by Lila Felix
From the gate, I watch her stand and begin to walk around. She saunters between the headstones, tiptoeing, afraid to step on anyone’s burial site. Her copper hair bounces with her—several stray strands float on the winds. If I didn’t know better, I would mistake her for a fairy amongst flowers. But she’s real. She’s a beauty among graves instead. Admiring her curves should be a faux pas in this scenery. I give in and let my eyes wander over them anyway. Her white dress, long and flowing doesn’t hinder my admiration. It eggs me on, clinging to her body, this way and that as the wind caresses her—giving me all angles of her beauty. She stops to read each grave marker and bends to swipe the debris from the surface. Some have fresh flowers, some look neglected, like they haven’t been visited since they were laid to rest. She doesn’t discriminate. Stopping to situate flowers, dusting the tops of the headstones—she does it all. Aysa smiles a little at one in particular and bends down to take extra time with it. I walk in, wondering what could possibly peak her interest.
“How sad,” she remarks as I crouch next to her. Her scent of pumpkin and cinnamon is carried on the breeze. It impacts me so profoundly, that I have to hold on to the headstone to steady myself.
It reads, ‘Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.’
“Seems kinda flippant,” I regard the parents of the child.
“I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child. But you have. You speak about Mara, but you never talk about the baby. Why is that?”
I cut her off, “It wasn’t even born.”
Expecting it to phase her, I stand and move away from the offending grave.
“So that’s why you were trying so hard to fight for it. Because you had no feelings for it—being unborn and all.”
I blow out a breath and grab at my hair. She’s in my skin, under the layers I thought to be numb. My teeth grit together in annoyance. Why—why must she always challenge me?
I don’t even bother answering her, “I’m gonna go see her parents.”
“Good, let’s go.”
My eyes dart around, much like hers do when she’s mulling responses, “No, I’m gonna go and take Gray.”
The change in her disposition is obvious. I feel like I need to defend myself, “It’s not what you think. Gray was there. She knows Mara’s parents.”
“Yeah, of course. Just drop me at home.”
The ride back to her apartment in mind numbingly quiet. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking that I’m choosing Gray over her. And maybe I am this time.
I can’t do this.
I’ve lost the momentum.
I walk Aysa to her door. Her movements are too quick, too exact—jerky. She’s pissed.
“It’s not what you think,” I begin while she opens her door.
“Oh? It’s not? So you didn’t come over here to help me and as with everything in your life, it ended up being about you? That didn’t happen? Roman was right. It all revolves around you and Gray. No matter what is going on in the lives of your friends, the ball will always land on red for you or black for Gray. All bets in and no one wins.”
A strangled noise comes out of my mouth in my confusion.
“I’m so sorry. I truly came over to help you after you texted me.”
She rolls her eyes at me and for some reason I take more offense that usual; “Yeah? That lasted all of an hour. I’m sorry, Ezra. But I need someone who can give up an afternoon or a night of his time and let it be focused on me.”
“It was your idea,” I defend.
She huffs out a breath and half smiles, “I know. I know you don’t mean it. It’s funny though, isn’t it? Even our dates turn around to makeshift therapy sessions.”
“What time tomorrow,” I try to regain some ground.
“I’ll get my stuff on my own. I’ll have to be there early.”
“I will be here at seven.”
She shrugged and tried to slam the door, “Whatever.”
Stopping the door with my flattened palm I intonate, “I will be here early.” Then I let go, listening as she shut the door and locked the deadbolt. I don’t go to the apartment straight away. Instead, I roam around thinking about what she’d said. Then I called Dauber.
“Hey, can you meet me for dinner?”
“Yeah.”
We decided on Mahoney’s again. As I watched him walk in, I recognized his gait and stance.
“Hey man,” he claps me on the shoulder.
“We need to talk.” I watch the guy who has been my best friend for what seems like forever steel himself for whatever I have to say. How right Aysa was. They’re all just stumbling around me and my mourning constantly. I have the best friends in the world. I also have the worst friends in the world.
“I guess I need to apologize,” I begin and Dauber looks stunned.
“What?”
“Aysa said something about you and the others living around me and Gray. Like everything revolves around us. Is that true?”
Come on, man. Say it’s all bullshit. Say she’s wrong. Say anything that’s not in agreement.
“Truth? She’s right,” he says, signaling the waitress. She comes over, and he orders two beers and our food. He doesn’t even have to ask what I want. It’s like we’re in a bromance.
I clam up at his answer. All this time I was secretly hoping she was wrong.
“Do you remember my last birthday, the party we had?”
I rattle through my memories. The last birthday I remember was in high school. His mom threw him a Power Ranger party when he was seventeen. That can’t be right. What am I missing?
When I look back to him, anger has clouded his face.
“Can’t remember? That’s because it started out as drinks at The Wrecking Ball and was supposed to end up playing pool at Richochet’s. But what happened? You and Gray were both in moods because my birthday is three days after Mara’s. So after two drinks, we all went home and coddled you. That was my twenty first birthday, Ez. Neil, Leon and I celebrate our birthdays by ourselves now. There’s just no point in trying to invite you or Gray.”
