Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 25: Love

It's a bit of a blur, what happened from then on, but I think it's a happy blur. We left the party and good thing too because I think Jean was genuinely trying to burn a hole in the side of my head with her stare. I don't think I ever like her that much anyways. I wonder if she'll take this as my letter of resignation. I don't think I'd mind much if she did. We ended up back at my place and I think about how empty it felt earlier. It certainly feels full now. Then we were in my bedroom and, admittedly, one thing led to another. I think I've mentioned by now that I'm a weak man. And, it was wonderful because it was Reese.

We talked after that. We talked and talked and talked and I think I cried. I know I cried, actually. But so did he and I think maybe that's not such a bad thing. He told me about his Tia, how she loved plants and cats and cooking even though she was awful with all three, and his first boyfriend, Jacob who he dated for a whole three weeks Freshman year before getting dumped very publicly in the lunch room, and he told me about how he wished he went to college, he wanted to pursue engineering. And, more than anything he told me how sorry he is. I don't think I've ever heard him talk so much so honestly. I think I like it.

I talked to, because of course I did. tell him about my sister. About Delilah. Or, what I remember about her. I told him about how she loved horses and how we used to spend hours playing pretend. I show him pictures that I haven't looked at in years. I told him how people used to say we could've been twins. I told him about the day my uncle pulled me out of school, that one fall when I was eleven, and told me that she was gone. A freak car accident. My mom was with her, she was fine, but Delilah was gone. I stopped talking then and he held me when I cried. Then I told him about my mom.

      "Her name was Mary. Like I told you, she was... a good Christian woman. I don't know what makes someone a good Christian, I guess, but that's what everyone said about her. I don't remember much about her from before- before Delilah passed. But after.. I don't know, I think it was too much for her to handle. She snapped, I suppose. She wasn't her, she was just.. empty. She was there, but not there. She was never gresy to me, but at least she was around to be awful, it was like living with a ghost. I spent a lot of time on my own then, I did a lot of thinking. A lot of worrying. I don't entirely remember when it happened, but one day she was gone. Just.. disappeared. I lived with my uncle and Fran then. I think it was towards the end of middle school when my uncle got the call. " I swallow hard, "After that, the worry.. consumed me. It was everything I was. Everything I knew. It swallowed me whole before I even understood what it meant to be." I frowned, my leg bouncing. I wonder how long it's been doing that. Reese puts his hand on my knee and I'm happy he does. I'm happy every time he does it. I take a breath. "Then I figured out how to deal with it. I couldn't quite fix it, but I could smother it. I could hide it and make everyone happy. If I learned everything I could possibly learn and never stopped thinking, I could bury the worry under it all. Under everything I know and everything I want to know. I did it for so long that I forgot why I started doing it. That's why I became a journalist, even though I'm awful at it. I want to know things. I need to know things. I get an itch in my brain if I don't get my answers. Fran says that's what makes me good at what I do. Jean always said any talent I may have is overshadowed by my lack of a stop button and no filter. Maybe she's right. The Oak is a good newspaper, really, it's just.. It's something I chose because I needed to. For my sanity. For survival. A dandelion doesn't think about what happens after it sprouts in the concrete, it's too worried about finding somewhere to root." I look over at Reese and expect him to poke fun at my metaphors as he's so fond of doing, but he doesn't. Instead, he's looking at me in a way that's so soft and open that I feel my breath hitch in my throat. I remind myself not to think too much. I place my hand over his on my knee and I feel as if I might die when he laces them together.

      "Why'd you come back?" He asks. His voice is low and deep and I recognize it as the tone he uses whenever he thinks I'm too wound up. When he's trying to unravel the worry for me. I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

      "After college? I.." I thought for a second, focusing on how his hand felt in mine so I didn't think too deep, "I didn't know anything else. Just.. this house. This town. Fran and Delilah and my mother and this awful house are all I've ever known." My flock. My pasture. I feel myself slipping and I know the worry is tangling up tighter. Then, Reese's hand is cupping my face and I don't even have to remind myself not to think. I exhale and close my eyes and lean into him.

       "Samael." He says softly and I feel my breath hitch. He doesn't say my full name very often, but when he does he says it like /that/ and it makes every single time he doesn't say it worth it. And I think that's part of why it makes me melt like the lovesick mess I am. This time I don't have to remind myself not to think. I open my eyes and god his face is right there and the way he's looking at me makes me want to kiss him until we're both breathless. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I /can/ do that. I put my hand on his side, where his stupid crop top lifts up and I watch him shudder and mercy, god, please. I open my mouth to ask him and he's already smiling. Always three steps ahead. I smile back,

      "Angel-"

      "Always, Sunshine."

That night, I couldn't sleep. So I let myself think. I think about Reese. I think about how his curls fell in his face when he rolled over to face me. I think about how soft they were when I brushed them back. I think about something he said earlier, about his Tia. 'That's the thing, Sunshine, it's the moving on that hurts. Finding out who you are after the pain..' I think about everything he's been through. I think about how it must have hurt and I wonder if he learned about moving on through first hand experience. I wonder if he's found who he is yet. I'm not sure he has. I hope he lets me be around when he does. I look over at him sleeping, looking every bit as angelic as when I first saw him, and find it hard to imagine anyone ever making that gorgeous face of his cry. Then I imagine it. I think it makes me mad. I think about a lot of things until I start to think about myself. I think about what I've been through. I think about what I haven't. I think about how I'll never know what Reese has been through, the thought makes my chest ache and I have to reach over and tangle a hand up in his hair to feel sane again. He always does a good job of keeping me grounded. I think about that. Then I think about how I'll never really understand him, not fully. I think about how I want to. How I want to explore every inch of his body. I think about how I want to talk and talk and talk with him until I understand every corner of his mind. The thought makes me smile. I think I've never wanted anything as much as this. Then I fall asleep, and it's the best sleep I've gotten in months.