She's So Much More Than Decoration
1/1
March 26, 2008
Chico, California
3:56 P.M.
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly, like a bird?” She turned on her side to look at me. I could feel her staring at the side of my face. But I didn’t turn to look at her.
We were lying on the grass in her backyard. She said it was relaxing, that it helped her clear her mind. But it just made my arms itch. I nodded, to avoid her bombarding me with a million questions. She liked asking questions a lot.
She rolled back over, lying on her back again. She was quiet after that. I didn’t mind, because she was quiet a lot. I was used to it.
“Hey Justin,”
“Yeah,” I asked, turning my head to look at her. She had her eyes closed, and one arm behind her head, while the other stayed draped across her stomach.
“If I could fly, I’d take you with me.”
I had no idea what she meant, so I didn’t question her. I never knew what she really meant.
But I figured that was her way of telling me she loved me. She would never directly say it, or admit to it. But I knew she did, at least to some extent.
She knew I loved her.
March 27, 2008
Kennedy, California
3:27 A.M.
“I like the name Mason,”
I looked up from my menu that the waitress had set in front of me, “Oh yeah?”
“If I ever have kids, and I have a son, I’m going to name him Mason.”
It was three in the morning and we were sitting in the corner booth of a small, all-night diner somewhere near Stockton. She called me earlier in the morning, at 1:15, and told me to be ready in ten minutes, that we were taking a road trip. She only did this when something was wrong; took extensive road trips somewhere out of town. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be gone, so I took the things I knew I would need, like the car charger to my phone, and my toothbrush, and an extra set of cloths for the both of us. I always seemed to find her cloths in my laundry basket. She was always forgetting things.
“What about the kid’s father? Doesn’t he get a say in the name?”
She looked up at me for a minute, kind of squinting her left eye and pushing her mouth off to the side, as if she was contemplating her answer. “Maybe,” she smiled, “But, his middle name will be Justin,” she told me, “does that make it better?”
When we were seventeen, she told me I was the only boy she’d ever consider falling in love with. She said I was the only boy that she knew for sure would never hurt her, at least not intentionally. And I wouldn’t.
She didn’t believe people fell in love anymore, at least that it wasn’t true love anyway.
“Love is a nice concept,” she told me sometime after our food had come and we started eating. “But people don’t fall in love anymore.”
“What makes you say that?” We had a habit of getting into really long conversations about topics like this early in the morning. We’d talk about the meaning of life, and where we’d be in the future.
“The nation’s divorce rate,” she just shrugged, “I’ve only seen real, true love once.”
“And when was that?”
“When we were five, and I got really sick and was in the hospital for that month and a half,” I remembered that perfectly. I remember my mom telling me that she was really sick, and she had to go to the hospital for a little while. I went and saw her every Sunday.
“There was this old guy, and his wife had sever dementia,” she always tried to word things to sound as nice as she could, “and he would bring her flowers everyday, even though she had no idea who he was every time.” She told me, “and everyday, he’d tell her all about their lives together, and how much that he loved her. It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never forgotten about him.”
“You’ll fall in love one day.” I smiled at her. I knew she would.
March 28th 2008
Emeryville, California
1:23 P.M.
“Hey Justin,” she said. We were in another diner, this time in some town I had forgotten the name of. We had stopped to get food, because she said that the building gave her a feeling. I didn't argue, but that didn't mean I understood what she meant.
“Yeah,” She handed me the comics, not looking up from the article she had begun reading.
She had picked up the paper at 711, just like she did every other day. And just like every other day, she separated the sections; the sports section for her, and the comics for me. The rest of the paper sat on the table between us untouched, like it always did. It was part of the routine.
“Don’t ever settle, okay?” She sipped her coffee, while she read the sports page, updating herself on the the Flyers game from the night before.
She still didn't look up from her article. I wasn't sure if she was really reading it, or if she was just pretending.
“I won’t.” And I wouldn’t, because she was the only one I wanted.
March 28, 2008
Berkeley, California
10:23 P.M.
“Hey Justin,”
“Yeah,”
“You’re beautiful.”
