Where All Things Will Grow

by N. K. Smith

  “I got Sean out just before it came down.”

  “But you...” I couldn’t think. “But he’s okay?”

  “He’s gonna live.”

  I felt sick. Why hadn’t I ever thought about Tom dying in a fire before? That was his job. He was a firefighter. Despite being a paramedic, he couldn’t save himself if he was hurt like that. Tom could die tomorrow and then what?

  “Bunny, it’s okay. He’s fine. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I swallowed hard and looked away. The uneasy feeling continued the rest of the night, and it bothered me. Every day Tom went to work, there was a possibility that he’d never come home.

  Out of the blue on a Thursday night, I felt a sudden urge to snort a bunch of coke. It hadn’t happened in a while. Not knowing what to do or who to call, and not wanting to worry Elliott, I started cleaning.

  I cleaned the whole house until the only thing that was left was Tom’s room.

  I hadn’t been in his room in a long, long time. I didn’t really want to go in there, but I had nothing left to clean. There was no homework to be done and dinner was cooked and eaten.

  Tom was at the station, so I opened the door slowly and entered as if it was some sacred place, peeking around the door and flicking on the light.

  I was honestly impressed. I thought it’d be a disaster area, but it wasn’t too bad. He had a hamper by the door, so there were no dirty clothes on the floor. I tried to vacuum quickly but when I got near the nightstand, I saw a picture that broke my heart.

  In it, I had to have been about six, and he and I were standing in front of some body of water. He was kneeling down and had his left arm around me. His right arm was in a cast. We were both smiling.

  Looking at it opened up a pit in my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick. I wanted to snort coke and possibly smoke a fatty when I was tired of being superhigh, but I finished vacuuming and headed downstairs. If I went to my room, I was sure I’d go crazy and climb out the window to find some shit.

  I needed a distraction, so I got involved in watching crappy reality television. A blonde chick was screaming at a Hispanic dude about whether or not he drank her bottle of soda. Another girl tried to intervene but got spat on by the other one. I remembered that at one time this channel used to play music videos. I wondered where the music had gone.

  The craving lasted through my troubled sleep. It was like a persistent itch. I hated that feeling of need. I hated waking up wondering where my bong was. I hadn’t had a bong since I left Tampa.

  I hated that I had the urge to call Jason. He’d pick me up and I’d bang him in his car.

  And then we’d smoke a bowl.

  And then I’d do a line.

  And then another one.

  And maybe a bump before the Screw-Up Club.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, hoping that focusing on the tiny cracks in the plaster would help drive the visuals away. The thing was, I could smell the sex and the drugs. I could fucking taste them.

  Elliott would be hurt. He would hate himself because I snorted shit. He would hate himself because I did Jace because he was an easy lay. He would stutter and stammer about how my infidelity and drug use was a reflection on him, and how he wasn’t enough and he couldn’t fault me for it.

  I didn’t want that.

  I lay there until the very last second, then I rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom. Tom had pills in there. Nothing that would have gotten me high, but still, the urge to crush them up and snort them remained. I wondered if anyone had ever snorted Lipitor before.

  I moved back down to the kitchen, and felt like crying when I saw he’d left a “have a good day” note on my insulin.

  I wished I was a better kid for him.

  I showered and got ready. I went out onto the porch and waited for Elliott.

  The weight on my chest lessened when I saw his car. As soon as I opened the passenger door and was hit with the scents of earth and oranges, the tightness relaxed.

  “Hhhhhi, Sophie.”

  His smile was just what I needed. He was playing soothing music that relaxed and calmed me.

  When we pulled into the parking lot, I looked over at him just in time to see him leaning over to me. We kissed and his lips felt so good, so warm. His tongue moved into my mouth and I smiled against him as I thought about how far he’d come since I’d first jumped him after our day in D.C.

  Our kissing didn’t stop.

  He reached over and unbuckled my seatbelt and then did the same to his. My hands were resting in my lap until he took one of them and pulled it to his chest. I pressed it to him and mumbled against his mouth. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”

  My mind launched into a full-blown fantasy. I wanted him.

  But then I felt disgusting because it was only an hour or so ago that I’d had a fantasy about Jason. I wondered if it was Elliott I wanted or just dick.

  I heard the warning bell and pulled away from him.

  I didn’t look at him as I grabbed my bag and got out of the car.

  He held my hand as we walked into school, but my mind was preoccupied with the thought of just wanting to get laid.

  Or high.

  Or both.

  Elliott deserved so much better.

  I was thankful when Wallace called me into Dr. Dalton’s home office. I had shit on my mind.

  We started out with small talk about the weather and stupid shit like that. She asked about school and I told her about the first-place photograph I took.

  “That’s wonderful, Sophie. That must make you proud.”

  “I guess. I told Tom.”

  “Oh?”

