Plus, I still missed Alabama, and something about her uniqueness reminded me of home.
Our music class headed to Mr. Harper’s classroom with our instruments. I was half surprised to see Aria sitting at her desk. For some reason I figured she would’ve changed classes and moved to Florida to get away from me.
I slid into the desk next to her and pulled out my fact sheet from the day before.
“Sorry…” She scrunched up her nose and turned to face me. “Sorry for flipping out in the hallway, and for calling you a creep yesterday. I was embarrassed and hurt.”
“No offense, Aria, but I think I’m the one who is supposed to be apologizing.”
She disagreed. “My emotions are just all over the place.” Crossing her legs on her seat, she sat like a pretzel. “It’s like, I’m still me, but…different.”
“Different can be good.”
“No. Not this kind of different.” Aria’s voice shook as she tried to control it. “Anyway, we should probably fill out this sheet today.”
I didn’t oppose the idea. Honestly I was just happy she was even speaking to me. I learned quite a bit about her and her family. Her middle name was Lauren. She loved pizza of any kind. Her mom was a doctor and her dad was a plumber. Her favorite type of art was abstract (I thought abstract was weird). When she talked, she had a small dimple in her left cheek. She didn’t tell me that fact, but I couldn’t help but notice.
I told her how I love egg rolls and bacon—not together, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. My middle name was Wesley, football was my favorite sport to watch, and I only drank root beer.
“What does the tattoo on your hand mean?” she asked, looking at the eye sitting between my thumb and pointer finger.
“Oh, it’s for one of my favorite songs, ‘These Eyes’, by The Guess Who. My mom let me get this one and this one,” I pointed to the quill pen tattoo on my forearm, “for my birthday. The quill is a reminder of how much words mean to me. If there’s anything I love as much as the sound of music, it’s the words that come along with the songs.”
“That’s so cool. My parents would never let me get a tattoo.”
“Yeah…my mom’s a little bit different than most parents.” I bit into my bottom lip, not wanting to talk about Mom too much. She must have noticed my need for a switch in conversation, so she continued onto the next topic.
“Okay,” she said, glancing down at her sheet. “Special skills?”
“I’m a professional at the air guitar and lip syncing,” I said.
She snickered and placed her pencil down on the desk. “I’m not writing that.”
Arching an eyebrow, I asked why not.
“Because people aren’t professionals at air guitar and lip syncing.”
I smiled. “I definitely am a professional air guitarist and lip syncer.”
“Bull crap.”
It sounded like a challenge to me. I went digging through my backpack, which had at least a dozen of my favorite CDs inside. I pulled one out, walked over to Mr. Harper and asked if I could perform it. He agreed, allowing me to play the song on his computer. I stood in front of the classroom, tuning my invisible guitar.
Aria stared as if she thought I was insane, but that was no different from how she normally looked at me.
“10 A.M. Automatic,” by The Black Keys started playing, and I sat on top of Mr. Harper’s messy desk, and started to strum along. My fingers moved franticly, never missing an invisible string. When I started silently singing toward Aria, her cheeks blushed and her feet tapped against the floor to the music.
I hopped off of the desk and started moving around the room, singing to random girls, who giggled and twirled their hair. I lost myself in the music, feeling as if I was on stage playing in front of a real audience, strumming the guitar.
I felt everyone’s eyes on me, but only one pair of brown eyes really mattered. For the final verse of the song, I stood in front of Aria, playing the last chords, taking in the small grin on her lips.
Once I finished, the final bell of the day rang and everyone packed up their bags. A few girls walked up to me, telling me that I was great, and Connor made sure to mention the amount of chicks we were going to bang because of the air guitar, but I didn’t care what they were saying.
I wanted to know what Aria thought.
She picked up her pencil and wrote the words air guitarist and lip syncing under my special skills.
We were the last ones to leave the classroom, and we walked down the hallway quietly. She hugged a couple of books to her chest and when we walked outside, waiting in line for our turn to climb onto the bus, she stared at the sidewalk.
“That was really good, Levi,” she whispered, nodding slightly. “You’re really good at the air guitar and shockingly you sounded remarkably like The Black Keys.”
I laughed. “It’s a superpower of mine.”
“Do you have many superpowers?”
“Just wait and see, Aria Watson. Just wait and see.”
I felt like I was flying.
* * *
When I arrived back at Dad’s after school, he was staring under the hood of his car in the front yard. A cigarette was hanging out of his mouth, and he was muttering to himself about something or other when I walked up to him. The knots in the stomach returned.
“Hey, Dad.”
He looked up, shook a few ashes from his cigarette, and went back to fixing his car.
“You need any help?”
“You know shit about cars?” he asked dryly.
I didn’t.
He snickered. “Just go play your flute or something.”
“Violin,” I corrected, holding the straps of my backpack. He cocked an eyebrow. “I play the violin. Not the flute.”
“Flute, violin, both sound corny as hell.”
Ouch.
