Letters to Adonis

Chapter:: Eleven

Dear Adonis,

The following week starts with a trip to the aquarium. It’s a little random, but after mom broke her arm Dad felt bad. For reasons unknown to me, so I told him I want to go to the aquarium. It’s just us, even though you probably would have loved it here. It’s so blue that the vivid colors of the fish swimming around is alarming yet beautiful. If I was a photographer, I would never leave this place.

I keep glancing over at my father, and notice every time that he looks tired, even more so when the doctor’s started calling about mom. I hate to think that his weary expression is because of me, so I keep turning back around to look at the blowfish in front of me. I tried not to be so sad, because that would make him worry even more. What could I do? I wish you were here to whisper and tell me what to do, but I need to figure it out on my own. I feel selfish, wanting you here hanging around me like a nice coat while my dad looks miserable.

“Dad? Do you just want to go home? I think I’m tired.” I add the last sentence, just in case he’s worried that he’d be ruining my fun or something ridiculous like that.

“Sure, you ready?” he looks relieved, and I smile widely at him. I may not have directly affected his day, but he could at least go home and get some sleep.

“Yeah, Adonis and I have plans anyways.” We probably do, but it’s something small that I forgot.

“Okay, I’ll drop you off there then. How are your hands?” I’ve been having more resting tremors lately, and I think he’s trying to judge if he needs to take me to the doctors earlier than next Tuesday.

“They are great,” I lie and wring my hands in my flared out yellow tank top. We get to the car and I feel the familiar struggle of my hands fighting my mind. They are a lot worse, and I don’t know if it means anything, but I’m tired of getting worse. I want to get better. The thought almost makes me laugh, get better with a degenerative disease? That’s more unlikely than winning the lottery. I close my eyes and keep my hands as close to me as I can manage without it look weird, and thinking about cuddling you; which relieves me just a little.

Dad starts on a rant about his work, and I “yeah” and “mhm” at the right moments. I can’t force myself to pay attention, and I’m pretty sure I’m starting to fall asleep. He wouldn’t even notice since I have my sun glasses on.

“Dad, you need a vacation.” I state, sitting up and tearing my sunglasses off my face. How did I not think of this before? I’m old enough to take care of myself, obviously.

“Where would I go?” he seems genuinely confused, and I suppose it is a good question.

“Well, was there anywhere you wanted to travel?”

He thinks about it for a few minutes, and I can’t blame him. Although I would think it’d be somewhere in the U.S. “Alaska.” He says calmly, like why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Why Alaska?”

“Why not? I could fish, and I’m pretty sure some of my old buddies moved up there.” He keeps talking for a few minutes, wondering which part he should check out first, and how expensive would it be. Then he finally stops. “Will you be okay here?”

“Of course! I can stay home by myself, and if I get scared or anything then I can go over to the Johnson’s house.” I don’t mention that I’ll probably just stay over there all week, and he doesn’t feel the need to ask. “And Adonis could drive me to my appointments.”

He thinks about it for a few minutes, and nods slowly. He’s convincing himself, and I feel smug at giving him the idea to leave. I hope that he will find himself again when he leaves, and that when he comes back he’s so happy I get some too. It’s not that I’m sad, it’s just that some days I wish I could have a break from myself. “It’ll be fun. I will try to set that up.” The rest of the ride to your house is quiet, and I’m in a weird mood when I ring your doorbell. My hands are still wrapped in my shirt, and I have tears in my eyes. I hope your mom doesn’t answer the door, and she shouldn’t since it’s around noon.

You open the door shirtless and your hair everywhere and wet, like you just got out of the shower. You smile at first, seeing me there, but then you see me shaking and the tears in my eyes. You grab my wrist and pull me to you, and I let myself be comforted with your arms wrapped around me securely. You’re whispering something to me but I can’t make it out, although it sounds like lyrics to a song. I can’t recognize the song, but I calm down to where the tears aren’t running. My hands are still shaking, but you wrap yours around them and it’s an absent shake.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, your lip by my ear and I try not to laugh because it tickles.

“Give me a minute,” I gasp as I take a deep breath. I step away from you and walk into your kitchen, planning on getting a Pibb.

I pop the lid and tell you about everything, from the cute family and suckerfish I saw at the aquarium to telling my dad he should leave for a while and do something he wants to do. You nod, not saying anything until I’m done and I take another sip of Pibb.

“That was really nice of you to let him go like that.” You tell me, speaking in that calm way you do. I walk over to you since I’m over my freak out session. You put your arm around me and I turn and kiss you. You lean in closer and soon we’re making out. Luckily, no parent is home to tell us to back it up and go on a walk or something, or to sternly clear their throat.

“You’re perfect,” I tell you before pushing my lips back to yours. I can already predict what you’re going to say. ‘Of course I’m not, and you aren’t either. We’re the two best unperfect people together.’ And I’m glad you don’t stop what we have just to say something I already know. We kind of separate so we can walk up the stairs and lay on your bed. We’re so connected, it’s like we don’t have to speak at all.

So we’re lying there on your bed, listening to your new CD that you have wanted me to hear for a while and randomly kissing. It’s perfect bliss, with the sun streaming in the open window. A slight breeze makes me ache to go outside, but not enough to actually do it. Instead I roll over on top of you and kiss you for the billionth time, the shaking of my hands running through your hair unnoticed by either of us.

I don’t know if it was a conscious decision for you not to mention my tremors, but I’m glad you don’t. It’d be just like if I was walking around with toilet paper sticking out of my pants or something, I’d probably die of embarrassment.

“Should I dye my hair?” I ask you as we’re catching our breath, side by side. I’m looking at the ends and if I had to decide I’d go with strawberry blonde. Plain blonde is annoyed in southern sunny California, and I think a little strawberry swirl would be cute.

“I think it’d look good, babe,” you whisper the last part. You’re in my personal bubble, and if you weren’t you then I’d shove you out of it. Your lips are on the side of my face and I can’t stop from smiling.

“I think I’ll go buy some dye tomorrow then, you’ll love it.” I say as I watch the clouds shift over the sun, making the bright day darken for a few seconds.

We stop talking. I think we fell asleep or something, because when I wake up for a few minutes my heart is pounding and the sky is dark. The only light is from the CD player still playing softly. I get closer to you and fall back to sleep, in perfect bliss.

Love. ,Ariel