by Lind, Valia
"Thank you," I say as we dive into our picnic. He packed my favorites. My eyes roam the park, before focusing on the giant piece of artwork swinging in the air over us. "It's beautiful."
"Do you know the history of it?" I didn't know I stated it out loud until Grayson comments.
"A little. I know the name, Her Secret is Patience, comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson."
"The piece was commissioned by the City of Phoenix and designed by Janet Echelman." He begins quietly, "It's an intricate web of painted, galvanized steel, polyester twine netting, and colored lights. It's about 145 feet tall and hangs around 38 feet off the ground. They had to work with several North American factories in order to create the specialized materials for the netting alone."
I watch the funnel of colorful lights as it moves a bit in the breeze, listening to Grayson's words. The structure is probably one of my favorite aspects of downtown. It's like a huge tornado, suspended over our heads, shining with the beauty of glimmering lights.
"The colors are to reflect the changes in the season, while letting a bit of mystery creep in," I pick up the explanation where he stops, almost at a whisper, still watching the tiny movement. "Suspended, fixed, yet in constant motion. 'Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience'," I feel Grayson's eyes on me and I finally tear my gaze away from the sculpture and focus on him.
"I guess you do know a little about it."
"I've might've read a thing or two. It fascinates me how something so simple looking can be so complicated and beautiful. Think about it. It's a giant funnel of wires and nets, yet it's beautiful and unique and full of character."
"Kind of like you," I almost don't catch his words, thinking it's wishful hoping he would say something like that to me, but I do hear it. When I turn my face to meet his I realize just how close we are and I can read the truth in his eyes. Tears come from nowhere and I stand before I can make a fool out of myself.
"Brooklynn?"
"I'm sorry," I close my eyes, willing the waterworks back. But no guy has ever looked at me the way Grayson does. He sees me for who I am without the judgmental glares to follow, without expecting me to be perfect, without expecting me to fit into a particular mold.
"Don't be sorry," he says, coming up to stand in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Talk to me."
"I'm just an emotional wreck," I try to turn away, but he won't let me.
"Brooklynn, please talk to me. Please don't run away. I want to understand."
I raise my eyes to meet his. I've done nothing to earn his care. I've done nothing but push him away, afraid of things that may never be. Yet, here he is, genuinely wanting to know why I'm such a mess of emotions when he gives me a simple compliment. I cannot not tell him. My heart wants him to know, even as my mind is terrified. He shared parts of himself with me and maybe it’s finally time I return the favor. I take a deep breath, letting Grayson lead me to the closest bench, past a mother with a stroller and a few teenagers playing football in the grass, before I find the courage to speak.
"You know how you said your dad is proud of you for taking the steps in reaching your dreams? How supportive he is of the direction you're going? Well, my family is not like that. I'm the black sheep, someone who doesn’t want to be cooped up in an office all day crunching numbers. Someone who loves arts over becoming a doctor or a lawyer."
Grayson doesn't say anything so I go on.
"My sister Paige is the perfect daughter. She graduated high school in the top ten percent of her class. She got into University of Arizona where she's studying business. She dresses in slacks and blouses. My parents are proud of her and they want me to be her exact replica. Every day I get out of bed and dread seeing my family. We don't talk about anything but how I need to make sure I write my essays and turn in my applications before the deadlines. They want nothing to do with me as a person unless I follow the exact plan they have for my life."
I stop, because the disappointment that I am to my parents is crushing the breath out of my lungs. The feeling of not being good enough, of being a failure, is a constant companion in everything I do.
"My sister was the first to make fun of my dreams, and people, my own family, had been doing that ever since. I'm not good enough unless I'm someone else and I just can't—" I halt, my breathing coming in gasps.
Grayson says I'm afraid to let people see my work, well now he knows why. We sit in silence for a few moments as tears run silently down my cheeks, before I see Grayson shift just a little. Then, his arms are around me and I'm sobbing into the chest. Cries rip out of my body. I can't control the tears that I've been holding back for so long.
When I finally feel like I can breathe again, I sit up a little with Grayson's arms still firmly around my shoulders.
"I'm sorry." I reach to wipe my tears, probably smearing mascara all over my cheeks.
"Don't ever apologize for being who you are," he states and there is determination in his voice that I've never heard before. It's determination mingled with protectiveness. I see the fire in his eyes when I look up.
I don't move, waiting to see what he does, dreaming of what I want him to do. I lick my lips, and the sound that escapes Grayson would drive me to my knees if I was standing. My gaze flickers to his mouth. He leans in, just a bit and I find myself closing my eyes.
The solid contact of a football with our heads is what springs us apart.
❧ ❧ ❧
I rub my temples for what seems like the hundredth time.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Grayson asks as he walks me to my door. After the accident with the football, Grayson and I decided to leave. For a second there I thought Grayson would personally hunt all three of the teenagers who were responsible and wring their necks, but he didn't. We packed up our stuff, neither one of us commenting on what was about to happen before we were interrupted. On the drive back, we sang to the radio, almost refusing to talk.
