1 year later
It is currently my twenty third birthday, and although I'm in a room full of people, I've never felt so secluded. My dad insisted that my family flew out to celebrate my Jordan year. Their support throughout my lifetime has been incredible and I wish I was able to voice my appreciation but it's sort of indescribable. This past year I was able to figure out my own truths and get rid of the notion that confrontation was unnecessary. I'm still not very outgoing, but I'm a lot more open to conversation than I have been and I'm proud of myself for making these changes despite how minor they are.
"Do you remember when we were younger and dad taught us about religion" Ashley said. We were currently sitting outside on the balcony of her room, watching over everyone else in the backyard socializing and catching up.
I laughed, thinking about all of the different religions we practiced trying to figure ourselves out. "Yeah, I remember you and your yamaka." Thinking of her years practicing Judaism.
"I wore it religiously." She confirmed. Zoning out into the sky, seemingly in deep thought.
"you know," she began, not taking her eyes off of the sky, "I think of how thankful I am to have grown up with the guidance of dad, who allowed us to discover the world the way we wanted to and never pushed his own personal beliefs on us."
I nodded my head. Our dad understood the dynamics of our thinking process at an early age. He knew I was different and he knew Ashley was creative. So, every day he accommodated our personalities through parenting and I've never met anyone so selfless.
"He blames himself you know." She furthered, referencing my childhood. As far as I've suppressed the memories of me as a kid and as much as I hated talking about it, I've never had a problem talking to Ashley about them. She doesn't treat me as if I'm fragile and tainted. Half of the problem when I was younger was how broken everyone perceived me to be, rather than letting me heal they reminded me that I should grieve.
"I know." I replied, shortly. He always had. Me and my dad talk about anything, except what happened, and believe me I've tried. For years, I resented him for not opening up to me about how he felt. I thought that his anger was geared towards me because I took away the only women he had ever loved. Then I realized that he couldn't forgive himself for allowing her to put me through hell.
"We're lucky, aren't we?" She questioned, looking at me for the first time since we got outside.
"Absolutely." I uttered, meaning everything.
--
"Happy birthday again babygirl. I'm so proud of you" My dad said, raising his beer tapping it against my glass of water. It's late now, and we had just finished cleaning everything up in the kitchen. Sitting down at the dining room table, we sat side by side as we always did when we talked. Being the two most passive people, we've found that not facing each other allows for us to open up more so it had become our own tradition.
"Thank you for making my Jordan year memorable pops." I replied. Mainly thanking him for bringing everyone together and putting a smile on people's faces.
"Psh, just wait till kobe year. We're going all out" He said jokingly. I see someone has tricks up their sleeve. I just laugh, and take a sip of water.
"There was actually something I wanted to get your advice on" I told him slowly, making sure to enunciate. If I mumble, he could sense my nervousness and I don't need him to pick my brain on this topic.
"What's going on" He questioned, looking straight ahead.
"You told me that love is an experience and that experiments are short lived. Is it crazy of me to ask how long experiments tend to last?" I asked.
