming over."
"You're welcome. I can only stay for another hour before I have to get to class."
She nodded.
She was sitting down beside her bed, curling her legs up and holding them with her arms. She started fidgeting with her fingers like she always did when she was contemplating something or displacing nervous energy. I could tell she was deep in thought, probably about the poem and those three potent, little words.
I decided to break the spell and slid in next to her. She leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder. I could feel her edginess die down and her breath again became slow and steady. I put one arm around her and there we sat, in silence, huddled in a loving embrace, up until the final second when I had to leave.
~ Sophie ~
Twirling the stone heart around my hands, smelling the roses placed squarely on my desk, drifting my eyes toward the bountiful array of scents and creams, and resting my eyes on the tiny white piece of paper with his words so perfect and pure...my heart ached and swelled in its warmth and love.
Liam's words struck my heart and unraveled my senses. His perfection thrilled and terrified me: his genteel manner, his brilliant nature, his passion, his drive, his compassion, and his love for me. I felt like it was all too much, all too fast, all too real. Can it be possible that I could be enough for him? That his love will last, this strong, forever? Will we marry, have kids, and live happily ever after? Without regrets, without misery, without loss?
I had never believed in fate, but having Liam come to me during the time when I started to finally figure out who I was and what I wanted, I started to rethink everything that I held true to my heart. I started to believe in fate. I believed it was fate that brought Liam and I together. Fate that our love grew so fast and so strong. Fate that I finally got what I wanted---happiness. Complete and utter happiness.
The joy I felt right then was unnerving. The longing I felt for Liam when we were apart was painful. And the knowing that we would be together for as long as our hearts could beat lifted my spirits and filled emptiness with calm. I knew then, had never been more confident, more sure than I was at that very moment, that Liam was the man I was supposed to marry. The man I was supposed to love and honor. The only man that would share my bed and my heart. The only issue was to figure out how to express this compelling love to him.
And, just on cue, I received a text from the man I was falling in love with:
Thank you for the gift and card. You are becoming so special to me, I only wish I could do even more.
I grinned, more confident now than I'd ever been on my feelings for Liam. How could anyone resist?
Pulling out the clean and hot load of fluffy whites, I wondered what Liam was doing at this very instant. Every time I thought of him I smiled. Tiff usually gagged---probably jealous every time I talked about him and all the sweet things he did for me. Of course she was thrilled for me, but I couldn't help but hear the edge of jealousy that caught in her voice every now and again. It made me feel good. I felt good. I finally felt complete somehow. Whole.
Excitedly, I headed back to my computer to see if he might be by his. I couldn't wait to see him tonight. Maybe I'd finally be able to take down my guard and share my feelings with him...maybe.
Itchy Bonsai (11:13:54 AM): Sophie are you there?
Pinkie16 (11:32:41 AM): Hi
Itchy Bonsai (11:37:02 AM): Oh good. I was wondering what time you wanted to get together...like 6?
Pinkie16 (11:37:16 AM): Yea 6 works
Itchy Bonsai (11:37:59 AM): great can't wait, see you round, beautiful
Liam picked me up at six o'clock---I loved that he was punctual---and right before I greeted him, I strategically wafted a spray of perfume over me.
"Hi, Beautiful!" His hold on me lingered as his nose made note of the familiar scent. "Mmmm, you smell good," his eyes knowingly commented on what he detected was a successful gift.
"Thanks, so do you." And he did smell wonderful, like Dove soap.
Leading me to his car and opening the door like he always did, he said, "So, I'm going to be cooking for you this evening."
"Really?"
"Yes, so be prepared to be wowed," he laughed then---his eyes twinkling, cheeks flushed, and lips spread into a wide joking smile---and oh, how it sent a flutter to my stomach. I loved his laugh and his weird sense of humor.
In a way, his humor was slightly off; there was something slightly devilish in the way his mind worked. He was intrigued by the weird, the wrong and the grotesque. His mind would always spin with jabs and jokes, briefly returning, only to spin so far out of control he would be left in bouts of hysteria. But it suited him, and I loved it. Sometimes I couldn't follow his more Avant-garde lines of humor, but I was always fascinated and amused by his mental somersaults.
"So, what's on the menu?"
"What? Oh," he refocused---as he clearly was thinking about something that stemmed from his last comment, something hilariously funny (probably a scene from The Simpsons---his go-to comedy), something I probably wouldn't understand---and came back to Earth. "I'm making you spinach lasagna, focaccia bread, mixed greens salad with marinated tofu, and for dessert, chocolate covered strawberries. Dark chocolate, of course."
"Of course," I grinned. "Sounds delicious. Just one question."
"Shoot."
"Do you cook as well as you bake?"
"You'll have to taste and judge for yourself," he winked.
"Can't wait."
What a spread. The lasagna was already in the oven, mouthwatering smells of tomato sauce, garlic, and cheese hit me as I walked through the doorway; the bread was done and cooling, the salad was in the fridge, and the table was already set for two. An unlit candle stood romantically in the center, next to two wine glasses and a bottle of Chianti. All I could do is stand awkwardly to the side and stare, agape.
I watched him finish the dinner preparations: he uncorked the wine to let it breathe, lit the candle, cut the bread into thick, springy slices, tossed the salad with some vinaigrette, and once the lasagna was ready, he plated everything and brought it to the table.
He watched me as I took my first bite. The cheese and spinach were joined in perfect harmony with the sauce and pasta, the bread was doughy and melted in my mouth, the salad was crisp and clean, and the wine warmed my insides as it went down smoothly. My expression seemed to satisfy him greatly as he joined me.
"Wow, Liam, this is really good. You're a great cook."
"Thanks," he beamed. "I learned from the best," referring to his dad, "although he's a better cook and I'm the better baker."
Looking around, I noticed his dad was nowhere to be seen. "By the way, where is your dad this evening?"
"Oh, he decided to stay over at a motel for the night...he wanted to give us some space."
"Oh...that was nice of him," I gulped.
He shrugged. Trying to distract me he asked, "So are you ready for seconds...or dessert?"
I looked down at my suddenly wiped clean plate, "Oh, um, dessert."
"Coming right up." He cleared the dishes and took out a tray of large, ripe strawberries, each glistening in a shell of dark chocolate.
"Wow."
He gently stirred me to the couch. "Let's enjoy them by the fire."
Liam was a Romantic with a capital R. He definitely knew how to set the mood. He set down the plate before going back to the kitchen to refill our wine glasses. He took out a blanket and scanned the few movies he had in the drawer.
"Actually, if you don't mind," I started, continuing once he turned to give me his full and undivided attention, "I brought one of my favorite movies with me."
"Oh?" he tilted his head, "Bring it out. We can watch the one you brought."
"Well," I hesitated, "it's a love story, so I'm not sure if you feel up to watching another chick flick...actually, it's not like a cheesy chick flick...I actually think you might like it."
"Sophie, I'd love to watch it with you, especially if it's one of your favorites." By this time he was next to me with his hands holding mine, eyes gentle and fixed, unwavering in his decision. So, I dug around in my purse to get the DVD and handed it to him.
There we sat, like the previous time, his body wrapped around mine, the blanket covering my body and his, sipping on wine and indulging on strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, while watching, quite possibly, the greatest love story of all time: The Notebook.
A gentle stream of tears fell from our eyes near the final moments when it got to my favorite part, when the old couple danced, him loving her dearly, and her starting to forget him all over again...
"That's the way I hope to die one day."
"Huh?" he said, caught off guard, wiping a trailing tear with one hand while petting my hair with the other.
"If I die, I would hope it would be in my sleep with my true love lying there next to me...together...naturally, of course."
He nodded slowly, "Yes, that would be the perfect way to go..."
"Sorry, I think about it sometimes."
"Death?"
"Yes, well, I think about...everything."
He smiled. "Yeah, I've noticed," he said wistfully, sending shivers down my spine.
This time when the movie ended, I was prepared---mentally and physically. Leaning against his chest, I could feel his heart thump a little faster. Gently and easily he untwined his arms from mine and got up. He silently turned off the TV and VCR, blew out the candle, and turned off the lights. He reached for my hand, and I gave it willingly, as he led me to his room.
He took his time---closing the shades, turning down the comforter, reorganizing the pillows---keeping the lights on as he walked to my side. He put my hand over his heart so I could hear the pounding in his chest, feeling the quiver of his skin, and right before he held his mouth to mine, I finally felt right, like everything was just as it should be. And there he stood...loving me.
We lay there for a moment, sprawled out on his rumpled sheets, catching our haggard breath, allowing the sensation to meld in an intricate web of numbness, waiting to regain our strength.
Before our bodies cooled and the tingles faded, he asked, "Do you want to stay the night?"
I nodded. I felt like I was floating in a vivid dream.
"Okay. Follow me."
He led me to the bathroom. Silently, he removed a new contact lens case, toothbrush, and towel from the linen cabinet, and placed them next to his. He started the shower, checking the temperature to make sure it wasn't freezing cold or scalding hot. He led the way, stepping into the old cast iron tub, into the sprays of soothing warmth.
We took turns washing each other's backs; this simple act filled me with tenderness. Suddenly, I felt a closeness, an unspeakable bond, between us. This is it. It is the perfect moment. So, tell him. He turned, handed me a towel, and as I opened my mouth, waiting for the words to flow effortlessly from my heart, he pulled a towel over his head, vigorously rubbing out the water that clung to his hair. I closed my mouth. The moment passed. He took out a clean white shirt and boxers for me to wear, turned off the lights, and we crawled into his cozy bed.
Turning my head toward the ceiling, I lay still and silent, quickly recapping the night, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I tried, once during dinner, once after, then once before the movie, again after that, while he was loving me, and while we were getting ready for bed. And each time the moment passed. Trying to find the perfect time to tell him and never finding it. The lump in my throat swelling with each failing attempt, until nothing but air came out. Here I was, lying in his arms, in his bed, after having the perfect night, and I still hadn't told him.
"Liam?" I said faintly.
"Hmmm?" He sounded like he was starting to fall into a deep sleep.
I was silent.
I felt him stir in response to my loud silence; he was starting to catch on to my every movement and breath. "What is it, Sophie?" He was sitting up now, turning to face me.
I sat up too, putting my arms around him, my chin resting on his left shoulder. I sat there for a few long seconds before I started to speak. At first, nothing came out---just air again---my heart beating wildly---and then, leaning toward his left ear, I all but choked out the words, ever so faintly, "I...love...you."
There, I said it. My pulse calmed down and I felt relieved, as if I had lied and finally revealed the truth.
As my words hit his ears, he froze. His pulse quickened and his voice shook, as he replied, "I love you, too, Sophie." He held my face in his hands and gently, lovingly, he kissed my lips. The warmth oozed like honey and I melted in his arms.
The next morning was like a daze. We both slept hard and long, as if we were recovering from an illness, drugged, or both. It was slightly past noon when we woke up, and we were both blissfully happy. We just lay there for a few more minutes, motionless in each other's arms, trying to build up the stamina to walk or move.
"I feel like I've been sleeping on a light and fluffy cloud, and I can't move."
"I know. I feel the same way."
"Sophie..."
"Yes, Liam?"
"This has been the best day of my life."
"Mine, too."
"It's even better than finding out there was a Santa Clause!"
That night we slept in our own separate beds, and I couldn't help but miss him. Emptiness consumed me. I wished he never had to drive to my place and pick me up, so he would never have to drop me back off again.
Itchy Bonsai (9:01:53 AM): Hi Sweetie. Good morning.
Pinkie16 (9:02:15 AM): Good morning.
Itchy Bonsai (9:02:41 AM): you know, I have to admit that something felt wrong when I was trying to fall asleep last night
Pinkie16 (9:02:56 AM): cuz I wasn't there next to you?
Itchy Bonsai (9:03:12 AM): yeah, it just felt like something was missing (when I woke up this morning, I was hugging one of my pillows...haha)
Pinkie16 (9:03:34 AM): yea...it is better waking up to u than alone
Itchy Bonsai (9:03:55 AM): yeah I know what u mean, although on the flip side, it was MUCH easier to get out of bed today (hehe)
Pinkie16 (9:04:16 AM): haha yea for me too
Itchy Bonsai (9:04:45 AM): I'm so glad I felt what it's like to wake up with a kiss from you! (there's no better way)
Pinkie16 (9:05:11 AM): yea it's great...you know, ur like a dream come true
Itchy Bonsai (9:05:49 AM): (wow, you think I'm a dream come true...) I love you, Sophie. I've never met anyone as kind as you...you make me feel so wonderful
Pinkie16 (9:06:10 AM): well I always thought wut it'd be like to have a bf, but I never expected it to be as great as it is and to be with a guy as great as u are
Itchy Bonsai (9:06:43 AM): well, I'm happy to be there for you anytime...you already know that my aim is to enrich your life as much as I possibly can, every day I can...you are so worth it, best girlfriend a guy could have (in all ways)
Pinkie16 (9:07:16 AM): wow. You are the sweetest
Itchy Bonsai (9:07:45 AM): Thank you so much Sophie, I'm really grateful to have you in my life
Pinkie16 (9:08:11 AM): I'm very grateful for u too. I guess the reason I never had a boyfriend was because I was just waiting for you.
Itchy Bonsai (9:08:36 AM): awww, you are too sweet for this world. Well, I was certainly looking for you, so thanks for waiting!
Pinkie16 (9:08:58 AM): haha my pleasure
Itchy Bonsai (9:09:17 AM): see, at times like these you need to be right here, getting a big hug and a kiss. I love you soooooo much!
Pinkie16 (9:09:31 AM): I love you too
Itchy Bonsai (9:10:15 AM): you know, it gave me chills when you told me, I was so happy...
Pinkie16 (9:10:31 AM): reallie? I'm sooo happy too
Itchy Bonsai (9:17:01 AM): so have you eaten?
Pinkie16 (9:17:12 AM): just snacking...
Itchy Bonsai (9:17:30 AM): well, make sure you take care of yourself, stay hydrated, etc.
Pinkie16 (9:17:49 AM): yes sir!
Itchy Bonsai (9:18:04 AM): (I have a direct interest in your well-being, seeing as how I derive so much of mine from you)
After hitting the snooze button a few too many times this morning, I was running late. I hastily got ready for school, grabbed a banana, and headed for the door. Just as I slipped into a pair of comfy flip-flops, I heard the annoying buzz from my cell phone. Ugh, who could that be, I'm running late as it is. I was about to ignore it when I realized it could be Liam (the only people who called me regularly were Liam and my parents), so I frantically dug in my backpack to get it.
"Hello?" I breathed.
"Sophie? Sorry, did I bother you?"
"No," I lied. "What's up?"
"Well, I just wanted to say happy one month anniversary!"
