Paint You Wings // Ashton Irwin [au]

Twenty-nine

"You all right?" Ashton asks.

"Yeah, I'm good," I say, giving him an assuring smile before I continue climbing. "Where did I leave off?"

"You were saying how your parents were good Samaritans."

"That's an understatement." I laugh, remembering how much time and effort they put into helping others. "They were selfless. They always put others before themselves in any situation and I admired that." We stop as we reach the end point of the wall and position ourselves to scale down. "They could be so embarrassing sometimes though." At the same time, we push ourselves off the wall, going down just like before.

"How so?"

"They always found a way to embarrass me at some social setting. Like this one time, we were in Target and my dad started shouting 'Marco' down the aisle and then my mom would yell 'Polo' back at him. Everyone would stare at us, and I would tell them to stop but they loved to mess with me."

Ashton giggles at my short story, probably getting the idea to do that to me himself one day. I just might accidentally run over his foot with a shopping cart if he does.

Our feet touch the padded mats, and we take the hooks off of our harnesses. Ashton suggests that we get some water and take a short break which I agree with. I sit on one of the benches and wait for him to return from one of the many vending machines scattered around the interior of the building. He comes back with two water bottles in hand and gives one to me.

I watch as he twists the lid off and takes a drink, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each gulp. A light sheen of sweat covers his face and his hair sticks to his forehead. Is it possible for someone to look attractive while drinking water? If so, Ashton takes the gold. I take a sip of my water, letting the cold liquid slither down my throat and cool me down in an instant.

"They sound like good people," Ashton says, pushing his damp hair to the side, making his forehead visible. "Your parents, I mean."

I am silent for a moment, reminiscing about my parents' kind behavior and smiling to myself. "They were," I say. "They were amazing.—so loving and caring." Memories of my mom and dad flood through my mind, almost like a filmstrip running through a projector. Scene after scene, the curvature of my parents' lips never fell. I can still hear the sound of their laughter and ebullient voices as I think of all the times we spent together as a family.

"What did they look like?" Ashton asks.

"I have a picture of them in my room," I say. "I can show you later if you'd like?"

He nods. He stands to his feet and holds his hand out, waiting for me to take it. "You ready for another round?"

My arms begin to throb after he questions me, almost like they're telling me that they're not ready. I ignore the aching feeling and take his hand which pulls me up off of the bench. "As ready as I'll ever be," I say.

We continue climbing the different levels, each one getting harder as we complete it. During this time, I tell him more about my parents. I tell him about the first time my dad took me rock climbing and how I almost broke my arm after ramming into the wall when I was rappelling down. As a child, my pain tolerance was through the roof and it didn't even faze me when I hit the wall. My dad freaked out and basically smothered me until I had to sit him down and tell him that I was okay. He was always so protective of me and overreacted every time I got hurt. It was as if every cut and bruise was like a severed limb to my dad.

I tell Ashton about the time that my mom forgot me at the store once and found me in the toy aisle completely content and unaware that she even left me. I was about five or six when it happened and my mom panicked. I was playing with some stuffed animals on the floor, not paying attention to anyone around me and consumed in making the animals talk to each other. Ashton laughs at how oblivious I was as a child and tells me that I still am in certain situations.