  “He thought it was cool.” I studied her after I realized that she hadn’t asked me any deep or probing questions. “You look tired.”

  She smiled just a little. “I am tired.”

  Was she sick? Did she just not sleep well? Too much hot doctor sex with Sexy Dalton, M.D.?

  “Why?”

  She smiled again. “Have you ever wanted something so much that you worked really, really hard for it, but as soon as you could almost hold the success in your hands, it slips further away from you?”

  I wasn’t quite sure if I had, so I shrugged.

  “Well, if you can imagine it, that’s some of what has fatigued me.”

  Suddenly, I was hit with a kind of panic, like I was the cause of her feeling like that. It did nothing to help me push back the urge to get high. “Is it... is it something I did? I mean, do you feel...?”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer.

  “No, Sophie,” she said softly. “It’s all my own...” she paused to find a word, “... stuff.”

  My legs started bouncing.

  “So, how are you?”

  I told her about my desire for something numbing. Although I could have predicted her reply, I hated it nonetheless.

  She nodded slowly until I was finished speaking and then she said, “How do you feel about joining a program? An actual recovery program?”

  “Like rehab?” There was no way I was going to rehab. I was completely off drugs.

  “More like a twelve-step program.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I repeated. I wasn’t a recovering addict and I didn’t need any more people knowing my business.

  “You need people who can help when you’re feeling this way.”

  I looked at the large quartz crystal on the bookshelf. “I have you.”

  I glanced at her very quickly and then trained my eyes once again on the rock.

  “That’s flattering and I hope you know how happy I am to be here for you, but with a program, you’ll have
peers that know exactly what it’s like to want to use for no discernable reason. It’s important that you find support for times like these.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t want to think about twelve steps of anything.

  “Elliott worries about you.” Before I could say it, she did. “Even if you think he shouldn’t, he does. He doesn’t say anything, but I think he worries that he won’t be enough for you and, eventually, you’ll return to drugs.”

  I wasn’t surprised to learn that. Elliott’s mother had chosen drugs. But the whole idea made me nervous and rang a little too true with the thoughts I’d been having. I fidgeted again.

  “Why does it scare you that someone cares for you?”

  I mumbled my answer. “Because it hasn’t happened before.” I paused, then launched into what I really wanted to talk about. “You know how you said that the way I experienced sex wasn’t the way it was supposed to be experienced?”

  She nodded.

  I sighed and studied the paint on the walls. “What’s it supposed to be like?”

  She was silent for a moment and I wondered if she’d heard my quiet question. “It’s subjective, but I think sex should be about sharing a part of one’s self with another person. When there are no more words, or not enough words, to express yourself, giving your body, your trust and your energy and taking of another’s is incredibly powerful.”

  I absently picked at the worn knee of my jeans and looked at the edges of the walls. There was a teeny-tiny spider web in the corner near the ceiling that hadn’t been there before.

  “Do you think it was wrong that I didn’t fight back? You know, when he did what he did?”

  “Sometimes fighting back makes it worse.”

  The discussion continued for a little while, but I found it hard to verbalize any of my thoughts. I was having doubts about whether or not I would ever be able to experience sex the way Wallace described it.

  I was happy to find myself alone with Elliott after group. I’d been so distant because I’d been craving, but I felt better now. I felt calm. We were lying on his bed, just looking into each other’s eyes the way they did on TV shows and movies.

  “You’re ssssso p-p-p-pretty.”

  I smiled, even though what he said embarrassed me. “And you’re sexy.”

  He shook his head in denial.

  “Are to. You have a nice smile and your eyes do crazy things to my insides.”

  His smile faltered and he looked worried.

  “What?”

  “Mmmmy b-b-body is d-damaged.”

  I made both my expression and voice serious so that he would know I wasn’t joking. “Your body shows character, and I don’t care about the scars, you’re still sexy as hell.”

  While I cringed every time I thought about the scars on his penis and his missing part, it wasn’t because I was disgusted by him. I was disgusted by his father and saddened for him. Whatever happened must’ve hurt like hell.

  His mouth opened a little and his breathing became slightly heavier. He ran his hand through my hair and it felt wonderful. I could see why he liked it when I did that to him.

  We inched closer together until I was pressed tightly against him. My body was pulsating for him and his hand moved down so his thumb could stroke my scar. Then he brought his lips to mine. We kissed for a long time until he pulled off our shirts.

  Giving him more power to initiate this kind of closeness had really paid off. He constantly was pushing himself to go further. In no time, both of us were without pants. Then he unclasped my bra. He’d gotten much better at it since that first time.

  And then the only thing left was his underwear.

  He was pressed against my thigh. I intentionally rubbed against him, but waited until his eyes were open again before moving my hand to snake into the opening of his boxer-briefs. I held still until his breathing had calmed back down and he relaxed. Then I moved my hand. I kept my eyes fixed on his.

  He always had trouble maintaining eye contact when I was doing this. He shivered and closed his eyes while his mouth opened again and a gentle noise escaped. I hoped he wouldn’t pull my hand away.

  I wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he gave me.

  I carefully pulled him free. His eyes popped opened and then snapped shut once he saw that mine were fixed on his face.

  When his breathing quickened, I whispered into his ear, “It’s okay, Elliott.”

  “B-b-but SSSophie... it’s... d-d-d-d...” he paused to suck in a deep breath, “r-r-r-r-r...”

  His head tilted back and the hand on my hip tightened. His eyes pinched tighter and another shudder ran through him.

  Finally.

  I was happy. Unlike times in the past, this wasn’t degrading. No one told me to or forced me to do it. I wanted to.

  His hips bucked once and then pulled back. I released him immediately.

  I kissed his chin, his cheek, and his forehead.

  When I pulled back, his face was twisted up in worry. “Elli--”

  He sat up quickly and grabbed his discarded shirt. Although I knew it was bothering him that he wasn’t clean, he wiped me up first. Then he practically scrubbed himself before tucking back into his boxer-briefs, pulling on his pants and another shirt.

  He left the room quickly, the door clicking behind him softly.

  Shit. I’d done something wrong.

  Again.

  When he came back, I was just pushing my arm through my shirt and his face was relaxed. He held out a warm, wet washcloth to me.

  I took it and wiped my hand.

  It was awkward as I finished dressing.

  It was awkward until he pulled me into his arms and kissed my temple.

  Regardless of his initial reaction, the hug and kiss told me that he was okay with what had happened.

  We didn’t talk about it because he would have been embarrassed, and I would have said something stupid and made it worse. We just let it be.

  On Saturday, everything in my head was so much better. I didn’t wake up wanting to be high. Elliott drove us to D.C. again and we went to the zoo.

  The zoo.

  Apart from one field trip when I was eight, I’d never been to the zoo. Based on his reaction, I figured Elliott was in the same boat.

  We had fun looking at the animals. Elliott read all of the educational plaques. He even read some of the more interesting facts out loud.

  I loved his voice.

  Before going home, we grabbed coffees and sat in the little bookstore we’d gone to so long ago, reading books we’d picked out for each other.

  I was happier than I had ever been.

  Sophie smiled nine times and sighed contentedly twice in an hour. I’d been counting. It felt important to count them, since it wasn’t that long ago that I almost never saw her smile.

  I was feeling so comfortable with her these days. School was almost out and the prospect of spending my summer days with her filled me with happiness. I was sure we’d have a few days apart. I was prepared to accept that I might have to go on another Dalton vacation or Mr. Young might take her hiking without me, but the majority of our days would be spent together.

  I loved her so much that it was difficult for me to think of anything else sometimes. Playing music helped when she wasn’t with me. I could let my fingers glide over keys or strings and let my mind wander. When I played, hours would pass like seconds and I would be that much closer to seeing her again.

  I thought about her all the time. Since the beginning of our relationship, my mind had been consumed by her, but now another aspect had been added. I thought about her body constantly. I wanted to see her without clothes again.

  Every day.

  She was so beautiful. Every last bit of her was p
erfect. She was strong and sexy.

  I wanted to be next to her.

  Above her.

  Below her.

  I wanted to be inside her.

  I wanted to have sex with Sophie, to make love with her, because I loved her.

  She loved me, too.

  She knew about what happened to me. She knew and she still wanted me. She could see the sin dripping from me and she was still here.

  Dr. Emmanuel said I needed to be able to think about what happened to me without using judgmental words like “sinful” and “wicked,” but even when asked about it specifically, I could only think and talk about it in vague terms. Anything else was too much.

  I didn’t want to think about anything other than being with Sophie. She was so patient and kind. She didn’t make big deals out of things and she had given me the responsibility for steering our physical relationship.

  I pushed myself because I didn’t want to disappoint her. I pushed myself because I didn’t think I could take disappointing myself anymore.

  I wanted Sophie.

  She was my girlfriend and I was going to make her happy, and in the process I would be happy, too. It no longer mattered if anyone thought it was sinful. It would be beautiful and perfect.

  Every small stride forward physically with Sophie was a huge success for me. With every step, there was concentration required to avoid any anxious panic. Once the step was completed, I always had an initial reaction that stemmed from the religious dogma of my father and my past experience, but I worked very hard to stifle the reactions I knew weren’t normal for a teenage boy.

  I still wasn’t comfortable with her touching me, no matter how much I wanted it. There was quite a bit of anxiety on my part, complete with clenched jaw and tight muscles. It happened each and every time. I willed myself to stay cool, to be calm, to be normal.

  I couldn’t understand how I’d forced myself to have sex with Megan, to actually be inside of her, when I had such a difficult time even letting Sophie touch me.