Started with a Whisper

Whisper - 15

When Levi's body shifts beneath my weight I'm jostled awake and adjusting to the dark. A single synthetic candle flickers on the mantle illuminating the glaze of glass nestled in a picture frame. I never heard dad return home, and didn't notice as mom completed her normal routine of 'closing' down the house for the night. Every night she walks through every room, locking entrance doors and turning off every light, with the exception of a few synthetic candles that she places strategically in case of emergency. My mom is cautious, the type of woman who always looks over her shoulder and prepares for the worst. Dad tells me she wasn't always this way - part of me doesn't want to think about what must have happened to bring her to this point. The other part is curious, but doesn't know what to do if it ever came into contact with said information. 

Levi's smartphone is glowing on the table, and I adjust to get a better view at the time. It's four in the morning. Levi's dad gets off of work in two hours. I wonder if he misses Levi, considering they rarely see each other. I've never met his dad, and Levi rarely mentions him either. Sometimes I wonder if he hides his life from me on purpose. The only family I know of Levi's is Dorothy, and while she's a wonderful woman, sometimes it'd be nice to know or know of the man who raised him. 

I can just make out the faint features of his face in the dimness. His eyes dart around beneath his thin eyelids and his jaw is relaxed for the first time in a long time. He still has a death-grip on me, but truth be told, I'm getting a little over-heated. If I don't move soon, I'm going to be swimming in a pool of my own sweat. The thought makes me cringe. 

I have one free hand, so I use it to gentle run my palm over his hair. He leans into my touch and his eyes open slowly. "I didn't mean to wake you." But I did. So...mission accomplished. 

"It's okay," he groans quietly, before glancing around at his surroundings. "What time is it?"

"Four," I say matter-of-factly, continuing to run my fingers through his unruly hair. A piece in the very front sticks up loud and proud. It almost makes me laugh, especially when my attempts to comb it down do nothing at all. 

"It's so early, why are you up?" He grumbles, leaning his head back and sighing. His eyes close and he just sits in silence for a few seconds. I sniffle and try to clear out my nose which is mildly stuffy. 

"I'm getting really warm, I couldn't sleep," I admit sheepishly. Levi relinquishes his lockdown grip on me and I shuffle beside him instead of on top of him. This time his hand is running through my hair, and I take it as a cue to talk. If he's able to sit here with me like this, then obviously he's done being angry.

"Levi?"

"Mmm?" Is his muffled response.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No." The word stings me, like a physical blow. It comes out sharp and so forcefully I twitch at his reaction. "I'm fine," he says more softly, dulling the blaze in his eyes. I don't ask out loud, rather, I repeat the question with my face. I stare at him in a way that delivers "I'm not buying your bull shit" with a side of "you can tell me". He rubs the exhaustion from his eyes and matches my gaze.

"Levi," I murmur, resting my hand against his face, "You can talk to me. Tell me."

He sucks in a shaky gulp of air before exhaling slowly, and shutting his eyes. "My dad." He stops short. I sit next to him patiently, and wait for him to finish. I know he'll tell me when he's ready. "My dad might have accidentally violated his parole."

I don't show my surprise, but I do whisper out the question in the forefront of my mind, "Your dad has been to prison?"

"Darcy, he's a good man who made mistakes." He says these words to me as if trying to convince me. I grab Levi's hands and sit up a little straighter.

"I don't doubt he's a good man, Levi. What happened? You should have told me sooner, my dad is an attorney. Maybe he can help you," I offer quietly. I'm trying to keep a soothing tone to calm him. I can tell the thought of losing his dad is hurting him more than he's letting on. "Don't worry, there could be a chance that we can fix this."

"Darcy, I don't even know if my dad can afford an attorney." He looks defeated - and ashamed. His shoulders sag forward and his eyes avoid mine at all costs. I know I can't ask about the charges right now, it's just too delicate of a situation. I can't risk breaking the trust I've just won from him.

"Trust me," I assure him placidly, "We'll figure it out. Together." The look he gives me is understandably still not convinced. He nods drowsily, letting his eyelids droop down until his bottom and upper lashes lace together. I tuck the blanket around him and slip off of the couch. I tiptoe around the old end table with an ancient clay bowl I made in the second grade covered in a purple glaze perched lopsidedly on the corner. I hate that ugly thing but my mom says it's special because I made it for her. She's sentimental like that, and so many corners and shelves are filled with clutter which is a mixture of family souveneirs and odd and end objects. 

As I pad through the threshold of the kitchen archway I turn on the light I decided would bother Levi the least. I can't shake the feeling of curiosity that grips me. What could Levi's dad have done to wind up in prison? How did he 'accidentally' violate his parole? Can things like that even be accidental?

I run some hot water from the faucet and grab a grey mug from the hanging cabinet closest to the sink. I fill it up three-fourths of the way before taking three steps to the left and sliding open the drawer where mom keeps the teabags. I pick out chamomile, and quietly shed the paper before dipping the tiny bag in and out of the water with a bobbing motion.

As I sip at the lukewarm tea in my cup I can't help but glance from where I stand at Levi. He takes my breath away.

I imagine that growing up without his dad around must have been tough. Does he even know what his dad did? Levi seems to think the world of him. I ease my back against the edge of the counter and cross one foot over the other. 

What does this mean for Levi?

If he shuts down at the possibility of losing his father, what would happen if he actually does? Again. 

I can just picture him closing off, and shutting me out. It hurts to think about it. He can't keep living this way. And I don't know if I can handle watching him suffer like that again. I can already tell he's not a talker, not by the way I've had to coax things from him like persistent interrogation is my job. If his dad goes back to prison, his emotions are just going to eat at him until there's nothing left. He'll swallow himself whole. 

The more I think about it, the more things start making sense. 

Maybe prison explains the lack of pictures - with no adult around to document the memories, how could they have any to share on the walls? The already blurry image of Levi's childhood, and very existence, just keeps getting more out of focus as bit by bit I piece him together. I feel like I'm following Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs but the birds keep eating them before I can catch up. 

He twists around restlessly, before settling again. His cheek glows against the flicker of that little candle, fading and reappearing with each tiny burst of light. I wonder if he's dreaming, and if he is - if he's dreaming about losing his dad. 

"We'll figure this out, I promise." I whisper my silent declaration low enough for just me to hear. He's still alseep none the wiser to my little proclamation.

"I promise, Levi."