The word coddle stings. It makes me feel like a spoiled toddler who people just put up with. But, I’m grateful for his honesty.
“Fuck. You guys must hate me.”
The waitress comes with our beer. He takes a long gulp before replying.
“I don’t hate you, but I hate being your friend. I have for a while. You and Gray never ask how we are or what’s going on in our lives. It’s all about you. It’s a one way street on a long journey to nowhere.”
My turn to gulp down my beer.
“And just so we’re clear, you don’t deserve Aysa. She needs someone to hold her up, not drag her down.”
“I know.”
He shrugs and whispers to the waitress that he wants his order to go.
“Where are you going?”
“Hang out with Neil and Leon. But just one more thing before I leave. Ask Gray about Mara. Really ask her some details. You know, my father used to work with Mara’s father. Sometimes details can ease your mind. They can bridge occurrences that never made sense before.”
He gets up and waits at the register for his meal and then leaves without another look my way. I’ve been a shit friend.
Deep down, I’ve known it for a while. More and more Neil, Dauber, and Leon had pulled away only coming around when we had something scheduled. They avoided Gray like the plague. I now know why.
Since the night I questioned Gray about our furniture, a hate for my apartment has grown like a creeping, dusty mold. Not wanting to go home, I go back to the person who I know serves up no judgment, only sound advice.
He agrees, by phone, to meet me at the church. He chuckles saying that it was getting a little boring, anyway. I walk into the church. The bright Christmas lights mock me. I’ve always felt this way walking into the church. I expected the threshold to come ablaze and burn me to ashes on my way through.
My only saving grace is my brother, who grabs my elbo
w and leads me into the church. I see the look on his face and in just a few short hours of awareness, know it for what it is. He thinks I’m here to mourn some more—he thinks he has to endure the everlasting confession of sins. My own brother loathes me coming here.
I sit at his desk and faintly remember when Aysa was once here. I didn’t ever want her to be in that position again. I didn’t want to look into her sad eyes and see sadness anymore. I want to bring happiness to her—the joy I saw through the things she did. She didn’t expect others to make me happy like I did. She made her own happy.
“What’s up, bro?”
Knox is the bad assest priest there ever was.
“Do I drag you down,” I prompt, hoping it would begin a conversation I don’t have the stomach to initiate.
He clears his throat, which was Knox’s way of figuring out the most diplomatic way to deliver uncomfortable news.
“You’ve been through a lot, Ezra. It takes time to recuperate from such a tragedy.”
I white knuckle the arms of his leather chair, “Just tell the truth, asshole.”
Just so we are clear, I’m already going to hell for my transgressions. Calling a priest an asshole—while in a church—was a drop in the hat compared to what I’d done.
“Fine,” he now grabs me up by my collar and drags me outside through his side door. This is the brother I remember before he went all priestly garb on me. This is what I deserve. I crave the truth he will give me.
Even though I’m a few inches taller than him and much more built, he uses what strength he has to slam me against the brick wall. I can feel his anger through his stare alone.
“I see you require your brother here and not your priest. First of all watch your mouth in the church. You may not respect it, but you will show some respect, regardless. Second, what are you fishing for, huh? What truth do you need to hear?”
With the brick digging into my back, I lurch my head forward and really got in his face.
“Tell me if I’m just dead weight. Tell me if I make your life hell.”
Knox releases the hold on me, forces out a breath, and begins pacing. He stops and shoots me a look I haven’t seen since I made fun of him the first time I saw his white collar.
“How straight do you want it?”
“Straight as you can give it.”
“Fine. You’re self-centered. You won’t go get help. You love to wallow in your grief. You don’t want to move on. You’re perfectly happy making everyone and everything revolve around poor Ezra and some stuff that happened a long time ago. But most of all you’re scared. You’re scared of moving on because who you were before the accident isn’t all that much better than who you were after. And if you move on, who in the hell will you be? You don’t even know.”
His eyes grow wide after he finishes his spiel. But those words can’t be taken back now. It’s too late. Tears bubble in my brother’s eyes and I hate myself for making him say things he didn’t want to say.
But it is all complete honesty. Even if he wasn’t a priest, my brother never lied.
“I’m bringing her down with me,” I finally admit.
He scrapes a hand down his face, exasperated with me.
“So don’t. Leave her alone.”
My face must’ve told him everything I had to say about that stellar idea.
“Strike that. Then you’ve got to do something, Ezra.”
“I know. Shit, I should stay away from her before I ruin her. But I can’t. She calls to me. She makes me feel like there’s life to be lived.”
“Well, do something about it.”
“Yeah.”
In that moment, my decision is made. I had to get better, so I could be Aysa’s shoulder to lean on. I had to get strong for her.
Aysa
For the first time in a long time, I shut my cabinet after filling it up with video games.
I think I’ve given up a little on Ezra. The blame shouldn’t have been all put on him. It’s not all his fault. I played a huge role. We were in the truck and then all the sudden, I realized that somehow an afternoon of me needing his comfort, needing the comfort of another person for the first time in a long time, ended up as a fix Ezra session.
