by Kody Boye
Results do not indicate abnormalities of any kind, said the analyzer’s notes.
No mental disorders associated with answers, Anderson’s notes began. Gifted, intelligent, sharp. A brilliant young man whose only troubles are the ones from his past.
Below, written in finely-flushed writing, were the words ‘Counseling recommended.’
I had just finished reading the line when I felt John’s hand touch my back. I jumped so high I could have knocked both of us to the floor.
“You have absolutely nothing wrong with you,” John said, leaning forward to look at the paper over my shoulder. “You’re just as normal as the rest of us.”
‘Normal’ wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe myself, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m not sick in any way, shape or form.
In response to John’s words, I folded the papers, slid them into the envelope, then glanced over my shoulder as he started for the sink.
John, I’d said.
“Yeah?” he’d replied.
I said only two words: Thank you.
Those are two of the few words to express the way I feel.
–Day 35–
John had the day off today, so he asked me if I wanted to do something. At eight o’clock in the morning and still half-asleep, I wasn’t sure what all to do other than to ask what he was doing in my room. He laughed, slashed the blanket halfway down my naked back with the palm of his hand and said that he wanted to make plans if I had any I wanted to make.
Still nearly asleep, I narrowed my eyes, pushed my elbow into the bed and propped my head on the palm of my hand.
Let’s drive, I said.
So we did.
After showering and eating a scant breakfast of blueberry muffins, we hopped in the car and started into town, toward the thrift shops, antique stores and all the other wonders of the big-city world. When we got there, John pulled into a vacant parking lot and asked me where I wanted to go.
I don’t know, I’d said.
“You don’t know?” he’d frowned.
Not really.
“I thought you said you wanted to…” He trailed off there, then smiled before reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He then said, matter-of-factly and as though he’d just been struck with the stupid hammer, “Oh.”
At first, I wasn’t sure how exactly to respond. Thankfully though, he laughed shortly thereafter and continued, “You wanted to drive, not go anywhere.”
I corrected him, saying I moreso wanted to ride along than actually drive.
“Not much of a difference,” he said, switching out of park and making his way out of the parking lot. He took a moment to glance up and down the long stretch of downtown road before flipping his right turn signal on. “You want a ride, we’ve got one.”
Nearly eight hours later, we’re sitting in a hotel room, eating decent but not great hotel food and watching TV.
As I’m writing this, dressed down to a pair of pajama pants John had picked up for me at the souvenir shop (they promptly and tactfully have ‘I stayed at the Roadside Escape!’ written across the ass. That’s sarcasm, for future reference) John has the it-outlived-the-dinosaurs television set to a cooking channel and is picking at the remnants of his burger. He’s reaching for the phone and asking if I want more fries because he’s ordering for more, to which I just replied Sure, but I’m not sure what else is going to go on after I finish writing this. I’ll probably just climb up into bed with him (we got a single) and watch TV until I pass out. It seems like this is going to turn into a weekend excursion—not that that’s a big deal, because I’m having the time of my life, but I didn’t really expect this.
You’ll read this later, John, so I just want to say it now: This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’m glad you let your hair down and decided to do something like this. It’s nice to see your more relaxed side. You needed a break anyway.
–Day 36–
We were on the road again today. Like yesterday, we rose around the crack of dawn, crawled in the car and started toward the nearest biggest city, roughly two-hundred-and-fifty miles away. John said it’d take up about three or four hours to get there, given the lengthy stretches of road we’d have to take and the amount of traffic in some of the smaller towns, but we arrived in the city at about eleven-thirty AM, booked into a hotel, then started wandering around the city.
“Where to?” he’d asked.
I didn’t know ‘where’ we could actually ‘go to,’ so I simply shrugged and continued to lead the way, stopping at streets, pushing pedestrian crossing buttons and leading him around corners. At one point I thought we might have to double-around for fear of not being able to walk back to the motel, but John only shrugged and said to keep going.
“Might as well enjoy the walk,” he’d said.
After about a half-hour of wandering the city, we came across the official state aquarium. Almost immediately, John asked if I want to go.
I’ve never been, I’d said.
“All the more reason to go,” he’d replied, patting my shoulder and leading me across the street.
It cost a measly amount to get in, which surprised me, considering most aquarium ads I’d ever seen showcased entry ticket prices of at least twenty dollars. John later said that they were having a public event and had halved the ticket prices, hence the reason for the whole experience only being fourteen dollars.
That’s a lot cheaper than I thought it would be, I had told him.
“Don’t start worrying about money,” he’d said, then added, “I make more than enough to cover myself three-times over.”