“What?” I think she was trying to tell me something. But I could never be sure with her. It could have been something she had been turning over in her mind all day, or just a random thought that just popped into her head. She was cryptic about those sorts of things.
“You’re a beautiful person, inside and out.”
“Thank you, you’re beautiful, too.”
She didn’t say anything after that. We were lying on some beach in Berkley, three hours from home. We had spent that day driving through California, stopping in random cities and towns and pretended like we had important places to be, but were running away from them. We had gone to San Francisco, making impromptu visits to old friends. It was just her and I, traveling Northern California, on what she had said, would be our last adventure before I left.
She didn’t say anything for at least another hour. We were silent, and all I could hear was the sound of the waves breaking on shore, and her breathing. I loved the sound of her breathing.
“Justin?”
“Yeah,”
Her head was resting on my shoulder, and she kept yawning. “When you get home,” she took in a deep breath, “can we do this again?” I could hear in her voice that she was going to cry. In all the years I’d know her, I’d only ever seen her cry once.
We were fifteen, and her cat, Morris, died.
“Of course,” I kissed her forehead, and rubbed her arm.
April 4, 2008
Chico, California
7:42 A.M.
“I’m gonna miss you,”
“I’ll only be gone for a month.”
She had her arms wrapped around my torso, and her face hiding in my shirt.
“So? I still won’t get to see my best friend for a month.”
We stood in the grass, next to her driveway. Two vans, both with Arizona plates, sat at the curb, one black and the other white, silver trailers hitched to the backs of each.
“We’ll be in Arizona for a few days next week, you should come out.”
She looked up at me with a small, happy smile on her thin lips. Her chin rested on my chest, right over my heart. She was short; I was at least a head taller than she was. But that was okay, because she was perfect just the way she was. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She had told me to invite all my “little band friends” over the night before we were scheduled to leave to tour. She said it would make more sense for them to come here, and for us all to leave together.
She cooked everyone breakfast and made sure everyone had everything they needed and that everything was pack away neatly and properly. She had a habit of acting like everyone’s mother.
“Are you sure you guys aren’t still hungry?” She asked, looking over at the door to her home as everyone started funneling out.
“I think we’re good for the next week, Cael.” They had all taken an immediate liking to her, but I think that’s because she had baked eight dozen cookies prior to their arrival.
She tightened her arms around me for a few seconds, before she pulled away. “You boys should get going, or you’ll be late. You don’t want to hit traffic.” She smiled at everyone, offering hugs and kisses on cheeks to them all. She kissed everyone on the cheek.
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“I’ll be waiting,” she smiled, almost sadly. “Go on now, don’t keep them waiting,”
I hugged her one more time, kissing her forehead softly, “See ya later.”
She didn’t say anything, and I took that as my cue to pick up the backpack she had packed for me.
“Hey Justin,” She called from behind me. My hand was on the black handle of the van door, and I turned to look at her. She had moved a couple of steps forward, a white envelope clutched in her hand.
“Yeah,” I asked.
“Read this when you can’t see me anymore,” she took another few steps toward me, until she was standing less than a foot in front of me. She handed me the envelope, and stood up on her toes to kiss my cheek.
“Okay,”
She backed up and watched as I climbed into the middle row of the black van. We pulled away from the curb, and I turned to watch as she stood in the middle of the street, wearing the purple sundress she loved to wear so much. Her shiny, brown hair was flowing in waves that ended half way down her back. I couldn’t see, but I was sure her beautiful blue-green eyes were shining bright with tears she wouldn’t cry, because she had too much pride. She looked gorgeous.
She waved goodbye to us all, and I could see someone from the white van in front of us hanging out the passenger side window, I could hear them yelling something I couldn’t make out back to her. I could see her laugh, and I smiled, remembering the sound of her laugh.
When we turned off the street, I watched her gaze at our retreating vehicles. I watched her until I couldn’t see her anymore, and she had probably starting making her way back into the house, where she would clean until everything was in sparkling condition again.
I turned around again, the van was quiet, because most of the other occupants were trying to sleep, or texting, or listening to music. I looked down at the envelope and ran my finger under the sealed flap, tearing the paper until I could retrieve the paper from inside.
Hey Justin,
I think I’m in love with you.
