In the Language of the Flowers

| 37 |

"I'm him." I could barely hear his voice. "I'm him."

"No, you're not," I assured him. 

He stepped away from me. "Don't touch me. You should just leave."

"I'm not leaving," I said. "Don't be dumb." 

"Dumb?" he said in disbelief. 

I watched as he stormed away from me, shoulders tense and hands in fists. He slammed his door behind him, leaving me standing there aghast like a fool. 

"I didn't mean that, Ren," I called to him. But he didn't answer. 

I just sighed and went into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit I'd promptly made him buy after finding out he didn't have one. I stared at it, collecting myself for a moment. It was good that Ren was releasing the death grip he'd had on his emotions for years. But it was also devastating.

"Ren," I said, tapping on his door. It felt like the bathroom at his mom's all over again, but worse this time. "Let me help you, for once." 

His voice was muffled, but I could hear his unsteadiness. "Not right now, Copper." 

I took solace in that fact that he hadn't reverted to calling me Beau again. I whipped my phone out of my pocket and called Sallie. She took longer to pick up than usual, but she still came through for me. 

"Duckliiiiing," she sang. 

"Sallie, what do you do when Ren's upset? How do you cheer him up?" I asked, retreating to my room.

Sallie scoffed. "How come every time you call me, it's about that idiot?"

"If you help me, I'll bake cookies fresh in your apartment," I said. 

"In that case," she said immediately, "it's not about what I would do but about what you would do, isn't it?"

"Shit, I know," I said, setting the first aid kit on my desk. "But I don't know what to do. I don't feel like I'm good at cheering people up." 

"Ren cheers up just seeing you," she said. 

But she hadn't heard him. You should just leave. There was some conflict playing out inside him, but it was all happening behind closed curtains. I needed to draw them back somehow. "Ok, thanks." 

"You don't sound confident." 

"I'm not, but I never am, you know? It's why I'm better at..." Oh. An idea. 

"At what?"

"You are a magical genie with all the answers," I said. "Let me know when you and Marley want me over. I'll be there." 

I hung up before she could get another word out and plopped down in front of my desk, pulling out my notebook. I messily ripped some pages from it. Ren needed vulnerability. He needed to know that letting go was ok, that he could have a life. So I poured my own vulnerabilities out onto the page. I told Ren everything. Everything. 

My fears. My hopes. My identity. How miraculous is language to be able to give all of my deepest thoughts form? My mind took shape on those papers, page after page. I wrote messily, hurriedly, fluidly. My hand ached as I sealed my words up into an envelope and wrote Ren's name on it. Teach by example, I suppose.

I approached his door again, leaning down and sliding the envelope under it before I could question my choice. As soon as I did it, I felt a twinge of panic. It faded when I remembered how much I trusted Ren. Still, my energy had gone. I slumped against the wall and sat on the floor like a weirdo, my chin resting on my arms resting on my knees.