I’ve never been one to speculate on how much he made. Then again, John doesn’t exactly live a marvelous lifestyle, so I’ve never been one to wonder how much silver lined his pockets. His house is a one-story, three-bedroom building with three bathrooms (the second of which isn’t held by the other guest bedroom,) an office, a decent-sized living room and a small kitchen. He drives a car that looks to have walked out of the seventies and doesn’t have a significant other, children or even a pet goldfish. It’s just him—
Well, correction: us, now that I’m here. I’ve never asked, but I’m sure he owns it, which cuts out the majority of the house payments, and the electricity is barely on—his living room is practically its own window and at night he lights candles.
I guess it doesn’t particularly matter. I went off on a tangent.
Anyhow, we started into the aquarium and first looked at fish that could have been seen in a pet store—goldfish, snails, angel fish and a variety of other things. There were clown fish in some of the exhibits (or at least fish that looked like clownfish. An exhibit said otherwise, as they were mimickers,) but I’d seen them before. I was starting to get disappointed before we rounded the corner and came to a tunnel that said, ‘The Atlantic Ocean.’
“This’ll be where it gets good,” John had commented at that very moment, then started forward without me.
I stared at the sign for about a minute before I followed suit.
Almost immediately, I saw a shark skirting away from the tunnel. Being underwater was the worst part of it.
What if the tunnel breaks? I’d asked.
“It won’t break,” John laughed. “Besides—if it does, we’ll just run out that way.” Then he pointed to the entrance and I nodded, even though I couldn’t help but imagine getting chomped by a shark while trying to run out of the aquarium. “You’re not scared of them, are you?”
What?
“Sharks?”
I’d said no. ‘Admire’ is the more correct word, and by admire, I mean ‘from a distance,’ not up close, which made the experience all the more surreal when the creature doubled back around and came back to view the people entering the aquarium.
“It’s a White Tip,” John had said, looking up at the creature’s dorsal fin, as if to confirm his point. “It says here that a ship called the Nova Scotia was sunk by a German submarine off of South Africa and
that many of the people who died were eaten by these guys.”
Which is why I ‘admire’ them, I’d replied. I made sure to enunciate ‘admire’ full and well.
“Come on,” John laughed. “Let’s keep going.”
The most impressive part of the whole display was the sharks—I won’t deny that at all. We gradually advanced through the various oceans and through parts of South America and Africa until we finally exited out the other side. About that time, it was one-thirty and both of our stomachs were rumbling, so we stopped to eat at the restaurant housed inside the aquarium and ate submarine sandwiches and French fries before we left the place.
From there, John asked if there was anything else I wanted to do. I said I wanted to go back to the hotel.
We’re here now, as I’m writing this. John’s in the shower, probably waiting to see if there’s anything else I want to do while we’re here. I’m not particularly sure what else there is to do here, so I guess I’ll ask if there’s anything else he thinks I should see before we come back to settle down in the motel for the night.
I’ll let this journal go from here. I’ll probably write more about what we did today tomorrow, but for now, I’ll stop. My hand’s starting to cramp and I think I just heard the shower turn off. Pretty soon here, after the weekend ends, I’ll have to start writing more about what happened while I was living with Josh, but for now I’ll just enjoy the weekend. Might as well.
–Day 37–
After a two-and-a-half day excursion across the state, we’re finally on our way back home. As of writing this, I’m trying to keep my hand as steady as possible so I don’t fuck up and have to start over, which is no easy feat considering the road we’re on is torn to hell and the cliff to the side looks like it could fall over at any minute. I keep having to look down at my journal to distract myself from the rocks, but even that isn’t helping.
John just laughed at me.
“You afraid of heights?”
No, I just replied, shaking my head. It’s the rocks.
He said “not to worry” and that we’ll “be away from them soon.” I highly fucking doubt that, but oh well. Not much else I can do except grin and bear it. I had the same problem on the way up, but I managed, somehow.
I think I’m going to stop here. The bad thing about looking down at something in a moving vehicle is that I’m likely to get carsick, though so far I’ve been doing pretty well. The knots in my stomach are nerves, not nausea, and my chest doesn’t feel tight. I can still breathe, so that’s a plus.
It’s just anxiety.
I’ll get over it.
–Day 38–
We’re out of cliff country and sitting in the exact same hotel room we were in on the way up. I’d commented on the irony of it earlier, when we’d stepped into the room to see it set up the exact same way we left it, but John said irony was far and in between what we were now looking at.
“Irony is something that seems familiar in an awkward circumstance,” he’d said, collapsing onto the bed just like he had the last time we were here. “People mistake it for something sinister all the time.”
I guess that makes sense, all things considering. I’d once thought of John as ironic when he walked into the alley to find me nearly beaten to death, but I guess I never considered the fact that the familiarity of the whole thing was what made it seem sinister.
