UpSpark: A New Adult Inspirational Romance (The Five Elements Book 1)

by Nicole Wells

  It's a long lonely stretch to Reno, NV. We drive all day for eight and a half hours, like the first leg of our trip, but trading off driving duty. We're comfortable being silent together, but something about the barren landscape begs us to populate it with our words. Since my last vision, my heart feels even more open. It feels right to share more and more intimacies with Jacob. So I share, well, everything. From Yasmin and seeing her crush on Mandy, to leftover insecurities from childhood, to my thoughts on world politics. It feels like a purge and I feel new and clean after.

  When a pop-up thunderstorm assails us, I pull over, still quite conservative in my driving. And we continue our sharing. He describes Lenape beliefs with pride, including the legend of the Thunder beings, deities that live in the sky.

  In our cocoon of metal and plastic, with the otherworldly booming thunder, explosions of lightning, and the unceasing barrage of rain, I cling to his solid voice, weaving the tales of his People in a tradition before time. Even more than the barren landscape, this fierce thunderstorm that has turned the dry bright world on its head has pushed us together, and coaxes us to share the things that are wont to come out in the dark.

  “Sometimes I can’t stand my family,” he says. “They don’t understand this trip. My mom does, of course. But there’s a divide between my white Catholic side and all the descendants of my grandfather who have embraced their Native heritage. Sometimes it’s worse with them, like they make a point to be subtly racist, when they should know better. Usually I can forgive them, you know? They just don’t know better, or they’re struggling and just doing the best they can. But sometimes, sometimes I can’t help but to call it like it is. This trip was even a joke among some of them. But then everything I do is a joke to them. I’m too tall, I’m too big, I’ve got glasses, I don’t have a life, I do woodworking. I’m kinda perfect fodder for jocks.”

  “For bullies,” I correct.

  We’re both leaning into our chairs, facing each other. I reach out and place my hand on his arm. “I can’t even unite my own family, how can I help the tribes come together more, to pool resources and knowledge?”

  “A wise man once told me that I just needed to be me,” I say softly.

  He grins, but there’s no emotion in it.

  “I think I wanted to get my Dad’s attention.” He reaches out and toys with my hair that’s hanging off the edge of the headrest. “I told you how this one Elder took me under his wing? Well, he helped connect me with the other Elders, Grandmother Dream Walker and Flies with Crows. They wanted to meet me. I was always proud of my heritage but was a little disconnect to it at the same time. This Elder, he helped me connect. He believed in me. He turned into a father figure and I guess some part of me thought the other Elders would be like that too. And some part of me wanted to get a reaction from my dad. Something, even if it was like jealousy that I was so invested in my mom’s side, or that I was spending time with these Elders.” He trails off, rubbing the tips of my hair between his fingers, but I get the sense he’s not aware of what he’s doing.

  “So what did he do?”

  “Nothing. My mom works all kinds of shifts at the hospital getting people healthy, then comes home and takes care of everything else, and he drinks himself sick and watches TV. Nothing changes.”

  “Maybe you can't change other people. Maybe that’s not your responsibility.”

  “Maybe.” He’s in another world, and I tilt my head towards his hand, putting my face into his field of vision. He starts, and pulls his hand back. I smile. He shyly smiles back.

  “You know, then there’s times I don’t regret it. Any of it. When I’m my better self and I can keep it all in perspective, recognizing that they’re just human and doing the best they can.”

  “I think all of your whole self is good, Jacob. You’re the most honorable, caring person I know.” He’s not meeting my eyes anymore, so I keep talking, “You know I don't mean it when I call you ‘dork,’ right?”

  He does meet my eyes then, and with a slow, shy smile, he whispers, “I don’t mind it when you call me ‘dork’.”

  This time I look away.

  “You’re full of grace,” he murmurs, and that gets a sarcastic laugh out of me. “Actually, I’m kinda clumsy.”

  He gently lays his palm against my cheek. I know he wants me to look at him. I fight it, but I lose the battle.

