Little Do We Know(41)

The sermon must have ended. Through the meditative chimes in my ears I could hear Aaron playing his guitar and people singing along. And then I heard the bell ring. But I didn’t move. I wanted to hide in the balcony all day, ignoring my classes and my friends and everything else. I wanted to forget about everything that happened over the last three days and clear my mind.

Ten minutes might have passed. Maybe even more. I’d stopped thinking about time and death and doubts and everything else. And for a moment, I felt it. I wasn’t fighting the thoughts anymore. My mind was completely quiet. I was still. It felt incredible, like my bones were gone and my whole body was filled with helium instead. I pictured myself lifting off the pew, floating past the edge of the balcony, and traveling over the whole sanctuary like a stray balloon.

“You okay?” I opened my eyes to find Aaron sitting next to me.

It was a simple question, but I didn’t know how to respond. I was okay, and I wasn’t. I pulled my earbuds out and let them drop to my lap.

He hooked his thumb toward the sound booth. “Want to talk?”

I nodded. At least it would be quiet in there.

I waited while he jiggled the key in the lock and carefully opened the door, and then we both slipped inside and walked straight to our stools in front of the computer monitor, like it was our spot.

Aaron didn’t say a word. He sat facing me with his hands on his knees, leaning in, waiting for me to begin.

“My neighbor Emory is an actress,” I said. “Back in sixth grade, she got this part on a TV show. They only shot the pilot and two episodes before it was canceled. But after that, every time we’d watch TV together, she’d narrate what was going on behind the scenes, you know, telling me all the stuff you couldn’t see. She’d point out flaws in the set that no one would have noticed, and tell me how all the actors were probably sitting off to the side, playing on their phones or catching a nap until it was their turn to step into a scene. She said she couldn’t watch TV the same way again. The magic was gone.”

Aaron nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

I looked out the sound booth window. The stage below was empty.

“My dad stood up there, talking about what happened the other day like it was some big miracle, but he never mentioned anything about the paramedics, or the intubation tube, or the medicine they shot into Luke’s arm, or the paddles they brought to his chest after they drove away from us. He only talks about the magic. Like those TV shows, it’s all about the story onstage, and never about what’s going on behind the scenes. He’s in charge of what people see and hear. And they see and hear what he wants them to see and hear.

“I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz,” I continued. “Like I’m peeling back the curtain to find that everything I thought was big and bright and real is really just one guy with a bunch of levers and sound machines, orchestrating the whole thing.”

I was talking fast, like I was afraid if I stopped I wouldn’t be able to finish.

“It’s not that I think my dad’s lying up there. He’s not. He believes everything he’s saying. And if it were a few months ago, I would have believed it, too. I would have loved that story he told today. I would have been in the front row, feeling blessed and honored, like a saint, because God had chosen me to be part of a miracle. But I don’t see it that way anymore.”

Aaron hadn’t taken his eyes off me once.

I combed my fingers through my hair as I gathered my thoughts.

“I don’t want to feel this way. I liked the magic. I liked the show.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said.

“No, that’s the thing. I’m not sorry. It feels good to be curious. I like questioning everything. I feel awake. But I’m scared, too. I’m afraid that every doubt I have is pulling me away from my dad, and from my mom, and from the people in this church—like Alyssa, and Logan, and Jack, and you—who believe with their whole hearts, because I’m not sure I’m one hundred percent in anymore, you know? And that’s terrifying.”

But it was exhilarating at the same time. I pictured myself as that balloon again, floating around the sanctuary, weightless and free.

“I feel awake. I’m scared to keep opening doors, but I’m so curious to learn what’s behind them. And now I know too much. I can’t go back. I don’t want to.”

When I finally stopped for breath, I realized that Aaron had a huge smile on his face.

“I sound insane, don’t I?”

“No. You sound happy.”

“Do I?” I let out a nervous laugh. “I thought I sounded as confused as I feel.”

“You don’t sound confused at all.”

He was right. I wasn’t confused. I felt strong. Brave. Alive. Red.

Aaron took his cap off and set it on the desk, and I found myself following his movements. My gaze settled on his chest, and then his shoulders, and then his lips. I thought about our text exchange on Friday night, and all the others we’d had over the weekend. I remembered the easy way I’d touched his leg a few days earlier.

And then I must have channeled Alyssa or Emory—the truly daring, truly red ones—I let my hand slide onto his knee. And that time, I didn’t pull it away.

I looked up at him from under my eyelashes.

I waited for him to move.