When John had first stepped into that alley, I thought he was a psycho who wanted to fuck my mouth. I guess things really are ironic when you think about them. A bird is born but cannot fly, thus is her irony as she can never leave her nest, while a gazelle is grazing in the grass and sees a lion but does not run, thus is her irony as the beast rips her to shreds—both ironic, in a way, but most people probably wouldn’t see it as such.
I should probably stop before I get myself in over my head. I’m not even sure if I’m using the word ironic correctly, but oh well—I guess that happens sometimes. John might or might not correct me on the usage later, but that’s all right. We’re going to be home sometime tomorrow. I guess then I can get back to living my life, as ironic as that might seem.
–Day 39–
We got back at about eleven-thirty PM. John had to go to bed almost immediately after he scrambled for something to eat, but I’m still awake, writing a journal entry that has little bearing over anything that’s happened today. We got up at around six, crawled in the car, stopped for egg and sausage sandwiches and continued on throughout the day, only stopping twice for gas and food. The day was, and still is, perfect.
Thirty-nine days ago, I could have never imagined living with a man who wanted nothing more than to help me. Now, though, I know what true kindness really means.
The past four days have been amazing—long, but amazing.
Thank you for taking me on this trip, John. I promise I’ll keep writing about what happened with me and Josh tomorrow, after I’ve slept and have a better mind frame. I know this entry was mostly sappy and without any real meaning, and I know I tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done more than you can probably bear, but I know it means a lot to hear it.
Every time you smile, I know just how much it means.
–Day 40–
Time to keep going, I guess.
The first time we went to the beach together, Josh locked his arm around my shoulders and led me along the shoreline. The tide was going in and out, splashing against our feet, and the seagulls overhead were cawing at us like they do in fast food restaurant parking lots when they want French fries or something similar. There were a few people around, mostly families, their children and a few odd teenagers, but other than that, the beach was completely ours.
“Are you nervous?” he’d asked.
About what? I had replied.
“About how close we look.”
Truth be told, I’d been a little more than nervous at the time. Back where I used to live, you didn’t go about with your arm around another guy’s shoulders if you knew what was good for you, so it wasn’t hard for me to immediately establish a level of consciousness about Josh’s public display of affection. When he asked that, I didn’t answer right away. That didn’t seem to bother Josh much, as he continued to lead me down the shore without much care in the world, but I knew I would have to eventually answer, so I bucked up and said, A little.
At that moment, Josh stopped, released his hold on me and settled down on the ground, just far enough away from the shore so the water could touch his feet. I stood there for about a minute, dumbstruck and not sure how to feel, before he gestured me to sit down beside him.
“You must’ve lived in a pretty shitty place,” he’d said.
Yeah, I’d replied. I did.
We sat there watching the children play, the dogs chasing after rubber balls and mothers taking pictures as fathers dove in after their sons and daughters. In the distance, a dolphin jumped, spun, then squeaked before falling back into the ocean, much to the delight of a group of teenage girls, one of which reached out to the dolphin as it approached. I have a distinct memory of wondering just how it would feel to touch one, but I didn’t voice my opinion. Instead, I simply watched, laughing when the six-foot creature bumped its head against the girl’s side and began to wade through the other children.
“I’m going in,” Josh had said, stripping his shirt over his head to reveal his hairy, muscular chest. “Come on.”
I’m fine, I’d replied.
“Come on, Dakota. Live a little!”
Up until that point, he wasn’t aware that I was afraid of sharks, though I didn’t necessarily voice my opinion until after I’d stripped my shirt off and stood ankle-deep in the water.
“You coming?” Josh had asked, laughing as he turned to face me while he continued to wade deeper in the water.
I’m afraid of sharks, Josh.
“There’s no sharks here. Besides—we’ve got a dolphin. He’ll protect us, right, squeaky?”
The dolphin squeaked in re
sponse, then butted its head into Josh’s side hard enough to knock him into the water. That was all it took for me to join the man I considered to be my boyfriend in the water, dolphin and all.
I’m not sure if this is the most appropriate thing to write about, John, but I’m getting there. The story’s unwinding, slowly but surely. This is one of the few really good things that happened between me and Josh while I was staying with him in Florida. I’d rather cherish these memories than put them away.
–Day 41–
Josh’s family had problems.
That’s easy to say when you’re an outsider and as such have an outside perspective, but it isn’t hard to pick out the little awkward things when you’re living with someone for such a short amount of time. Usually it’s hard to pick those things out—the way your boyfriend’s mother would tap her nails on the counter when her husband walked into the kitchen, the way the father would read the paper, stop, then sigh before folding it up after he heard someone moving around in the house. Little things like that cross your radar often when you’re first living with someone, but after a while, the pieces start falling together and the puzzle begins to start building itself on its own.
To say the least, the first month-and-a-half of living with them was wrought with tension.
Funny—I say wrought like it’s some fancy word that should be used to describe an average thing.
Let’s get on with this.
