Between the Perennial Blooms || Paul Lahote

Thirty Seven | Forget Me Not

"So what did you think?" Paul asked after a while of walking in comfortable silence. He held Bailey's small hand firmly in his own and smiled fondly as she absentmindedly swung them back in forth between their bodies while traipsing noisily in her little brown boots. "Was it everything you expected it to be and more?"

"Well you didn't exactly give me much to go on," she teased, recalling the phone conversation they'd had the day before wherein he'd simply told her to dress warm and expect the best hotdogs and hamburgers of her life. "But I really enjoyed it," she answered anyway, looking to Paul with a soft smile and a heart melting twinkle in her pretty blue eyes. "And I really liked hearing your history, too."

Mirroring her smile, Paul tugged Bailey closer to his side. "Yeah, Old Quil used to tell the stories before Billy took over when he got too old for it. Back when I was little — before I knew the legends were true — I used to bike down to the barbecue the Atearas put on every month in their backyard. Just about the whole community on the east end of the Rez would show up and the women would all make the food in the kitchen while the men waited outside to grill it. Us kids usually got suckered into playing ball just to get us out of their hair and the games used to last for hours before-"

Entranced by the story of a part of his past, Bailey listened with deft ears. It was a rare occasion that Paul ever spoke about the life he led before Bailey had stumbled her way into it, but as he recalled the memory of the Quileute bonfires of his childhood now, it was clear to see how highly regarded he upheld the memory in his mind from back then. His voice was wistful when he spoke, filled with a sort of bittersweet acceptance that alluded to the idea that he knew those days were long behind him and that the simplicities of childhood had far been outgrown and never to be relived. And though she would never negate his melancholy, Bailey still found herself surprised by it. Because she had always thought Paul straightforward — quick to anger yet easy to calm — and that his difficulty in sharing much about himself stemmed from the traits of his personality that made him both resilient and allowed him to remain so effortlessly unattached. However, because she was so in tune with him after so much time spent at his side, Bailey could sense his hesitation — could sense his reluctance to vocalize the memories he shined in light in fear of them dulling as soon as he let them slip past his lips. So as she listened to him speak in that deep, gruff grumble of his, Bailey delved deeper into the reverb of his tone. She listened to him with adept ears, and soon came to a realization that left her both in awe and aching. Because though she had always thought Paul simple, she quickly found that Paul was infinitely more complex and multifarious. He had layers beneath his belt — little parts and pieces that made up the very essence of the person who stood before her today — and despite initial thought, Paul wasn't unforthcoming with his past because it made him uncomfortable to speak it aloud.

Rather, Paul was reluctant to share because he knew that whenever he did, he always wound up sharing a piece of his heart he knew he would never be able to get back again.

Opting to keep her newfound realization to herself though, instead of acting on it, Bailey simply shook her head and tuned back into his words.

"-all the food'd been cooked and the beers drank, and after everybody finished eating the older guys would build this huge freakin' bonfire down on the beach front while everyone else helped clean up. Eventually everybody would sit around it and wait, and when Old Quil finally walked up with his old blue lawn chair he always used to sit in, he'd set up camp right at the head and start singin' this little song..."

"How did it go?" Bailey murmured softly, snuggling closer against his arm with both of her own holding his tightly to her chest. "What did it sound like?"

"I don't really remember much of it anymore," Paul admitted upon a shrug and a sweet kiss pressed down to his Imprint's head. "A part of it went something like: 'kay-o-kay-nah, aya-way' maybe? That's probably butchered, but now that I'm thinking about it, I guess it was more of a chant than a song anyway."