Jesse

33: The Phone Call

33: The Phone Call

…

            "So have you two…You know…?"

            "Done it?—Had sex?" I bluntly asked Emily, as we sat outside in her backyard beneath a shady tree. Golden sunlight glimmered through the gnarled gaps of leaves and branches, shadowing our faces, as we sat opposite of each other in our hoodies. It was a little breezy today, but not that cold. Not as cold as it had been recently. Emily had her hood raised; I didn't. She had her knees pressed beneath her chin, her arms wrapped around them; I was sitting cross-legged, my hands pocketed in the hoody. The Christmas Holidays were almost over; it was sad. Christmas had come and gone. And it hadn't even snowed yet.

            But anyway, Ian had got me my first phone; and, it was an iPhone! I couldn't believe it! I felt my pocket of my jeans to make sure it was still there; I had grown an unnecessary habit of doing that lately. He said I had deserved it. His parents gave me new clothes, a set of earphones to go with Ian's gift, candy, and things like that—it had been the best Christmas I had in a very long time. Sharing a warm, delicious breakfast with an actual family—a Mom, a Dad, and a brother in a sense—all together: sharing laughter, and something I had always wanted again. Family.

            And I got a glimpse of it through being here with them. My old life. Before death. Before all of the craziness. Before Harold snapped, and became Harold, no longer Dad. It hurt to remember that—the time before. But here, I felt as though I could see and hear Mom laughing, being with us just like old times. Even Dad, when he was Dad was here somewhere. His spirit. Mom’s spirit. I felt home. Christmas had been nearly nonexistent with Harold. But I didn't want to think about that or him. It made me sick: actually, physically sick. I rubbed my stomach, wincing, feeling suddenly queasy and lightheaded. I shook it off.

            Even if Ian had said I deserved his gift, I felt like I didn't deserve anything: all of their overwhelming kindness, and generosity toward me. They treated me like I had been Ian's brother all along. If they only knew…What I had managed to get for Ian wasn't anything close to what he had got me, and he said that didn't matter: it was the thought that counted…I told him that it was good he thought that way.

            I had given him a new drawing notebook and a set of charcoal pencils. It wasn't much, but I thought of him, when I saw it. He said he loved it; his eyes were watery after he had opened it. He blamed there had been something in his eye. Yeah, tears. But I kept that to myself. I laughed, but didn't say anything, and told him he was welcome. But my gift had done exactly as I had hoped it would—it struck up conversation between him and his parents about it. He finally admitted he liked to do it as a hobby, and his parents approved, even his Dad, who asked he would like to see some his drawings sometime. I'll never forget that look on Ian's face—it was of the most overwhelming satisfaction and relief I had ever seen before in my life.

            That night, he had brought up the gift again, really thanking me again.

            "See, I told you," I told him, grinning. "I knew they wouldn't care."

            "Yeah, I had been stupid to think such things," he confessed, sighing.

            "I wouldn't disagree with that," I said, laughing, and I saw him roll his eyes; an undeniable grin began to curl his lips. And we leaned our heads in together, kissing roughly; the fire of his kissing flushed me inside. I'll keep the rest of that night with me; you can use your imagination, can't you?

            "Yeah," she said, blushing, bringing me back from being lost in those arousing thoughts, dazed and high. I—too—was filled with those intimate thoughts.