Blue Dream

by Xavier Neal

  “Bambi is a slut,” his voice whispers in a low growl. “And while I commend you for finally chasing a little tail, that's the wrong kind. Trust me. I know a lot about women.”

  Infuriated with his insinuation that I'm an idiot who knows nothing, I snap, “Then if you know so much about them, why’s mom been sleeping with her boss for the last two years?” The words slap him in the face forcing him to take a step back. “You come talk to me about healthy relationships when you have one of your own.”

  “You attacked him.”

  “I stood up for myself,” I correct, ashing the candy.

  “No.” Doc states. “You attacked him just as he did you. You at that moment were no better than he was.”

  The turmoil of the truth shoves the stick back between my teeth.

  “Your family did not make the transition easy on you. You wanted them to approve of Bambi whether you admit it or not. You wanted, much like when you left Blue Dream, to be welcomed into a world you have only felt like you were on the outside of.”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Ryder it is important for you to decide, what family is.” When my eyes roll over to his icy stare, I suddenly feel the parental fear I once loathed. A speech I'm reluctant to hear. “Family for every individual doesn't not mean the same thing. You need to stop assuming it does and forcing yourself to obey stereotypical social standards of what that entitles. You need to decide the definition of what that is and move towards it. If that means cutting your father completely out of your life, then fucking do it. If that means telling your brother to suck cock, then do it. But you need to make a decision and act. You are not eighteen anymore.”

  A lump of anguish climbs my throat.

  “You made the choice to be here. You are making the choice to stay here. You are making the choice when to leave. You have more control than you're allowing yourself to relish in. Use that control. Use that control and decide what family and your future means to you.”

  Doc stands, turns, and exits without waiting for my rebuttal. In a way I'm grateful he did. I'm not sure I have one.

  Presley

  Theory 4: Gestures of Love Are Always Symbolic

  My eyes stay plastered on my feet that are barely moving. The annoying buzz of the machine, should be enough encouragement to get my ass in gear, but instead it's an arrogant solace acknowledging the fact I've been bereft of so many things in my life. And I've just let it happen.

  “Presley,” Xander's short of breath voice calls from the treadmill beside me. “Why aren't you running?”

  In disgust, I look up. “I hate running.”

  “It's good for you.”

  “Exercise is what's good for you.”

  “Which is what running is.” He wipes the sweat off his brow with the same white towel he brings to the gym every time we come. He's the one who insisted we worked out together. Logic told him if we ate the same meals our work outs should be the same, never mind the fact, we're built completely different and have two different paces of life. Xander is the conscience of the rich. He's a high up in a company that's in charge of running a string of non-profit organizations. Most of the day is spent behind a desk, talking on a phone, a video conference call, or sending numerous emails. I may run my school behind the scenes, but I feel the only way I can be as effective as I am is to be on the ground running with everyone else. I visit all my classrooms daily. I play with the children. I know their faces, some of their less becoming habits. I know which of my employees are staying with me for the long haul, which are using this as a stepping stone, and which are just looking to fill the void of the gap growing older has given them. I guess my soul recognizes that the easiest.

  Harshly I hit the stop button, bringing it to an abrupt halt. My hands grip the sides of the machine tightly, eyes falling shut. Katherine's right. I immediately shut down and shut up to avoid having to face confrontation or any unpleasant emotions really. Post Ryder, I adapted the ability to just bury feelings rather than discuss them. Losing him built an irrational fear that if I fought back, I might be a less desirable partner. That they might leave me before I leave them. It erased the risk of giving them an excuse to leave.

  Feeling my face painted with a pathetic shade of dowie, I step off the machine.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To join a class,” I declare mindlessly. “To do something different.”

  Xander scowls. “Why?”

  A small shrug comes from me. “Why not?”

  “Because this is what we do.” He continues to run. “We don't make unnecessary changes.”

  In a soft objection I counter, “Who says it's unnecessary?”

  “Presley-”

  “Enjoy your run, Xander. I'll see you tonight.”

  He grunts, “Late. I have to attend the gala.”

  “I know.” Slowly moving away, a small sense of victory in me, I sigh, “Enjoy it. I'll see you after.”

  Xander gives me a short goodbye wave before he shoves his Ipod ear buds back in his ears. Not an ‘I love you’. Not an ‘enjoy your workout’. Not even another attempt to get me to attend the stupid thing with him. This....this is what my life is.

  **

  Storming in Katherine's kitchen after the spin class that tried to kill me, I drop my gym bag beside my feet in the kitchen chair I've fallen into beside Angel who is smushing a banana in an attempt to eat it. “Why do I accept the indifferent state of my relationship with Xander?”

  “Because you're twenty eight years old and accepted the idea of romance as a lost notion for those too young to know there isn't always a happily ever after so much as someone you are compatible with in the circumstances you have managed to find yourself in.”