"Oh, today? I...I can't believe I forgot," I said, embarrassed that he remembered and I forgot. "Happy one month."
He chuckled, "Yup, it has been exactly one month since you agreed to be my girlfriend. The days from there on out just passed by and I loved every day and every moment of it. I love you so much, Sophie."
"I love you, too."
"Do you want to celebrate this weekend?"
"Sure, but we don't have to do anything special. We can just hang out at your house."
He chuckled, "I can arrange that. You'll be okay if my dad's there, right?"
"Uh, yea, of course, I mean it is his house." I was a bit worried about what his dad might think of me, since I spent the night with his son in his house. I decided to keep my worries to myself since it didn't seem to bother Liam at all. Why didn't it bother him?
"Great, because he would like to make us dinner."
"Really? That's nice of him."
I'd never had a boyfriend before, so I'd never been able to shower one with gifts; that is, until now. There was this urge inside me to buy Liam a stuffed animal, to buy him nice clothes, shoes, even underwear and socks. I had an urgency to spoil him rotten.
I headed toward Fashion Valley to make him a teddy bear. I always wanted to make a bear for someone special---so many relationships and special moments were marked with cuddly, cotton-stuffed creatures, so this was my chance.
This was definitely every child's dream. I felt like I was entering a large toy store workshop---prime colors splashed the walls, there were so many options and gadgets to choose from---as I headed toward the stations to get started.
Unsure exactly of the reason, I decided to go with a monkey instead of a bear. After looking over my options, a monkey suited him best. Then I went over to get it stuffed. This overenthusiastic guy---who was probably on caffeine pills---handed me a tiny red stuffed heart and told me I had to make a wish on it so he could put it in the monkey's chest. I wished long and hard and handed it back to him. Then I carefully picked the outfit that most resembled Liam's style---a white shirt, camo shorts, and brown sandals---and happily carried it home. Now that I think about it, I probably should have created a bear that resembled me instead of him.
I started working on a poem. When writer's block set in I decided to paint over the monkey's white shirt instead. I used acrylic paint and wrote, "I love you" on the front. On the back I drew a picture of a bonsai tree, his favorite. After a few minutes, I looked it over and was satisfied. I positioned the shirt in such a way that it would dry without leaving smudges on something else, like my carpet. And then, after all the distractions were over and done with, I turned my attention back to the poem.
Filled with so many emotions, I felt it was best to express them in words, like Liam expressed them to me on Valentine's Day. Once my pen started scribbling, the words flowed from my heart:
Broken Fragments...decoded by your love
Day by day life took its destined course
Feelings, destitute, uncertain
Born with a tiny hole, penetrating my heart
that may go unseen by others
Yet to myself it has always been there, lingering
Heart not whole but fragile and waiting for the void to be filled
Waiting that is, until now.
The gentle touch, look, sound that you bestow my way
Fills the void that was always there.
Each gentle breath
Each tender caress
Fills me with unknown satisfaction
Nothing can compare.
Movies are fiction
Dreams personified, perfection
Books are expressions of common desires unfolded
Then why does my reality seem to be but a dream?
A scene, a feeling
Written by writers, spoken by actors
Meant for the purpose of fantasy,
of idealistic sensation
An exaggeration of a realistic moment
Can it be possible even, that reality be better than a dream?
I believe in destiny
Living life as it comes
and letting moments happen as they may
Now that I've found you,
I can truly be happy and at peace.
Everything has come into place
Embraced by your love, bound by your soul, and caught by your heart.
You are my soul mate
Bound together by mystic powers, converged by the simple act of love.
Chance and luck crossed paths that night on Nov 11th
We were meant to find each other.
In a world so big that anyone can be lost in,
But you are my world, and thereby, I am lost in you.
You are the best gift I have ever gotten and will ever receive.
I love you, Liam Henry Sullivan.
"Thanks for the delicious meal, Mr. Sullivan."
"You are most welcome. Please, call me Jack."
"Okay," I tensed---I just couldn't call him Jack (seemed too informal).
Jack cleared his throat, "Well, I'm done for the night, you guys can just leave the dishes in the sink, I'll get them in the morning. Good night."
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night..."
Liam started washing the dishes and I helped dry them---there was no way we were letting his dad cook and clean---it was like teamwork and I was now part of the team.
As I stacked the last of the plates onto the shelf, I felt Liam hook his arm around my waist. He turned me around, pulling me closer, clasped my left hand with his right and swayed me side to side. The next thing I knew, Liam was twirling me around, teaching me the waltz and how to swing dance.
Liam hummed while we danced across the tiny space, twirling me around as we went. Once in a while he even dipped me gracefully back, each time lifting me into a sweet kiss.
Cautiously he guided me, wary of the obstacles that stood in our way, across the kitchen floor to the living room and back. We navigated around the table and chairs, the guitar and the upright bass leaned in the corner, and the side table that held his dad's antique lamp along with a ceramic vase filled with the flowers---pink and white gerbera daisies. Liam bought these flowers for me; perched atop the bouquet was a card that read:
Sophie---you keep me grounded and sweep me off my feet all at the same time...I love you!---Liam.
We danced for only a moment, but it could have been a perfect eternity.
Once I regained my focus and breath, I excitedly went to my car to retrieve the present I brought for him. Curiously, he followed me outside. When I handed him the box, pleasant shock filled his face as glints of gold freckled his caramel eyes.
"You got me a present? What's the occasion?"
"No reason, just that I felt like it. I want to give you so much, Liam."
"You've already given me more than enough," he said, bringing the gift inside to the privacy of his bedroom.
I perched on his bed, anxiously awaiting his reaction as he opened the lid and lifted the monkey out from the box.
"You got me a stuffed monkey? Hey it even looks like me," he laughed. "Did you paint this?"
"Yup. Do you like?"
"I love it." He leaned forward to kiss me and then diverted his attention to the folded piece of paper taped to the inside of the box. His eyes lifted. Unfolding the poem, his smile broadened. He took a few minutes to read the poem.
Near the end his hands shook slightly and when his glimmering eyes lifted from the words to meet my delighted eyes, the soft tears overwhelmed me. He couldn't even speak. He just pulled me into his arms and held me. Countless minutes went by before he whispered, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Liam was holding a bottle of Merlot in his shaking right hand as we walked up to the restaurant with the large yellow and black sign, surrounded by palm trees. White puffy clouds dotted the clear blue sky and a gentle breeze filtered through the late morning heat. Sweat prickled the nape of my neck and I knew that Liam's undershirt would be soaked by the end of the long-anticipated lunch.
"Do you think I have time to use the restroom before they get here? I'm so nervous I think I'm going to wet my pants."
I held back a giggle, "Don't worry about it. They'll love you."
"I hope so." His eyes were filled with worry and his body was shaking with nerves. And before Liam was able to scurry to the little boys' room I heard my mom's voice.
"Sophie, over here," my mom yelled. I turned, looked up at Liam, and said sorry with my eyes before we turned to greet them.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Park. It is so nice to finally meet both of you. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."
"Hi Liam," my mom greeted him with a warm hug.
"About ten, fifteen minutes," my dad grinned and offered a firm handshake.
"I hope the drive wasn't too bad on your way over here."
"No, it was fine."
"That's good," Liam tensed in the shoulders. "Oh, Mr. Park, here, I got you a bottle of red wine. I hope you'll enjoy it."
"Isn't the gift supposed to go to my lovely wife?"
"Oh, um...sorry," Liam gulped. He was taken aback by my dad's brashness and squirmed uncomfortably in place, unsure of how to approach the comment.
"That's okay, next time," my dad gave him a little playful shake on the shoulder and motioned for us to take a seat.
My dad was tough and sometimes cold, but that's what I admired about him. He loved his family and although he wasn't a large man, he had an intimidating presence that could unnerve anyone, possibly even the President. He was direct and well-respected. His unyielding confidence led him to great success. He was a man of few words but everyone listened. No one would dare defy him, or doubt his love and unfaltering need to protect his family. I loved him.
I whispered to Liam, "Don't you need to use the bathroom?"
He gave me a hard shake of the head and I knew this was going to be a long lunch.
"So, what are your plans?" My dad was good at crossing straight into the left hand lane, speeding past the bull-shit and cutting directly to the chase.
Liam cleared his throat, "Well, I'm at UCSD right now. I took a few years off to work and figure out what I wanted to pursue, and now I'm back."
"Yes, my daughter tells me you are quite the student. Straight A's and all."
"Um, yes, well luckily I'm catching right back into the swing of things." He cleared his throat again. "In the next year or two I'll probably try to get an internship in my field and then apply to grad school."
"Where do you see yourself going?"
"To grad school?"
"Yes."
"Well, UC Davis has a great botany program and so does San Diego State."
"Okay, so not too far."
"No."
"You're not like one of those weirdo tree-huggers, right?"
Liam gulped, "No, I'm not."
My dad nodded. "Okay, well, I don't know you very well yet, but I do know my daughter and I can tell you that she's a romantic but she also knows what she wants. When she's in it, she puts all her emotions on the line. What I'm trying to say is, don't toy with her."
"I love her too, sir," Liam straightened and looked sincerely at my dad. "Don't worry, I won't hurt her or let anything bad happen to her. I care about her a lot." He gave me a warm, sideways glance and squeezed my hand. I squeezed his back.
I followed my mom to the bathroom to get her thoughts on Liam while my dad continued to grill him in a direct, slightly combative way.
My mom was a sweet and nurturing lady. Determined, self-sufficient, striving to succeed in anything and everything, especially the trials and tribulations of motherhood. She had an open heart and I loved her dearly.
"He's cute and nice."
"Yes. So?"
She shrugged. "If you like him and Dad likes him, that's enough."
Tilting my head, I gave her the come-on-is-that-all look.
She shrugged as she retouched her lip gloss, "I won't know until I spend more time getting to know him." Leaning into the mirror, she consciously turned her face side to side, scrutinizing for unwanted age marks that seemed to increase with each passing day. Just being conscious of her face and body, my mom was able to erase years without having to submit herself to plastic surgery.
Once she was satisfied, we joined the men back at the tense table.
My dad's dark eyes were stern as he contemplated Liam's most recent response. Liam's rigid back relaxed slightly once my dad gave a single nod of satisfied approval.
"Eat, Liam. You haven't even touched your plate yet," my mom urged, intervening in order to break the strained silence that seemed to emerge.
Liam uncomfortably jammed a piece of pizza in his mouth to satisfy my mom's mothering request. His stomach was bunched up in gnarled knots and he was so stressed. He went through the motions of eating, unable to taste the meal. Without thinking, he chugged his glass of water, increasing the already urgent pressure on his bladder. By the time my parents headed back to Sweetwater, Liam's bulging bladder was on the verge of exploding.
Liam started to relax; taking a few deep breaths of fresh air, his shoulders loosened. His easy smile, that I'd come to love so much, returned to his flushed face. I couldn't help but smile back. Liam answered all my dad's questions perfectly, always having an answer instead of responding with the dreaded "I don't know." My dad hated I-Don't-Knows.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes, I think so."
"Well, I love you and I think you were great back there."
"Really? I was so nervous, I couldn't tell if they liked me."
"They did."
"How can you tell?"
"You would have been able to tell if he didn't."
"Oh," he contemplated, "geez, I really have to use to restroom."
I laughed cheerfully.
"I want to meet this fellow who's making you so happy." My cousin, Liz, was becoming restless during the hour-long drill fest of my all too new love life. She wouldn't be the cousin I'd grown up with if she didn't hound me with questions. Being an only child, she was the closest thing I had to a sister. And being so close, she of all people would be surprised that after twenty-one years I finally fell in love.
"I am happy, aren't I?" I teased.
"Yes, I can tell. You are much happier than I've seen you in a while. You're glowing." She eyed me then, "Dish. You guys had sex, didn't you?"
She was persistent, I'll give her that; but I wasn't going to give her the play-by-play (it's not like she divulged everything to me before). In a way, that's what made us more like real sisters. Caring about each other enough to hide explicit details from each other, worried that the details might spark disapproval or disappointment.
"Not all the way."
"Explain, please." She looked like she was just about to strangle me if I didn't give her something to squeal about.
"We've played around, but..." unsure of how to phrase the part that I needed to say next, I bit my lip, "well, he hasn't popped it in the hole, if you know what I mean."
"Really?" she seemed stunned.
"Yes, why do you look so surprised?"
"It sounds like you guys are so...close."
"Yea, he's wonderful," I gushed, "he's too good to be true. I want to wait until marriage, or at least try to, and he's fine with that."
"Really? You guys already talked about it? How long have you guys been together?"
"A little over 2 months."
"That's not that long."
"No, but...he tells me he loves me multiple times a day and we just click. It's like he's meant for me."
"Uh-oh.Soph, that's very close to saying he's the one." She was stunned.
"I think he is the one."
"Wow, Soph. Um, so what do your parents think about him?"
"They like him...well enough. But my dad's a little hesitant about him."
Liz nodded. She, like everyone else, knew that my dad had a knack for being intimidating.
"My dad's not sure if Liam's being completely himself. He doesn't think any guy could keep up the 'perfection' for too long."
Liz chuckled, "Perfection, huh?"
I smiled, "Yup, you'll understand what I'm talking about when you meet him."
"At this rate, I won't be meeting him until the wedding."
"Funny. But Liz, I've been with him for almost two months now and I feel like we know each other so well. And he really is that perfect. I was skeptical too in the beginning."
"I'm happy for you, Soph. You deserve to be with a great guy."
"Thanks," I was gushing and I didn't care. I was in love.
Liam
Stroking her hair, I giddily watched over her soft relaxed face, her steady breath, and her slight smile radiating against the white cotton sheets. Sophie, you make me so happy. Inching my way off the bed, careful not to wake her, I tucked the sheets around her warm body and kissed her gently on the lips. Steadfastly, I escaped to the kitchen to begin my mission---surprise Sophie with a delicious treat.
When I entered the kitchen, Dad was already finishing his second cup of coffee and was halfway done with the arduous Sunday crossword puzzle.
"Hey Bud, sleep well?"
"Yup," I grinned widely.
"Is Sophie still asleep?"
"Yeah, she's tired from studying for finals."
"You guys sure study a lot." There was no underlying meaning behind his comment. He was actually surprised by the amount of studying that's required these days.
"Are you making soda bread?"
I was taking out the mixer, flour, buttermilk, butter, baking soda, baking powder, sugar, eggs, and raisins.
"Yeah, Sophie never had soda bread so I wanted to make it for her. Give her a taste of the Irish in me," I winked.
"Sounds good to me."
While I was preparing breakfast, I kept one ear toward the bedroom---I didn't want Sophie to come into the kitchen until I was done. All quiet on the western front. I smiled. Sophie sure can sleep. My little sleeping beauty.
"Sophie," I cooed, "Sophie---wake up, beautiful."