I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how it happened.
And I probably had no right getting angry.
The next morning I wake early, wanting to get to the office and get in and out of there before I have to endure any sneering or snickering. Keys in hand, I open the door and see Ezra down in the parking lot, trying to balance coffee, one in each hand—damn him.
I’m still pissed, and I try to judge his distance, wondering if I can throw hard enough to knock one of the coffees out of his hand with my keys. He looks up at me just as I curl my keys in my hand and decide to make an attempt.
Ticking his head toward my car, he throws a killer smile my way. It’s the first time I’ve seen this smile. A smile that beams rays of sincerity to me.
Where has that smile been all my life?
“What’s all this?” I circle my hand around the whole situation as I approach him.
“Just trying to be nice.”
“Nice, huh?”
“Yeah. Coffee,” he asks offering a cup to me.
“Sure.” I take it. He doesn’t let go immediately. “I’m so sorry about yesterday,” he whispers, looking me directly in the eyes.
“I forgive you,” I concede immediately. “Did you go see her parents?”
“No, but I will. Let’s go get your stuff.”
I nod and get into my car. Ezra follows. On the way to my job, or old job, he asks me questions. I can tell he’s making an obvious effort for this whole thing to be about me.
“What are you gonna do? Do you have any idea where you will find another job?”
“I’m gonna call my aunt today. She’s got pots on every burner. I’m sure she knows somewhere I can work.”
He fidgets on the other side of the car, openly staring at me.
“You’re okay though, right? I mean, moneywise?”
I don’t even bother looking at him. He must’ve hit his head on one of the headstones from the night before.
“I’m fine, Ezra. I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“Hmmmm…” he murmurs.
We arrive at the office. Instead of feeling regret for losing my job, the more time goes by, the more I’m relieved to be free of it. Ezra walks next to me, and I giggle at his chest puffed out.
“What?”
“You look like a rooster going into the hen house.”
“Do I?” he looks down at himself. “Maybe because I’m with the most beautiful chick.”
I suppress an eye roll—but barely. Getting into the elevator with Ezra is a whole new experience. There were two girls already inside. One of gives him googly eyes while she presses the button for her floor. Girl number two is much more affected. Poor thing, she sways into him on purpose when the elevator began its upward journey, and I fail to suppress a laugh. She’s on the verge of testosterone induced inebriation. I hadn’t noticed the effect he had on other women before. I can’t blame them, of course. He’s a mess of gray eyes and rugged features that no one, not even me, can deny. Noticing my laughter, he finally looks around and recognizes what’s going on.
I think he’s just going to ignore them.
I’m so wrong.
“What are we gonna do tonight, baby,” he asks, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me in tight.
I make the mistake of looking at him from the corner of my eye. The glint in his eye tells me that he’s joking, playing into the well-earned swoon around us.
“Yeah, we’re going ice skating. You promised.”
“I did promise ice skating. I forgot.”
“And don’t forget the haunted theater.”
He laughs, shaking his head with eyes closed, “Right. I know you have a ghost fetish. I know about all your fetishes.”
Revenge—that’s what he w
as doing—getting revenge. I look at the turtle paced lights signaling our ascent to higher floors and wished to God the elevator would go faster. A tingling blush begins on my neck and heightens in record time.
“Stop,” I whisper, completely unarmed in this battle. I’m not skilled in taunting others, and I certainly was underdeveloped in the flirting department. His hand skims over my waist from ribs to hips and it may be just my general innocence about the whole thing, but I swear his hand just touched my underboob. I’m so unprepared for everything Ezra.
Is that a word, underboob? Either way, there’s no sense in even trying to form a complete sentence, much less pretend to flirt back.
The elevator dings and both girls exit, if possible, with a greater blush than my own.
Ezra reaches around me and pushes the emergency stop button. I break free from him in a panic.
“What the hell? Are we stuck now?”
He sucks his cheeks in, squelching a smile, “No, as soon as I release it, the elevator will go again.”
“Well, release it. What are you thinking?”
“This,” he says and step by step corners me in the silver moving cube. His hips lock mine in place, and it causes me to gasp. “I need to know why you wanted me to stop.”
“Because it was weird.”
“What was weird? Flirting with me is weird, Ace? I’m wounded.”
He clenches his fist over his chest in feigning pain.
“It was weird because I am really bad at flirting.”
“Hmmm…we’ll have to practice a lot then.” His breath is all caramel creamed coffee. I think all coffee will remind me of Ezra from here on out.
I take a chance and do something I’ve wanted to do since I saw those unruly curls in the church. Reaching up, I twirl one around my finger and then weave it through the rest of his hair, back where it belongs.
“I want to kiss you again,” his words fan over my face.
“You can’t,” I whisper, daring to look at his lips.
“Why not?”
I push him away with my hands on his chest and gather some courage, “Because I’ve decided you don’t get to kiss me again until we’ve been on a real date. No cemeteries or hiding—just a normal date.”
He steps back and nods; “I can do that.”