  Her blunt yet correct accusation pushes my back against the chair. “Am I wrong?”

  Katherine stops cooing at Angel who is now getting the fruit up her nose to reply. “Yes.”

  Sarcastically I snap, “Answer faster, please.”

  She makes another goofy face at her daughter who giggles and reaches to smash banana on Katherine's face. Like any well trained mother, she dodges the blow with a wet wipe to wash her daughter's hands. “You are wrong.” After a beat she explains, “From the past few conversations we've had, you emotionally shut down after Ryder. I'm sure there's a reason it shut down as harshly as it did, but regardless it is a fact. The romance you experienced then can easily be written off as puppy love, but I don't necessarily agree with that theory. I don't believe romance has emotional states like that. I believe people are the variable that change. We mature. We grow. We are affected by our environment, which results in how we view romance. But the actions and gestures remain the same. Getting flowers is still getting flowers. Getting jewelry is still getting jewelry. Having someone hold your hand is still the same simplicity it was ten years ago. It is you that creates the difference.”

  The impact of her words causes me to slump further in my seat. Angel, like the sweetheart she is, offers me the remaining Cheerios in her hand, demonstrating her own act of love. With the way I feel I'm tempted to accept the soggy offering.

  I shut my eyes. “I miss flowers.”

  “Xander won't buy them?”

  “They're a waste of money. They wither and die before their value has matched an adequate amount of time.”

  “Cards?”

  “They're a waste of money when he could text me sentimental words using a service he already pays for.”

  “I swear he's a robot,” Katherine mumbles picking Angel up out of her high chair. “I'm gonna change and tuck this thing in for a nap. Meet me in my office.”

  She strolls away with Angel who she's returned to cooing at. Unhappily, I grab my bag and wander my way towards her office, taking time to do something I never do. I stare at the photos of Katherine and her husband Carter. Their wedding photos. Their vacations. Their family gatherings. In all of the photos, there seems to be an obvious element in them. It would be impressive to find a photo
of Xander and I together around our apartment, but even more impressive to find one that had a hint of adoration for each other in them. Flustered by the imbalanced line of wondering if maybe Xander has alexithymia or maybe I'm just being overcritical with my past coming back into light, I hurry towards her office.

  By the time Katherine sits down in her office chair and pulls out the magical device that is holding my sacred memories hostage like some sort of cloister, I've spread myself out on her vanity couch.

  “It's interesting you brought up the subject of gifts today-”

  “That wasn't my intent.”

  “Nevertheless you did. I believe, gestures of love are often symbolic. Xander's refusal to buy you disposable things may directly correlate with the principal he doesn't find you disposable, so why provide you with such things?”

  Surprised that idea never crossed my mind, I'm tempted to reply, but not sure how.

  “Tell me about the last gift you received from Ryder.”

  Knowing there was no use in denying that I wanted to talk about him, I simply let out a deep breath. “It was a couple days before Christmas...”

  Carmen's favorite thing about the holidays isn't the fact we are out of school, so much as she know it means holiday drink specials downtown. She has a fake idea that has scored her fun for the last year, but since we're both eighteen now we are legally old enough for some of the younger nightclubs, which is where she insists we be every night of the break we can. With Christmas Eve the next day, she parties a little too hard knowing her family festivities of the next few days will be more sober fun than she can stomach. I spend most of the night dancing with hot older guys relishing in the fact they don't know shit about me. I can be whoever I want to be. I even give some of them a fake name and number. It feels liberating to act as wild as I want without having to worry about the good girl image or the scorned ex-girlfriend persona. I love every minute of just being free. In just a few months I'll be this free all the time. Ryder and I can go dancing or dinner without worrying about who might catch us. That thought is one of the only ones keeping me going while the world I'm trapped in seems to be blazing with fires of jealousy and deception. I broke up with Blaze only to find out about a week later he did cheat on me with Ava and that all he did want was to tap the piece of ass Ryder 'couldn't'. The prospects after him have been mainly underclassmen who want to be seen with a senior. Turns out most guys in my own grade, don't want to wear the badge of shame of not living up to the perfect boyfriend Ryder used to be. Sometimes I look at him and swear I don't know who he is. He's fessed up to smoking cigarettes and weed, but nothing else. Whatever it is he's doing when we're apart is a giant illusive story, which he refuses to fill me in on.

  I kill the engine to Carmen's car outside of her house. “Out.”

  She groans. “You're bossy.”

  “And you're welcome.” I dangle the keys for her to make it into her house. “I'm gonna go back home.”

  A heavy pout comes out of her, “Stay.”

  With a small giggle, I shake my head. “Nah. We're visiting my grandparents stupid early in the morning, so I'm just gonna crash at home.”

