All Things Pretty
Page 43
********
Nothing about the day or the evening is routine. From spending the morning and afternoon locked away in Sig’s arms to picking up Travis from school and hearing the suggestion that the three of us should go out to eat and see a movie, everything is different.
I would’ve nipped it in the bud immediately had Travis not seemed to so enjoy playing football with Sig. I know he needs friends and a man around, but his Asperger’s makes it challenging to integrate new things, which normally upset his routine, which, in turn, upsets him. But after seeing the enthusiasm on his face (which is a big step for Travis who hides most every emotion behind the brim of his hat) and him asking with big, soulful eyes, “Can we go?” I thought maybe it’s time to stop guarding him so closely. He is growing up after all. And this normalcy is what I want for him more than anything. So I agree, knowing that it’s only a huge bonus that I get to spend more time with Sig.
“We can go.”
I see Travis tightly controlling a smile when he leans back against the cushion of the back seat.
And so goes the night. Sig drops us home, giving me a wink that says he knows I need time to take care of my mother. He promises that he’ll be back around five so we can eat before a seven o’clock movie.
Everything goes off without a hitch. Travis is so comfortable around Sig, it makes me second-guess holding him so close. I hope desperately that I haven’t hurt him by going too far in the other direction. But I can’t forget the months that he spent away from me and how far his health–mental, emotional and physical–declined.
Maybe it’s not too late, I tell myself as we’re leaving, Travis and Sig tossing a balled up wad of napkins from the theater back and forth, challenging each other over Harry Potter movie trivia.
“How do you know so much about Harry Potter? Aren’t you a little old to be watching shit like that?”
“There’s no such thing as too old for Harry Potter. And how dare you refer to HP movies as ‘shit like that’. I’ll kick your ass, lil man.”
“Bring it, Conan,” Travis replies in the way that boys do.
Sig puts his big hands on either side of Travis’s skull and pretends to squeeze hard. “I will crush you!” he says in a low, harsh voice that’s probably supposed to sound like a movie character. Something that goes far above my head. I’ve never had enough time or brain space for too many frivolous things like movies and normal girl stuff. But I’m glad that Travis has.
Rather than making me feel bitter or resentful, the thought brings me incredible peace, like maybe all that I’ve done has helped him. Somehow. Just a little. Because that’s all I’ve wanted–for him to grow up in as much of a normal way as possible.
Their banter continues all the way home. Sig catches my eye occasionally and gives me a wink or a warm smile that says, no matter what else is going on, he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to kiss me. I get a little chill every time he does it.
Back at our house, when I would otherwise have said goodnight to Sig (at least until I could get away without notice), Travis begs him to stay and play some video games. Sig glances at me, as though asking if it’s okay. I nod imperceptibly.
“Only if you’re okay with losing,” he tells Travis.
“You wish, gangsta.”
I shake my head when they continue this all the way up the walk and through the house to Travis’s room.
I look in on Momma and get her ready for the night. Although it hasn’t been mentioned, I assume that I’ll sneak my way to Sig’s at some point and sneak back home in the morning. I won’t have to leave as early, though. Travis will sleep until at least noon.
Some time later, a hand gently jostles me awake and I shoot upright, glancing around at the clock behind my head. Five minutes until midnight.
“Sorry,” I tell Sig as I stretch, trying to wake up.
“Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding one hand behind my back, the other under my knees and lifting me into his arms. “I’m kidnapping you.”
I smile, hoping very much that this would happen.
“Travis?” I ask.
“Fell asleep in his gaming chair. I put him in his bed. He’ll be fine.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling more content than I have a right to, all things considered. “Then kidnap away. As long as you have me home by morning.”
“As you wish,” he mutters, carrying me out the door.
********
The hours run together like the muted colors of an abstract painting. I’m blissfully unaware of time. I flow through it like a ship through water, rather than stopping to engage in the ever-present battle of wills that I normally experience. Instead of dreading the morning when I have to go back to Lance or counting the minutes until I can get home and be away from him, I find myself enjoying the passage of every single one of them.
When Sig and I are alone, his hands are on me. His mouth, his body, his attention–they’re all mine. And I’m all his. And when we’re not alone, there’s an easy thread that seems to float invisibly between us, tying us together. Whether he’s talking to Travis or throwing the Frisbee with him in the park or the three of us are eating hot dogs from the rarely-used grill in my back yard, there’s always this awareness that we share. Sometimes when I’m watching him, he’ll sneak a glance my way, like he can feel it. Or sometimes when he’s midsentence with Travis, his head will turn toward me and he’ll wink, never missing a beat. It’s as though no matter what else is going on, we are at the forefront of each other’s mind.
After we eat, I pop some popcorn and we sit down for a viewing of Anchorman one and two. According to Travis and Sig, that fact that I haven’t seen either one is a travesty of epic proportions and must be amended immediately. I laugh at several things in the movie, but I think I laugh more at the two of them quoting lines and adding their two cents, undoubtedly having seen the films numerous times.
When Travis makes his way to bed, Sig sits with me on the couch, his hand making lazy circles on my thigh until Travis’s soft snoring can be heard. Then, although I’m exhausted from so little sleep, I come instantly to a strange alertness and I let him sweep me away again.
He doesn’t drive me straight to his house, though. He goes past it and on to the park we visited earlier. “What are we doing back here?” I ask, anxious to feel his skin against mine and not really very enthused about any side trips that will delay it.
