Bathe in Color

71. Grayson Pierce, Age 17, October 8, 2019

In the midst of my tears, Vanessa leads me out of the hospital. Before I can object, she grasps my hand and takes me away from the hospital toward the beach. As we traverse the winding pathway, I try to gain composure, wiping away the tears with my free hand. Once we reach the beach, Vanessa removes her boots and motions for me to do the same. I comply, setting them down before sinking my toes into the soft, cool sand. With my hand still in her's, Vanessa approaches the azure ocean. The waves maintain a smooth back and forth motion, gently trailing across the sand. The white, bubbly sea foam threatens to touch our toes, but retreats mere inches before making contact.

"What're we doing here? Shouldn't we be with Paris?" I ask, gently detaching my hand from Vanessa's. The two of us walk in a slow, unified stride. The hospital's distance from the rest of Santa Barbara and the foreboding gloomy clouds contribute to the rather emptiness around us.

"I thought we needed a break. Especially you."

"I had a break," I reply with a shiver, the chilly afternoon wind blowing right through me.

"I'd hardly call returning home for an hour a break. Aren't your parents worried about you?"

"Why do you suddenly care if my parents are worried about me? Paris' dad never gave a shit about his whereabouts, and neither did you."

"Fair point."

Vanessa appears defeated, looking off at the solemn waves instead of meeting my eyes. Suddenly I feel terrible for lashing out at her. Except it seems unfair that Paris has experienced so much sorrow in the first sixteen years of his life, and that he never had parents or guardians who cared enough to check on him and ensure that he was alright. I didn't even know he had an aunt until six days ago when she arrived on the first flight from Portland, Oregon.

"Look, I'm sorry. That was shitty."

"Yeah, well, it's the truth. My brother was devastated by Liza's passing. I knew I should've moved here to help him take care of Paris. At least for the first year or so. But I love my job and," she pauses and I notice a tear trailing down her cheek, "I'd never in a million years guess that my brother was a heroin addict."

"What?" I shout, flabbergasted. Vanessa looks almost as shocked as me, unsure how to proceed.

"Didn't Paris tell you?"

My heart sinks and I simply shake my head at her, my throat suddenly too dry for me to speak. I can't believe he didn't tell me.

Instead of waiting for me to ponder, Vanessa answers the question burning inside my mind.

"He didn't wanna be a burden. To you. To me. To anybody."

I nod, agreeing with her. No matter how many times I assured Paris that he was never a burden to me, that I would do anything for him, he always held a sense of doubt that I'd someday walk out on him. And then I did exactly that.

"What happens now?"

"Well, once Paris wakes up I'm sending my brother to rehab."

"Is he receptive to the idea?"

"I think so. He may be a despondent addict, but he still loves his son. Plus, I threatened to sue for full custody if he didn't go to rehab."

"Does that mean you're here to stay?"

"Yep. Paris needs me. He needs both of us, and I want you to remain in his life."

"I'm not sure Paris even wants me in his life anymore."

With an exasperated sigh, I sit down and Vanessa joins me on the sand. She rests her soft hand, painted with chipped indigo nail polish, on my shoulder.