"Hmmm," the hand that peeked over the covers moved slightly.
I laughed, "Come on, wake up. I made you breakfast."
"Breakfast?" she opened one eye and sniffed, "Mmmm, what smells so good." I moved the platter closer to her face so she could get a good whiff. She stirred a little more, this time stretching out her legs.
Blinking her eyes, she turned over and reached for her glasses. "You made me breakfast?"
With her glasses on, the delectable spread came into focus. On the platter were scrambled eggs, cantaloupe wedges, a few hunks of freshly baked Irish soda bread, a side of blueberry jam, and a cup of good ol' joe.
"Silly, I made you Irish soda bread since you've never tried it before. And since it's almost St. Patrick's Day, I figured it would be the perfect time."
"Wow, you brought me breakfast in bed. Wait, it's still warm...when did you make the bread?" she asked, in between big mouthfuls. She closed her eyes, letting the flavors meld in her mouth as she twisted in place (her happy-my-tummy-is-satisfied dance).
"I made it just now, while you were sleeping."
"Oh, wow," she said sheepishly, "I can't believe I slept through it."
"No worries, I wanted to surprise you."
"You're wonderful," she smiled, and my heart melted.
"Thanks, doll---but I think you've got it backwards. You're the wonderful one."
Suddenly, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. Spring Break was on the horizon and I desperately wanted to spend every moment of it with Sophie, but...
"What's wrong?"
"Huh?" Sophie was looking at me then, eyes wide with concern, her hand resting on my hand instead of her fork, and I realized that I had drifted off just now thinking about my grandfather, who, truthfully, was dying.
I cleared my throat, "Well, I talked to my grandmother yesterday."
"Oh...how's your grandfather?"
"I guess he's getting weaker by the day now, and there's nothing more the doctors can do."
I paused. I could feel a lump starting to form in my throat, and tears blurred my vision. I tried to choke them back, but I couldn't; the tears were dropping like flies down my face.
Sophie leaned in to kiss them off my face, and when she kissed my lips, I could taste the saltiness from them. She let me weep for a bit, stroking me gently in soothing downward arcs, before I was able to speak again.
"It's really sad to hear my grandmother cry, she's being so strong about the whole thing...she's never broken down like that in front of me."
"Yea, it must be hard on her."
"Yeah, it is. Did you know they were high school sweethearts? He's her whole world pretty much."
"Wow," she breathed, "it's wonderful that they love each other so much."
"Yeah, it really is. They are pretty darn lucky to have what they have." I cleared my throat again before continuing, I looked down at the rumpled, tear-stained sheets, "I guess the whole family is going up there a lot and visiting...even my mom came back from her travels to stay near them...and I haven't seen her in years."
"Your mom's here?" Sophie tensed, probably thinking about the impending meeting, "So are you going to visit?"
"Well, I was thinking about this Spring break...if his condition worsens, that is...my grandmother doesn't want me to go up there during school. She said it makes them the happiest for me to be doing so well."
"I see."
I looked up at Sophie now and I could see her face stained with tears. I wasn't sure if it was because I was in pain, because my grandparents were, or because she realized she probably wouldn't be seeing me for a week. Whatever the reason, it formed a knot in my stomach.
"Well, when you visit you should bring your A+ papers and grades," she smiled through her tears.
"I like how you said 'pap-ERS'...has a nice ring to it when it's plural," I tried to smile.
"Well I'm sure it'll make them smile, too."
"Yeah, it will. I love you so much, Sophie. You are a truly good person."
She hesitated, "So, there's no way that I can come with you, is there?"
I hesitated, picturing my family's disapproval, Grandma's nervous disposition, and Grandpa's weak and embarrassed demeanor. I was afraid she'd ask. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Oh...yea, I understand...I wish I could be there, you know, to meet them and be with you," she trailed off, her eyes drifting to her fidgeting fingers.
"I know, and I want you there with me too, but it'll be too stressful for them."
"Yea, well," her dark brown eyes gleamed as she turned them up toward mine, sorrowful with a forced happiness, "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, Beautiful."
Packing my bags---at the last minute, I placed Hobo, my stuffed monkey, inside my duffel bag. I wanted a part of Sophie to be there with me. Sadness washed over me as I began to think about Sophie sitting in her room, missing me. Sometimes I wished my family were just normal. Not hindered by their anxieties and misconceptions. Not trying to seal all the cracks in the façade of perfect and brave.
I have to admit, it wasn't the best time to meet the love of my life, but when would it be? Grandpa was still alive, and although not well, his heart was beating and his brain was conscious. In the back of my mind I knew there wasn't going to be much time left, and I really wanted Grandpa to meet her. Meet the girl that I am going to marry, the girl who is to me what Grandma is to him---my one, true love.
I wished I had the courage to defy them all and bring her with me. They might get mad, but what would they do, kick us out? Not see us? No, they would have to deal. But no, I couldn't put them in that uncomfortable situation. I couldn't make them suffer more than they already were. I couldn't be selfish.
I picked up my bags, checked to make sure I had my ticket, and headed out to Dad's white work truck.
"Dad, can we make two stops along the way?"
"Sure Bud, where do you want to go?" He was uncomfortable, especially since I was going over to the dark side, but he respected my grandfather and he knew how much this meant to me. He did his part to help, and I was thankful. I couldn't ask Sophie to take me to the airport---it would be too hard---I probably would end up missing my flight and return to Dad's with her in tote.
He started the engine and turned his questioning face toward me, hands on the wheel, foot on the brake, waiting to know the first stop of his chauffeuring duties.
"Allen's Flowers and then Sophie's."
"Okay."
I knew Sophie was on campus, taking her last final of the quarter, probably kicking ass. It pained me to know that I wouldn't be there to hug and congratulate her when she stepped out from the dingy and stressful room.
Hoping for some saving grace, I leaned the bouquet of bright and cheerful yellow and orange sunflowers at the foot of her front door. I imagined the smile it would hopefully bring to her beautiful face, hurriedly wrote on the card (I Love You! Keep on Smiling, Baby Doll---Liam) and left.
The flight was long but fast. I took some ibuprofen for the pounding headache forming behind my eyes and along the base of my skull---strangely enough, it could not be blamed on the screaming baby in the third row, nor on the kid behind me who couldn't stop kicking the back of my seat, nor from the minor turbulence we faced near the landing. Anxiety crept inside me and began to multiply as it took up residence; it was a suffocating disease, which lay dormant until sparked by a traumatic thought from the past. Once awakened, seething hordes of nervousness coursed through my bloodstream and poisoned my brain.
It had been years since I'd seen Mom. The last time I saw her, she was a mess and she sure was pissed. Her face was contorted and eyes were filled with fury. Her hair was wild and her heart was cold. She thought I chose Dad over her when I decided to live with him. She didn't understand that he needed me more. She just wouldn't understand.
Exiting the plane, I began to mentally prepare myself to be drained emotionally, depressed, and alone. Hopefully, a computer would be near so I could contact Sophie. I couldn't see myself calling her for fear she would detect sadness in my voice and worry. I just couldn't chance it.
With luggage and carry-on in hand, I headed toward the exit. As the automatic glass doors opened on command, the brisk mountain air surprised me. From behind the looking glass, the bright sun tricked my mind into inviting me into its warmth.
Just as I was beginning to calm myself down, I spotted her. There she was, leaning beside her green sedan, shielding the glare with her hand. When she spotted me, she stood erect, waving frantically to get my attention. She had aged a bit: wrinkles around her brown eyes and lips, hair slightly blonder than I remembered but just as wild, clothes new-agey, jewelry loud and bold. But her demeanor was softer, more fragile than my last memory. My mother---not the other---came to pick me up.
"Hi Mom."
"Hi Liam. How was your flight?" She offered a kind smile; apparently her last memory was fonder than mine. We exchanged a hug---warm on her side but awkward on mine.
"It was fine. How's Grandpa?"
"He's weak..." she trailed off, her eyes misty and hollow.
"Oh," I said, clearing my throat. "So...how are you?"
"I'm really good, Liam. I heard you are doing well, too. Heard you even have a girlfriend?"
"Yes, she's great."
"Good. Can't wait to meet her."
"Yeah, me neither," and as she went to pop the trunk, I said under my breath, "If and when it's on your terms, right?" Everything was always done on her terms, always her way. Never a compromise. Never, "hmm, I wonder what my vulnerable son needs from me." Where have you been all these years when I needed you most? I wanted to drill her with questions, but I didn't have the strength. With a half-hearted grunt I entered the passenger seat.
During the drive, she startled me by explaining all the places she'd visited and how she seemed to really find herself. I blocked her out. The fire that was boiling in me caught me off guard. I was angrier than I thought I would be. Maybe because I went to live with Dad. Watching the days slip by as he succumbed to depression and misery. And a part of me assumed Mom would feel the same, but she didn't. She seemed happy and content. I should be happy for her, pleased, but I was angry and hurt.
From my vantage point, I couldn't understand that my mom was also just a person---hurt, lost, and fighting her own inner demons during the culmination of the divorce. I couldn't understand why she also left me when she left Dad. Even if I didn't live with her, she was my mom and she shouldn't have gone so far, for so long.
"Liam?"
"Huh?" I realized I wasn't listening.
"Have you heard from your sister?"
"Not in a few months, why?"
"Oh, I was just wondering if she was going to visit also...you know, sort of like a family reunion? That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
Nice, or convenient? Of course I didn't say that but I thought it. She sure could have done better to raise us, especially Emily. Em needed a mother's guidance and love, maybe then, she wouldn't have run away with Dan to who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what. Bitterness consumed me. My body wasn't acclimating to this hostility as well as it had to the compassion I felt hours before. It angered me that I was unable to look upon Mom with the love and gratitude that all moms deserved from their children, that she deserved from me.
At that moment, pain pricked my insides as I childishly longed for the clock to turn back and be placed at a time when laughter filled my family's home, and Dad, Mom, Em and I were able to enjoy a hearty home-cooked meal together.
After an hour-long car ride, we finally got to my grandparent's cabin. It was just the way I remembered: crisp, soft snow blanketing the yard and rooftop, smoke drifting lazily from the chimney, curtains drawn, and a wooden angel carved into the front door. My grandparent's house looked like the cover of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. I took a deep breath and followed Mom into the house.
I smelled the pot of hot coffee brewing in the kitchen, and heard murmuring in the other room, probably from where Grandpa was resting. Then I heard Grandma's voice, high and sweet, pierce down the halls, "Oh, my sweet Liam is here."
She walked fast but regally down the hall, open-arms, filling the room with her warm presence, and kissed me tenderly on the cheek.
"Oh, my sweet Liam, how I've missed you," she was choking back fresh and old tears now. Tears for everyone, it seemed. Even though her voice masked her grief, her eyes were painfully sad.
I felt sad for her. Sad that she felt she couldn't express herself to her family. Sad that she felt like she had to be strong and controlled. Sad that she felt like we wouldn't understand if she grieved for the man she loved almost her entire life and whom she was losing, slowly but surely.
"I missed you too, Grandma." I gave her a gentle, loving squeeze and kissed her sunken cheek.
"Oh, you must be tired and hungry. Why don't you set your things down in the spare bedroom down the hall, you remember, the blue room, and I'll fix you something to eat."
"Grandma, you don't have to."
"Hush, now. What are Grandmas for, anyways?" she gave me her best impression of a smile. "Now, you go on and wash up."
"Okay, thanks Grandma." There was no arguing with her. What I really wanted to do was drop my things right at the door and go straight to Grandpa's room and tell him about my Sophie, but I knew there were steps that needed to be taken first.
First, drop my things in the blue room and change out of my travel clothes. Second, eat a hearty meal that Grandma prepared. Third, antibacterial-wash my hands. Then I would be allowed to see Grandpa, hopefully alone, but I knew that would be nearly impossible.
The blue room was immaculate, blue, and unchanged. The bed was still in the middle of the room, with blue patchwork quilts and blue pillows; the oak dresser was by the door with the blue-cloth shade lamp on top, and the crib---where all the grandchildren slept---was still in the far corner of the room, unused for some time. Everything was neatly placed and pressed. No dust or lint was able to take up residence in this, or any part of the many rooms in Grandma's house. No one seemed to have used this room since the last time I occupied it, when I was thirteen.
Grandma stuffed me with four slices of French toast, bacon, eggs, a large mug of coffee and a tall glass of OJ. Shaking my head, I wondered how an eight-year-old boy was ever able to scarf down this meal every day. No wonder I was the fat kid. But man is it delicious. After I was stuffed and washed up, we went to see Grandpa and the rest of my sleep-deprived family.
Mom was fussing over Grandpa's pillow, Aunt Deb was reorganizing his pills into tiny plastic daily boxes and Aunt Carolyn was lecturing Aunt Deb on how to organize the pills in the pillboxes. All three sisters were different in looks, but were each strong-willed, opinionated, and loud---and their men, all divorced out of the family.
"Oh hey, Liam," my aunts greeted me in unison.
I went over to give them each a hug and a kiss. "Where are the boys?"
"Oh, the boys are playing out back in the snow." I looked out the window to see Michael, Jacob, and Daniel tossing snowballs at each other.
"They grew," I offered. I was never that close to my cousins since they were born near the time my parents were divorced.
"Yes," Aunt Carolyn said wistfully, "My babies have grown. They're not babies anymore."
"Liam?" Grandpa all but whispered my name and a lump formed automatically in my throat.
"Yes, Grandpa, it's me." I went by his side and knelt down so he could see me. I kissed his brow and held his limp hands in mine. His hands were clammy with cold sweat; raised blue veins made ridges along the blotches of yellow and red. He was a lot weaker than I imagined. His body, once strong, looked limp and frail tucked under the freshly cleaned and pressed sheets. His face was sunken and sallow, his eyes were crusted with tears, and he was nodding off every few minutes. But when I looked into his soft brown eyes, I could see Grandpa fighting for every breath, fighting to stay alive, and that comforted me.
"How's Sophie?"
"She's wonderful," I choked back the hot, salty tears that were prematurely emerging, blurring my vision. He remembered her. He understands.
There was no doubt in my mind that he understood. He, too, knew the meaning of true love, for his life was a testament to it. I only heard it once, a few years ago from Grandma, but it is a story that will never be forgotten and will always be treasured. Grandpa was sitting on a cool metal barstool (the revolving kind with red vinyl seats), sipping on a fizzy soda-pop (the kind with real syrup and sugar) at a neighborhood ice cream parlor after school. In those days, all the kids congregated there once school let out---their version of The Max---and this was where he fell in love. For over a year he watched her from a distance as she laughed with friends, enjoying a scoop of vanilla ice cream from a cone (only on days when she was able to scrounge up enough change). He thought she had the whitest teeth and prettiest dark hair. He was sixteen and she was at the tender age of twelve. From that day forward he promised himself that he would take care of her in every way possible. He never broke that promise. His love for her never faltered, nor did her love for him.