“Okay. Well, if you don’t need any help…” I waited for him to ask me to hand him a wrench or something. It was pretty pathetic the way I stood waiting, but I finally headed into the house.
As I tossed my backpack onto my bed and my cell phone started ringing, I knew it was Mom. After I answered, she sounded just as worried and concerned as before.
“How are you holding up?” she said, probably pacing back and forth as she talked.
“Still holding on,” I replied, lying against the mattress.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come back home? I can have a flight booked for you in about five minutes.”
Tempting.
“Not quite ready to pack it up just yet.”
“Why do you need this?” she asked, sounding somewhat irritated.
“I just got to try. I have to figure out who this guy is.” I wanted that father-son relationship I remembered from my memories. I wanted to try to get to know Dad again. The problem was I didn’t expect him to be so closed off, therefore that meant getting to know him again would be a little hard. I wasn’t afraid to put in the work at our broken relationship, but I knew it would take time.
Time.
We have time.
It wouldn’t be overnight, but it would happen.
Plus, Mom went through cycles of her own mental stability, and I knew she was currently struggling with her issues. It was those same issues that made me want to get away from her and come stay with Dad.
I wasn’t ready to go home to her.
Even if I missed her, I didn’t miss her enough to sit around and watch her fall apart.
She sighed into the phone receiver, expecting me to say yes to the idea of going home. “I spoke to Lance not too long ago. After a yelling match he finally let up why he thought it was so important for you to be up there with your father.”
“Yeah? And why’s that?” She paused. Her silence made me push myself up to a standing position. “Ma?”
“He’s sick, Levi.”
I laughed, because it was the only thing I could do. “Sick? What do you mean he’s sick?”
“He has lung cancer.�
��
What?
Dad wasn’t sick.
“What’s wrong with you? Why would you say that?” I barked.
“Don’t talk to me with that tone, Levi. I’m just telling you what Lance said.”
It can’t be true.
My heart started pounding faster as I rushed out of my bedroom through the house. Mom was still talking on the phone, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Now all I was doing was searching through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, the drawers in the kitchen, and the coffee table in the living room. I was looking for any signs, any clear proof that Dad was sick.
Because if he had cancer there would be proof, right? He would have to take medicine. There would be paperwork or something…anything.
I looked at his office.
The door was closed.
“Levi!” Mom said in my ear, snapping me out of my hectic movements. “You’re coming home. There’s no way I’m going to have you there going through this.”
“I’ll call you back,” I said to Mom, hanging up before she could reply.
My fingers wrapped around the knob of the office door, and I pushed it open. Moving to his desk, I pulled open the side doors and looked at the orange pill bottles. I read the labels, but didn’t understand a single one.
I kept digging and found all of it. The paperwork. The medicines. All the proof.
I lifted a picture that was pushed in the back of the drawer.
Our fishing trip.
A lump formed in my throat as I stared at the photographic proof that we used to be happy together.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dad shouted, standing in the doorframe of his office.
Just staring at him I should’ve known he was sick. He looked sick. Skinnier than any man his height should’ve been. The circles under his eyes were dark, too, but I didn’t know what his normal look was and what was out of the norm because I didn’t know him.
“You a thief or something?” he hissed, giving me a look of disgust. “You looking for money?”
“No.” I cleared my throat, dropping his paperwork into the top drawer. “Ma just said—”
“I don’t care what your mom said.” His hand slammed against the door. “The door was shut, which meant stay out.” Nodding, I headed toward the door, and he stood in front of it, blocking my way out, his eyes filled with less emotion than before. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry. Pull your shit together and stop being a pussy.”
Who are you?
Pushing past him, I felt my breaths growing heavier and heavier.
Entering my room, I shut the door behind me. My back landed against the closest wall, and I pounded my hand against my chest, over and over again.
Cancer.
Cancer.
Cancer.
I couldn’t go back to Alabama.
I couldn’t walk away knowing that I was leaving him alone and sick. Plus, there was my selfish need to want to know more about him. What made him so cold? When did he shift from the playful guy I used to know into this mean personality? How could I fix it? Fix us?
I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t keep trying for a relationship with him before he…
I blinked and swallowed hard.
Time.
I need more time.
I came out of my bedroom an hour later and saw him sleeping on the couch. I knew if I walked away now, there would be no possibility of me ever learning about this stranger who shared my DNA. I also knew that if I left, he had no one. He would never admit it, but he had to be afraid. Cancer had to be scary, and he was going through it alone.
Maybe people said terrible things when they were afraid. Maybe Dad was always afraid.
I can’t go back to Alabama.
I called and told Mom. She cried a bit and told me she didn’t understand. Truthfully, I didn’t completely understand either, but in my gut I knew if I walked away now I would regret it forever. So, I would stay.
I headed out to the woods around eleven that night with a flashlight and my violin. I loved the smells of the woods, the calmness of nature. Back home whenever my mind was clogged, Mom would have me step barefoot into the woods, my toes curled against the grass, and I would just breathe.
There was something otherworldly about nature that made my problems feel less important, made my situation feel less dramatic.