Love,
Cael
Chico, California
3:56 P.M.
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly, like a bird?” She turned on her side to look at me. I could feel her staring at the side of my face. But I didn’t turn to look at her.
We were lying on the grass in her backyard. She said it was relaxing, that it helped her clear her mind. But it just made my arms itch. I nodded, to avoid her bombarding me with a million questions. She liked asking questions a lot.
She rolled back over, lying on her back again. She was quiet after that. I didn’t mind, because she was quiet a lot. I was used to it.
“Hey Justin,”
“Yeah,” I asked, turning my head to look at her. She had her eyes closed, and one arm behind her head, while the other stayed draped across her stomach.
“If I could fly, I’d take you with me.”
I had no idea what she meant, so I didn’t question her. I never knew what she really meant.
But I figured that was her way of telling me she loved me. She would never directly say it, or admit to it. But I knew she did, at least to some extent.
She knew I loved her.
March 27, 2008
Kennedy, California
3:27 A.M.
“I like the name Mason,”
I looked up from my menu that the waitress had set in front of me, “Oh yeah?”
“If I ever have kids, and I have a son, I’m going to name him Mason.”
It was three in the morning and we were sitting in the corner booth of a small, all-night diner somewhere near Stockton. She called me earlier in the morning, at 1:15, and told me to be ready in ten minutes, that we were taking a road trip. She only did this when something was wrong; took extensive road trips somewhere out of town. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be gone, so I took the things I knew I would need, like the car charger to my phone, and my toothbrush, and an extra set of cloths for the both of us. I always seemed to find her cloths in my laundry basket. She was always forgetting things.
“What about the kid’s father? Doesn’t he get a say in the name?”
She looked up at me for a minute, kind of squinting her left eye and pushing her mouth off to the side, as if she was contemplating her answer. “Maybe,” she smiled, “But, his middle name will be Justin,” she told me, “does that make it better?”
When we were seventeen, she told me I was the only boy she’d ever consider falling in love with. She said I was the only boy that she knew for sure would never hurt her, at least not intentionally. And I wouldn’t.
She didn’t believe people fell in love anymore, at least that it wasn’t true love anyway.
“Love is a nice concept,” she told me sometime after our food had come and we started eating. “But people don’t fall in love anymore.”
“What makes you say that?” We had a habit of getting into really long conversations about topics like this early in the morning. We’d talk about the meaning of life, and where we’d be in the future.
“The nation’s divorce rate,” she just shrugged, “I’ve only seen real, true love once.”
“And when was that?”
“When we were five, and I got really sick and was in the hospital for that month and a half,” I remembered that perfectly. I remember my mom telling me that she was really sick, and she had to go to the hospital for a little while. I went and saw her every Sunday.
“There was this old guy, and his wife had sever dementia,” she always tried to word things to sound as nice as she could, “and he would bring her flowers everyday, even though she had no idea who he was every time.” She told me, “and everyday, he’d tell her all about their lives together, and how much that he loved her. It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never forgotten about him.”
“You’ll fall in love one day.” I smiled at her. I knew she would.
March 28th 2008
Emeryville, California
1:23 P.M.
“Hey Justin,” she said. We were in another diner, this time in some town I had forgotten the name of. We had stopped to get food, because she said that the building gave her a feeling. I didn't argue, but that didn't mean I understood what she meant.
“Yeah,” She handed me the comics, not looking up from the article she had begun reading.
She had picked up the paper at 711, just like she did every other day. And just like every other day, she separated the sections; the sports section for her, and the comics for me. The rest of the paper sat on the table between us untouched, like it always did. It was part of the routine.
“Don’t ever settle, okay?” She sipped her coffee, while she read the sports page, updating herself on the the Flyers game from the night before.
She still didn't look up from her article. I wasn't sure if she was really reading it, or if she was just pretending.
“I won’t.” And I wouldn’t, because she was the only one I wanted.
March 28, 2008
Berkeley, California
10:23 P.M.
“Hey Justin,”
“Yeah,”
“You’re beautiful.”
“What?” I think she was trying to tell me something. But I could never be sure with her. It could have been something she had been turning over in her mind all day, or just a random thought that just popped into her head. She was cryptic about those sorts of things.