Nothing about the day or the evening is routine. From spending the morning and afternoon locked away in Sig’s arms to picking up Travis from school and hearing the suggestion that the three of us should go out to eat and see a movie, everything is different.
I would’ve nipped it in the bud immediately had Travis not seemed to so enjoy playing football with Sig. I know he needs friends and a man around, but his Asperger’s makes it challenging to integrate new things, which normally upset his routine, which, in turn, upsets him. But after seeing the enthusiasm on his face (which is a big step for Travis who hides most every emotion behind the brim of his hat) and him asking with big, soulful eyes, “Can we go?” I thought maybe it’s time to stop guarding him so closely. He is growing up after all. And this normalcy is what I want for him more than anything. So I agree, knowing that it’s only a huge bonus that I get to spend more time with Sig.
“We can go.”
I see Travis tightly controlling a smile when he leans back against the cushion of the back seat.
And so goes the night. Sig drops us home, giving me a wink that says he knows I need time to take care of my mother. He promises that he’ll be back around five so we can eat before a seven o’clock movie.
Everything goes off without a hitch. Travis is so comfortable around Sig, it makes me second-guess holding him so close. I hope desperately that I haven’t hurt him by going too far in the other direction. But I can’t forget the months that he spent away from me and how far his health–mental, emotional and physical–declined.
Maybe it’s not too late, I tell myself as we’re leaving, Travis and Sig tossing a balled up wad of napkins from the theater back and forth, challenging each other over Harry Potter movie trivia.
“How do you know so much about Harry Potter? Aren’t you a little old to be watching shit like that?”
“There’s no such thing as too old for Harry Potter. And how dare you refer to HP movies as ‘shit like that’. I’ll kick your ass, lil man.”
“Bring it, Conan,” Travis replies in the way that boys do.
Sig puts his big hands on either side of Travis’s skull and pretends to squeeze hard. “I will crush you!” he says in a low, harsh voice that’s probably supposed to sound like a movie character. Something that goes far above my head. I’ve never had enough time or brain space for too many frivolous things like movies and normal girl stuff. But I’m glad that Travis has.
Rather than making me feel bitter or resentful, the thought brings me incredible peace, like maybe all that I’ve done has helped him. Somehow. Just a little. Because that’s all I’ve wanted–for him to grow up in as much of a normal way as possible.
Their banter continues all the way home. Sig catches my eye occasionally and gives me a wink or a warm smile that says, no matter what else is going on, he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to kiss me. I get a little chill every time he does it.
Back at our house, when I would otherwise have said goodnight to Sig (at least until I could get away without notice), Travis begs him to stay and play some video games. Sig glances at me, as though asking if it’s okay. I nod imperceptibly.
“Only if you’re okay with losing,” he tells Travis.
“You wish, gangsta.”
I shake my head when they continue this all the way up the walk and through the house to Travis’s room.
I look in on Momma and get her ready for the night. Although it hasn’t been mentioned, I assume that I’ll sneak my way to Sig’s at some point and sneak back home in the morning. I won’t have to leave as early, though. Travis will sleep until at least noon.
Some time later, a hand gently jostles me awake and I shoot upright, glancing around at the clock behind my head. Five minutes until midnight.
“Sorry,” I tell Sig as I stretch, trying to wake up.
“Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding one hand behind my back, the other under my knees and lifting me into his arms. “I’m kidnapping you.”
I smile, hoping very much that this would happen.
“Travis?” I ask.
“Fell asleep in his gaming chair. I put him in his bed. He’ll be fine.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling more content than I have a right to, all things considered. “Then kidnap away. As long as you have me home by morning.”
“As you wish,” he mutters, carrying me out the door.
********
The hours run together like the muted colors of an abstract painting. I’m blissfully unaware of time. I flow through it like a ship through water, rather than stopping to engage in the ever-present battle of wills that I normally experience. Instead of dreading the morning when I have to go back to Lance or counting the minutes until I can get home and be away from him, I find myself enjoying the passage of every single one of them.
When Sig and I are alone, his hands are on me. His mouth, his body, his attention–they’re all mine. And I’m all his. And when we’re not alone, there’s an easy thread that seems to float invisibly between us, tying us together. Whether he’s talking to Travis or throwing the Frisbee with him in the park or the three of us are eating hot dogs from the rarely-used grill in my back yard, there’s always this awareness that we share. Sometimes when I’m watching him, he’ll sneak a glance my way, like he can feel it. Or sometimes when he’s midsentence with Travis, his head will turn toward me and he’ll wink, never missing a beat. It’s as though no matter what else is going on, we are at the forefront of each other’s mind.
After we eat, I pop some popcorn and we sit down for a viewing of Anchorman one and two. According to Travis and Sig, that fact that I haven’t seen either one is a travesty of epic proportions and must be amended immediately. I laugh at several things in the movie, but I think I laugh more at the two of them quoting lines and adding their two cents, undoubtedly having seen the films numerous times.
When Travis makes his way to bed, Sig sits with me on the couch, his hand making lazy circles on my thigh until Travis’s soft snoring can be heard. Then, although I’m exhausted from so little sleep, I come instantly to a strange alertness and I let him sweep me away again.
He doesn’t drive me straight to his house, though. He goes past it and on to the park we visited earlier. “What are we doing back here?” I ask, anxious to feel his skin against mine and not really very enthused about any side trips that will delay it.