I stared at the house that was hidden in the trees. The father who built that place with me still had to exist. I wouldn’t give up on him. Not now. I climbed up the rungs, and sat inside of the wooden house. I lifted my violin out of the case. Music would help me through this. Mom used to tell me that the violin strings were able to tell stories through the way the violinist played them; stories of grief, of suffering, of beauty, of light.
I started playing quietly at first.
The bow rolled back and forth against the strings, the sounds of my best friend bouncing through the sleeping trees, touching the resting woods. The plan was to play until I stopped worrying about Mom back home. I wanted to play until my father was my dad again. I wanted to play until cancer was just a word and not a death notice.
Yet it turned out I couldn’t fulfill those goals because at three in the morning, I was still worried about my mother, my father was still far from my dad, and cancer was still the most messed up word in the history of words.
By that point, I felt like I was crashing down.
10 Aria
For Sunday dinner Dad grilled out while Mom made potato salad, corn, and homemade applesauce. There weren’t many more days left for barbeques in Wisconsin since winter would be here soon enough, so I was pretty excited. Dad made the best hamburgers, adding his secret ingredient that he would never reveal.
We sat around the table, and Mike went on and on about the homecoming game coming up in a few weeks. “We’re playing against the Falcons and coach said a few scouts from UW-Madison are going to be there. Plus, next weekend recruits from Ohio State are coming up here.”
“You think you’re ready for this? Have you been getting your extra workouts in?” Dad asked, placing a tray of his hamburgers in the middle of the table.
“Yes, sir. Coach said I have nothing to worry about, though, he said I’m pretty much guaranteed a few schools. So, I should be able to pick the one I want the most.”
“Don’t let it get to your head, though. You have to keep your grades up, too. You need a backup plan.” Dad lowered himself into his chair and glanced toward me before turning back to Mike. “People should have a backup plan.”
Mike agreed with him, and Mom just frowned at me. I tried my best not to draw any attention to myself during dinner. After all, during the last Sunday dinner I’d dropped the ‘I’m pregnant’ situation and things had gone downhill pretty fast. This time I just wanted to enjoy my favorite burger.
I took my first bite and my nose scrunched up. “Did you do something different to the burgers?” I asked.
Dad’s eyes locked with mine for less than two seconds before he looked away, adding potato salad to his plate. “Same as always.”
Nodding, I took another bite. My nose scrunched again. It didn’t taste the same as always. It tasted…bad, actually. I placed the burger down and pretty much lost my appetite for everything sitting in front of me.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Grace asked me, stuffing her burger into her mouth. Just seeing her eat that thing was making me want to gag. How do they not taste it?! “When Mrs. Thompson was pregnant she ate like a cow. She looked like a cow, too.”
“Grace, that’s not a nice thing to say,” Mom scolded. I hated that the conversation was slowly turning to my pregnancy; I didn’t want to ruin dinner for Dad, again. Mom crossed her arms and gave me a pity smile. “It’s called dysguesia,” Mom said. “Your taste buds are just off due to the baby.”
Dad cringed and pushed his chair from the table. Whenever he was annoyed the redness in his face deepened. “I think that’s enough.”
“Adam…” Mom�
��s voice was low. “Sit back down.”
“No. Not if this is just going to turn into last week again. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to deal with...” He gestured toward me as if I was a virus, a plague. “This.”
“I’m keeping it,” I said. Dad gave me a harsh stare, but I couldn’t stand being treated like this any longer. “I’m keeping it and I’m sorry if you hate me, but I’m keeping it.”
Before he could reply—or more likely yell—the front doorbell rang. He hurried off to answer it and the rest of us remained silent. Mike shot me the same dirty look Dad had, Grace tried not to giggle at my so-called life, and KitKat ate corn.
“You really need to think of better times to talk,” Mike said, irritated with my existence.
A few moments later Dad walked back into the dining room, and I was a bit surprised to see Levi walking in behind him. In an instant I was standing. “What are you doing here?”
“Is this the boy?” Dad asked, gesturing toward me. “Did he do this to you?”
“What?!” I hissed, embarrassed and shocked. “No!”
Levi cocked an eyebrow and paused. “I’m sorry, if this is a bad time…”
“What are you doing here?” I asked again.
“Who are you?” Mom said to Levi. I could feel my cheeks heating up. My heart was picking up speed, too. He made me nervous and excited all at once, and even though my mind knew it was a stupid idea to feel this way, my heart didn’t care.
“I’m Levi, ma’am. I’m Kent Myers’ son. I came up here to stay with him for the school year. I’m Aria’s partner.” His accent made him seem so innocent.
“Kent’s son? Partner? What does that mean?” Dad hissed, annoyed as ever.
“Dadddd!” I screamed, extremely mortified, covering my face.
“I mean, she’s my partner in our art and music class.”
Mom stood up and tried her best to break up the awkwardness. “Sorry, Levi. I think right now is just a bad time.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Watson, I really am, but I was hoping I could talk to you really quick.”
Art & Soul Page 7