Bathe in Color

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

Before Paris' accident, I thought I understood how Ally felt after Jack killed himself in A Star is Born. I shuddered at the mere consideration of losing Paris, unable to imagine my life without him. Every time I catch a glimpse of his smiling face, dotted with freckles and framed by adorable black curls, I feel at peace. Paris is my refuge. Prior to meeting him, I didn't plan on coming out of the closet. It seemed easier to hide behind relationships with women than explore my true feelings. Yet once I met Paris, everything changed. He helped me realize that if I wasn't being my true self, then I wasn't really living. And if I had to, I was willing to give up everything for him. I'm still willing to give up everything for him.

Now, sitting in this dimly lit hospital room, wondering whether or not Paris will wake up from the coma he's been trapped in for six days, I truly understand how Ally felt. I may lose Paris for forever, and that possibility paralyzes me. Paris haunts my mind and there's no way to remedy my fear that I'm going to wake up in the middle of the night to find Paris' cold body lying in that wretched hospital bed, the doctors and nurses assuring me that they did everything they could to try and save him.

Vanessa says we can't think like that. We need to stay strong. Not just for ourselves, but also for Paris. He needs us to be there for him, more than ever. She says we should all do something to remind him we're here, waiting for him to return. At first, I seemed skeptical to the whole idea, but, at this point, I'm desperate enough to try anything.

I never got the chance to sing to Paris. The two of us would sing along to songs, but I'd never sing by myself. He probably doesn't even know that I can sing, or maybe he does. All I know is that, right now, the best way I can express my presence is through a song.

When I was younger, my dad bought me an acoustic guitar for Christmas. It was absolutely stunning, made from dark ebony wood with a glossy marble aquamarine front. The following year, my dad gave me guitar lessons. In high school, my dad was a bit of a hippie, a laidback music man who traversed New York City playing at obscure clubs and quaint parks. Over time, I became pretty good at it, partaking in guitar club during middle school. However, once high school rolled around, I became infatuated with photography and realized it was my passion. Occasionally my dad and I strum a song or two together, but he's definitely much more skilled than me. Some nights, my dad takes out his guitar, the same one he's had since his high school days, and strums a soft romantic melody, singing along with his smooth vocals. It always entrances my mom, reminding her of the days when she would frequent those obscure clubs to catch a glimpse of him playing. I thought someday I could play my guitar for Paris, back when I assumed we had all the time in the world. Now, with the future uncertain, I at least want to strum him one song before he...

***

For the first time in six days, I leave the hospital to pick up my guitar, hoping my parents don't lecture me for missing school. They must understand that being with Paris is more important than being at school. Besides, I wouldn't be able to concentrate at school, too focused on Paris.

As I pull into the driveway, my dad opens the front door and ushers me inside. His nurturing smile quickly turns into a concerned frown, and his arms catch me before I fall. I bury my face into his sweater, the tears pouring from my eyes before I even realize I'm sobbing. All the anguish buried deep down is finally erupting at the surface. The weigh of these past few days comes crashing down all at once, yet I still can't breathe a sigh of relief. All I can do is hope that Paris will wake up, or I may cry until all of Santa Barbara is underwater.

My dad holds tight to my shivering figure, rubbing his hands against my back as I heave in between uncontrollable wails. Eventually, I manage to calm down, using my dad as an anchor to keep me from collapsing. With a soft pat on the back, he suggests I take a shower. I manage a nod, too shaken to speak without producing more tears.