Sweet Soul

by Tillie Cole

I looked to Levi standing behind me. He was peering down at me, head lowered. His messy fair hair had fallen to shield his eyes and his hands hung at his sides.

  Warmth spread within me as I watched this tall, well-built, beautiful boy standing so shyly beside me. I wondered what his life was like? The warmth within me cooled as a thought pushed into my mind: does he have a girlfriend? I pictured him at college, driving his fancy Jeep. He played football, he had money, and he looked nothing less than perfect. I was suddenly confident of the answer to my question: he would definitely have a girlfriend.

  I shouldn’t be here with him, I told myself.

  Gripping the jar tightly in my hands, I got to my feet. I headed to the door, keeping my head down as I passed Levi. He didn’t say anything as I reached the door. I needed to go, but I still felt more than a flicker of sadness, knowing that our impromptu meeting was over. I’d liked him talking to me. I’d liked watching him stumble shyly over his words. It warmed my heart.

  I heard Levi mumbling something to himself, but it was just too quiet for me to make out. Suddenly, I felt him behind me and I froze in my tracks. I breathed in and out to steady myself, then turned to face him. His fists were clenching at his sides, and his was face rosy with a flush.

  He held out his hand and, in his palm were several glow sticks. “To refill the jar every night.” I gently took the sticks and pushed them into the pocket of the hoodie. Levi’s head was kept down, his hands once again at his sides.

  He caught me staring and slowly exhaled. “You wanna go.” He hadn’t asked me a question, he had assumed that’s what I wanted. Focusing on the light, still shining bright in the dark, I shrugged.

  He stepped closer still. “It’s real late, but—”

  He left the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished, but I was desperate to hear the rest. Levi rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and then blurted, “I’ll walk you to the kitchen door.”

  Disappointment crushed me, but I walked out of the door into the cold night, gripping the glowing jar to my chest. As we walked to the kitchen door, I smiled down at the jar in my hand. It was bright against the darkness of the night. I wanted to tell Levi that I loved it, that I would cherish this gift because it was from his heart. It represented a kindness that had been lacking in my life.

  But more, I wanted to listen to him tell me about his childhood, about catching fireflies in the woods behind his home. I needed to tell him that I wanted to see it too one day, I wanted to see this jar filled with lightning bugs, chasing the dark. But the urge to speak, the desperation to open my mouth and set the words free was held captive in my throat. Annabelle’s jibes threatened to come, and my mom’s warning rang through my head: They’ll laugh at you, baby girl. There isn’t a place for the likes of you and me in this world. We’re a joke. Never speak, protect your heart. Always hide your voice.

  As if I could physically feel the words gathering in my mouth, I swallowed them back down so they couldn’t pass through my lips. The scars on my wrists felt hotter on my skin, under my cuffs, reminding me she’d been right.

  I had to hide my voice. I had to protect my heart. I couldn’t go through it all again. I couldn’t let another like Annabelle win again.

  Reaching the kitchen, Levi nervously cleared his throat. His thick arm reached across me to open the door. Glancing back, surprised at such a chivalrous gesture, I nodded my head and mouthed, “Goodnight.”

  Levi opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something. But his expression fell and he simply replied, “Night, Elsie. Sleep tight.” As his sweet southern drawl wrapped around my name like an embrace, I wanted to tell him how I loved his accent, the way it curled around my name. But of course, I didn’t.

  Stepping through the kitchen, I heard the door close behind me. With my feet planted on the tiled floor, I concentrated on breathing. My heart was racing. My hands were trembling, and my eyes lost focus in the darkness. I needed a minute to realize what I’d done. I had just spent time with a boy. No, more than that, I’d found a sweet and kind soul.

  My chest filled with light, and I pushed myself to move, gripping the homemade lightning bug jar closely to my chest. I was silent as I made my way to my room. It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that Levi’s scent drifted to my nose.

  I stopped, suddenly remembering I still wore his hoodie. Ducking my nose into the collar, I breathed deep, feeling a flutter in my heart. Not wanting to keep something else of his, I turned on the steps and quickly made my way back to the pool house.