"Is she the one?"
"Yes."
"Good," he smiled before he nodded off for the rest of the night. It was like he was forcing himself to stay awake until I got there. Like he was waiting for me.
The next day wasn't so good. He was in a lot of pain---he seemed to hurt all over. Grandma upped his dosage to help soothe the excruciating pain (Grandpa normally had a high tolerance for pain). The painkillers eventually took over and luckily he was able to sleep for the rest of the day.
The following day was his last. He must've sensed it, too, because he requested to see everyone individually. It took almost the entire day. Starting with Mom and ending with Grandma.
With me, he only said a few words, but they were enough. They came out in staccato fashion, "Don't wait. Marry her. Sorry. I love you." Each breath haggard and drawn out from his weary lungs.
"Don't be sorry. I love you, Grandpa."
I left before he could see my tears, and I hurriedly locked myself in the blue room to wallow alone. Once the dry heaves settled and the tears stopped flowing I thought about his words:
"Don't wait."
"Marry her."
"Sorry."
"I love you."
Don't wait for what?For life to pass me by? He wanted me to marry Sophie, but wasn't it too early? Sorry. Why was he sorry? Because he didn't have a chance to meet Sophie, or because he wouldn't be there for my wedding? Why was he worrying about these things when he should focus his energy entirely on trying to get better? Miracles do happen, right? They must.
When I got out of the room, it was a quarter to nine. Grandpa's door was ajar and I could hear soft moans and sobs. The noises sounded strange to my ears, as if they weren't human. My heart stopped; the lump in my throat returned, and so did the knot in my stomach. It happened so fast. He was here one moment and then he was gone.
Grandma was resting her head on his hands, her eyes closed, her heart pried open. There she stayed, still, eyes completely dry and closed, as if she was locked in a trance...she was saying her final goodbyes.
After I regained composure, I gave in and called Sophie. I needed her and I wished she had come. Mostly, I wished Grandpa could have met her. A part of me knew this would become one of my biggest regrets.
"I'm coming."
"What? No, it's okay really, just stay there."
"No, I'm coming," she said firmly.
"Okay." How could I say no when my heart wanted her near? I hesitated. "This isn't going to be the best time to meet my family for the first time."
"I know. That's okay. I want to be there for you. I want to be there to comfort you and hold you."
"I love you, Sophie."
"I know you do, because I love you, too."
Everyone was already busy getting the funeral arrangements in order and the invitations sent. Grandma had already made all the necessary arrangements months ago; all we had to do was make the final calls, mail out the pre-posted invites, and wait. The date was set for this Saturday so I wouldn't have to miss my first week of Spring Quarter. I felt guilty somehow, like I was a burden.
My aunts were slightly annoyed by Sophie coming when we would be in the middle of all the chaos, but they were only worried about their mom, who, by all means seemed thrilled. If she was concerned, she didn't show it.
In a way it helped her displace her grief. And I think she was more worried about my feelings than hers. She saw me at my lowest point and she would have given anything to make sure I never felt that much pain again. I promised myself that I would never get that low again, and having Sophie with me, I knew I would be able to keep that promise.
According to my watch, Sophie would be stepping out of the building any minute now. Anxiously I waited, jumping anytime man, woman, or child exited the doors. Finally, Sophie stepped out into view. A surge of emotions flew through me. She was the love of my life, and I just wanted to get down on one knee right there and ask her to join me for as long as we both shall live.
She smiled her enchanting smile when she caught my eyes, and she ran over to meet me in a long embrace. We kissed, warm and light, but with enough feeling to make the people around us uncomfortable. When we finally parted, I grabbed her carry-on and then her hand.
"How are you?" she asked. Worry lined her soothing eyes.
"I'm okay, I guess...it's hard."
She nodded, "Yes, I know."
"I'm glad you're here though."
"Me too. I missed you."
"I think I'm spoiled from all the time we spent together. The more I spend time with you the more I miss you when we're apart."
"I know, I feel the same way."
I looked at the house, and then back at her, "Are you ready?"
"Yes...I'm nervous."
"Don't be, they're all excited to meet you." I almost convinced myself.
"Okay."
Grandma must have noticed the car, because she was already standing by the door, regal as ever.
"Grandma, this is my girlfriend, Sophie. Sophie, this is my grandmother."
"Hello," Sophie's shy small voice came out in a whisper.
"Hi, Sophie. It's so wonderful to finally meet you."
After embracing Sophie with a warm hug and kiss on the cheek, she scooted us inside to the comfort of the hearth-warmed house.
Sophie greeted everyone as the day went on, as people were coming in and out, going every which way, hurriedly planning for the funeral. I wished they would just sit and rest for a bit and get to know Sophie, but I guess that would have to wait for a more opportune time.
"Um, Mrs. Baker?"
"Yes my darling?" Grandma glanced up from scrubbing the tiled kitchen countertop, which she diligently did after preparing a meal.
"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," Sophie said quietly as she handed her a sealed pink envelope.
"Thank you, my dear," Grandma tucked the envelope into her apron pocket, "I'll read this later."
"Okay."
Grandma left swiftly, avoiding the tears that seemed to sneak up on her by Sophie's kind gesture.
Grandma later showed me the card that was sealed in the pink envelope, and the note that was written inside:
Dearest Mrs. Baker, a.k.a. Liam's Beloved Grandmother,
I offer you all my sympathy and love. Although I have not had the pleasure of meeting your husband, I have been blessed with meeting his grandson and the stories he has shared with me of the two of you.
Stories and spirit live on when the body, itself, passes...and the look in Liam's eyes, when he recounts the memories of his grandfather and grandmother, says it all.
Michael Baker was a great man, loved by many, and respected by all. He knew how to live life and how to love his family. He cherished everything that mattered most in life and looked after and cared for his most valuable and precious treasure...his loving wife.
He shall be truly missed but he shall always be remembered and loved. Although I will never personally have the pleasure of knowing what a great man your husband was, I am glad that I will still have the pleasure of meeting you. From everything that Liam has mentioned, I already knew that you are also one of a kind...an amazing woman and a wonderful grandmother.
You love unconditionally, supportively, and are a perfectionist, just like Liam J.
Liam is very lucky to have such wonderful grandparents.
With love and sympathy,
Sophie Park
The funeral was lovely and heartfelt. Flowers lined the inner walls and available openings. The scent was so overpowering that it became sickly sweet rather than pleasant. The constant flow of air from the air conditioner felt eerie against my raised skin, as if spirits were floating past, my grandfather among them.
Silence, the most overpowering factor, created a unified discomfort; at times, I almost burst out in a fit of laughter. It hurt so much I didn't know what else to do. Unconscious release of hysteria is normal during situations of uncomfortable distress or hardship, only to others it usually sounds like momentary shrills of sadness. But luckily, I was too anxious for that.
The room was filled with many friends, family, ex-co-workers, and my Sophie. She held my hand through it all, sat by me, clung to my side as I wept, from the time Ave Maria belted from the speakers to the closing of Amazing Grace.
It must have been awkward but she didn't show any hesitation or discomfort by the situation and setting. Even when I walked her up to the stage where Grandpa rested, introducing her for the first and last time to him, face-to-face, she smiled softly and gripped my hand.
The eerie sense I received from looking down upon the open casket unnerved me. His face and hands seemed flattened and leathery. The makeup created a façade that simulated life, but the body remained lifeless and distant. This wasn't my grandfather. He was gone.
I realized then that my family was also gone.
The ceremony and reception was lovely and the mood, although somber, was calm and not filled with the normal quiet tension that leaves me drained and disheartened. Not to say that I wasn't glad to be on a plane with Sophie, headed home.
While we were an hour or so into our flight, I jokingly asked, "Do you like yellow gold or white gold?"
Sophie tilted her head, slightly confused for a moment before playing along, "I like white gold better, but it depends."
"Mmm," I said jokingly, tapping a finger against my chin. I turned back into my lumpy chair, adjusting my watch.
When I didn't expand on the subject, she nudged, "Why?"
"Oh," leaning back against the headrest with my eyes closed, "I was just thinking about getting you a gaudy 18-karat gold necklace...actually, like six of them and a pair of nugget earrings to match." Taking a sideways glance, my lips were itching to crack.
"Ewww," she squealed in hideous delight, "that sounds awful."
I chortled, "Are you trying to imagine it?"
She seemed lost in thought, fidgeting with the seat belt.
"Yea," she grinned, "I was also thinking about getting you a matching set."
"That's cool," I said nonchalantly, "I'll love anything you got me. But, a man like me needs at least twelve chains."
With that, we started to crack up. I could feel disgruntled eyes poke me from all directions, but for the first time it didn't bother me. It felt good, revitalizing the spirit. With Sophie's hand entwined in mine, it was easy to succumb to a state of relaxation.
I drifted off to sleep, thinking about the gold band that was safely stored in my suitcase, as we were thousands of feet up in the air.
After a few hours of walking in (and summarily out) of door after door of some of the finest jewelers in the city, looking at, what seemed like hundreds of sparkling gems, hassling with men in snazzy suits of varying quality and fit, and then speaking relentlessly to their managers, I was angry and fed-up.
The diamonds they brought out---I won't name any names, but the big-name stores that you generally hear ads for on the drive over to work---were crap. The cut was standard or subpar, the color was off---unless it was under the special lighting they conveniently and strategically placed around the store---and the clarity was dull. It wasn't until I stepped into the small diamond boutique in Old Town---I remembered noticing it on our date there, since it was conveniently located across from Café Cristobal---that I felt understood and confident.
The area was small but inviting; their display was impressive and slightly understated. The assistant was hassle-free and helpful. The woman who helped me was probably in her late 30s, business-like with her hair slicked back into a secure bun, a rich navy blue suit with gray lapel, and gray heels to match. She was well put together and eyed me eagerly, not ready to pounce, but hopeful and prepared.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes, I'm in search of the perfect diamond for this gold band," I pulled out the tiny box to show the band.
"That's lovely, is it an heirloom?"
"Yes, my great-grandmother's." Good, she seemed intelligent enough.
"I'm sure we can find you something."
"Thanks, and just so you are aware," the lady halted before continuing her stride toward the back room, "I just came from a few different jewelers and am a bit peeved and frustrated, so I'm sorry in advance if I'm a little irritated and impatient."
Her smile was slow and wide, a bit smug, when she replied, "I understand completely. Don't worry, you came to the right place."
And apparently I did, because the five diamonds she selected had a higher degree of clarity and superior color over any of the other ones I saw. I took my time scrutinizing each one. Going back and forth, looking for any flaws that I could see with the naked eye. She even let me view my final selection outside, in the natural light, so I could confirm its clarity and fire.
I finally picked the third one---it sparkled even in the dark, the color was so clear and white---it was perfect. It mesmerized me. Just like my Sophie does.
Although the ring, which carved out three-quarters of my credit card limit, was securely stowed in my fireproof safe, I felt uneasy. I contemplated opening up a safe deposit box at the bank but even that was unnerving. The only solution was to get the ring on Sophie's finger as soon as possible. But first things first.
I paced back and forth across the wooden floorboards, thinking, planning, hyperventilating, and trying desperately to acquire enough courage to pick up the dang phone.
Last night, when I got home from the jewelers, Dad was cooking dinner. I waited until after Dad plated the crispy corn shells stuffed with fried fish and coleslaw to show him the ring. Eying the ring and then me and then looking back at the ring, he panicked. Before speaking, he rose from his chair, opened the fridge, removed a can of beer, and came back to the table. After chugging a good amount, he started to shake his head (not the reaction I had hoped for).
"Dad, I love Sophie, you know that."
"I know," he sighed, "but isn't it too soon? You haven't even experienced your first fight yet."
Obviously, the sting from his own experience was clouding his judgment. He picked up the cooled taco and was about to take a bite, paused, and then set it back onto the plate, opting for another swig of beer instead. This conversation hindered his appetite.
"Not everyone fights." Dad glanced at me skeptically. "Sophie and I are different. We talk through things. We don't hold anything back."
Dad sighed and headed back to the kitchen to throw away the uneaten fish taco. Washing the dirty dishes, he was avoiding continuing the conversation. He was avoiding me.
He wasn't giving in. His experience was still too vivid, too painful. He loved Sophie, but his inability to trust women was hindering him from providing me with the support I needed. I knew he had issues with women in the past, but he needed to understand that Sophie was the only one for me; it didn't matter how long we waited; it was forever with her. So what was the point of delaying the inevitable?
Without thinking it through, I picked up the phone and punched in the numbers scrawled on a torn page of O-Chem notes. After two rings, a man picked up, his voice---once familiar---seemed threatening somehow, and I froze.
"Hello? Liam? Is that you?"
Damn caller ID. I cleared my voice a couple times before I could speak, "Yes, sir. Hello Mr. Park, this is Liam."
"Hi Liam," there was a pause, "is something wrong?" his voice thick with concern.
"No, no, nothing's wrong." In the distance I heard a sigh of relief. "I---I just have something important that I would like to discuss with you and your wife...and I was wondering if you both were free sometime soon to meet me for breakfast or lunch. I could drive up to see you both whenever and wherever is most convenient."
I let out a deep breath.
"Liam, is there something you just want to tell us over the phone?"
"No, I would much rather talk about it in person. It's important."
"Okay. Then we'll come down to see you...say Tuesday?"
"Are you sure, I don't mind driving up."
"No, you have school to worry about. Just email me the time and place and we'll be there."
Before I had a chance to thank him he added, "You know, it would just save us both a lot of time if we just talked about it over the phone."
"No, please, Mr. Park. This is important to me."
He chuckled, "Okay."
~ Sophie ~
Spring quarter was a bit of a blur. Spending every available moment with Liam---studying, walking to our spot at Lake Murray, sleeping in, cuddling, discussing life and our future---we became inseparable, especially now that we lived together. Tiff still occupied the master bedroom upstairs, which was fine since she spent most of her time over at Ethan's while trying to land various modeling gigs that caught her fancy.
When Liam moved, I moved. When I was quiet, he offered his undivided attention so that he could mend my woes and discomfort. When he held my hand, I held his. If my hand wasn't held, my body was.
Friends and family all looked to us in awe, as well as annoyance. If they asked for one, they received both. Our relationship came easy---no hardships or unpleasant discourse, no petty fights or jealous outbreaks---it just worked. It was simple and it was beautiful, like a sunrise that glows above the clear horizon, overlooking a calm and crystal lake, rising slow and steady without fail each and every morning.
Some people climb mountains---walk over rough terrain, cross a choppy river, trudge through dense brush and over unsteady boulders---just to catch a glimpse of this natural and daily occurrence. But for us, we saw it each and every day in the comfort of our own home, entwined in each other, restful, and happy.
