When he sat back against the closest wall, he wiped his mouth with tissue.
“Here, Dad,” I said, holding out the nausea pills and water. “This would help.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” he muttered, waving me away.
“The doctor said they will help with the upset stomach. Here.” I held it toward him.
“I don’t want that,” he sneered.
“It’s for the nausea, Da—”
“I said I don’t fucking want it!” he screamed, taking the glass from my hand and throwing it against the bathroom wall, making it shatter to the ground. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I stepped out of the bathroom and paused. My fingers formed fists, and I slammed them against my sides. “I’m trying!” I hollered, turning back to face dad. “I’m trying to help. To make this easier on you. To build some kind of relationship with you!” I knew I was taking my anger off on him. My anger with Mom. My anger with cancer. My anger with life. I tossed the pills at him. “Take the pills or don’t, but when you go in for chemo tomorrow, you’ll wish you’d taken them.”
“I ain’t doing that shit.”
“Doing what?”
“Chemo, I’m done.”
“Done? What do you mean done? There are four more appointments on the calendar.”
“I’m not going.”
“Dad,” I said, my anger shifting to concern. “Don’t be stupid, you need the chemotherapy to get better.”
He reached his foot out toward the bathroom door and closed himself inside.
I headed to my bedroom and reached for my shoebox filled with the past that Dad and I had used to share together. All of the Christmas cards, all of the Post-it notes, all of the small things I’d held on to that he somehow chose to forget.
I should’ve stopped looking at the stuff. I should’ve closed the box, headed to the woods, and played the violin, but I didn’t. I kept flipping through the notes and cards, hoping that in that moment I was just having a bad nightmare, and that when I woke up, Dad would love me again—or at least like me.
Time.
We were running out of time.
Merry Christmas, Lee. I love ya, son.
-Dad
Happy 7th birthday, my boy. We’ll celebrate this summer.
-Dad
Missin’ you on the old creek.
-Dad
Maybe next year we’ll spend Christmas together.
Love you, Levi.
-Dad
We’ll feed a few deer in the woods again when you come for a visit.
-Dad
Love you, son.
-Dad
I sat up all night, pinching myself, trying to wake up from this nightmare. I was tired of everything. I didn’t think it was normal to be a seventeen-year-old and feel this tired. I was tired of faking that I was happy at school. I was tired of worrying about if Mom was going to hurt herself because I left her. I was tired of wondering if I would wake up one day and Dad wouldn’t be here anymore.
I was tired of my nightmare of a life, and I just wanted to wake up from it all.
The next morning at 5:58 A.M., Aria showed up in the woods. I was pissed off and tired from the night before with Mom and Dad. My body ached and slumped. I hadn’t slept at all.
Aria stayed at a distance, frozen still.
Her brows lowered.
“You okay?” she mouthed.
I tried to give her a smile, but I couldn’t. Anyone else would’ve received the biggest grin and a lie, but with her it didn’t seem necessary. With her it felt okay to be broken. I shook my head. “No,” I mouthed back, leaning against a tree.
With a nod of understanding, she walked toward me. She leaned against the closest tree and faced me. I stuffed my hands into my sweatpants, and we stared at one another, completely silent, but saying so much.
For the first time, I showed Aria the real me. I showed her my truth.
She saw the seclusion in my eyes that I never shared. She saw the pain in my soul that I hid behind smiles and lies.
“You can talk to me,” she said. “If you want.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, debating if I wanted to talk about it. Talking made things real. But maybe realness was what I needed most.
“My mom’s not doing too well. I wanted to get as far away from her as possible—which meant coming to stay with my Dad. I thought it would be easier up here, ya know? But now my dad’s refusing to continue his chemotherapy, and I’m not sure how to deal with that.”
“Geez, Levi. I’m so sorry. That’s a lot,” she whispered. “That’s too much.”
I agreed. “What am I supposed to do about him not wanting chemo? How can I convince someone that their life is worth saving if they don’t have any desire to save themselves?”
“You can’t,” she said with a sad smile. Sad smile—so nonsensical. “That’s the thing about lives. We’re all so tangled up with one another, but at the same time, we’re very much alone.”
“Being alone is pretty lonely.”
She nodded. “Yes. But sometimes being together and lonely is even worse.”
“Not right now, though.”
“No. Right now is okay. Right now is good.”
We didn’t speak anymore.
She wasn’t trying to make me happy. I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to be happy, and Aria understood that. All she was doing was leaning up against the tree, looking at me with sympathy.
A look of complete understanding.
It was as if she were saying, “I see you, Levi Myers. And I’m lonely, too.”
She stood closer to me at the bus stop that morning, our shoulders almost brushing against one another. I imagined what it would be like grazing her arm, holding her hand, or heck, just holding her pinkie. I wondered if she was cold or hot. Soft. Comforting. Who made you untouchable?
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sad?” she asked, staring down at our shoes, kicking invisible rocks.
“I didn’t know I was allowed to be.”
My parents were broken enough, so it felt as if I didn’t have the right to break down too.
When her shoes stopped moving, I looked up to find her doe eyes staring at me. “You can be sad with me,” she offered. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”
I cleared my throat and nodded. “Thanks, Art.”
“You’re welcome, Levi.”
The bus pulled up and as she stepped away from me, her shoulder brushed against mine. We were covered in fabrics, both wearing jackets and T-shirts underneath, yet her small touch was enough for me to know what she felt like.
Somehow she was warm and cold all at once, the same kind of feeling the rising sun brought to the frosted forest in the mornings.
The only time I’d ever felt that way was when I played the violin and was able to escape reality for a little while. Shutting my eyes and feeling the bow roll across the strings was the only way I’d found warmth until Aria looked at me. She looked at me as if she really saw me, the real me, and she was okay with it, too. She stared as if I deserved to be happy. The real kind of happy.
That night, Dad was drunk again. Instead of watching him stumble around, I went over to Lance and Daisy’s apartment, ate tofu that tasted like feet, and stayed on their pullout couch.
Aria: This afternoon I found out that the baby is sixteen weeks old and the size of an avocado, finished my calculus homework, painted a bit, and downloaded the whole Mumford & Sons CD to my iPod. Your turn.
I smiled.
Me: I ate tofu.
Aria: That’s it?
Me: We had calculus homework?
Aria: You’re never going to graduate.
Me: I think you’re beautiful.
Aria: Shut up.
Me: Your avocado is pretty cute, too.
Aria: I bet you say that to all the pregnant girls at school.
I hadn’t stopped smiling.
I imagined what she was doing. When a person wasn’t allowed to touch someone who they really wanted to touch, they settled for noticing every little thing about them instead. When Aria was happy—really happy—her dimples deepened. When she was uncomfortable, she chewed on the collar of her T-shirts. When sad, she bit her bottom lip—but she did the same when she was nervous or deep in thought, so I’d had to pay very close attention to make sure which she was. That wasn’t hard, though. She was very easy to pay attention to.