  I rushed across the yard and arrived at his door. The doorknob was still open and I went through. Expecting him to be back in bed, I startled when Levi was sat at his desk, a small lamp his only light. He had a pen in his hand and books were strewn over the tabletop. Yet he wasn’t working. He was sitting back in his chair, staring at nothing, his pen flicking back and forth in his hand.

  Clearly hearing me sneak back into the pool house, his head turned in my direction. His gray eyes were narrow, until he spotted that it was me. Then they became wider. Levi jumped from his chair and got to his feet.

  “Elsie? You okay?”

  Nodding my head, I inched further into the room, until I stood almost where Levi waited. Placing the jar on the desk, I took out my pen and pad, and wrote, “I forgot I was wearing your sweatshirt.”

  Levi read the sentence when I held it out; tension seemed to seep from his body. “Keep it, Elsie.”

  I shook my head. Moving to lift it over my head, he was suddenly before me, holding my arms down at my sides. I met his eyes, unable to read what was in their depths. I heard his breathing deepen and his hands briefly tensed on my arms.

  I breathed too, soft simple breaths, until Levi stepped back, pointing at the sweatshirt again and assured, “Keep it.”

  Dropping the hem of the sweatshirt, I went to retrieve my jar, when the lamp on his desk caught my eye. I glanced to the books on the table, and took hold of my pad. “You don’t want to sleep?” I wrote and held it out to Levi.

  Levi read the words, then shook his head, no. Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything else on the matter, I peeked at the page that was open on his desk. The page featured the picture of a painting. It looked like an old painting. Needing to move closer, curiosity controlled my feet. I stood right in front of the picture and bent down to inspect its details.

  The picture showed water, images of people drowning under stormy waves: several images of men and women. I studied the men and the women closer: I realized all the images of men were the same man, and the images of the women were all the same woman. My heart lurched at such a sad portrayal, particularly since the picture displayed their bodies tumbling in a strong current, each image showcasing a phase of their struggle. Sadder still, they were reaching for one another, but they couldn’t quite catch each other’s hands.

  They were being driven apart.

  My chest ached. Yet I remained transfixed on the page; on drowning lovers desperately trying to hold on to one another, but failing in their efforts. For a moment I had forgotten Levi was in the room, too lost in the tragic scene.

  “Hero and Leander.” Levi’s husky voice retrieved me from my trance. I turned my head and he had moved right beside me, his arm just a fraction from touching mine. I looked to his face, and he pointed to the painting. “Peter Paul Ruben’s ‘Hero and Leander’. It was painted in the seventeenth century.”

  I stared at this boy, this beautiful boy, and hung on his every word. Levi’s hand fell away from the page and he stepped back from the desk. He appeared embarrassed about what he’d just told me.

  Reaching for my pen and paper, I hesitated to write my question, not wanting to appear stupid. As if sensing my concern, Levi tapped the page my pen hovered above and said, “Please, ask whatever you wish.”

  Quashing my embarrassment, I wrote, “Who are Hero and Leander?”

  As Levi read the question, he smiled and his stormy gray eyes lit up. But he wasn’t laughing; I could
see that whatever I asked had sparked something in his heart.

  Levi glanced behind him, then moved to the side of the room. He picked up a chair and brought it to the desk, right beside the one in which he’d been sitting when I entered the pool house.

  Levi held the chair out and flicked his head for me to sit down. Clutching the pen and paper to my chest, I sat on the soft chair, and Levi slipped onto the chair beside me.

  This close I could smell the spice and warmth of his scent, the smell brought me comfort and peace. I sighed in contentment at the stark change—of being here in the warm, safe with this boy—compared to where I had been mere days before.

  Levi shifted on his seat, drawing my attention. He sat forward and pulled the book closer to the edge of the desk. My eyes sought the painting on the page, and I waited eagerly for him to speak.

  Levi flicked his gaze at me from the corner of his eyes before pointing at the page again. “Hero and Leander,” he started quietly. I could hear the nerves in his voice, a fact I found only endearing. “They are lovers, found in Greek mythology.” Levi paused, met my eyes, then explained, “That’s what I’m studying in school. Mythology, it’s my major.”

  I nodded my head, so bowled over by everything I was discovering about this boy. He was a mystery to me. When I first saw him at the college that day, I assumed he was just another typical jock. All about sport and girls. Given his looks, it was an easy assumption to make. But being in his company for just a few minutes, I could see he was nothing like he appeared on the surface. There was so much more to him than I could have ever imagined.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “at the moment, in class, we’re looking at the story of Hero and Leander.”

  On my paper, I asked, “What happened to them? This painting looks sad.”

  Levi read the page and nodded his head. “It is, sad that is. They are known as the doomed lovers. The story’s a real tragedy.”

  My pen hovered over the paper while I debated what to ask. Taking a chance, I asked, “Could you tell me it?”

  Levi’s lip hooked into a shy smile and he replied, “Sure.”

  I smiled back, and my heart beat faster seeing the hint of red blossom on his olive-skinned cheeks. Nervous under my gaze, he began the tale. “Hero,” he pointed to the drowning woman, “she was a priestess of the goddess Aphrodite, and she lived on the island of Sestos.” He paused and asked, “Do you know who Aphrodite is?”

  “Yes,” I wrote, “she’s the goddess of love, right?”

  Levi read my response and nodded his head. “Yeah.” Taking a sip of the water on his desk, he put it down and continued. “Hero served Aphrodite, and as such, she had to remain a virgin.” As Levi finished that sentence, the hint of red already on his cheeks burst into a vibrant crimson color and he dipped his head. I hid my smile, more than affected by his obvious shyness than I ever would be if he were brazen. This muscled beautiful boy was as timid as a church mouse.

  “When Hero was at a festival on Sestos, a visiting man,” he pointed to the drowning male, “Leander, took one look at her and he fell in love.” I stared at the picture, now wrapped up in their story. Levi had paused, so I looked at him, nodding at him to keep going. Levi dipped his eyes back to the page and continued. “It wasn’t long before Hero fell in love with Leander. But Hero was a priestess, and as such, was forbidden to fall in love or to be with a man.”

  I shuffled to the edge of my seat, my heart beating fast with the excitement of the story, but also with trepidation for how it would end. Levi’s hand flicked the page and a map was on the bottom. He pointed at two islands on a sea. With his finger on one island, he explained, “Leander lived here, on Abydos.” He pointed at the other island. “And Hero lived here on Sestos where the festival had been.” The tip of his finger traced the stretch of water between the two islands. “They were separated by Hellespont, a stretch of water.”

  Levi stopped, and asked, “Am I boring you? I can stop if all this is too dull. I kinda get carried away and forget most folks don’t care about these stories.”

  My hand landed on my chest and I shook my head, no. “Please,” I scribbled down, “I want to know the rest.”

  Levi’s eyes flashed with happiness, and he carried on. “Because they were in love, they knew they had to see each other, despite the dangerous trip one of them would have to take. Leander and Hero hatched a plan that Leander, as night fell, would swim across Hellespont to see Hero, so they could be together at night.” My eyes dropped to the picture again, at the rolling waves, and the couple fighting to live. My stomach sank.

  “Hero lived in a tall tower, and each night, she would light a lamp and put it in her window, so Leander would know where the shore was—where his love was.” Levi huffed a quiet laugh and pointed at the firefly jar. “Kinda like an old version of that, I suppose.”

  I tracked his finger to the jar and excitement burst within me. Finding myself smiling too, I nodded my head and pulled the jar closer imagining it sitting in Hero’s tower.

  “That light in Hero’s tower was Leander’s guide to the woman he loved. For nights and nights he travelled that patch of sea and was happy with Hero, as she was with him. Then—”

  Levi’s voice faded to silence, and he looked down between us both. When I looked down too, I realized that I had placed my hand on his arm, gripping him tightly, on tenterhooks for the inevitable end of the story.

  Embarrassed at my reaction, I went to pull my hand away, when Levi reached out and kept it pressed on his arm. I stilled, eyes wide, heart thundering in rhythm. Levi froze too, but he still didn’t move his hand. I heard his breathing hitch, the simple act of our hands touching bringing us both to an unfamiliar, yet mutually welcoming place.