“You’re a beautiful person, inside and out.”
“Thank you, you’re beautiful, too.”
She didn’t say anything after that. We were lying on some beach in Berkley, three hours from home. We had spent that day driving through California, stopping in random cities and towns and pretended like we had important places to be, but were running away from them. We had gone to San Francisco, making impromptu visits to old friends. It was just her and I, traveling Northern California, on what she had said, would be our last adventure before I left.
She didn’t say anything for at least another hour. We were silent, and all I could hear was the sound of the waves breaking on shore, and her breathing. I loved the sound of her breathing.
“Justin?”
“Yeah,”
Her head was resting on my shoulder, and she kept yawning. “When you get home,” she took in a deep breath, “can we do this again?” I could hear in her voice that she was going to cry. In all the years I’d know her, I’d only ever seen her cry once.
We were fifteen, and her cat, Morris, died.
“Of course,” I kissed her forehead, and rubbed her arm.
April 4, 2008
Chico, California
7:42 A.M.
“I’m gonna miss you,”
“I’ll only be gone for a month.”
She had her arms wrapped around my torso, and her face hiding in my shirt.
“So? I still won’t get to see my best friend for a month.”
We stood in the grass, next to her driveway. Two vans, both with Arizona plates, sat at the curb, one black and the other white, silver trailers hitched to the backs of each.
“We’ll be in Arizona for a few days next week, you should come out.”
She looked up at me with a small, happy smile on her thin lips. Her chin rested on my chest, right over my heart. She was short; I was at least a head taller than she was. But that was okay, because she was perfect just the way she was. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She had told me to invite all my “little band friends” over the night before we were scheduled to leave to tour. She said it would make more sense for them to come here, and for us all to leave together.
She cooked everyone breakfast and made sure everyone had everything they needed and that everything was pack away neatly and properly. She had a habit of acting like everyone’s mother.
“Are you sure you guys aren’t still hungry?” She asked, looking over at the door to her home as everyone started funneling out.
“I think we’re good for the next week, Cael.” They had all taken an immediate liking to her, but I think that’s because she had baked eight dozen cookies prior to their arrival.
She tightened her arms around me for a few seconds, before she pulled away. “You boys should get going, or you’ll be late. You don’t want to hit traffic.” She smiled at everyone, offering hugs and kisses on cheeks to them all. She kissed everyone on the cheek.
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“I’ll be waiting,” she smiled, almost sadly. “Go on now, don’t keep them waiting,”
I hugged her one more time, kissing her forehead softly, “See ya later.”
She didn’t say anything, and I took that as my cue to pick up the backpack she had packed for me.
“Hey Justin,” She called from behind me. My hand was on the black handle of the van door, and I turned to look at her. She had moved a couple of steps forward, a white envelope clutched in her hand.
“Yeah,” I asked.
“Read this when you can’t see me anymore,” she took another few steps toward me, until she was standing less than a foot in front of me. She handed me the envelope, and stood up on her toes to kiss my cheek.
“Okay,”
She backed up and watched as I climbed into the middle row of the black van. We pulled away from the curb, and I turned to watch as she stood in the middle of the street, wearing the purple sundress she loved to wear so much. Her shiny, brown hair was flowing in waves that ended half way down her back. I couldn’t see, but I was sure her beautiful blue-green eyes were shining bright with tears she wouldn’t cry, because she had too much pride. She looked gorgeous.
She waved goodbye to us all, and I could see someone from the white van in front of us hanging out the passenger side window, I could hear them yelling something I couldn’t make out back to her. I could see her laugh, and I smiled, remembering the sound of her laugh.
When we turned off the street, I watched her gaze at our retreating vehicles. I watched her until I couldn’t see her anymore, and she had probably starting making her way back into the house, where she would clean until everything was in sparkling condition again.
I turned around again, the van was quiet, because most of the other occupants were trying to sleep, or texting, or listening to music. I looked down at the envelope and ran my finger under the sealed flap, tearing the paper until I could retrieve the paper from inside.
Hey Justin,
I think I’m in love with you.
Love,
Cael
♠ ♠ ♠
(: