by Nora Flite
“Deacon,” she sighed, closing her eyes before staring at me uneasily. “I'm not... sure I'm going to go to college.”
“What?” I asked, standing straight in pure shock. “Why not?”
“Well, it's just... the college I want to go to is sort of too expensive.”
“I don't understand,” I said slowly, puzzling over her logic. “I thought you were planning to get scholarships?”
Bethany tightened up, a bear trap that looked ready to close on me. Her glare was one I had seen a number of times by then, but it still didn't get any easier. “Planning is one thing, being realistic...” Inhaling deeply, she curled her knees to her chest on the bed. “The place I want to go, I don't know if I'm good enough to even get in.”
“Where?” I asked her, looking down at her bent head. Her face was hidden by the waves of blonde. “Where do you really want to go?”
At first she said nothing. Her fingers squeezed her calves, holding tight, leaving small dents. Speaking the truth didn't calm her down at all. “Juilliard,” she breathed.
“Juilliard,” I repeated, amazed. It was, indeed, a far reaching desire. That school was known for the best, to get a scholarship of any kind there would take work.
So much work.
Gingerly, I sat beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She didn't fight me, but she didn't raise her head, either. “Then, you'll have to go to Juilliard, I guess.”
“Impossible,” she spat.
“Not at all. Bethany, you're the hardest working person I know. If you want to go to Juilliard, I believe you can. And,” I added, forcing her to look up at me as I held her cheeks. “I'll do my best to keep up.”
Her wide eyes spoke volumes. “What? You're going to try and go with me?”
“Of course,” I said softly, smiling sideways at her surprise. “I want to go to college with you, so if you're getting into Juilliard, well...”
“But what about your dad? Doesn't he want you to go to medical school?”
Rolling my eyes, I gave a sardonic laugh. “I'm pretty sure he realized that wasn't going to happen. He's been grooming Nicholas, if the high-mark papers stuck to the fridge are any indication. That kid, now that he's about to enter his freshman year Dad has just been—”
Bethany threw herself against me, pushing me down and tightening her arms. I was blown away, she'd never shown me that much brazen affection before. Her lips found my cheek; then, too my further shock, they discovered my mouth.
She tasted sweet, like strawberries.
“Deacon,” she breathed, blue orbs wet as she leaned over my gaping face. Her hair was hanging down, tickling my neck. “I—I don't know what to say, but... Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
Hugging her roughly, burying my nose in her shoulder, I inhaled and sighed. “I'll always be here for you Bethany, I promise. I'll always do my best.”
Her voice when she spoke was fragile, like she could cry any second.
“Me too, Deacon. I... I promise that, too.”
****
Summer vanished before our eyes. The lazy days where we were allowed to languish in the fields, staying out as the bugs came awake, were quickly replaced by the impending strain of our senior year.
Bethany had taken my words to heart. She had every intention of devoting herself to her music, her skills, in the hope of attaining such a prestigious scholarship.
Under the heavy pressure of our tight time line, the difference in skill level between Bethany and myself began to show.
She would stay after school every day, her focus so intense it felt like she didn't even know I was there most of the time.
My struggles to lighten the mood, to encourage her to make time for herself; for us... it was met with sharp words and a crisp tone.
Bethany only had one thing on her mind.
This was a side of her I had glimpsed, but never really allowed myself to see. She became critical, unforgiving of my mistakes. Any slip up I made in our musical practices would turn into her berating me for not trying hard enough.
Perhaps it would have made sense to pull away from her. I could have opened my eyes, backed off; understood that Bethany had little room in her heart for me when compared to her work.
That wasn't me, though.
I fought to get her attention, to ply her with gifts and sweet words. I even started making her things, an act that put me on the path towards a career I didn't see coming.
My father found me painting on a canvas for Bethany for her birthday. “What're you up to?” He asked, leaning in my doorway.
Jumping, almost smearing my current stroke, I stared at him. Guilt I couldn't explain flooded me. “Nothing. Just making something for Bethany.”
His frown was muted, but it was still there. “Music, now art. Any chance you'll come around and decide to go into something more practical in the end?”
“We've talked about this,” I grumbled, wishing he'd leave me be. “I'm going to Juilliard with Bethany. And I'm not getting 'into' art... this is just something I'm doing for her.”
I was wrong, though I didn't realize it then. My simple, soulful attempt at pleasing my girlfriend quickly became the way I escaped my stress.
I'd see her at school, observe the bags under her eyes, the hardness in her tone. I'd still be sweet, kind, but inside I was hurting.
So, I would go home, and there I found solace in my art. The routine began to shift, my desire to escape the indifference of my girlfriend winning out when confronted with another choice.
I threw myself into painting with what time I could spare. Like most things, I found I had a natural talent for this, too. It was enough to keep me encouraged.
But it would also be what began to split Bethany and I apart, even though I wanted anything but that.
I wouldn't start realizing this until her eighteenth birthday.
The morning of, I called her, reveling in the fact that it had fallen on a Saturday. “Hey there miss big adult,” I said when she answered. “How are you today, feel any different?”
“No,” she sighed, “just tired and stressed. It's not even that big of a deal, all it does is push me closer towards the deadline for college applications.”
I was glad she couldn't see my frown. Forcing a lightness into my voice, I laughed. “You're not allowed to be stressed today. It's a day of fun for you.”
“How so?”
“I'm taking you out to dinner.”
“Oh, Deacon, I don't know,” she moaned. “I have so much to do still, I shouldn't waste a day with—”
“It isn't wasting,” I said firmly. “Bethany, please, let me celebrate with you today. It'd be good for you to have a relaxing day for once.”
She was quiet, long enough that I got worried she might have hung up on me. “Alright,” she agreed. “What time are you picking me up?”
****
The restaurant was lovely, I'd been saving up what money I could make on the side to take Bethany out for some time.
She'd dressed in a lovely yellow gown, perhaps a bit too extravagant; the sort of thing a young woman who's doing her best to look like she's mature might wear.
I was hardly much better in my one pair of dress shoes with their scuffed toes.
Together, we were the quintessential high school pair. But we didn't see ourselves that way.
“So,” she said, prattling on as she had been since I'd picked her up, “if we don't fill out our applications by next week, our chances drastically fall.”
“Bethany, please,” I begged, reaching out to take her soft hands. “Can we not talk about college, just for tonight?”
“I—but, I just...” Sighing, she hung her head, grabbing her glass of water. “Fine. Fine, tonight we can just stop, I guess.”
Her frustration was obvious, yet I took her consent for what it was. “Are your parents doing anything for your graduation?”
She drained half of her drink, breathing out tightly. “They're sort of waiting until they hear back about
where I've been accepted.”
Blinking, I sat up nervously. “That sounds sort of bad. They're not going to decide until they know that? It's kind of like they're holding your party hostage.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly, tugging at a curl of blonde hair. “That's not... they just want me to focus, is all.”
“Bethany, come on, that's pretty—”
“I don't want to talk about it,” she snapped. “Isn't this walking the line of college talk?”
Inhaling slowly, I lifted my hands in defeat. “No, you're right. My bad.” Both of us seemed on edge, our moods not conducive to conversation of any kind.
We were rescued when our food arrived, a moment that gave us a reason to stuff our faces.
How does she not realize how controlling her parents are? Telling her she can't have a party, or not deciding on what kind, until they know if it's worth celebrating over...
Chewing on a fried potato, my shoulders felt suddenly very tight. My parents are controlling, too, but I'm still able to stand up to them. Why can't she?
“Deacon,” she said, drawing me from my wandering thoughts. “Thanks for this. I know I gave you grief on the phone, but...” Her smile was shy, it set my heart throbbing. “It's nice to do something different like this.”
Grinning, I set my fork down gently. “Happy birthday, Bethany. It's the least I could do. I like spending time with you.”
“I like it, too, yeah.” The tension lifted slightly, the food tasting better vicariously.
We finished our plates, almost licking them clean as we laughed at each others lack of manners. “That's hardly appropriate for a new adult,” I teased, reaching out to dab at her cheek with a napkin.
“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I think I'm immune to adult behavior when I'm around you, Mr. Underage.”
“Not for much longer,” I teased. My eyes warmed, a flutter in my throat. “Plus, I hope you're immune forever, anyway, Bethany.”
Her blush was delightful.
“Come on,” I said, tossing money down on the table. “I want to show you something.”
When we got back to my car, she expected me to open her door for her. Instead, I led her to the trunk. “A lady doesn't ride in the back,” she laughed.
“No?” I teased. “Just hold your breath, it'll be fine.” Bethany went to slap me lightly, but I jumped back. “Also,” I continued, popping the hatch open, “it's a good place to hide gifts.”
She stared, unable to take her gaze from the inside of my trunk. There, I'd laid out the canvas, the painting I had worked on for weeks.
The gift I had made just for her.
“Deacon,” she breathed, fingers reaching inside, hesitating over the textured surface. “This... did you make this?”
Nodding, I lifted it out, holding it upright before her wide blue eyes. “Yeah. Do you like it?”
I wanted to act modest, but I felt a flush of pride when she started nodding vigorously. “It's amazing. I didn't even know you knew how to paint.”
“Well,” I shrugged, staring down at the piece, “I honestly didn't really start until three months ago or so?”
Bethany was dubious of my claim, but she said no more. “Can I touch it?”
“It's yours,” I said, holding it out gently. “You can do whatever you want with it.”
That moment, studying her amazement, how she viewed what I had created with such honest appreciation...
That was when it finally cemented in my heart what I was meant to do with my life.
It was the moment I sealed my fate with Bethany Sommer. Perhaps we'd never really had a chance, at all, though.
Still, it would take another three months before she would learn I had already applied at the college I wanted to actually attend.
Three months, until that day when she would find the letter in my car.
I remember it was raining.
****
“What is this?” She asked, quiet, clearly knowing. The envelope looked so big in her hands.
“That's—I...”
“You got into an art college in California?” Looking from the paper, to me, I was able to see the hurt in her eyes. “Deacon... you didn't even tell me you had been looking at anywhere else.”
My heart was throbbing, the pain of my betrayal leaving me silent.
“Did you even apply to Juilliard?” She asked, understanding what the answer was when I had no response. “How could you do this to me, Deacon?”
“Please, Bethany, I didn't mean to—”
“You're going to go to school in California, and I'm not going to be going anywhere.” Her tone was cold, she looked at the envelope in her lap. Carefully, she crushed it tight, then dropped it on the floor of my car. “This is done. I can't do this.”
“I—what do you mean?” Inside, my stomach went icy. “Look at me, Bethany.”
She wouldn't. “I already said it. We're through. You decided that when you went behind my back and decided to go to school across the country. You never wanted to even try with us, did you?”
Then, she let her eyes fall on me. Those fine brows were lowered, blue orbs as dangerous as aimed guns. “You had already given up, right? You lied when you said you'd work hard to go to Juilliard with me. You didn't even care if I got in or not, you had other plans the whole time.”
“No, I—... Bethany, wait!” As I pleaded with her, she ripped open the door, stumbling out into the shattering rain.
No, no... how did this happen?
Desperate, I hurried after her, ignoring the warning sound of my car telling me I'd left the doors open. Through the mud and grey evening, I chased after her. She wasn't running, just hugging herself and stomping across the field towards the main road.
“Bethany, please,” I whispered, rain running down my face, hiding my tears. “Please don't do this. I—I...”
“What?” She growled, bedraggled, her hair hanging in wet clumps. “You what, Deacon?”
I don't want to lose you, I don't want this to be how it ends, I...
“I love you,” I said, surprised by my admission as it fell free. I couldn't put it back, the words were out in the open. “I love you, Bethany. Please don't end what we have over this. Yes, I want to go to school in California, but we can make it work!”
“You... you love me?” She breathed, meeting my eyes with an odd calmness.
“Yes,” I answered her, exhausted and vulnerable. “I love you. I mean that.”
“Then... why?” The rain was loud, muffling her as she spoke, but I heard everything. It was all I could focus on, I didn't care about the constant down pour rolling over us. “Did you think I wouldn't get into Juilliard, that I could just go to the college you picked?”
“Of course not,” I said, shaking my head. “I truly thought you'd get accepted into the school you wanted. But I... I knew I wouldn't. I don't know if I even wanted to, once I thought about it.”
Her eyes narrowed, so I pushed on nervously. “I love painting, Bethany. And I'm good at it, too. Watching you sing, I couldn't compete. I know that it wasn't a competition, yes, but I didn't have the passion you did. Does that make sense?”
“So... you thought I'd get in. Knowing you'd go elsewhere, you thought I would just be okay with that?”
“I knew we could—can,” I corrected myself, “make it work. Whether you're across the country or right next door, I know in my heart we can be alright. Bethany,” I laughed, taking her hands; she was shaking terribly. “Don't you hear me? I love you, and I know we're stronger than distance. We're stronger than anything.”
Looking up at me, rain sliding down her nose, her lips were stuck in a neutral line. “You really think that?”
“Of course,” I said, convinced to my core. “I believe that. Don't you?”
She was silent, watching me how an owl might.
“Bethany,” I whispered, leaning in close. “Don't you love me too?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Unable to h
andle the idea of her saying nothing, I hugged her hard, my lids crushing shut.
Please, I thought in a panic, please.
“Yes,” she mumbled into my ear, the wind and rain trying to steal her voice. “Yes, I love you, too. I love you Deacon.”
It was all I wanted.
It was all I thought we would need.
Five Years Later
Chapter 9.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I looked up, spotting the skinny teenager in his over-sized, red store vest. He was staring at me nervously, making me painfully aware of how I had to look.
Clearing my throat, I straightened from where I had been bent over in the aisle. “Uh, yeah?”
“Are you alright?” He asked, squinting at me like I might do something irrational.
Brushing back my hair, noting my warm, slick forehead, I laughed. “Sorry, sorry. I'm fine, just got a little dizzy there.”
He didn't seem convinced, but he turned, leaving me alone among the shelves of toys.
Sighing, closing my eyes, I saw the backs of my eyelids. In them, the flicker of memory, that day in the rain, was painstakingly haunting. I don't want to keep remembering this stuff. I really don't.
Determined to push past my funk, I stomped down the aisle, into the open. Where did Nicholas go?
Reaching into my pocket, I gripped my phone, thinking about calling him. Touching the device reminded me of my original goal that day.
I came here for a reason. I should just take care of that. Nicholas can't go anywhere, anyway. I'm the one with the car keys.
Heading further into the store, I scanned for the bright, tv-filled area that would notify me of the electronics section.
It wasn't hard to find.
The long rows of shiny, bright cell phones stared at me. Walking along the display, squinting at the prices, I tried to guess what Leah would like.
I was the one who had convinced her to mail her phone back to Owen. I was the one who accidentally put everything into motion.