  “But I'll miss you.”

  Her drunken proclamation makes me shake my head again. “You'll be fine. Text me when you rise from the dead.”

  Carmen gives me the finger before stumbling out of her car and towards her front door.

  While waiting for her to make it inside I grab my vibrating phone from my purse.

  Ryder: You done club hopping?

  Me: Yeah. Headed home from Carmen's now.

  She fumbles with her keys for a minute before she slips inside her house. Thankful she's safe, I get into my own car, the best Christmas present I could ask for, and head home. No, it's not a brand new shiny toy like everyone else seems to have, but it's paid for. And it's mine. It'll do to get me around. Besides, once Ryder and I have our own place, we can save up to buy me something better.

  As soon as I pull the car into the driveway, my eyes spot Ryder who is parked across the street leaned against his own car. Quickly I hop out and rush towards him, the below freezing temperature barely registering. Around him very few things besides him do.

  Thrilled at his presence, I toss my arms around his neck. “Ryder!”

  “Pres,” he hums back, both his jacket covered arms capturing me into a hug. He holds me tighter. Captures me longer. My eyes shut, this being the Christmas miracle I wanted. We haven't been together in almost a week. I was beginning to wonder if we ever would be able to be alone again. “The only thing that could make this better is if my nut sack wasn't frozen to my leg.”

  On a goofy giggle, I pull back and give him a sweet look.

  “How are you not cold dressed like that?”

  I give my thin black fitted party dress a glance over. With a shrug I confess, “I kinda forget about everything else when you're around.”

  Ryder smiles softly. “I know the feeling.” When my smirk grows he adds, “However, I hate the idea of my love freezing to death before we ever make it out of this shitty town.” He slides out of his jacket as I snicker. “So put this on.”

  I follow the instructions. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you guys were going up to the mountains for a getaway.”

  “We are,” he mumbles. “In about two hours we're leaving for the airport. My parents are...on the outs and trying to hold it together for Liz's sake I'm sure. They hate the idea of her leaving the country just as they get divorced, so they're punishing us all with a week of planned family fun in Colorado. If I don't come back, you are welcomed to all my finances that are not wound up in tricky Trust Baby clauses.”

  “Which is what?”

  “At this moment, about eleven bucks.” Laughter bounces back and forth briefly. “Kinda broke at the moment.”

  “Parents cutting your allowance?”

  Ryder's mouth twitches like he's about to confess something, but he shuts his lips quickly. Instead he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Even though money is tight, I got you something.”

  Surprised at his words, I tilt my head. “You didn't have too.”

  “I know. And it's nothing huge, but I wanted you to have it before I left.” He rubs his arms and tosses his head towards the jacket I'm wearing. “Check the pocket.”

  Slowly, I feel around in it to find a little black box.

  “Now it's not gonna compare to your kick ass present.” His hands lift in surrender. “But I figure, something is better than nothing.”

  My finger thumbs the top of the velvet box. It's not like I got him the most amazing gift in the entire world. It was small. He casually collects Hot Wheels, so I found one from the year he was born for him to add to it. I mean, I thought it was thoughtful, the look on his face was one I didn't expect. It was a combination of admiration and question as if he couldn't believe someone would put that much effort into something for him.

  “Go ahead,” he encourages. “Open it.”

  Casually I comply, which is when a small, vintage pocket compass is revealed. In disbelief at what I'm holding, I question, “Where on earth did you get this?”

  “I have my ways.” He winks. When I look back down to further admire it, he swiftly uses his finger to lift my chin back up. “You Presley Morrison, are my destiny. We may get lost in this world, but don't you doubt for one second we won't find our way back to each other. I may not always know what I'm doing or exactly where I'm going, but I do know...we belong together. This is one thing that will never change.” Ryder leans forward so his next words land on my lips, “I love you more than life itself...”

  “I love you too,” I manage to say before tilting my mouth to meet his. While desperation and all consuming passion is what I'm expecting to take hold, I'm astounded when it's just the opposite. Ryder's hand softly lands on my cheek as the soft kiss remains light, hopeful, and filtered with unspoken promises of a brighter future than the grim reality we've fallen into. It's exactly th
e kind of Christmas promise I need.

  Katherine touches her pen to her lips. “Do you still have that compass?”

  My hand massages the back of my neck. “I do.”

  “Why?” She casually questions. “Why did you never let it go?” When I don't answer she suggests, “Is there part of you that hopes his promise is still true? That you can use that to find your way back to him? That he can indeed find his way to back to you?” Her words are creating an unexpected cogitation. “Do you have anything else left from your relationship with him?”

  In a whisper I admit, “No.”

  “Is it possible you won't let the object go because it is the last remaining link to a person you're not sure you ever stopped loving?”