Dream of Me

November 12

Chapter 9

When I was dating Irene, it was hard for me to keep this all a secret. I wanted to tell her everything, but I didn't know how she would handle it, or if she would think I was a freak, or if she would just think I was making it all up. I had no idea how she would react, so I just kept it to myself. I didn't tell anyone. I couldn't tell my father because... I had no idea why. It just didn't seem like a conversation to have with him. He was always caught up in his research. Well, come to think of it, he seemed to have a lot more free time once my mother passed. He shifted his time to focus more on his role as a professor in the biology department, putting his research on the backburner and devoting more time to raising his two children. I never knew what he was researching, and for some reason I had never asked. To this day, I still don't know. Maybe I'll ask him. I forgot to finish the story about Irene's poem.

The next day at school I eventually worked up the courage to go up to her and attempt to clean up the mess I had made the previous day.

"Hi. Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"You know. About the poem. And other stuff."

"What other stuff?" She was making it difficult for me and I knew she was enjoying it. She enjoyed making me feel uncomfortable sometimes. She said it was good to get out of comfort zones.

"Okay, fine. I'll say it. I think I like you."

"You think?"

"No, I know. Well I think I know."

"You think you know."

"Yes. Do you like me?"

"I think so." Now she was just playing. I couldn't help but smile because I knew she was teasing me—not trying to be cruel, just making a game out of the confusing situation. At least I was confused. But it started getting clearer. She hadn't been confused at all. "Yes, I do like you. You've been my best friend for years and I never thought we would be more than that. But lately, I want more than that. And if you want to try, I think we should. And I think we can. I've been scared because I don't want to change this—us. I want to be close forever. But I don't want to miss an opportunity out of fear. Let me know what you think. I have to go to class now." With that, she handed me another envelope. This time, I opened it as I walked to my own class. I ran into a few people as I was looking down, but I hardly noticed. "Hey, watch it," someone muttered, but I kept walking and looking down at the carefully addressed "A.D" on the cover of the pale white envelope as I peeled it open.

I think you are beautiful.

really, beautiful.

I think the way your skin
crinkles around your eyes

is the most beautiful thing

I've ever seen, (though
I haven't seen it lately).

I think your mind is such

a jumble of thoughts; and

sometimes I fly right into

it, entangled in your

web of suppositions.

I'd like to explore with you,

march down boardwalks with you,

take pictures on mountains with you,

blast classical music on roadtrips with you,

share my soul across a picnic blanket with you,

sightsee the wonders that your skin has to offer.

I'd like to paint your fingerprints on my retinas,

type your name across my spinal cord,

carve your scent into my disregard,

smear your conviction across

my face, as war paint.

I think you are beautiful.

Really, beautiful.

I.S.

This time, I knew it was about me. My heart pounded against my insides as I read it. After school, I walked up to her as she was waiting for her parents and kissed her. That was that. She was my first and, really, only. I've fooled around a bit, especially right after we broke up, but nothing came close to how I felt with her. The night after I kissed her, I told my mother about it in our dream haven. I couldn't wait to get home to bed. I even went to bed early, but I couldn't fall asleep for hours. I kept replaying the poems and the kiss and the years that had lead to that moment in my head. Addison crept into my room for a bedtime story. The neighbourhood dogs were barking as if they knew that night was the only night they would ever be able to converse again. Sirens wailed by, the neighbour's music blared, and I heard my father typing from the open door of his office. Finally, sleep came.

"Hi, baby."

"Mum! I have so much to tell you." Every night it seemed that I had missed her more than the previous. I ran to her, this time I was almost as tall as she was the last time I had seen her, and wrapped her up in my lengthy, awkward teenage arms. "You remember Irene, right?"

"Yes, your best friend. How is she?"

"She's good. She's more than good. I kissed her today. She wrote me another poem. I think we're dating now. Or we're going to soon. I have to ask her still, I think. Right? That's how it works. I like her so much."

"Oh, my boy. You are growing up so quickly. I am so happy you found someone that fits you so well," she paused, looking around as if she wasn't sure how to ask the coming question, "did you ask her if you could kiss her?"

"Well... no. I thought that the guy just kisses the girl, like they do in the movies and stuff. And she told me that she liked me. So I thought it was okay to do it."

"Yes, maybe she did want you to kiss her, but you should never make that decision for her. You need to always ask her if she's comfortable with what you would like to do. And August, make sure you treat her well. Never speak to her harshly, never leave issues unresolved. You are a good man, and you will be a great boyfriend. Just remember to always be kind and to always show her how much you love her. And don't be afraid to talk to your father about it. It may not seem easy at first, but he does want to talk to you. And, believe it or not, we dated too, many years ago. I'm sure he has some advice to share with you."

"Thanks, mum. But I can always talk to you, right? I want to talk to you about it."

"You can talk to me, baby." Her face fell, but I didn't know why. I was starting to get confused. And my confusion started to spill over into anger.

"What? What are you hiding from me? I can still talk to you, right?" At this point, I was close to yelling as unwanted tears welled up in my eyes, stinging.

"Yes, you can. I just don't know for how long."

Chapter 10e

Something is different.