  “Grace,” he declares, when my eyes meet his. And I think I see things in his eyes, an adoration and dedication, I’m not ready to see. I look away.

  “The counselor talked about grace.” I know I’ve thrown him off track without even looking at him. “After the doctor’s appointment, I had to get counseling. She said there were stages of coping with Huntington’s. The last stage, Stage V, is considered, at best, a stage of Grace. This means you are more concerned with those around you than yourself. Which means at best, you are resigned to being a burden. That's what they’re calling grace.” My voice wobbles. I haven’t told anyone this.

  “The worst part of the disease is not just about dying early. It's becoming fully dependent on others in addition to the psychiatric symptoms, years before you die. This disease causes uncontrollable movements, loss of intellectual abilities, and emotional disturbances. That's a corruption of the body, mind, and spirit.” It's been so hard to face, I haven't dwelled on it myself, much less said it out loud until now.

  He reaches out and before I know it, I’m folded in his arms. My rock, my safe place. I cry. I ugly cry. The ferocity of the storm is long over, but mine has been building for a long time.

  He strokes my hair, repeating “Shhhhh.” After a few minutes, I lean my head on his shoulder and just cling to him.

  The water rains down around us, the fierceness of the storm spent, with only gentle patters remaining. It is like being baptized into this new us.

  I thought the highlight of my trip would be Yellowstone. And when we camped there, it was everything and more than I'd imagined. Breathtaking, exhilarating, awe-inspiring, humbling, and spiritual. But it's not the highlight of my trip. The highlight of my trip cannot be condensed down to one snapshot. It's a whole movie of brief moments, big breakthroughs, and comfortable, companionable silences. It's this moment in the thunderstorm, the time I cheated at Monopoly and the look on his face when he realized that made me laugh so hard I cried, singing along to song after song, dancing in our seats, even almost having a breakdown after the near accident and having a breakthrough instead.

  I connected the highlight of my trip to where I was going, but it was who I was with. Jacob and me. We had a lot of alone time, together in the RV, or hiking but in our own thoughts. And I got to know Enya again. I saw her as the daughter dad saw, the protegee the acupuncturist saw, the rebel becoming her own adult that mom saw, the sister Yasmin saw, and the friend and manifestation of divinity Jacob saw. I saw my flaws and imperfections and just observed without judgment. I let go of my myriad of wants and realized my needs were very simple indeed.

  chapter 17

  I see a man and a woman. He is coming in from surfing. She has on big sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat that block her face. They meet in a collision of bodies, hugs and kisses. I can hear her laughter as he twirls her around. I don’t know who she is, but the people in the vision do. A few people on the beach are stopping and staring. One person is taking pictures. The couple appear oblivious until they are approached by a little boy. The woman kneels down, listens, and then reaches out to touch his hand. She closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them and nods encouragingly at him. The boy beams a smile and runs off yelling to his parents.

  ——— ———

  IT'S DAY 12 AND WE'RE RIGHT ON SCHEDULE, heading into Berkeley. We were so road-weary by the time we reached Reno, Nevada, we just crashed and took off in the morning, knowing our ultimate destination was in sight. The plan is to sight-see for two days and then I'll fly out as his parents fly in. It's a mid-morning flight back to Maryland and its later time zone. I'll have m
any things to adjust to, but I hope that some things remain the same. It's bittersweet; this journey has been more profound than I could have imagined, but it's a taste I savor, bitterness and all.

  Jacob pulls me out of my reverie as he points out the sights when we pull into Berkeley. I help with the navigation, armed with my phone, since finding the place to park Belinda is trickier here. Eventually, we get it and all is well. She'll have some well-earned rest while we traipse about town. The first stop is at the beach!

  Ridesharing simplifies things, as we don't need to worry about parking. It's a glorious day at the end of July, and I itch to soak up the California sun. Donning a classic polka dot two-piece, I throw on a belted flowing kaftan and complete my ensemble with a wide brim straw hat I've been saving just for this, plus flip flops and sunglasses.

