Thicker Than Paper

Gut feeling

Satisfaction and determination. Righteousness and intuition. Spontaneous and unsure. I don't know why I let it direct me. God knows it has lead me down some dark paths. But I find my self-looking for it even more. I shake my head, dropping the paper crane in the water. I don't even stay to watch it float away. Maybe another day.

~~~

Christmas is a tricky time for me. A true love-hate relationship. The love of gifts and, joy and, food. The hate of judgemental family members, and church, and the nagging of my family. Dad's off the entire week of Christmas, and a few days after. Christmas is a Sunday this year-thank the God I don't believe in for that.

I guess you can add God to the hate list. And everything that comes with him. Lists and rules, guilt. Boring hours stuck in a stuff building, elaborately decorated with never-ending crosses and crucifixes. Uncomfortable clothes, and holy water. Everything just makes me uncomfortable or seems stupid. 

I've gone to church on and off my entire life. Ages one through five my mom was an avid goer. Which meant we all were. But after that everything got busy and complicated and we stopped going very often. Excluding holidays, God's celebrated special days. If that meant stuffing myself into dress pants and button shirt only a few times a year, I was fine with that.

My mom encouraged us to believe in whatever religion we wanted, as long as there was a god in the picture I think she was fine. I haven't told her I gave up on God when she gave up on going every Sunday. He just wasn't necessary to me. I believed in the big bang and evolution. God didn't really fit in. 

And with science, I was more realistic but free. I could drink what I want, do what I want, support whatever I want. But most importantly, kiss whoever I want. No strict do's and don'ts. Factual info like lab reports and studies. 

My mom wanted me to turn to religion the first time the depression got bad. She said I need a little faith to get through the hard times and see a light at the end of the tunnel. I told her God just made things a little too complicated, and if I wanted to get better, I needed to focus on that. Getting better.

I could actually be free. Even if it was only in one aspect of my life.

~~~

I focus on the chug of the punch as it falls into my cup. Trying to block out the crowded dining room I'm in, and all the sweaty bodies grinding on each other's ugly Christmas sweaters. I do one more ladle of the overly spiked punch into my red solo cup, before exiting the dining room. It doesn't get better from there. 

I feel something wet soak the bottom of my sweater, "Oops, sorry!" The drunk girl giggles, swinging her beer bottle around more. I get away from here as soon as possible to avoid further liquor on my sweater.

In the living room, i look out the glass sliding door, trying to distract myself from the cold of my wet sweater. T.J's mom always puts lights around every tree in both yards. The one in the back is a blue lighting. Under the light, I see a person sitting on the not-so-swinging-couch. I lick my lips and open the sliding door, risking. 

It's surprisingly warm out for December 23, only a little chilly. I think the alcohol blocks the cold, thank god. My shoes make gentle swooshing sounds against the grass. The closer I got to the swing, I realize who's sitting there, punch cup in hand.

"Hey, Travis, anyone sitting there?" I point to the empty seat next to him with the hand with a cup in it. I don't know why, but I feel fuzzy asking him if I can sit next to him. It's probably the punch.

"Huh, yeah, go ahead," I don't point out he didn't actually answer my question. Instead, I sit on the padded couch swing. 

"Whatcha doing out here?" I don't know why I feel the need to make conversation right away. 

"The friend I came with is making out with some girl, and I really just wasn't up to the show," We both let out a strained laugh, "And, I guess, I figured I should enjoy the hated warm weather."

"Hated?" My lips pull up a little at the corners.

Under the light of the blue tree, I see Travis screw his face up in disgust, "Yeah, hated. I don't know. The warm weather is nice and all, I just want a white Christmas. Ya know?"

I nod my head, starring at the bubbling part inside the house. Why couldn't I enjoy parties like Ace and T.J.? Why couldn't I make do with some random girl to make out with? Travis is right about wanting a white Christmas. That'd at least make one thing normal. I curse global warming in my head. If Travis and I wanted a white Christmas, couldn't we get this one thing?

"What about you?" Travis warm voice breaks my cold thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Why'd you abandon the party?"

I nod my head, understanding what he meant now, "Oh, well, some girl spilled a little beer on my sweater, so I guess I just wanted an escape."

Travis let's out a sound similar to a hiss, "Gross, sorry about that."

I shrug, turning back to Travis, "It's alright. Plus, they've been playing like the same three Christmas songs on replay, and I was close to drowning my self in the punch to stop listening." We both let out a laugh, a real laugh, knowing what I said was oh-so-true.

I turn back to the house, watching people dance, laugh, and make out. I don't necessarily miss it. I almost like sitting out here with Travis more. Even if we didn't have the most lively of conversation. The silence has entered a comfortable range, and I continue to watch the house bustling with people. 

I wonder what it would be like if I had brought a girl. Would we be inside, getting overly drunk on punch and making out on the kitchen island like Ace? I find myself wondering what it would be like if Travis had brought a girl.  I doubt we would be sitting here right now. Why didn't Travis bring someone? He's tall, athletic, pretty damn cute. 

I look over at Travis and see him with his head back and eyes closed. The blue lights of the tree illuminate his face, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. My chest feels fuzzy and tight, and my stomach swirls. Part of me, my sensible part, tells me to stop. To look away.

But a bigger part of me, what I imagine as a gut feeling, tells me to do it. You never know unless you do it. I rub my hands down my jeans, trying to get rid of the sweaty palms I'm sporting. I see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, his eyes still closed.

"Travis?" My voice is small and light, but he opens his eyes and looks at me nevertheless. 

I lick my lips. hesitation. My head screamed at me, and I lean across the center counsel, the cup holders. I really hope he can taste the alcohol on my lips.