  I waited. I waited, anxious for Levi to speak, only to feel my heart melt when he rasped, “You can leave your hand there,” he swallowed and, without looking into my eyes, he added, “if you want.”

  As he expressed the last part, his accent had strengthened, deepened with nerves. I squeezed his arm and left my hand right where it was. Levi’s nostrils flared when I didn’t move my hand away. My heart skipped a beat when his hand didn’t move either.

  Tapping a finger from my free hand on the page, I silently urged him to finish the story. Understanding what I wanted, Levi took a deep breath and recounted, “Then one night everything changed for the lovers.” Leaning in, I listened as hard as I could. “Leander set off for his swim, same as he did every night. As he swam, Hero’s lamp shone brightly in her window, guiding him to her shore, when a storm suddenly rolled in on Hellespont.” My hand tightened on Levi’s arm; he kept an equally tight hold of my hand.

  “As Leander swam harder, striving to reach Hero, the violent wind suddenly blew out the lamp. The wind was too strong for the light to remain lit. Hero had to watch, as Leander with no light for a guide, fell under the waves, lost in the dark.” Coldness ran down my spine at the sad tale. Levi flicked back to the page with the painting and pointed at the images of the drowning couple. “Hero, unable to stand losing the man she loved so deeply, threw herself in the stormy waters to join him.” Levi paused, turned to me, and said, “Hero and Leander both drowned in Hellespont. Her light guided him to her every night, but when it died out, so did their lives.” Levi blushed and finished by saying, “But their love never did die out. It was passed to posterity by becoming a legend.” He shrugged and then smiled shyly. “At least it did in mythology, inspiring artists to paint their story, and poets to immortalize them in words.”

  At the mention of poets, my head jerked up and Levi noticed. His fair eyebrows pulled down and he asked, “You like poetry?” Without writing an explanation, I merely nodded my head.

  Levi squeezed my hand, and with his free hand, he flicked over the pages of his book until he stopped at a poem. Pointing at the page, he explained, “This is the most famous, Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe.” I craned my head to read it.

  Levi, seeing my interest, moved the book u
ntil it was in front of where I was sitting. Without waiting, my eyes scanned the page, devouring the poetic prose.

  On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,

  In view and opposite two cities stood…

  The poem was long and extremely detailed, every word laced with perfection and flawless beauty. I was captivated by each and every line, the story of the two lost lovers brought alive, their intense love burning in my heart.

  Breathless, I finished the last line, a tear rolling down my cheek. I hadn’t realized I had been so affected until Levi’s gentle thumb wiped the tear from the apple of my cheek.

  I bathed in Levi’s soft gaze and became enraptured. His thumb was still on my cheek, when he gently asked, “You liked it?”

  A nervous laugh bubbled from my throat. I nodded my head. Levi’s hand dropped and his head tilted to the side. I had no idea what he was thinking.

  Turning my head, I scanned the poem one more time. I flicked the page and studied the painting, then kept skimming through the book, reading random passages from various myths. After the eighth passage, I sat back in my chair and looked at Levi who was watching me in fascination. I stared back at this boy, and taking my pen, wrote on my pad. “You’re really smart.”

  I held it out for Levi to read and watched his skin tint pink. Levi sat back and shrugged. I wrote again. “You are. Really smart, I mean.”

  As the light faded from Levi’s face, I thought I’d said something wrong. Panic that I’d upset him ran though me, until he confessed, “I’m not real good at speaking to people, Elsie. I don’t go out much or talk much.” The red on his face descended to cover his neck and patch on his upper chest.

  My hand on his arm flipped over and my fingers threaded through his. Levi watched our joined fingers, then my free hand as I pointed to my chest and held up two fingers.

  “You too,” Levi translated my meaning and I nodded my head.

  Levi pointed to the mythology book and said, “I guess I’m pretty smart; I always enjoy study. But I know more than most because I don’t go to parties or go out with my friends much. I tend to stay in here and study when I’m not on the football field.”