  This will be my first time seeing the Pacific Ocean. When we get there, it's pretty crowded but worth it. The view is stunning, with either the Golden Gate Bridge or cliffs in the background, depending on where I look. We pick a spot and set out our beach towels. I'm content to just lay here in the sun, while Jacob opts to challenge the sea. There are few people in the water. I watch him test the water and react comically like he knows I'm watching him. He looks back and I wave at him and mime being frigidly cold. He doesn't last long out there and makes his way back to me.

  Together, we people watch for a bit. It feels odd, being here amidst all these strangers after the intimacy of the last few days. As if reading my thoughts, Jacob gets up and reaches a hand out to me.

  "Let's walk along the beach, explore a bit, and see if there are more reclusive areas." I take his hand and he helps me up. We pack up our meager things and walk the edge of the wet sand in our bare feet. Even though it's cold, I love the feel of the wet sand. We don't escape the crowds, but we create our own respite from the busyness of all the people in our bubble of quiet.

  ——— ———

  LATER, WE TAKE UBER to a Chinese restaurant. We're splurging for most meals now, our own little celebration. As much as I try to hold on to each moment and treasure it, time is slipping through my fingers faster and faster. After dinner, Jacob has the idea to camp out on a different beach tonight, one last time to camp, this time even pitching a real tent. I couldn't agree more. He'd already researched where to go, and I'm excited to be at the foot of the ocean again and take in its natural wonder. There's something so inspiring about being in front of that endless, timeless mass of water.

  Nature doesn't disappoint, and it's a magical night with the sounds of the waves keeping us company. The sparks in the fire we've set seem to be mirrored by the stars in the sky. July is ending, and August is already begging for attention. Straddling Summer and School, it's the beginning of a wake-up call from this world we've crafted between us. I lean my shoulder against Jacob, sandwiched between the warmth of the fire and his body heat. I feel like we don't even need words now. I close my eyes and am content to just be.

  Eventually, Jacob breaks the silence and my reverie, "Enya..."

  I stifle a yawn — I feel so relaxed — and turn my lazy head toward his voice. This mostly succeeds in me burying my face in his pullover fleece and inhaling his woodsy scent. I mumble into his torso, and I think the vibrations must tickle him. He's giggling and I think it's cute, so I talk into his chest more.

  Suddenly, he pushes me away with a funny look on his face.

  "What?" he asks.

  "What?" I parrot.

  “What did you just say?” All frivolity has fled, and he is disturbingly serious.

  "I don't know, what did I say?" I'm wondering how I can get my Jacob back because this Jacob is guarded and making me jump through hoops.

  "You said, 'You're so cute'."

  "I did?"

  He huffs and shoves to his feet, striding away. I'd never seen him angry before, but I think I might get a preview now. I stalk him slowly and quietly, careful not to trigger his ire.

  When he stops his retreat, I gently reach out to grab the edge of his sweatshirt, "Jacob—"

  And suddenly his lips are on mine.

  I'm too shocked to think, so I don't. My body doesn’t ask permission of my brain to respond, it just does.

  I kiss him back.

  I kiss him like I love him.

  Because I do.

  ——— ———

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I see the sparks again, like I have been when I meditate. We are snuggled together inside his sleeping bag in our tent, our lantern turned low. He tells me about the Lenape belief that spirits are everywhere, the revered spirit guides and guardian spirits, and how they believe the spirits communicate through sight and dreams. The significance of rituals, dreams, and visions. That they believe in reincarnation. That talented medicine men can dream walk.

  I stroke his arm, down to his hand, and up to his shoulder, my head pillowed on his other shoulder, as he tells me more stories. I remember all the spirit sisters and brothers of the beings here on Earth, and I imagine us as bigger than life right now. What mini gods are we? What would they look down and see? I feel we must be shining so brightly, so brightly there are sparks in my eyes.

  chapter 18

  TOMORROW IS OUR LAST DAY together. I must admit, I've lost my equanimity. I am absolutely, ridiculously, cue goofy-smile-for-no-reason in love. I haven't told Yasmin about us yet — still figuring how I want to do it.

