Keyframe

Ocean Avenue

"There's a piece of you that's here with me.
It's everywhere I go; its everything I see.
When I sleep, I dream and it gets me by.
I can make believe that you're here tonight."

- "Ocean Avenue," Yellowcard (2003)

Lillian

Sometimes, I wish I was a morning person. It really is an ethereal experience—watching orange rays turn into buttery yellow sunshine through my bedroom window. Maybe Alex does have a point about the the sunrise being sacred. But I'll never tell him that.

"Oh, you're already awake?" The surprise is tangible in my dad's voice as he pokes his head into my room. "What are you up to this early?"

"Nothing really," I answer, watching a meowing Sid enter and prance over to me with his tail in the air. I lean down to scratch him between his orange ears before turning another page of our photo album. "Just looking through some pictures. I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

I don't go through the trouble of telling him why. 

Honestly, it was wishful thinking to hope for a good night's sleep after my conversation with Jordan yesterday. I thought coming home for the weekend would give me a chance to decompress—especially when I'm hours away from the twins. But, like always, they prove me wrong by forcing me to think of them 24/7.

Alex already appears in my subconscious with embarrassing frequency. He's my most common thought and my favorite dream—a constant presence in the back of my mind that touches every one of my internal musings. I'll admit that the way I feel about him is eerily similar to the way I felt about Jordan those years ago.

But, strangely, that doesn't scare me.

He's not domineering or demanding of my attention like I expected him to be. In fact, it's endearing to watch such a larger-than-life character learn how to be a normal friend. He's not as smooth or effortless with his approach as he used to be—especially as we continue to grow closer. Well-rehearsed lines of flirtation and displays of grandiosity have slowly evolved into him stumbling over his words and bringing me cool rocks from his runs.

I can't believe I ever feared a boy who follows the mating strategy of a Gentoo penguin. There's still so much to learn about him, so many layers to unravel that I'm sure he hasn't even peeked behind himself.

But I didn't dream about Alex last night. For the first time in months, Jordan worked his way into my subconscious brain and wreaked havoc on my peaceful slumber. It forced me to think about where we stand, how he fits into my life now that he's no longer an enemy. 

And, even when sun started to beam through my windows, I still had no answers to show for the hours I spent awake.

"The photo album? I haven't touched it in years." 

Dad sits on my comforter after I make room for him, letting Sid curl up on his lap. His blue eyes study the pictures from upside down before he smiles and points to one in particular.

"God, I remember this exact moment. You were always such an angel...from your first breath. It was Zach and Jordan who made your birth a headache."

At his words, I focus on the picture—a developed print from the early aughts. A decades-younger version of him sits in his recliner with a smile on his face and a tiny infant on his chest. And, since it's dated a few months after my birth, I can easily deduce that that baby is me. 

More interesting, though, is our company in the photo: a three-year-old Zach and a one-year-old Jordan in various states of discontent. While Zach is on the floor bawling his eyes out, Jordan is sitting in the recliner with us—tucked under Dad's arm with his rueful baby eyes locked on me.