F i r e f l i e s

Chapter One-- Saturdays

Saturdays

“My angel injects thoughts into me, he speaks into me. It is a shame he can't see into me. For he then would see the only thought in me, him.”

                                                            -Hush, Hush

            “Mariah Carey!”

            “Nick Swardson!”

            “Ozzy Osbourne!”

            “…Uh…”

            “Ha!” I grinned, and did my trademark victory dance.

            Jacob laughed in defeat. “Damn! You win.”

            I smiled. “I know I do.” I picked up my cappuccino and sipped it, thoughtful. “So what’s my prize?”

           My best friend in the world, as well as the man I was head-over-heels crazy about, raised a teasing eyebrow, leaning in closer. “What do you want it to be?”

            I shook my head. “Nope, not how it works. You have to come up with something.”

            “Damn,” Jacob said, “Alright, give me a minute to think it over.”

            I nodded, and looked over the guy I’d spent every moment of my life with. Since I’d met him, he hadn’t changed a bit… literally. The only difference was that he now allowed his black curls to grow a bit longer, so that they curved around his ears and framed his face adorably. His blue eyes focused on nothing as he thought over my request, his eyebrows pulling together in concentration. Today, he wore a black t-shirt that was tight in all the tight places, over faded jeans and black shoes. Over the past thirteen years I’d known him, I had memorized every detail of him, from the small birthmark on his neck to the barbed-wire tattoo on his forearm, to the scar on his right calf he’d gotten when he burned himself tripping into the fire during the family camping trip when I was twelve. I knew everything about him, and he knew everything about me. I told him everything, down to the last detail, and he was a great listener. He devoted himself to being there for me, whether I was bragging about winning a writing contest, or if I was crying because my dog passed away.

            He was my other half, my soul, my entire life. Without him in my life, it was impossible to imagine where I’d be. I was crazy about him, and he accepted my love for him, but I wasn’t quite sure if he was in love with me as well. He seemed to avoid the topic of us being together, and when it did come up, he shut himself up and tried to turn the conversation on to something else. When this did happen, I was irritated, but I couldn’t stay mad at him. He did everything for me, and I would be a complete brat to get mad at him for not wanting to discuss our relationship.

            However, when we saw other couples out in public, kissing or hugging or being couple-like, I felt awkward. Why couldn’t they be us? What was he hiding from? Why wait? It was obvious that he and I were meant to be together, and it frustrated me that he had to make it so complicated, keep it so platonic. As I looked at him, I wanted nothing more to kiss him right then and to tell him I loved him, and for him to do the same. However, I knew that if I did anything, it would only cause problems between us.

            “Got it!” he exclaimed suddenly, snapping his fingers. He grinned, and any irritation I’d previously felt toward him melted away.

            “Alright, let’s hear it.”

            He raised his eyebrows mischievously. . “Nope. It’s a surprise. But we have to go to the mall after this if you want it.”

            I frowned, swirling what was left of my coffee around in the plastic cup. Ever since I was fourteen, and decided I liked coffee, we spent every Saturday morning at The Blend, a café in my town. I always ordered a hazelnut cappuccino, with extra sugar and whipped cream. He drank black coffee. “I can’t go to the mall later. I have my biannual checkup this afternoon, remember?”

            Twice a year, I had to return to Proctor Hospital, which was in the city twenty minutes from Washington, the little Illinois town where I lived. There, I went through a few tests just to make sure everything was as it should be, and that I didn’t need any more treatment. Remembering the effects of my first treatment process made me shudder.

            Jacob frowned. “Well, I guess we’ll have to go tomorrow then. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.” With those words, he downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the cup into the trash bin near the couch we always sat on during our Saturday meetings. The Blend was very casual, with couches and plush chairs rather than tables and booths. On Fridays, local bands came in and provided entertainment. It was busiest on Friday nights, but when Jacob and I came in on those Saturday mornings, it was quiet and cozy.

            Walking out of The Blend to the parking lot, I took a deep breath of the April air. It smelled like rain, of course. Illinois had had a very late winter that year, and the snow had finally melted away two weeks before. Now, the weather went through constant mood swings; one day would be scorching hot and dry, while the next was cold and drizzly. Today was hot, but the ground was still soggy with yesterday’s rain.

            Walking over to my Honda Civic, Jacob got into the driver’s side, leaving me with the passenger seat. Starting the engine, he looked over at me contemplatively.

            “What time is your appointment?”

            “One,” I said, taking a look at the clock on the dashboard. It was eleven. “Why?”

            He shrugged. “Would you rather go home, or to the park?”

            Every once in a while, Jacob and I would visit Washington Park and people-watch. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to pay attention to other people. “I have homework to do,” I said, “Can we go home?”

            Nodding, he pulled out of the parking lot and turned left. After a minute or two, he pulled off onto a curved road, headed toward the outskirts of Washington, toward Sunnyland. I turned up the radio, on 98.5, and we drove in silence, listening to whatever the latest music was.

            I took another moment to look him over, smiling. I loved the familiarity, the way I was able to predict the rest of the day: We would go home and downstairs, to my room. I would do my homework while he sat on my bed and talked to me or just watched me, and then we’d watch a movie or just sit and talk for the rest of the night, until I fell asleep.

            These were the moments I looked forward to most with Jacob. Falling asleep in bed next to him, watching a movie alongside him, discussing anything and everything with him. I got to hear his voice and his intelligent insight about the strange things in life, or just anything else he felt like talking about.

            It was insane, how close we were. He knew every little detail and secret about me, and I never ceased to share every thought I had with him. He was my diary, my mentor, my therapist, my shoulder to cry on. He was my other half, he completed me. He was my soul mate.

            I’m sure of it, I thought to myself. I was totally, compulsively in love with Jacob.

            Even though he wasn’t real.