  My eyes seek Jacob out, who's in the kitchenette rooting around for breakfast. I explore this feeling that even if I don't see him, I know he's there. And if he's around, I have to find him. Our deep connection has its own gravitational pull.

  Maybe feeling it too, he looks up from pouring cereal and smiles. My own smile widens and we are just dopey smiles back and forth. I'm totally cool with that. I join him at the table, nudging him over on the bench, and we share the bowl. How is it that even cereal tastes sweeter this morning?

  "So, what do you want to do today?"

  Honestly, I'm game for anything, so long as we're together. I want to reschedule my flight, it's worth the cost, but I'm not ready for his parents. I'm not ready for them to know, not ready for any judgment. It'll be a long wait, but I know he'll come back East to visit. We'll work it out. In the span of things, this is a minor hurdle. We'll cross many bridges when we come to them, ford any obstacle, together.

  Coming back to the present moment, I say "How about Golden Gate Park?" He smiles at me as if the suggestion is perfect. I smile back.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say, Cloverleaf?" His smile dawns brighter, sending a mesmerizing look my way, still holding my perfection in his eyes.

  "You dork," I smile even more and throw some dry cereal at him, but he catches my hand and kisses it instead. I reclaim my hand to catch his head and pull it down to mine.

  We end up leaving later than planned, eventually joining an Uber on its way to the park. I can't believe this level of newness to my spirit that was already feeling unencumbered and free. Now, it's like I couldn't not be happy if I tried. It's a new level of high. I feel less dense, bigger than my body, a soul having a human experience. I touch my swollen lips. Even my body is reveling in sensation, rediscovering newness.

  Jacob and I get out at Lincoln Way and 9th. As soon as we enter the park, bikes pass us. We're treated to a beautiful day, but I know even if it were snowing I'd be just as delighted. Holding hands, we meander left, passing the Botanical Garden. Although it looks beautiful, neither of us feels like admission fees and museums just now. We just want to wander about in nature together. What's right in front of us is amazing enough.

  We come across a beautiful lake, and take the path around it, pointing out sights to each other. A dad is tossing his laughing child in the air, a little girl squeals at discovering a duck. A bird is poking through some reeds. Two elderly Asian ladies walk briskly, giving off the sense they do this every day.

  We soon find ourselves in front of a period-looking boathouse, with cheery yet hip geometric white and red shutters. Jacob
calls it an alpine chalet and drags me by the hand towards the pedal boats there. He pays the vendor and we get in, exploring the lake up close. We feel like a bona fide romantic couple now. We glide to a little island, in our private world of discovery. Around a sheltered bend, a Great Blue Heron takes flight, flying right over us. Jacob sneaks in for a kiss, the pièce de résistance to these romantic moments. "You dork" I whisper against his lips.

  I think about my parents and grandparents and other couples I've known. I remember observing sweet moments, acts of kindness, but also times of annoyance and blame. I feel in love and at peace, not just with Jacob, but with the entire world as well. My love holds no grievances.

  I see a kid trudging along the path behind his parents, defiance in his steps. He looks a little like someone I once knew. The thought of a bully from elementary school pops in my head, but the memory is no longer charged. I wish him and this boy in front of me love. I figure he could only be that way if he didn't know love like this, and I send the memory love. This love in my heart delights in its propagation, desires to spread, touching every bright beautiful thing, meeting and greeting itself in another.

  Jacobs's hand unerringly finds mine, and we are content to just float and take in the world around us. A turtle is sunning on a rock, then startles and plops into the water. A woman on shore is taking pictures of a young couple with a fancy camera. Farther along we find a picturesque stone footbridge and even a waterfall. A mama duck and her trail of downy ducklings adjust their course around us. I take a deep inhale, reveling in the smell of the trees, the sun on my skin, the joy in the air. I tuck this, too, away into my mental keepsake box. It's become less of a place to revisit, and more of a place of honor, a way I fully sink into the moment and capture it, acknowledging its grace.