It was no wonder that on this glorious day, when the sun rose steady and sure, the question arose.
After a long and delightful night, we awoke in bed. Smiles planted on our faces, groggy from sleep. A thin layer of sweat gluing us together, crammed in the center of the bed as if we had to share amongst a family of six. We were rested and happy.
Liam turned to his side so he could kiss me. I kissed him back five, six, ten times. I couldn't get enough of his sweet kisses.
"How many do you think that is?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled, "How many kisses?"
"Yeah, do you think we made it to a million yet?"
I grinned, replying, "It must be a million." I collapsed onto him, continuing to shower him with a few more kisses, just to make sure.
If breakfast at Seaport Village was offered past ten o'clock, and their Hawaiian French toast was on par with that of Denny's, we would've slept until the sun began to set. Scrambling to get dressed, we arrived at a quarter to ten, barely making it for the French toast---Hawaiian bread covered in gooey batter and grilled to perfection, layered with toasted coconut, bananas, powdered sugar and doused with a heavy spoonful of mango papaya syrup---and a steaming cup of their house Kona coffee.
The setting was perfect: sail boats lining the docks, light glimmering onto the never-ending blue water, and birds singing overhead. We sipped our coffee, ate in bliss, and were enrapt in each other's presence.
It seemed like any other glorious Sunday morning. Liam making sure I was fed and happy. Me, stealing sweet kisses every chance I got. The two of us deep in thought, relaxed in bliss, and enjoying today, enjoying now.
Leaving now, to where I assumed would be the comforts of our place---specifically the privacy of the bathroom (the coffee was kicking in for its morning ritual)---I leaned back to enjoy the drive. To my surprise, we weren't heading toward the apartment but Liam turned his Volvo toward the lake instead.
"Where are we going?" I asked, nervous, feeling the slight shift of my stomach contents.
"Oh, I thought it would be a nice day for a walk. Don't you agree?"
"Um, yes it is a nice morning."
I sighed, it was a beautiful morning and I would love to go on a walk, if only, the urgency to use the restroom wasn't so dire. I would hold it. I had to---the thought of using the public outhouses left me in chills. Could there be anything more unsavory than being enclosed in that blue rectangular box?
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I don't know why I fibbed. It wasn't like I was ashamed, it was only natural. Plus, we'd already experienced each other's unsightly behaviors and smelled the gas that passed late in the night.
Looking at him now, his smiling face, carefully watching the road and the light morning traffic before him, my heart fluttered. Subconsciously I knew that he would be disappointed if we wasted this beautiful morning by not taking a stroll along our lake. What's a little discomfort when I could give him this moment?
We walked to our normal spot---off the beaten path, slightly out of view, and private. Liam pulled me into the warmth of his body, effortlessly, and held me there, enjoying the beauty of our surroundings and the smell of the water, trees, and fresh air.
We stood there in deep thought, until he shifted, uncomfortably, his pulse quickened, and his arms started to quiver. I felt the air above me disappear as he devoured it helplessly, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. I looked up, worried, but his eyes were calm, loving and kind.
"I have a surprise." His voice startled me in the silence, cracking slightly.
"What kind of surprise?"
"Just close your eyes, okay?"
"Okay." I followed along, thinking it would be some playful game ending in a teasing kiss, or with a yellow daisy that grew in wild patches beside us, in his hand.
I waited. Heard rustling from the trees above, the crunching of dead leaves and gravel below, and of Liam shifting discreetly before me.
"You can open your eyes now."
I opened them. Liam was kneeling, the sun gleamed through the holes between the leaves, like fairy dust was dancing lightly around him. His eyes twinkled. His smile, child-like and honest. His face, pure and radiant, like the item in the open box he displayed in his open hand.
I gasped. My body shook with uncontrollable happiness, my face froze, and my eyes glistened with unexpected tears.
"Sophie, you make me so happy. I couldn't imagine my life without you. My mission is to enrich your life and I would be honored if you would let me do that as your husband. Will you marry me?" his words spread soft and sure, his voice shaky and misted through heartfelt tears.
"Yes, of course YES. I love you."
"And I love you."
The ring slipped on easily, like the glass slipper Prince Charming slipped onto Cinderella's bare foot. It was beautiful. The stone dancing in the light, the weight of it surprising me as I twisted my hand in admiration, and the band was delicate, graceful in age.
"I love it," I whispered, "It's so...beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you." He admired it wistfully, "the band was my great-grandmother's."
"Really?" A surge of emotion went through me as I felt the power, love and history that the band embodied. The love imbued within this ring was unbreakable. It had been steeped in love for over a century and it would continue to live through our love. "Wow. Thank you."
Everything seemed perfect, as if the stars aligned the night we first met and angels sang, while a harp played in harmony up above. We were surrounded by some magic spell that linked our hearts and souls together. Liam is my soul mate, the love of my life, my better half...
Our entire lives, we seemed to have been waiting for the other, just holding on to the thread that framed our lives until we came together. Two halves meeting and becoming whole, finally becoming one, perfectly. We'd been striving for perfection for over twenty years, and we enveloped ourselves in it, in each other. Our life together held a meaning we could never see when apart. We will take care of each other, forever. We will love each other, forever.
The calmness I felt seemed weird to me. On a day when most are stressed, frustrated, and jittery, I was smiling, relaxed, and serene. There were puffy clouds in the sky, the wind was gentle and infrequent, the air was dry and warm, and the lake was peaceful and still.
The path was cleared of pebbles and dog excrement, and fresh white roses and calla lilies were strategically placed, mainly congregating around our secluded spot where Liam placed the ring on my finger just a few months before.
Placing my veil---lined with lace and pearls---on my head, I turned to the portable mirror and smiled. My dress was simple but elegant, like our romance: delicate, shimmering chiffon draped along the satiny, white fabric, which flowed softly against my frame. White pearls accented the slight opening of the back and around the heart-shaped neckline. The hemline gracefully skimmed my feet as I slipped into my crystal-embellished sandals. My hair was set into a soft bun, with wisps of hair flowing free.
The gentle notes of the harp played in the distance, the serene melody of The Notebook flowing in the gentle breeze, as I stepped out from my little canopy, linked to my dad's arm, holding a tiny array of calla lilies. I bathed in the streams of sunlight, toward my love.
I closed my eyes for a moment, just to take it all in, the beauty and the serenity, and as I walked, cherishing every step, I met the eyes of the loved ones and close friends that stood to the side, awestruck.
Then I locked my gaze on the eyes that mattered most, the eyes that were soft and gentle, caramel brown with golden flecks; the eyes that melted my soul and fluttered my heart, the eyes that were gleaming with happiness and love, so much love...
A tear escaped my eye, matching the tear that escaped his. Our eyes never left each other's, our hands never parted, and our voice soared above as the vows we exchanged were spoken:
"Sophie, I remember when we first started seeing each other, and we shared a moment of reflection about whether we should take the next step and become a couple. I quickly thought of the most convincing and romantic thing to say...but what came out instead was 'Sophie, I want to enhance your life.'
Thinking back to that moment now, standing here, I'm glad that is what I wished because it came true for both of us. We are better together, we do make each other ineffably happy, we have enhanced our lives.
So, all my vows stem from this first promise I made to you: Sophie, I will always be kind to you, no matter how bad my day was, or how tired I am, I will never waste a single moment venting life's frustrations on you but will instead laugh them away with you. I will treasure every day we spend together; I will always place family first.
Even when I'm old and gray (or old and bald) I will still tell you I love you morning and night, kiss you with passion, dance with you, take you out on dates, and tell you you're the most beautiful woman to me.
I'm holding my whole world by the hands right now, looking into your eyes, and in front of everyone dear to us I am promising to keep our world safe, joyful, and full of smiles. Sophie, I promise you. I promise you I will be there until the end, to hold you, cherish you, give you the sweet life you dream of every day, and the wish for sweet dreams to rest upon each night. I will continue that promise through today and all our tomorrows...and with this ring, I will always love you, Sophie."
"Liam, from the moment we met it was like fate. I didn't know it then but that night would be the start of my fairytale life. Our relationship grew so fast. We learned so much about each other in just a couple of months to the point that we knew that we were meant for each other. I knew you were different and very special from the day we first met. I saw your heart, your charm, and your intelligence. You amazed me then and you amaze me now the way you love others unconditionally, your sensitive nature that derives from a kind of sixth sense, your many talents and hobbies, and your passion for life, especially for your family and friends.
It scared me a little when you kept on mentioning your desires to be a grandfather. But I began to realize it was mainly because you had so much love and admiration for yours. Although I did not have the pleasure of meeting him, I know that whatever Michael Baker had that allowed him to be a wonderful grandfather, you do too.
You are handsome, intelligent, weird, and strive for excellence while achieving it. You know how to love me fully and unconditionally.
I knew that I was meant to share my life with you and I know that I can't live my life without you. I need you beside me always to protect me and to love me. The only thing that matters to me is that we are together. You are my first and my only love and with this ring, I will love you forever."
Our kiss was soft and passionate, our emotions rose deep from the words we expressed. Our thoughts were on the first night, and the days thereafter. Although we enjoyed the bright company of our dear ones, we were anxious to escape, so my husband could enjoy my special gift that I kept safe for him---and only him---to open on this very night.
Under the full moon and dusty twilight, under the trees and strings of lights, and surrounded by good music, food, laughter, and cheers, we danced inseparably. And when twilight came and went, fading to darkness, we waved our goodbyes and Liam whisked me away to the Hyatt, room 1207, overlooking the bay.
Smiling, I looked over at Liam's smooth face, his hair matted down with sweat, his eyes angelic and closed, his lips parted, a sliver of drool escaping down his chin, and his body limp, tangled in white sheets, exhausted and happy. I leaned in to kiss his soft lips, remembering the way they caressed my body, how they got lost in mine, and how I felt when he entered and consumed me last night.
Liam took my gift graciously, lovingly, and as I gave all of myself to him; letting go of any doubts, questions, or worries I had faced in the past, I cleared the path to my heart.
He woke up sleepily, still drained from the magical event that preceded, to return the kiss. Smiling, he said groggily, "That has to be a million."
I replied, "Must be."
Our life was perfect. Through planning, saving, scheming, plotting, and the generosity of our families, we were able to purchase a small townhouse to call our home. Liam worked day and night making the necessary renovations to make the perfect place for us, where we would one day start a family. We even wrote love notes to each other and fixed them to the unfinished bathroom walls before he covered them up with mortar and tile.
Our home was perfect. With its cream colored walls, red oak floors, and new stainless steel appliances. The bathroom was breathtaking with its granite counters and custom built shower, christened with our love notes. We cultivated a peaceful garden just outside the kitchen sliding doors, filled with a waterfall, trees, shrubs, roses, and a bonsai.
It was everything we dreamed of, and more.
It was Liam's and mine. It was ours.
Our romance was perfect. Each day, we loved with more passion, we cared about each other with more heart, and we couldn't imagine living a moment without the other. The promises we made on our wedding day never faltered, they only grew stronger, and we finally craved and valued life.
After graduating from UC San Diego, I landed a job as a receptionist in a hospital nearby and Liam became a biologist for a large environmental firm downtown. We worked hard, but we loved even harder.
Liam was ready to start a family, but I was hesitant. I was scared that bringing another person into our life might break our already perfect lives. Like adding one extra thing might tip the balance that had been working so perfectly for us. I was also scared that I would be too weak to be a great mother. I was scared this world would become a dark and dangerous place, and I didn't want my child to suffer the consequences. Mostly, I was scared we would bring a child into this world who was timid and frail and who would eventually go through all the pain and agony we both went through as children. My parents were wonderful parents and even they couldn't prevent the depression I faced. Simply put, I was scared.
Liam was willing to wait. He was patient and kind and sometimes I felt like I didn't deserve it. I treasured him every single moment of my life.
The day he got the call, was the day my perfect life started to crumble. The morning was clear and beautiful. There wasn't a cloud left to mark the sky. The air was warm, with a slight breeze that ruffled my hair and put a smile on my face. Liam already left for work and I came down the stairs to a note on the counter:
Dear Love,
Breakfast is waiting in the microwave. Just set it to 30 seconds to re-heat and the cheese should have melted over the fluffy eggs. Don't forget to take your vitamins.
I love you! Have a wonderful day.
-Your husband
I smiled while I ate my perfect breakfast and thought about the special dinner I was preparing to make tonight. We already made reservations at El Prado for our one-year anniversary, but that was tomorrow night, and I wanted to surprise him with a private dinner tonight.
I couldn't wait for him to open my gift. It was hard hiding it from him, since it took me a few months to finish. It was a quilt with pictures, our poems, and pieces of our special moments embedded throughout. I grinned as I thought of where I decided to hide it. Hidden under our bed, wrapped in a plain white box with a large red ribbon, it sat next to my shoebox full of our love letters and instant message conversations that I diligently saved all these years.
Liam could sometimes be clueless, but more so, he was never nosy and was very humble. He never expected anything and was always surprised by a gift or kind gesture. I loved surprising him.
But it was I who was surprised that evening. I came home from work---a bag full of groceries under my arms with the intent of remaking the dinner that Liam made for me the day I announced my love---to find another note, this time giving me a different set of shivers.
I frantically ran upstairs to find his suitcase gone and a few of his clothes packed. His toothbrush, hair products, and deodorant were missing. I started to shake violently; my head pounded and throbbed, my heart crushed under the weight of my lungs and my eyesight blurred in the confusion and chaos of my frantic mind. I collapsed, my mind racing with questions and the loneliness consumed me as a flood of hot, salty tears gushed out of me. Liam left, and I, according to his note, didn't know for how long.
The next morning I awoke, groggy and drenched in a cold sweat. I had a nightmare. A variation to the ones I had a year ago...
I was once again trapped in a field of sunflowers, wilted and desiccated by the boiling heat. My fingers ached to touch them. I plucked one effortlessly from the rotten soil. Ghastly I turned to my fingers; blood trickled down my arm. I looked at the sunflower again and it was now a rose plagued with hundreds of thorns---one must have pricked my finger. Then I heard his soft voice teasing in the wind...Soph...Soph...his back was turned but my heart knew who he was. He turned...it was Liam...
It was three in the morning. I must have slept soon after reading the note; the groceries still packed neatly in their reusable bags next to the counter, spoiled. There was no message from Liam on my phone, so I read the note one more time, my head clearer:
Dear Love,
Sorry, but I had to leave. I'll explain everything as soon as I can. It was urgent and I couldn't take you with me. Don't worry. I love you.
-Liam
How could I not worry? What was so important he couldn't wait until I got home to discuss it with me? Why didn't he call? Why didn't he take me? Why couldn't he? Was he in trouble? Is there someone else? Was he living a secret life? Why was this happening?