"I'm alright. It’s just a little bump." He reaches to the side of my head to feel for himself. We're standing awfully close again, his hand moving down to cup my cheek, when the door opens. We jump apart almost in sync and it's like a practiced dance between us now. My dad is on the other side of the door.
"Brooklynn, glad you could make it home." He says it as if he's anything but, while glaring at Grayson.
"Dad, this is Grayson. We go—"
"I know who he is. He's the boy that used to pick on you in school. Now, say goodbye and come inside please."
Grayson and I exchange a look at my dad's harsh tone. "Good night, Brooklynn. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Summers." Then with a little wave, he makes his way to his car. I stand there for a second watching him, before Dad clears his throat. I follow him inside, dreading what I know is coming next.
"What are you doing hanging out with him?" Dad asks as we make our way to the kitchen. Mom is still at the table, except now there are shopping bags all around the kitchen.
"Hi honey," she greets me, "Did you have a good time?"
"I did. Thanks, Mom."
"You knew about this?” My dad turns on Mom, but she only shrugs, giving him a pointed look as if to say be nice. Not that it’ll help. He’s got his mind set on criticizing me. He proves it with his next statement.
“Brooklynn, I asked you a question." Dad states, crossing his arms in front of him. I glance over at Mom, but she doesn't look up, so I turn to face my father head on. What happened to us? We used to be so close and now all we do is fight. It's not the first time I've thought this, but it seems that every time I'm with Grayson, I'm reminded more and more how much I wish my parents would support me.
"He's helping me with a project."
"A project? You mean one of your design games."
"They're not games," I reply, my anger rising. Why can't he understand? I grab a glass and fill it with water, hoping that I can control myself before I say something I regret. Sometimes, I think I should just record my responses and play them at appropriate times, sin
ce this is all my dad and I talk about. He doesn't see how his words hurt me, how much I want his approval.
"Have you mailed out your applications yet?"
"No."
"You're going to miss the deadlines, Brooklynn. Then where you'll be?"
"I don't know Dad, maybe actually living my life and doing something I love?" I'm done, I can't stand here and talk to him any longer. Today, with Grayson, I finally felt like myself. He understood who I was without me even having to tell him. Now, the one man in my life who should be a constant is jumping down my throat again and I just can't take it. I move to go around him, but Dad isn't finished.
"We discussed this."
"No, you ordered and I stayed quiet. I can't be quiet anymore." For some reason, after talking to Grayson, I’m not afraid to tell Dad about our project. Maybe, for the first time, I know that I can be confident in my own dreams and maybe even one day have my parents understand.
"Grayson and I are working on my portfolio. When we're done, I'm sending it to design schools and—"
"You're going to take some boy’s opinion over your own parents?"
"I don’t get an opinion! You give me a command." I shout. "You don't ask what I want. You don't care about my happiness."
"Stop being such a drama queen. I'm thinking of your future."
"I'm not a cookie cutter daughter and I will never be. I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but I guess you should be used to being disappointed in me by now right?"
I turn and head up the stairs before he can say another word. It's the same argument over and over. Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing and hoping for different results? I guess this means I'm insane because nothing I just said was different from any of the arguments we've had before. Yet, Dad is still not listening.
As I shut my bedroom door, I refuse to give in to any more tears. I've cried enough to last me a while. Grabbing my journal, I make my way to the bed. I don’t want to think about my family or the ever present argument, so my mind drifts to Grayson.
We were about to kiss. I didn't imagine that. I know I didn't. I could feel his body against mine, the same pull in his eyes as I'm sure he saw reflected back at him.
I flip over to my side as my mind runs over the events of the day. The way he sang in his car, the care he took to find a fashion show we can go to and prepare us lunch. How he held me when I told him about my family, about not being good enough. How he told me to be myself, and no one else. He's everything I've ever wanted wrapped up in a package that I would've never expected. I’d be foolish to deny the fact that I care about him, but the extent of my own feelings frighten me.
When I see him Monday what do I say? How do I act?
Have the rules changed?
THIRTY - TWO
Evening news is where they begin with 'Good evening,' and then proceed to tell you why it isn't. - Author Unknown
Grayson has been gone for three days.
That's three whole days that I've spent walking around like a zombie and second guessing everything. He hasn't returned any of my calls or texts. All I got on Monday was a message that read,
Something came up. Talk to you soon.
That was it. I texted him that night to see if everything was okay and nothing. It's like I suddenly have the plague. Maybe things did change last Saturday, but not in the way that I thought. Not for the first time, I wish Paige was here to guide me through this madness. She's always been so good with guys. Well, except that jerk face Brad, but he was just a real charmer from the beginning. Even smart girls make stupid mistakes for a pretty face. I think I'm about to pass out from all this nervous energy. Are Paige and I more alike than I’ve imagined?
"Brooklynn, are you with us?" Dakota waves her hand in front of my face. We're sitting at our table at lunch, Chance on one side of me and Dakota across. I realize they were talking to me, but I'm spacing so hard I didn't hear a word they said.
