A Thousand Letters(47)

My sisters laid out sleeping bags around the fireplace, and we turned Dad's bed, careful of the machine wires and tubes. And then we sat, telling stories, reminiscing. I watched Elliot as she roasted marshmallows, her face illuminated by the fire, the sound of her laughter filling my heart. I listened as she read Emerson's "Song of Nature," the words floating from her lips like a spell.

It was very late, the fire burned down to embers, and the house was quiet, everyone asleep but me and her, the lot of us lying scattered through the room in sleeping bags. And I found myself in the dark, found her in the dark. I found light and truth in the darkness, hiding there where I couldn't see, right in front of me the whole time.

And all I had to do was reach out and touch her.



Elliot

The room was quiet other than the chirping of crickets. Everyone was asleep except me, and I lay with my eyes on the ceiling, watching the stars next to Wade.

We were so close, close enough that I could reach out and touch him, but still so far away. Something had shifted though, the air between us charged with things he wanted to say — I could feel them in every word, every motion, as if the ice between us had begun to melt, and the boy I used to know was visible once again, though still distorted by the crystalline ice.

He was an enigma to me, every day providing a new challenge, a new fight. I never knew what I'd get. Angry and hot. Solemn and cold. Or warm, like today.

Today, the sun shone. Today, I saw him, saw the tenderness I'd longed for, dreamt of. Today, tonight, was magic.

My eyes were trained on the ceiling as I lost myself in my thoughts, and I was so intent that I didn't realize he wasn't asleep at all, not until his hand moved, reaching for mine in the dark. His fingers slipped into my palm and opened up, winding through my own, our hands clasped as if they were made to touch, as if they'd found their way home.

I turned my head to find him looking at me, his eyes catching the dim light of the room.

"I'm sorry," he whispered so softly, I wondered if I'd heard him at all.

"Me too," I whispered back, my voice too small.

His thumb shifted, stroking the back of my hand gently, and I was overcome, overwhelmed as I wondered if it were a dream. There were no words to speak aloud, the thousands of words we needed to say hanging in the air. But I didn't want them, not in that moment, that perfect, painful moment. I existed in the space between our hands, between the beating of our hearts, between the breaths we slowly sipped, savoring the moment I'd imagined for so long.

There was no certainty in what would come next, when the words found our hiding place and made themselves known.

Minutes passed, the clock on a shelf in the room ticking as we looked into each other's eyes and forgave and begged and hoped. And then, our twined hands weren't enough. He released me to drag my sleeping bag closer, and when he reached for me, when he pulled me into his side, I melted into him. His arms wrapped around me, and I closed my eyes, sure now that it was a dream, a beautiful dream.

I was whole again in his arms.

He held me tight, and I thought he might feel it was a dream too, as if we could hang on to each other and make everything all right, erase the past. I'd imagined it a hundred times, remembered a hundred moments like this, but different; this moment was pure, the honesty breaking me and healing me as we lay beneath the stars, spinning silently in the center.

"I'm scared," he whispered, his breath stirring my hair where his cheek pressed, warm and alive.

"I know," I answered, because I was scared too. And he held me in the dark in the silence until our hearts beat together and our minds slowed, slipping away into the solace of sleep.



Wade

The sun hadn't yet risen when I woke, but she was still in my arms, her body pressed against mine, our legs wound together. It had been so long, so very long, and I didn't want to breathe, didn't want to move for fear I'd wake her and the moment would end.

We'd said nothing, and we'd said everything, and I knew she understood me, understood how I felt, what I wanted, what I needed. We were connected, as much now as we'd ever been. Because with her in my arms, I knew she was all that mattered.

She had to know that I loved her, must have felt that love in the same way I'd felt her love for me, transmitted through her touch, through every breath.

But I wanted to tell her, wanted to speak the words, and as I held her in the early rays of dawn, I formed them in my mind, imagined the admission, reciting the things I needed to say. The things she needed to hear.

She stirred against my chest and sighed, and I squeezed her, slipping my hand into her dark hair, holding her against me.

We lay that way for a while, quiet, still until light slipped slowly into the room, and Dad coughed from behind us.

Elliot pulled away slowly and met my eyes, a flash of understanding in their depths with a smile full of promises before she stood and moved to his bed. He was still half in sleep, eyes listing lazily as he took in his surroundings and smiled.

"You took me camping, Elliot," he said, reaching for her face to cup her cheek.

"We did. And that's not all."

He smiled wider. "More surprises?"

"More surprises."

"Something to look forward to."

I stood and moved to the bed to sit on the edge. "Morning, Dad."

"My boy. Thank you."