Mirage(37)

“I feel softer on the inside. I mean, not because of the hair, but because?—”

His head cocks to the side. “I knew what you meant, babe.”

I look down at my feet. He doesn’t let me linger in awkwardness. His finger tilts my chin up. His stare is a cocoon. “You’ve been through a lot. An experience like you had, nearly dying, it can change people, change their whole outlook on life.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone. I am changed. I see life differently now: how fragile and thin this world is. People don’t realize.” I reach my hand out to the air and touch nothing but the open doorway between this life and the next. “It’s right there. We can walk right through it. I’m scared to walk through it again, so I’m being extra careful. But it’s like nobody wants me to change. They don’t want this careful Ryan. They want me the way I was. I see how reckless I was before. How careless. I would think everyone would be happy I’ve changed from . . . that. But none of you are.”

Dom’s hand slides down my arm, and he gives my fingers a squeeze. “I’m not gonna lie and tell you that you made people feel comfortable. You’ve scared everyone you know at least once. Hell, you made my nuts shrivel up in fear with that low-pull jump.” He smiles and kisses my fingers. His voice softens again. “Thing is, you reminded everyone that the walls of safety they put around themselves are complete bullshit. By living out loud and full-on, you’re a reminder that they aren’t fully living, that they are too afraid. Baby, you’re a mirror for their fears.”

Maybe I’m a mirror for my own fears.

My breath catches. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe there are things about myself I don’t want to see.

“Change scares people too,” he says. “You seeming so different scares the stones out of them. But I believe in your fire. It’s still in there, just not raging right now, and that’s okay. Gives people a chance to catch their breath.”

“Beautiful, the way you see me. The way you talk.” He’s like Gran that way.

Impossibly, Dom’s smile grows even wider. “It’s like you don’t know me at all. Ah,” he says, dropping my hand and pulling something from his pocket. “Which reminds me. I was going to wait until later, but now seems like the right time. Close your eyes and open your hand.”

I grin and shut my eyes with my palm upturned, waiting. Whatever he places there is light: a little more weight than the warm air swirling around us. “Okay,” he whispers.

There’s an intricately folded origami tiger standing in the palm of my hand.

“I’m holding a tiger,” I say.

“I used to say that about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. Don’t be. I’m glad we’re talking again, like we used to.”

I turn the tiger over in my hand. He worked so hard on it, even painted it with minuscule strokes of color for the stripes and face.

“It’s got a message for you,” he says with a sly grin, but places his finger over my lips when I begin to ask what. “You’ll discover the message when you’re ready. Keep it somewhere safe. Now let’s go back to the hangar.”

He doesn’t grab my hand or put his arm around me, which I’m grateful for. I’m happy to have had the quiet moment talking with him. He didn’t make me feel bad for being different. Acceptance is a lovely thing when you know you don’t belong.

I’m surprised to see the hangar doors closed when we approach. It’s too early in the day to close. There were too many people around earlier to turn them away. This can’t be good for business. Dom takes one side of the sliding metal door and heaves it open.

A single reckless white balloon escapes through the crack of the door and out into the daylight, floating up into the sky. Free.

I squint and watch it bob and soar on the currents until it becomes one with the sky, disappearing from view.

“Surprise!”

Music kicks in, people are blowing on kazoos, and the hangar is filled with balloons and streamers and people with happy faces. I look to Dom. “Happy birthday!” they all yell.

“It’s . . . it’s your birthday?”

With a perplexed tilt of his head he replies, “It’s your birthday.”

I don’t know what to say. My parents walk toward me with satisfied grins that they pulled off the surprise.

“You didn’t remember your own birthday?” my mom says with a hearty hug and a laugh that doesn’t cover the consternation in her eyes. Her brows cinch. “That’s something coming from the girl who surprised us last year by throwing her own surprise party.”

My grandmother is perched in a lawn chair in the middle of the hangar, smoking a Swisher Sweet cigar. My mom lied about her being home alone. Fatigue draws at the wrinkled skin around Gran’s mouth, but she’s smiling and nodding her head to the music. Apparently, her not feeling well was all a ruse.

Avery leans against the wall under the flags in the back of the hangar. Her eyes find Dom before they turn to me, and then she smiles big and waves. I frown, not trusting a smile that looks like an afterthought.

Numerous skydiving friends and friends from school approach to wish me happy birthday. Too many faces and names compete for space. Too many jumbled memories. My eyes scan the room for a familiar comfort to anchor me. Joe’s absence is a hole in my chest.