Finding Atlas

When Mom stopped crying, she told me that she knew I needed to cope, and she told me to take as long as I wanted to. So I ran and ran until I stood in front of a house that looked so much bigger than before, or maybe that was because I felt smaller than I had ever felt before. I knocked on the door frantically before a disgruntled Atlas opened the door.

Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, Atlas grabbed my arm and pulled me in, his arms winding around me. My own wound around him, too. We stood on the front porch for God knows how long just hugging and holding each other tight. But a tear never fell from my eye.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" Atlas asked when we walked inside. He'd made me a mug of hot chocolate—with honey, mind you—and taken me upstairs. We were now sitting on his bed as I marveled at the cleanliness and organized fashion of his room.

"My Nana died." I said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. I said it like it didn't hurt, I said it like it didn't hurt me. But it did. And I could never show that. I had to be strong.

"Oh, God," Atlas said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"My parents kept it from me for two weeks. That's what they were arguing about upstairs when you came."

"No!" His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide with astonishment. "You're kidding!" I shook my head furiously in hopes of drying off any tears that were threatening to fall out.

"My mom was yelling at my dad that I deserved to know and I guess he didn't think I could take it." And then I cried. That day, a lot of firsts had happened. I cried in front of someone for the first time. I saw my mom in her weakest state for the first time. My dad acted as if I was a child for the first time. I felt weak for the first time.

"My dad's in the hospital," Atlas blurted out.

"What?" I asked, lifting my head to look at him. I watched as Atlas fought an internal battle with himself. Should he be weak, vulnerable, and express his emotions? Should he be strong and hold it all in? In the end, the former won, and Atlas's shoulders sagged as the dark circles beneath his eyes became more prominent under the tears slowly trickling over them.

"He's been in the hospital for almost a year now, since December last year. Chemo's wearing him down, and I found out yesterday that they might pull the plug." His body shook and it was my turn to hold him. It seemed to be happening a lot that day, people falling apart, but everyone had a shoulder to lean on.

Within a few minutes, Atlas stopped crying. We stared at each other for the longest time, his blue eyes burning through my green, as if they could see right through the walls I had built to bottle my emotions up and hide within the deepest parts of me. His eyes told me his stories as my eyes told mine, and I realized we were both a vulnerable mess of lines that were so tangled they lead to nowhere.

I didn't even notice our bodies getting closer until our foreheads touched. Before I knew it, Atlas's lips were on mine. Just a light brush on my lips before he pulled back sharply. My hand lifted to touch my lips, and I found myself shocked by the softness of his.

"Whoa," Atlas breathed out. "I'm—oh God, I'm so sorry. God, what was I thinking? That was so stupid! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Atlas's eyes remained wide and blue as he waited for a response.

"It's, uh, it's fine, we're—we're fine, don't worry about it," I forced a smile, shaking my head to see if I could shake off the feeling of warmth and comfort his touch gave me.

"Friends? Friends, yeah?" Atlas's hand was out for the second time that day, but it wasn't left hanging. I took it and we shook on it, my mouth forming the word friends as my heart ached for no reason at all.