I grasped my burning chest as the pain was becoming too uncomfortable to bear, and I wept until my eyes ran dry and my chest stopped heaving. I felt faint and slept some more.
"LIAM!---" I screamed myself awake. One hand awkwardly reaching in front of me, grasping at nothing.
The pain was worse than the time I wrote that letter to myself, the day I reached my lowest point, the day my parents saved my life. It was hard telling Liam, the love of my life, the man who saw me as innocent and kind: the girl who could do no wrong did something horrible, obscene, and self-destructive.
I tried to hurt myself, tried to feel something, tried to live. With all the pills that I consumed, with all the vomit that I induced, all I did was end up hurting everyone who had ever loved me and mostly, I just hurt myself. At the prime age of eighteen, I scarred myself, and the scar ran deep. It left a mark on me and I grew and learned from it. I learned that I had to love myself and be happy with who I was.
Liam understood. He told me of his story when he tried hurting himself by cutting. Back then, we both hated life and hated ourselves. We both longed to feel. We both hurt our loved ones, as well as, ourselves.
We both understood. We loved each other more because of it. We promised each other that as long as we were together, we would be happy, complete, and everything would be perfect.
Today, I hurt more than I hurt then. Liam was gone. The promise, broken.
The phone finally rang. It startled me and I awoke. I must have drifted off to sleep again. I was pale, groggy, and empty.
"Hello?"
"Sophie? It's me, Liam."
"Liam!" I cried. I couldn't help it. Hearing his voice made me feel safe again, erased all the pain I felt hours ago. I loved him so much.
"Sophie...I'm sorry." He was crying, too. His voice cracked and ragged. It was filled with pain and what sounded like rage.
"Where are you? What happened? Why didn't you wait for me?" I was angry now. I was hurt, and I wanted answers. I demanded them.
"Sophie, I know, but I had to. It was the only way...the only way I could have gone."
"Whatever it is, I would have understood and I would have gone with you. Don't you know that by now?"
"That's why I didn't wait for you to come home. I didn't want you to come with me. It would've been too dangerous. I was trying to protect you."
"Protect me? By leaving me?"
"Yes."
"Liam, I don't understand."
There was a pause. I heard him mumbling to someone. There was some commotion and then silence.
"Sophie?"
"Yes. Are you okay?" I was worried and scared, "What's going on Liam, you're scaring me. Who's there with you?"
"My dad, Soph...," I was stunned into silence. Liam never called me Soph. He said he didn't want to shorten such a beautiful name. He never called me Soph. "It's my sister."
"Emily?"
"Yes, she called me shortly after I left for work. She was frantic and said her life was in danger. Danger, Soph---ie. Remember I told you that she ran away with her boyfriend, Dan?"
"Yes."
I remembered Liam wasn't too thrilled about him.
"Well, apparently he has been abusing her and messing with her head. He's hurting her, Sophie." His voice trembled into a whisper, "She told me that he was going to kill her if she didn't marry him. She got away from him, which is why she finally called me. I went and told my dad and then he and I took the next flight to Vegas to get her back. Can you believe it Sophie, that bastard took my sister to Vegas like a tramp and held her hostage. Sophie...I'm sorry, but I didn't, NO, I couldn't put you in danger. What if he finds us before we get Em out of there? We need to get her to Lake Tahoe and keep her safe. I called my mom and she'll be waiting for us there."
"Liam---"
"Sophie. I had to do this. She's my sister. She's my only sister and I can't lose her again. She used to be this strong and amazing woman with so much ambition and strength. This guy crippled her and is trying to break her. I won't let that happen. I can't. You have to understand. Please, Sophie," he was begging now, "you have to tell me that you understand."
I paused. I was frozen by his words. He can't lose her. I know that she's his sister, but what about me? I'm his wife. He chose her over me. I didn't understand, didn't want to understand, but I also didn't want him to get hurt and he needed me right now. No matter how angry, scared, or clueless I was, I still loved him; I needed him to come back, safe and secure, to my open arms.
"I understand."
He sighed with relief and gratitude, "Thank you, Sophie. Be safe, my Sophie, and keep smiling. I'll be home to you soon. Don't worry, okay? I love you."
"I love you, too."
There I was, sitting alone in our bed, feeling empty, hurt, and compelled to get on the next flight to Vegas. He did this to protect me, but I wanted to protect him. If he got hurt, I didn't know what I would do. How could I live? I decided I would do what I did best---I wrote him a letter that I would add to my shoebox. I never intended to show it to him. Never intended on him ever reading it. It acted more like a diary. A place to escape for a moment and write down every feeling I had without judgment, remorse, or self-deprecation. It was a place I could be free.
Dearest Liam,
Our love for each other has grown to be poisonous. Trying to save each other, but otherwise causing more harm. Please don't leave me. We work best when we're together. Together we are perfect, but apart, we are not. No matter the circumstances, we should never be apart. I love you. And if you are in danger I want to be in danger with you. If you die I want to die. There is no purpose in this world without you in it...
But, if you did not make it, I know that it would cause you too much pain, even after death, if you knew that I tried to follow you. If I was hurting. If I was mourning, in grief, and living like a zombie, you would feel it and be saddened by it. You would want me to live, love, laugh, and smile again. You would want me to experience life, to be healthy, find another love, have a chance to be a mom, have a dream and strive to achieve it. You would want me to live out my long life, without you.
I know this, because I too would want the same for you. I'd want you to live and be happy and stress-free. I wouldn't want you to be burdened by my death. Instead I would want you to treasure the good times we shared, while forging on to make new beautiful memories with someone else. Someone willing and good, someone who would love you, and if I have not been able to, bear your children. I would love to look down and see you strive for happiness. Maybe even open up a bakery and name the cream puff after me :D. Yes, that would be nice.
If you die before me, while trying to rescue your sister, I will promise you that I will try to be happy and find meaning in my life again. And if I pass before you, I hope you'll promise me the same.
I've realized that love is powerful and beautiful and all we could do is treasure every single moment we may have with each other. Life is a puzzle and we shouldn't try too hard to solve it, just live in it, every moment we may have, loving each other.
I love you.
-Sophie
I folded the paper and placed it in the shoebox. I went downstairs and threw away all the groceries from the night before. Poured myself a bowl of cereal. As I ate, in the heart of Balboa Park, a young waitress was carefully crossing out "Sullivan, party of two" on a piece of paper. And that night I went to sleep, eyes dry, heart lifted, and in peace. In the morning I would inevitably find, wilting by the front door, a bouquet of sunflowers and calla lilies with a card that read:
Happy One Year, baby doll.
Loving every moment with you.
Liam.
Liam
"Em," I rushed over to hold her frail and shivering body. It was 105 degrees outside and she was shivering. I held her close. Held her until her breathing subsided and her ugly tears turned soft. She looked up and noticed Dad, silently waiting from afar.
His fists were held to his sides and his face was red with rage. His entire body was shaking in anger as if he were a bomb threatening to explode. His menacing presence left me in awe. Instead of feeling scared and afraid, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and reverence. For the first time in years, he seemed to come alive, out of his turtle shell, his secluded and sunken recliner, without a beer in his hand, and without the emptiness behind those forever-sullen eyes. His eyes were no longer empty, but fixed. His brain spun rapidly, and his pulse thrummed. He was a father, and for the first time he seemed to embody that position. I couldn't help but smile.
Emily let go from my grasp and staggered toward our father. She stood there for a moment, hesitant to close the gap that separated them all these years; when his eyes softened and his color turned pale, she ran into his strong carpenter's arms and cried. Flooding tears of joy, pain, and sadness.
She was home.
"Where is that little Fucker?" Dad growled. He had death on his mind and his hands were molded into weapons---ready and willing to kill.
"No," Emily gasped, "please don't go after him. I'm safe now. Please don't go. Let's just leave," she pleaded, her eyes crazed and panicked.
Dad wasn't giving in so I had to intervene, "Please Dad, listen to Em. Let's just go. That bastard will get what's coming to him in the end. Don't do anything that will land you in jail."
Glaring at me he countered, "I don't care. I'd love to rot in jail, just to see that Fuck-Face cry, plead, and suffer."
"No." I stood firm between Dad and Em.
I was not going to let this Dan kid destroy my family. At least not more than he had already. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"For Em's sake, we need to leave for Lake Tahoe, right now. I can't lose either of you."
Knowing what I was about to say would hurt us both, I braced myself before letting the harsh words escape from my chapped lips: "You can't leave us like Mom left you."
That did it. Blindsided, he wheeled back on his heels and froze. He looked at me, eyes full of hurt and confusion, and he relented.
Trying my best to compose myself, I quickly added, "I think the next flight is in two hours, we should get going."
Emily whispered, "Thank you."
We were landing in Reno, after a long, tense, and quiet flight. Dad held onto Em's hand as if she were a two-year-old, afraid to let her out of his sight. She was too weak to walk, traumatized from the events that preceded our rescue, so Dad carried her in his arms. He never complained or let on that her weight was too much for his aged back and bad shoulder to handle. Either the weight was manageable or irrelevant. His senses were fixated on anger, his limbs working on fumes. What mattered was protecting his baby girl, not the week that followed of lying in bed, chasing down painkillers, recovering.
I never learned the extent of everything Emily went through, and I would never pry those details out of her. I was frightened about what she might uncover. What dark alley and hole did Dan make her crawl into? How did he turn a vibrant and empowered woman into a timid and weak girl? However horrible the images might be, they weren't true until they came directly from Em's lips; selfishly, I was glad she didn't feel the need to share them with me. There was something to be said for staying in the dark, moving only forward, and never looking back.
The air was brisk and still. The sky was hazy as the sun began its descent toward the western horizon. The smell was clean and welcoming. As a lighthouse glows amidst the dark and looming sea, there, out in front of us, stood the log cabin, calling out to us with its familiarity and warmth.
Mom and Grandma were already stationed by the door, expecting our arrival. The pink room had already been prepped and scented with lavender; the bed already made up with clean, pressed cotton sheets; the bureau already filled with new, freshly laundered clothes; and, placed squarely on top was a vase brimming with yellow chrysanthemums, Em's favorite. The room fluttered and glowed as the filtered light and the breeze swept in through an open window.
They stood by the door; tears streaming down their careworn faces, with lines revealing the many hours that passed without repair from sleep, as Dad carefully carried his precious baby girl through the house, around the corner, and to the pink room. He placed her under the covers, tucked her in, kissed her gently on the forehead, and took a minute to study her now lax face. He brushed off the single tear that escaped from his eye, whispered goodbye, and closed the door quietly behind him.
Without a detour, a single glance their way, a single word, he trudged steadfastly onward, back outside to the taxi that was waiting idly, letting the meter run.
Mom turned toward the open door, hesitating. She took one step toward the taxi and stopped. She sighed wistfully, eyes filled with sadness and regret, and addressed me instead. "So how is he?"
"Dad's doing well."
She nodded, unconvincingly. I was never good at telling a lie.
"Please thank Ja---, I mean," she sighed, "thank you for bringing her back to us."
I nodded. "Tell Grandma and Em that I love them and I'll come visit with Sophie soon."
She nodded, unable to speak through the tears, and hugged me.
"I love you too, Mom."
Blinking, I was suddenly unaware of my surroundings. I rubbed my eyes, hoping that everything had been a bad dream and I would be under the covers in my bed with my beautiful wife cuddled up next to me. No, I was in a taxi, tainted by cigarette smoke and Febreze. Dad was paying the driver and was about to open my door and wake me when he saw me fumble awkwardly with the handle.
"Dad, can you get the bags and tickets while I give Sophie a ring?"
"Sure, Bud, I'll meet you inside."
My heart filled with longing and love as I heard the frantic soft voice of my Sophie.
"Liam? Are you okay? Is everything okay?"
"Hi Sophie. Yes. Everything is fine. We brought Em back to Grandma's and Mom is also there caring for her..."
"Liam?" her voice softened, "are you okay?"
"Yes," I stifled a tear, my throat burning from the never-ending knots, "you should have seen her Sophie...she was so frail..."
"At least she's fine now," Sophie was quiet, "I miss you."
"I miss you too."
"Are you coming home soon?"
"Yes, I'll be home in a few hours. We can celebrate our Anniversary. I'm so sorry I missed it."
"That's okay. I just want to see you and hold you and never let you go."
"Okay. It's a date."
She giggled, "Yes. It's a date. Be safe and I love you."
"You be safe. I love you, too. See you soon, my love."
The plane ride was excruciatingly long, but at least it gave me time to think of a way to make it up to Sophie. I knew she would be mad that I left her, and I probably could have done it better, but at the time it was hard to think things through. My head had been clouded over in distress. I really only wanted to protect Sophie. No, there was no other way around it. That was the only way to save my sister, and at the same time, protect Sophie. At least for the time being, that was the truth I chose. As I exited the airport into the balmy San Diego air, I stood still for a moment, just a moment. I closed my eyes, and turned my head to the sky.
My Sophie, I am coming home to you now. I wish with all my heart to never leave you alone again. We belong together. Together forever. Oh, my Sophie...my precious Sophie. I love you.
Part FOUR:
Heart connections are
Indelible once cast,
Forged in the mind and tempered
in the soul; Time shifts space
and we shift Mind, place
until we feel the ones we want
and think the rest undone;
yet in our hearts connected still,
memory has no expiration
and sinewy, hardened ties do last
among the tender ties anew.
So, Wisdom saves her heart at times,
to keep it from the flame
and save it from the anvil
just for a while---
the forge awaits,
today and every day.
~Kyle Harper, Patchwork Heart
The sun was bright and cheerful, the heat refreshing against the cool breeze that occasionally swept by and brushed Sophie's thick, silky hair. She was dressed in a light summer dress, cinched at the waste, and cut low to show a teasing glimpse of the swell from her breasts. She had a kick in her step as she walked to the market for a few necessary dinner ingredients. She was going to recreate the dish that she envisioned preparing for Liam a few days ago---his infamous dish that wooed her into saying those three powerful words.
She felt tickled with nerves and flowed with excitement and romance as she mentally prepped herself for a night filled with passion and desire with the man she dearly loved. In her dreamlike state she almost forgot the calla lilies, and started quickly back toward the market to get them.
As she turned, her body froze, her eyes haunted and white, blood quickly drained from her face, and the bags of onions, spinach, tofu, and greens flew up like confetti, sprinkling the clear, light blue sky. Her body lifted like a graceful feather until it crashed onto the hard, black asphalt. Lying limp as a rag doll. Thick substance gushing out like a flow of red fabric under her paling skin. Her mind numbing, her heart slowing, and with her last breath, mumbling the words that a bystander would later repeat: "Liam, I love you," from her trembling cold lips.
The blue SUV swerved and crashed into the building, denting the stucco, but crunching the car as if it were made of cardboard. People rushed out of the building, from their cars, from across the street and beyond. Chaos surrounded the tiny parking lot as police and paramedics, their vehicles blaring and flashing, made their way to the scene.
It took only two hours to clean up the bloody scene and gather the necessary information to fill out a lengthy report. The parking lot was suddenly empty. The horror-stricken observers cleared once the bodies were whisked away on stretchers and covered with blankets. The car was towed and the blood washed. There were cones and orange tape surrounding the damaged building, the only markings still memorializing the terrible accident only hours earlier.
The only survivor was an innocent baby girl, six months in age. Strapped securely to a car seat, the baby girl was protected by a sleep-deprived mom, who's only fault was that she loved her baby too much, glimpsed at her rearview mirror a second too long while watching her baby girl nod off to sleep, and punched the accelerator instead of the brake at that crucial, fearful moment.
When Liam received the phone call, he was opening the front door to his house with a bouquet of calla lilies in his hand. When he answered, the phone dropped out of his quivering hand and into the dirt. His hands shook violently as he tried to regain his choked breath. His knuckles were white as they grasped the door for balance and the bouquet crushed in his other hand. And then, as if from a scene in the movies, blood drained from his face, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
Luckily, his dad was still idling in the driveway. Jack bolted from the truck, frantically addressing the second fire of the day, and in the back of his mind he thought that he was somehow being punished for wasting his life and not being present for his family. That all the wrongdoings of his past compounded in the past few days, giving him a much needed wakeup call. But in that moment, he only cared about one thing, and that was his son. He carried Liam in his arms, as he carried Em moments before, and drove him five miles to the hospital where Sophie once was employed.
"Hi Bud, you scared me there for a moment," Jack's eyes were soft and gleaming in the dank light of the darkened hospital room.
"Where am I?" Worry creased his forehead, as Liam was trying to focus on the bleached white floor, the simple furniture that lined the room, and the rough plastic gown that rumpled under the thin white sheets and itched against his clammy skin.
"Relax, Bud, you're in the hospital. You fainted."
"Sophie," Liam gasped, "I need to find Sophie." Liam was exasperated. His breath was hoarse and ragged by the slight exertion and his limbs failed to follow his lead.
Jack gingerly placed both hands on his shoulders and pressed Liam back down onto the bed, "Later." Knowing tears escaped Jack's eyes as he desperately tried to hide the facts from Liam. He, too, couldn't tell a lie.
"Dad...please...tell me she's okay."
Jack turned away, his eyes diverting toward the single window that cast a sliver of low light through the slight opening of the plastic blinds. Shadows danced across the walls, fleeting with the slight movements of Jack's hands as he fidgeted, stuffed them in and out of his jean pockets, and shuffled his feet against the polished floor.
"Dad?"
Jack cleared his throat, a habit that inevitably was passed down to Liam, "She's gone."
"Can't be," shaking his head, Liam's voice firm, "I just talked to her a few hours ago."
"She was at the grocery store, up the street...there was a car...it happened so fast..."
"No. I need to get out of here and see her," Liam tossed the thin sheets off his clammy body, "She must be home by now and worried that I'm not back yet."
"Liam," Jack finally turned to his son, tilted his chin up swiftly with his fingers, and when Liam's red eyes flickered to his, he said, "she's gone."
Silence filled the stark room, and after what seemed like hours, it was replaced by shrieks of grief and tears of anger, sorrow, and of misfortune.
In the next few minutes, hours, days, and months, Liam felt all zest for life fade away, slipping back toward his darker days, unable to focus, care, or even live.
The nights passed, painstakingly slow, excruciatingly lonesome; the days lingered, haunted by Sophie's presence. Liam's movements were slow and eerie as if he were possessed by a ghost. His face was pale and streaked with dried tears, a ghoulish purple rimming his eyes, dark and dead.
Although he visited the market and lay on the hot asphalt where Sophie last breathed his name, he denied the reality of her death.
Although he had been to the morgue to identify her disfigured, lifeless, yet excruciatingly beautiful body, he held on to the fascination that he was traveling into the depths of a vivid nightmare.
Although he held a small but lovely ceremony at the place they exchanged vows only a year before, and spread her ashes in the tree-shaded alcove they claimed as their own---making a quick decision to save a piece in a silver locket that weighed heavily on his neck---and planted a calla lily blub next to their bench, he held on to the hope that his beloved would return somehow. Her face radiant and glowing, her lips curving into a smile, and her voice filled with the love and kindness that melted his heart.
Realization finally set in one night as Liam lay in bed, the scent of Sophie's perfume no longer present on her pillow, her voice dwindling from his memory, and there he cried until tears no longer formed, until his body gave up.
He dreamed of Sophie that night. It was the first of many that haunted his mind, and puzzled and distressed him in the morning. They weren't of her beauty and warmth but of her anger and sadness. She accused him of her death relentlessly and in different, torturous ways. Of course, these horrible images were only brought on by the guilt he felt for leaving her, when he chose to save his sister rather than his beloved wife.
A psychiatrist would probably tell him these nightmares were normal. That they would one day pass if he only forgave himself. That it wasn't his fault. That life has many unexpected twists and turns. That sometimes there are no easy answers to life's injustices. That sometimes bad things happened to good people. That this is the mystery of life and we all must accept the good and the bad in order to survive in this world. The psychiatrist would then numb the pain with some prescription meds, which would only make him dreary, robotic and uncomfortable. Liam would not go to a psychiatrist, because he no longer cared to survive in this world.
Life moved on outside the walls of his empty home. Neighbors walked their dogs, kids went to school, adults went to work, the sun went up in the morning and set at night. Time did not stop just because Sophie was not there; to Liam, it should have. He went around the dark house turning off every light, taking out the batteries from every device that told time, and shutting off every mode of communication with the outside world.
Liam's loved ones were unable to contact him, desperately trying to reach out through worried messages and anxious, unseen visits.
Time passed, accruing the stale odor of days gone without showering, the scent of dried vomit near the toilet, and the smell of rotten food stained the enclosed walls and dingy air. Unable to eat, sleep, talk or move, Liam stayed locked in the room he had shared for just under one short year with Sophie.
One day, Emily decided enough was enough and jimmied the lock open---a skill she uncovered during her years with Dan---and entered the front door. The stench strangled her as she gagged on thick vapors; bile lurched into the back of her throat, her stomach churned in response. She hurriedly opened the doors and windows to the dank house. The sunlight spilled in, highlighting the dust-covered furniture and rotten fruit that wrinkled in the web-covered bowl on the dinette. She ignored everything else and stampeded up the stairs to the bedroom where she knew would find her brother.
"Get up," she said as she yanked opened the curtains and windows. When Liam idly turned over in response, she grabbed him by his yellowed, sweat-soaked collar and all but dragged him to the shower fully clothed. The cold sprays of water sparked some life into him. His eyes shocked and voice raged in response.
"Hey!"
"Hey yourself. Now wash up and get dressed." With that she slammed the bathroom door behind her and got to work. Emily was back to her old fiery self; stubborn, empowering, and a go-getter. Except for the darkness that still loomed behind the depth of her eyes, she was back.
Emily was cleaning out his closet when Liam emerged from the bathroom, clean, shaven, and somewhat conscious. Except for the few nicks in his face, he seemed awake and less morbid.
"What the hell do you think you're doing," he grabbed Sophie's purple blouse from Emily's hurried hands.
"I'm cleaning out your closet."
"Why," Liam said between clenched teeth.
"It's about time."
"Leave me alone."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because," she continued softly, "you didn't."
Liam didn't speak, his eyes cold, but his body seemed to weaken and relent. He turned away from her and headed back to bed but decided on the floor when he got a whiff of the sour sheets.
Emily finished bagging up Sophie's clothes, except for the purple blouse that was clutched to Liam's chest, and headed toward the bed. She removed the soiled sheets and replaced them with fresh ones that she brought along with her, hoping to remove Sophie's haunting scent in the process. And that's when her foot hit something hollow under the bed.
Curious, she kneeled down to get a closer look, and pulled out two boxes that hid in the shadows. One was a big white box, simply tied with a red bow. The other was a small shoebox, old and tattered with age.
"What are these?"
"Huh?" Liam stirred slightly, still curled in a ball on the carpet, still clutching the purple blouse.
"These boxes under the bed." Emily turned so Liam could see the boxes she was holding in her hands.
"What?" Liam lifted his limp head to look at the boxes she held and stiffened as he began to recollect all the evenings and nights Sophie would write, smile wistfully, and read the contents of the items that she stored in that worn little shoe box. Sophie's treasure box. That's the name he secretly gave it, knowing that it held her secrets, the box where she stored her thoughts and memories, the box he was not allowed to open.
The other, larger box, perplexed him, though. He never remembered seeing that one.
Silently, he sat up, gingerly touching the boxes with his fingers, trying to feel Sophie's presence within the grains, edges, and corners of each box. He hesitated before undoing the red ribbon. He held his breath when he opened the lid. And he drew out a longer breath when he pulled the quilt from the big white box. A card fell into his lap.
His eyes welled up in a fresh batch of tears as he examined the quilt that was made with the love and grace of Sophie's hands and heart. As he unfurled the quilt across the bed, he instantly recognized the quotes he used to whisper or write to her, the pictures that friends and passersby took of them at the lake, at Seaport Village, during their wedding---he remembered all the times she would sit at her desk, documenting their life together.
He opened the card. Uncontrollable tears streamed down his face as he read her words, unaware of Emily sliding down beside him, resting her arm around his trembling shoulders:
Dearest Liam,
I can't tell you enough how much I love you. The seconds, minutes, hours, days that passed, becoming months and then years. Our one year anniversary is already here and I relish every moment that I'm able to spend with you.
I love watching you think, the way your brow creases and eyes go blank.
I love hearing you speak, confident, warm, loving. Your words of wisdom and kindness.
I love your heart and the way you shower me with kisses, loving pet names, the way your eye lingers and lights up when you watch me dress and undress.
I love your romantic gestures and simple surprises with flowers, cooking, baking, and dates.
I love the fact that you love me so much and I love the fact that I love you just as much.
I know words can't express what we mean to each other and how we feel, but I hope this quilt can stitch together some of its meaning.
I love you with all my heart and I'll love you forever and always.
Happy Anniversary, my love.
-Mrs. Sullivan
After rereading the card a few times he turned his attention to the shoebox. He was always curious about the contents of this tattered shoebox, but he knew better than to ask. He loved her enough to allow her some secrets and her privacy.
His heart lifted as he opened the creased notes that he wrote to her while they were dating. The many I-Love-Yous, written across various pieces and sizes of paper, the many notes he'd scrawl for her before leaving early for work, the many cards, poems, and letters he wrote to her during their many joyful years together.
There were movie ticket stubs, receipts, and also drafts of the notes and letters she wrote, all neatly pressed and protected.
But it was one letter that held his glance. One letter that sent a lump to his throat. One letter that remained unseen and unreceived until this moment. It was the letter Sophie wrote a few days before she was taken from him, during the few days when he left her side. It was this letter that he ever after kept in his wallet, the letter he never lived without. The letter that saved him.
He suddenly felt hungry and weak. He suddenly felt both cold and hot. He suddenly smelled the foul air he reeked in. And he suddenly felt alive again.
He laughed, wincing at the coarseness and the unfamiliarity of his voice, and he laughed some more until he noticed his sister's silent and scared eyes cautiously watching him.
"Sorry."
"T---that's okay," she mumbled, careful not to send him back into a catatonic state.
"I'm starved. Do you want to eat?"
"Sure," she smiled hesitantly, "let's go out though...your fridge is kinda scary."
"Okay. Sounds good."
Liam laughed some more.
After scarfing down four slices of veggie pizza and chugging three refills of lemonade, Liam's color returned, and he slowly regained his strength. He grabbed for the last slice on the greasy metal pan and lifted it onto his plate.
Eying her brother carefully and still nibbling on the crust of her first slice of pizza, Emily asked, "So you're okay with me getting rid of Sophie's clothes, right?"
Mid-bite, Liam easily replied, "No."
Frustrated, Emily egged him on. "Liam, it's the next step. You have to let go. Move on. Get a hold of your life. It's not like you're in your nineties, unable to enjoy even a simple game of bingo."
Liam didn't have the strength or desire to pick a never-ending fight with his sister; he never won before and he didn't want to try now, so he paused.
Taking the time to finish chewing, he replied, "Em, you weren't here when she came into my life. Sophie was my everything. She showed me the blessings of love and life. I owe her everything and I'll never let go of her, nor will I ever forget the mark she's left on my soul. So, I'll say this only once, never again utter my Sophie's name with as much of a hint of negativity in your voice."
Emily stared, mouth agape. She had no retort, nothing. He was right, she hadn't known Sophie; for that matter, she didn't even know her brother. She didn't know what Liam suffered, or all the trials and tribulations he went through after the divorce. She ran away. And because of that, she had no right to judge or even preach guidance. For the first time, Liam won an argument with his sister.
Emily stayed with him a few days longer, helping to clean his unkempt house, watching closely as the death in his eyes diminished and he began to regain control of his life.
When he seemed back to his previous self, and signs of suicide diminished, Emily returned to Lake Tahoe, where she was also building a new life. In the short time since she was saved, she added some meat back onto her bones---courtesy of Grandma's abundant cooking. Her head was cleared and her body was rejuvenated from the hours of meditation, yoga, and handfuls of "healing" crystals her mother surrounded her with. With her family's support and talent for ignoring the past, Emily was able to power through the bad days and the worse days. She had miles to go, but the good days were starting to outshine the bad; she promised herself that she wouldn't ever let some guy ruin her. In retrospect, she hoped this girl---Sophie---would not end up ruining her brother.
As the days passed, Liam spent most of his free time at the lake; sitting quietly on the cold cement bench, tending to the calla lily he planted, staring across the water, speaking softly into the wind. Sometimes he would take out the letter from his wallet (worn from countless unfolding, tears, and refolding) and reread the passage that revived his soul:
I'd want you to live and be happy and stress-free. I wouldn't want you to be burdened by my death. Instead I would want you to treasure the good times we shared, while forging on to make new beautiful memories with someone else. Someone willing and good, someone who would love you, and if I have not been able to, bear your children. I would love to look down and see you strive for happiness. Maybe even open up a bakery and name the cream puff after me :D. Yes, that would be nice.
And each time he read those sweet yet sorrowful words, he whispered, "I'm sorry, but that's something I just can't do," and refolded the paper and tucked it back into his wallet.
The year passed, much in the same way, but today, on a clear afternoon, the words "bear your children" caused tears to drip softly down his cheeks.
"Oh, my dear, sweet Sophie, how I wish you were here now so I could take you to our bed and try many times to create a beautiful child together. You would have made a wonderful mother and I would have cared for you both---"
After spending another hour, idly tending to the calla lily while whispering bouts of love, remorse, confusion, and anything that ailed him, Liam took out his cell and dialed a number he had committed to memory, his mother's.
"Liam!" Brenda's surprised voice hung in the silence.
"Hi Mom. How are you?"
"I'm good," she hesitated, "how are you doing?"
"Better."
I heard her exhale as she continued, "So what's the occasion?"
"Sorry I haven't called sooner...I've been busy."
"That's okay. I'm just glad to hear your voice. Did you need something?"
"Yes, well I think so, that is," trailing off for a moment, "I think you might be able to help," Liam stammered.
"What is it?"
"Well, I remembered at Grandpa's funeral that you were introducing some close friends of yours...the ones with the adopted baby?"
"Oh you mean Sandra and Julie?"
"Yes."
"What about them?" curiosity rose in Brenda's voice.
"Well I was wondering if they could give me the name of the adoption agency they used."
"Oh...," she paused, "Liam," her voice softening, "what are you thinking about doing?"
"I want to adopt a baby."
"Now? Why now? Are you sure? Oh Liam, I don't think that's a good idea." Brenda was speechless and worried. She feared for her son who was clearly lost and damaged. He seemed to be holding on by a single thread and now he wanted to raise a child?
"Yes, I'm sure. Will you help me?"
Liam never asked her for anything; knowing this, and the fact that she hadn't been there for him when he needed her most, she willingly agreed. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
The next few months flew by in a blink of an eye, filled with meetings, questions, paperwork, and more questions. For the first time in Liam's life, his mother came through for him, as he was making, inevitably, the biggest decision in his life. He wanted a child to call his own, to love and care for and to nurture. He had always known that he wanted to be a father, just as he had always known he wanted to be a grandfather. This, Sophie knew as well. This was one of the three promises he was willing to keep: a child to call their own.
The room was open and airy, with its wide open windows and cheerful yellow walls. The carpet was a thick pile of forest green to resemble grass as well as to cover foreseeable stains. The tables and chairs were made of plastic. Books and toys were sprawled out across the floor. The room was chaotic and inviting, filled with innocent stares and playful laughter. There were children of all ages, shapes, sizes, genders, and colors. There were children who were shy and kept to themselves, others who were active and playful, and some who were angered and hurt. Through all the ruckus and chaos, there was one child who caught Liam's attention and touched his heart.
A girl, between the ages of three and four, her frame tiny and frail, her skin pale as snow, and her small angelic head---covered in soft, dark curls cascading off her shoulders, the ends skimming at her waist---knelt downward over a piece of paper. She seemed focused, blue marker in one hand and yellow marker in the other.
Liam cautiously walked over to the corner table where the little girl was sitting, trying not to disturb or frighten her, and peered over her shoulder to see the picture she was working on.
He smiled, his heart flooded with compassion and love. With one look at the picture, he fell in love with the little girl as she unknowingly mended a piece of his broken heart.
The picture was of a large tree. The green marker ran out of ink---it was tossed off to the side, uncapped, next to a crumpled piece of paper that seemed to be a first draft---so she was mixing blue and yellow markers to create the color green. This was an act all too familiar to Liam, when he was a little boy.
Liam remembered vividly the day in Kindergarten, when he worked intently on drawing a picture of a tree. Annoyed that there were no longer green markers in the art box, he improvised by mixing the colors blue and yellow. Mrs. Pink Toe---that's what he knew her as (she always wore sandals, exposing her obtrusive toes that were tinted pink)---praised him and posted the picture on the wall for the rest of the year. He was always proud of that picture and remembered it fondly.
Trying not to startle her, he whispered, "That's pretty."
She froze, forgetting about her artwork. She slowly turned from her plastic yellow seat and looked up; her big, almond-shaped green eyes looked like two peridot gems glowing under the darkness of her lashes. She was dressed in a pretty pink dress, simple, but fitting. She looked fragile, gentle, and perfect. She scrunched her face, accentuating her rosy cheeks and pink lips. Her eyes examined Liam carefully, keeping her thoughts to herself, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the markers as she continued her assessment. And when she smiled, his heart ached, for she reminded him of his lost love, his beautiful Sophie.
He knelt by her side, and softly he asked, "What's your name?"
For a moment she was quiet, and then, carefully she responded, "Sofia."
Liam was stunned. His posture stiffened, causing Sofia to become wary and shy away in response.
He rubbed his ears and as if he doubted her words, he asked her to repeat her name.
When she replied hesitantly once more, in a softer, high-pitched tone, "Sofia," he relaxed.
"Of course.Hi, Sofia."
"Hi," she whispered.
"Would you mind if I visited you again tomorrow?"
She tilted her head to one side, eyeing Liam, and said timidly, "Okay," before turning around to continue her drawing.
Liam walked out of the room with newfound happiness. He strutted to Ms. Patterson's office, the lady who was heading his adoption case, and knocked on the flimsy plywood door.
"Come in."
Before he stepped into the room, he belted, "I want Sofia."
"Whoa. Whoa. Calm down now. There's protocol to follow and steps to take."
She motioned him to sit down on one of the lumpy chairs that stood before him. He sat, unwillingly.
Ms. Patterson was a frumpy lady with a stout frame and coarse, curly gray hair. She wore tiny spectacles off the bridge of her nose and dressed as a lady who lived in a house full of cats. Yes, lots of cats. Pictures of her cats littered her office walls and desk.
She signed a few more pages before pushing the rest aside. She straightened up the best she could, clasped her hands together and waited.
Eagerly Liam took his cue to speak, letting the words flow in one strained breath. "Just tell me what I have to do, what I have to sign, and what I need in order to make Sofia my daughter."
Ms. Patterson wasn't fast to please. She took her job seriously and had worked with many eager beavers like Liam. Sometimes they turned out to be the best parents, but more times than not they were queers---lost a few marbles, had hidden agendas, or had unrealistic expectations---and the best way to handle these queer, eager beavers was to slow down, be thorough, and wait for the crazy to come out.
"Well first you'll need to take some psychological tests, and make sure you are of sound mind to adopt this girl."
"Her name is Sofia," he was irked by the slight jab of his mental state.
"Yes, Sofia," she paused as she shifted in her chair, feeling the ache in her lower back. Slightly stunned and uncomfortable by the sound of Sofia's name, she masked her discomfort by continuing her well-rehearsed, cookie-cutter speech, "and we'll need to talk to other members of your family, friends, workplace to make sure the environment is well-suited to raise a girl by yourself."
Liam nodded.
"Generally, we tend to dismiss cases of single parenting, especially when they are men who want to raise a little girl."
Liam was angered at the thought and was about to raise hell when she raised her hand, cutting him off.
"But, I know your mother and grandmother well, they are fine women, and I know they will be a big part of raising this child."
Liam calmed down, easing back into the lumpy chair, relaxing his grip on the armrest, and replied, "Yes, they will be." A second later and he could have dismantled the chair he was sitting on. If that happened, how would he explain that to the psychologist? Well sir, the chair just wasn't strong enough to hold me. And would he agree? No, probably not.
She gave a knowing nod and continued, "But we still must be cautious, and follow protocols," she leaned forward, her stomach digging into the edge of the desk as she slurped the dregs from her jumbo-sized tub of diet soda, "and given your present situation, we are wary of your mental state and your ability to care for a child. Especially this little girl."
"I lost my wife. I didn't abuse anyone," his voice hardened as he clenched the armrest, the blood draining from his hands, his fists turning a deadly white, "and I'm not going to hurt her if that's what you mean."
"That's good to know, but we'll need to judge for ourselves." She paused then, so she could give him a once-over, and carefully, she continued letting the words meld and settle as they hit Liam's stunned ears, "Sofia has also been through a lot and when she was brought to us she was only 6 months old. She lost her mother in a serious car accident, and her father to cancer a year before. She was going to be their miracle child, born from love and prayer."
She watched as Liam's eyes hazed over and face drained of color (now matching the white of his fists).
When she felt he caught the meaning behind her words, she continued, "The police report said Sofia's mother was driving to the grocery store to pick up a few things, and had Sofia strapped snugly in the back seat. She was probably distracted by Sofia crying or being restless, although none of the bystanders remembered hearing a baby cry. And then a second later, she crashed into a woman, swerved and ran into the side of the building. She died instantly on impact and the woman in the street died, too. Poor Sofia witnessed all of this, and was pulled from the wreckage by the paramedics just in time."
Liam sat in the lumpy seat, limbs frozen; his energy seemed to drain from his fingertips, his eyes glazed over as her words were sinking in and when the silence seemed unbearably long, he whispered, "My Sophie."
"Yes," she softly replied.
Liam walked out of Ms. Patterson's office in a daze, trying to make sense of everything he was told. Sofia was there, when Sophie...Liam shook his head, "No, no...it doesn't make sense... why..." Without thinking, he drove to the lake.
Liam sat at the bench, letting the cold concrete cool his hot flesh. The breeze from the water combing his hair and drying the thin film of stress that lined his forehead.
He watched the golden sun melt into the lake, throwing splashes of orange and red across the darkening sky. Gingerly, he turned his gaze to the calla lily that seemed to be waiting for him, patiently, lovingly nodding in the breeze near where the tiny ripples lapped against the shore.
Consciously touching the locket that hung against his neck, rubbing the tarnished metal in soothing circles, feeling the SS engraved on front, he talked about Sofia, the unbelievable story that he was told, and he asked for guidance.
In the back of his mind, he knew he looked crazy, probably was crazy. And he knew that he would have to keep this a secret from Ms. Patterson and her little minions who would be hounding him for the next few days, weeks, months, maybe even years, but he didn't care. He felt Sophie's presence there by the water, and he needed her strength, now, more than ever.
He sat there for a while longer, watching the shadows from the trees crouch over the cattails and bulrushes, listening as the frogs and crickets emerged, overtaking the sounds of the birds and ducks. The sun set and the moon rose, shining bright and glorious above him. Fumbling with the locket that never opened, he nodded, rose from his seat, and headed home. He understood.
This was meant to be...I am meant to care for this girl and raise her as our daughter. She's a wonder, a miracle, a gift, and she's here to be with me, know you, and love us both.
Every day Liam would visit Sofia. He would bring her new books to read, markers to draw with, and dolls to play with. And with each visit, he would tell her stories about himself and about his wife. He would tell her of the place where he grew up, the house he fixed up and now lives in, and the lake he visited regularly. He would talk to her about his family, telling her about the bakery he would soon open with his dad.
The bakery was the second promise he would honor on his beloved's list. He told Sofia about the perfect location by the lake, where a Starbucks once stood, and about the many hours he spent with his dad fixing it up. He told her of all the delicious cookies, pastries, and cakes that he planned to bake, and the different bread and pizza specials his dad would include. He told her about the blue and white painted walls, and the fresh calla lilies that would occupy each table. He told her about every nook and cranny of the bakery, forever named Sophie's Smile, which would soon open. He also told her about the special cream puff, which he promised to name Sophie's Favorite.
During these visits, Sofia would sit silently in her chair and watch intently as he spoke. She seemed to be drawn to his voice, and she seemed to hang on his every word. She came to trust him, expecting his daily visits at five o'clock. She smiled often, and she seemed to quietly understand all the stories he shared as if they were part of her own memories.
Sofia became hopeful that she, too, would be loved. Watching the kids she shared the tiny playroom with get picked up by a handsome couple or a scary one. Watching quietly in her corner as new additions entered the room, occupying the briefly empty beds, soon to disappear into the arms of another.
So many nights she cried herself to sleep, wondering what was so terrible about her that no one seemed to want to take her home. She would trade all the markers in the world for a chance to be loved and cared for by Liam. Desperately, she wanted him to be her father and hated the moment before the afternoon nap when she was handed a small milk carton and he had to say goodbye. The hours between his visits were always long and far apart. When story time ended and playtime began, fear always seemed to creep in, worry that he wouldn't show.
And finally on one glorious day, he came like clockwork; but this time, she didn't have to say goodbye. It was June 20, 2011; the sky was clear, and the ground was wet and shiny from the light showers that passed a few hours ago. Playtime had just started and Liam came bursting through the door with a bright yellow sunflower in his hand. He walked straight to the same spot he walked every day, but instead of continuing where he left off, this time, he kneeled, handing her the large flower, and whispered, "Will you let me take you home, my sweet Sofia?"
Sofia's green eyes twinkled as she reached for the large flower, her lips curved into a bright smile, and she swung her arms around Liam's neck and clung to him with as much strength as her frail arms could muster. She whispered, "Okay."
Liam carried her in his arms and took her to her new home, to her very own room, and there, on her pink bed, lay a tiny white box wrapped in a tiny red bow with a card that read:
To my little Sofia, We will love you forever, Mom and Dad.
And inside the box was a single dark chocolate cream puff, soon to be her dessert of choice.
Sheena Harper was born on August 16, 1984 in Los Angeles, California, the older of two daughters. Her ancestors are from South Korea. She currently lives in sunny San Diego with her husband, Kyle Harper. Sophie's Smile is her first novel.
Special Notes from the Author
Sophie's Smile was written to document my husband's and my love story, and took on a life of its own from there. Highlighting the idea that love can last even through death, and can be found in unexpected places. Even when life isn't perfect, when we aren't perfect, when reality seems to be tearing at the seams---love can still be perfect.
Everyone's adolescent experience may vary, but there always seems to be the "bullies" and the "bullied." I wanted to remind those who have been bullied in their life or are in a present state of bleakness, that there is hope. The one thing you must never give up on is yourself. If you can love yourself, you can be happy.
I want to thank everyone who has graced my life and made each day so special:
To my parents and sister, Crystal, for their unwavering support, love, and guidance. All my strength and solid building blocks have stemmed from your teachings.
To my husband's parents, grandparents, and family for loving me with open arms and for raising such an amazing person.
To my friends and family for turning my shyness into a positive, and accepting me for me.
And of course, I want to thank my loving husband for being my everything and for allowing me to experience the highest level of love and happiness every single day. I can't express enough the magnitude in which you mean to me. I just hope in your heart you know---when I look into your eyes, kiss your lips, and hold your hands---that I love you. Thank you for your unfailing belief in me, your countless hours of editing, for tearing up when you first read my novel, for allowing me to share your words (Mr. RAMMM, When I'm Sad..., Never Ready, Wrong Turn, Tick, and Patchwork Heart), private thoughts, and for countless love notes, emails, IM's, letters, and poems that you have showered me with all these years.
Some of you may have noticed that I left out the love notes hidden behind the bathroom wall...well, some things just need to be kept private...to keep the magic alive.
Thank you for reading Sophie's Smile and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it.
Sheena Harper
San Diego, California