"I'm here."
"Well physically maybe," Chance says, popping a few chips into his mouth. "but where is that head of yours?" I see Dakota raise an eyebrow, but she doesn't comment.
"Just thinking." My mind drifts back to Grayson, but I don’t get to dwell on him for long before a noise snaps me back to the present.
"Alright, that is it." Both Chance and I jump at Dakota's exclamation. She stands in huff and motions for me to get up with her hand. "If you’ll excuse us Chance, Brooklynn and I need a little girl time." I glance back at Chance helplessly but he just shrugs his shoulders, giving me a thumbs up. I think I need new friends.
"What is going on?" Dakota demands as soon as we're far enough away from the busy lunch crowd to not be overheard.
"Nothing is going on."
"Seriously Brooklynn, spill or I'm about to shake it out of you. You've been in a funk all week."
I take a deep breath, studying my best friend. She's not budging. There is no way she's letting me walk away from this and I realize I want to tell her. I'm just not sure it's a good idea since she's all team Grayson and I kind of don't know how I feel anymore.
So I tell her. I tell her about Saturday, and what happened after I got home, and the fact that I haven't heard from him in three days.
"Oh. My. Word!"
"Please don't squeal," I interrupt knowing full well she's about to. "It doesn't mean anything."
"You almost kissed, it does mean something! It means everything. I totally told you he was into you. You guys need to get it on already before both of you self-combust."
"Classy Dakota," I roll my eyes at her, but feel my cheeks heat up. "But you’re forgetting that we didn't kiss and he's been ignoring me ever since. What am I supposed to think? It could be all in my head. I could, of course, just drive out to his house and demand an explanation. Maybe then I'll actually sleep at night, but I have no idea if I want to know the answer."
I stop my rant when my friend grows quiet beside me.
"What?" I ask, afraid of the answer already.
"You are driving over to see him, that's perfect. You can talk to him without any interference from people who shall be left unnamed and get some answers. Maybe he's sick or something. Then you can take care of him and he can fall madly in love with you, not that's he's not already, and it'll be all romantic and—"
"Can you please stop? You're freaking me out."
"Fine, but I'm driving you after school."
❧ ❧ ❧
"I'm not going in there."
"Yes, you are."
It's after school and we're parked a house away from Grayson's. I'm staring at the place as if it holds the secrets to the universe, and maybe it does. To my universe that is. We've been here for ten minutes and I still can't make myself move.
"I swear if you don't get out of this car right now I'm literally dragging your butt to that front door." She's been watching me fidget and for a second I'm afraid she'll get out of the car and walk to the house herself.
"I don't know, Dakota, maybe this was a bad idea."
"It's a great idea, which is exactly why you told me about it, because you knew I'd make sure you went thru with it." I kind of hate that she's right. I continue to stare at the house in front of me, my hands shaking in my lap. I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing here. Maybe there is a reason he's not talking to me, like I don't know, that he's done with me? I hate how selfish my thoughts are, but I really can't help it.
"Dakota, just drive. I'm not going in there. It's stupid."
"It's not stupid to worry about someone you care about." I glance at her in shock and see the understanding in her eyes. She knows a lot more about how I'm feeling than I seem to. "Go. Go or I'm getting out," she threatens, unbuckling her seatbelt.
Sighing loudly, I get out of the vehicle and make my way to the front door, all the while trying not to shake like a leaf in a storm. I'm the clingy girlfriend and I'm not even the girlfriend. I knock on the door, half hoping no one answers. I stand there for a few moments, then with a shake of
my head I turn to leave. "I can't do this." I mumble, not hearing the door open behind me.
"Brooklynn?" I whip around, coming face to face with Grayson. I haven't realized just how much I missed him until I see him standing few feet in front of me. He looks exhausted.
"I was worried," I finally manage and something flickers in his eyes. Without a word, he steps to the side, motioning me in. I can only imagine Dakota's smug smile as she drives past the house.
Grayson shuts the door behind me, but I still won't meet his eyes. I'm studying the room around me as if seeing it for the first time. Before either one of us can find the words to speak, a loud wail shatters the quiet of the house. I glance sharply at Grayson, but he's already running up the stairs. I wait a moment before following up.
When I reach the cause of the screaming, I find Grayson on the bed next to a thrashing Noah. I freeze in the doorway, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene in front of me.
"Shh, Noah, it's only a dream. Just a bad dream. Wake up buddy. Grayson is here. Wake up." He's kneeling on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around the little boy sobbing into his shoulder. Grayson strokes Noah's head, murmuring little reassurances and I feel my heart crack at the sight. The gentleness of Grayson's touch seems to calm Noah's fears, his shallow breaths the only noise in the room now. For some reason I wish I had Grayson's camera so I can capture this moment.
"He's been sick," Grayson says over his brother's head, "His fever has been pretty high and he gets these nightmares. I'm the only who can calm him down." I watch as Noah peaks out from under Grayson.
