Open Eyes (Phan)

Twenty Eight

Dan

Christmas is in three days.

Snow is falling in sheets. It's been falling for several days now. My nose turns bright red every time I go outside.

I'm sitting on Phil's bed as he packs for his visit to his parents' house.

He suddenly stops what he's doing and turns to look at me. His oceans dance.

"Do you want to come with me?" This is the first time he's asked me.

The question startles me. I can't decide.

Because on one hand, I don't want to be here alone. I don't know what places my head will take me to and I don't want to find out.

But on the flip side of the rusting coin, the thought of meeting Phil's family terrifies me.

I can't decide which scares me more.

Phil stands up straight and places his hands on my arms.

"It's okay if you don't want to go," he tells me.

I don't allow myself to over think any longer.

I nod. "I'll go with you."

Phil beams, pink tongue poking out between his teeth. God, I love his smile.

"Great!" He exclaims excitedly. He continues to shove different outfits into his bag.

I leave him to his own devices and go into my own room.

I start to pack my own things.

As I put clothes into a bag, I realize how little color I have. And how much black I own.

We get into a taxi a few hours later. My hands are shaking slightly and my heart is pounding. I put my earbuds in and blast music to try to calm myself down.

The world flashes by in a blur of color outside the smudged pane of glass. Like smeared paint. Like the way a pie smells when it comes out of the oven.

Heaven by New Navy blares into my ears as I try to drown out the rest of the world. To focus on anything but everything. Like the shell of a rotten egg.

I feel a hand rest gently on top of mine, and I glance over at Phil, who is smiling at me reassuringly.

I pull out one of my earbuds.

"It's gonna be okay," he tells me. I don't think it will be, but his words calm me down anyway.

"Okay."

He weaves his fingers through mine. His snowy skin his warm and soft. Like melted chocolate.

Phil turns back to his own window, but keeps holding my hand.

My mind wanders back to before the hospital. To when he kissed me and I kissed him. To when his hands were all over me and my hands were tangled in his hair. To when my lungs were filled with oceans and the night and snow.

We hadn't spoken about it. Or where that put us. What it makes us.

Part of me desperately wants to talk about it. To know what it means and how he feels. But the other part wants to shove it into a hole and then throw away the hole.

Before I know it we are in Manchester, pulling up in front of a regular looking house in a regular looking neighborhood with a regular looking front yard.

Phil helps me out of the car and up to the front door.

When he rings the doorbell, I can feel it ringing in my bones. In my veins.