Olly, Olly

Chapter 10. The greatest miracle in the world.

Last night, or early this morning I should say, I made my way to the bathroom at one point. I realized that it was late and his parents had gone to bed. I knew I needed to get going. I didn't want to disrespect their home and overstay my welcome. It was as if Mr. Cartagena had heard my thoughts as I walked out of the bathroom he had been passing through with a book and a glass in hand, as he smiled in my direction.

"I'm sorry Mr. Cartagena, time got away from us. I was just about to leave."

"It's okay, Aria. No rush, I'm not kicking you out."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up," I replied.

"I fell asleep on the sofa, you didn't keep us up. My wife went to bed hours ago and I lost track of time, reading." He held up his book showing me its title it was a mystery genre. He told me that it was a good read. I responded with, 'I will definitely look into it. I'm always looking for a good book.' I had said my good night and was about to walk away to say goodnight to Ollie when he called my name out causing me to turn back in his direction.

"Aria!" He repeated. "I'm really glad he is home, we missed and prayed for him every day he was gone. He is my only son! He paused feeling the truth of his words.

"I just wanted to say thank you!"

I was about to question for what, when he continued.

"Aria— I realized he is not a child anymore, he grew up over there. I don't know exactly what he is going through, but I do realize, I can't ever know to its extreme at least. What I do know is the advice I repeatedly gave my daughters as they grew through their teenage years; "I reassured them over and over, 'that they can't ever fix a man.' That no matter how much they tried and tried they could never change a man, but a man will change for the right women. I also can see my son changing— for you. We thought we lost him for a while. We know he loves us, we don't doubt that. We struggled with him for the first few weeks he was back and at times still do, but we see glimpses of him return every day." A small grin broke as he continued— "Abuela says, 'the explosion brought him home but love is keeping him here,' and I understand that now— his love for you." His words brought me joy, causing the small fine hairs on my neck and arms to rise. His words were beautiful! He placed his hand over my shoulder as he passed me by to make his way to his room. "Good night, Mija!" He finished as he walked passed. I just let his words sink in. I never expected him to approach me, let alone speak to me. Except the occasional hello, or faint smile as we crossed paths we never had much interaction like Lily, but at least Mr. Cartagena aways acknowledged I was there.

I walked into Oliver's room with the intent to say goodnight. The light that crept through the blinds revealed that morning was arising. The room was still dark with the occasional line revealing the rising sun. Light forcefully broke in, in random places that reflected off the walls. Oliver was picking up his things off the floor including his iPod that he finally switched into the off position. He stood as I walked in. I told him I needed to leave, he needed to rest. He asked me to stay. He must've seen the impression on my face because he quickly followed with—"I'll behave, I promise. You can have the bed, I'll take the floor."

I leaned up and kissed him, "Good night!" I whispered sealing my answer.

He walked me out and continued to state that he could go home with me, that he wasn't ready to let go just yet. He walked me to my car and we finally agreed we would both try to get a couple of hours of sleep. He promised he would try but as soon as he came to he would make his way to my house. I agreed.

Driving home every word he said ran through my head again. The tears were inevitable. I wanted to numb myself out by this point and figured sleep was the best option. I had yawned a couple times as I was exhausted by this point. Sleep was creeping in fast. I couldn't get home fast enough. I planned on dropping all my things by the front door head up the stairs and throw myself onto my bed.

***

We spent the weekend together, did nothing special. We just hung around my house and watched movies. I learned that he didn't eat much and only drank water because he lost senses. He had three concussion during his tours. His third concussion was because of the explosion and from that point on things just seemed bland. He had trouble tasting things, smelling things. His first concussion was during his first year in. He told me about a mission he had where they had to search abandoned buildings and clear them. He said that they almost walked into the first building but were given orders, that the building was being cleared already and they were ordered to move on to the next building. As they made their way up the second building a large explosion went off. It shook the ground. They quickly realized the explosion was in the first building. Two men were still inside. He said that it was a gruesome sight as many soldiers didn't even hesitate they ran in going after the men left inside. Clearing the rubble off their men and carrying them out. He said no one had to give orders, everyone just knew what had to be done. That there was no way they were leaving men behind. The two men were severely burned, but they were alive. When he spoke I just listened, as the weekend went by I found that it seemed to help us both. We were holding nothing back. I told him about the pill bottles I saw on the counter. We exchanged stories. Mine stories weren't as exciting as his, but he wanted to know what I did in the last four years. College, work and old flames, he seemed especially curious about the last topic. I even spoke about working at the restaurant which included Raymond and his shenanigans that he would get into, even the ones that he would get me mixed into. We spoke about how I met Nate, which I told him about Jackson. He even said that he wanted to make it over to Nate sometime this week to apologize and shake his hand.

We ate cereal for dinner. I wasn't trying to overwhelm him but we both had to eat. I wasn't big on sugar cereal, even as a kid and this caused him confusion, as he teased me wondering what kind of kid didn't like sugary cereals. I had raisin bran and he had a bowl with me. He agreed and seemed to be okay eating them realizing he wasn't missing much with or without taste buds. He laughed. It was great to see him let his walls come down. We stuck to drinking water for the most part.

Late nights, we found ourselves on the sofa. He had asked me about my homemade library in my living room. I explained that it was all the books I had read, except the ones I took out and had to return to the library. He asked me to point out a favorite.

"That's hard— there all so different, you're asking me to basically pick my favorite child. He laughed. It depends on the genre. One of my favorite novels is— 'The Great Gatsby,' by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Then I listed off my favorite's from each genre, romance and thriller and so on. That was the only way I was able to answer that question, I had to break them down by category. He had asked me if I could read to him. I agreed and briefly described a couple of them as I flip through the books, looking to see if there would be one he would show more interest too. He asked me to pick— so I reached for 'The Great Gatsby.' My favorite inspiration book, The greatest miracle in the world, by Og Mandino, was a top contender as well, and I would make it a point to read it with him at some point. I would have pulled that one but I had trouble holding onto that book. I can't even remember how many times I've had purchased it to replace the previous one. I had read it many times, but I've always found myself lending it out to friends and coworkers which I should probably say, 'gave' instead of 'borrowed' because they never made it back to me. I even tracked down a Spanish copy for Rosa for her birthday one year. I had to remember to try it again and buy another copy sometime soon when I went in search for the book Mr. Cartagena recommended. We both laid back and I cracked the book open.

'In my younger and vulnerable years...'