carrying a weight they no longer want.

I'm not sure if it's the diner, having Gran

back at the house, or everything with Nacy. But it's as if I'm slowly being pushed
toward a
clif, and now I have to decide whether I'm willing to jump or not. When Nacy opens
the door, I stand there for what seems like an eternity. Staring. Nothing else
matters and
for a second, everything else gets washed away my bullshit flows sout with the
tide, leaving a pool of calm right in the center— because she grounds me. "Dylan?"
She
flaps a hand in front of my face and draws me out of my daze. "You okay?" My
shoulders slump on a sigh. "I don't know," I answer truthfully, because with her
there's
never anything else. "Can we walk for a bit?" She bends her head as if surveying my
face for clues. "Of course. Let me just grab my sandals." I shake my head, scolding
myself as she bounced away. I'm not in such a state that I can't appreciate how
adorable she looks in her sleep shorts and tank. Thank the gods she has a bra on.
Even in my
darkest hour, I'm not immune... not to her. "Okay, all set." We walk for a little
while in silence. The cool night air does nothing to take the edge of the tension
brewing inside
of me. Thankfully, Nacy doesn't push for information. She knows me. When I'm ready,
I will talk. "I need you to promise me something," I finally say. I'm staring
straight
ahead but the heat of her gaze burns the side of my face. "Hmph. Depends at what it
is," she teases, but I am not in a teasing mood. "I want you to promise me you
won't go
running alone at night. If you want to run, cal me, and I'll bike alongside you."
"Dylan. I can take care—" "God damn it, Nacy!" I fist a hand on my hip, my jaw
ticking.
"I know you can take care of yourself. I know you don't need anyone. But please,
just this once, do't fight me!" I pinch the bridge of my nose, my tone becoming
softer. "I
need to know you're safe... I-I ca not lose you." My eyes remain fixated on the
sidewalk as I try to appear put together when I'm crumbling inside. "I just can't."
"Hey."
She touched my arm, and it'a gentle, reassuring. I lift my head to a sincere smile.
"Okay, I promise." "Okay." With one less thing to worry about, my anxiety should
diminish, but it doesn't. Nacy's fingers wander down to mine as if she senses the
oncoming explosoin. It's more an erupton of thoughts, my mind traveling from one to
the next,
back and forth, around and around. My very own spin cycle. "You know, I'm freaking
twenty years old and you'd think I was forty. I work, I come home, and then I get
up
and work again. I'm not at college, or partying, or doing anything a person my age
should be doing." "So what, Dylan? It's not about what you think you should be
doing
because everyone farges their own path. It's about what you want. What do you
want?" It comes of as such a simple question, and aside from the obvious—which is
apparently obvious to everyone but her—I have no idea. "Because don't you see?
That's just the thing. You're twenty. You can go and be and do whatever you want.
You
aren't trapped by time. You're the only one limiting yourself. I don't know...
sometimes I think you feel you're being selfish. But you're young, Dylan. You're
supposed to be
selfish. If there was ever a time to think about yourself, it's now. So, if you
want to go to school for art, or become a professional baseball player, or even fly
to the moon. Just do
it." For the first time tonight, I actually chuckle. "You're my own personal Nike
commercial, you know that? Are you sure you don't want to go to school for
psychology and
not English lit?" "Uh no," she giggles, "I'll leave that to the experts." "It is
kind of laughable, though, you know?" I reflect, trying to wrap my head around the
irony of it
all. "My father rode me so hard, you'd think I hal have ended up being one of those
overachievers, when in fact, I became the opposite. I wonder if that was
intentional
subconsciously on my part. I bet Nora would have a field day with that." "I'm sure
she would." Nacy's smile is warm, calming. "Speaking of Nora, I saw her the other
day."
"How is crazy Nora?" I exhale, happy to take the focus away from me for a little
while. She's much more fascinating. "She's great." There's so much admiration in
her tone it
makes me smile. "I'm so proud of her, you know? She's living her dream. Ever since
we were kids she wanted to be a psychologist, and in two years she'll have her
degree." All
five foot eight inches of her looks up at me and shorts. "Do you remember that time
when you walked in on us, and she had me sitting in front of my mom's desk while
she sat
in her big leather chair with a white, lined pad. Oh my God," she laughs, and it
resonates in my core, "she kept asking me over and over how my day was and if there
was
anything bothering me that we should discuss. When the timer went of after an hour,
she walked me out of my own house with a handshake and a package of Tic-Tacs." We
laugh together about that for a while, my mind getting a breather until the
thoughts creep back in. "Gran told me that my mother wanted to be a dancer. I gues
she even got
into Julliard." "What?" Surprise lifts hre voice, an exact replica of my own
response. "Tell me about it. I can't imagine my mother as a dancer. She was to
stif. I didn't even
knew she enjoyed music. There's obviously a lot I didn't know about her." Sadness
scratches at my throat, but I clear it, hoping to push it away. "Sometimes, I would
see her
sitting in that chair by the window, just staring, for what seemed like hours. I
always wondered what she was looking at. When I'd call her name and she'd turn
around, it
was like she didn't even see me. Like she was somewhere else." Nacy gives my hand a
comforting squeeze as the cool breeze whips across my skin, dangling pieces of a
past I'd
like to forget. By the time we reach the end of the street and Hilldale Park comes
into focus, all is forgotten. I chance a look at Nacy's face. Her lips hitch up at
the corners,
and I know she sees it. THE SWING COMES into view and the memories attack me al at
once, a flood of sensations pinging my skin one by one. I see my mother, her
caramel
hair blowing against her smile, pushing me as I giggled, my barely-there legs
hanging over the edge of that metal seat. My tiny hands slipping down each side of
the rope,
now frayed from weather and time. And there was always a story, each one different
than the next. Sometimes she would tell a tale of the wind and the trees, the sky
or the
sun. Always with a little girl. A tiny thing with bright red pigtails and pants
that were too short for her long frame. But she always had a smile, and she loved
to laugh. I
blink and my mother's shadow is gone, leaving a boy in her place. Shaggy, dark hair
falling a big brown eyes. Day after day, he stood there pushing me on that same
swing, listening to wrenching cries as I sobbed for the loss of my mother and
father, of ering his shoulder when I could no longer hold my head up My wision
blurs, my heart
breaking yet filling at the same time. Dylan was just a teenager. A boy going
through a hard time himself. Yet he understood, because he had also experienced
loss. "Sit."
Dylan's calm tone wakes me from my memories, and we're already standing in front of
the swing. My legs carried me forward while my mind stayed behind. The seat is just
as hard as I remember, the view still the same. "It has not changed much, huh,
Lenci?" "Nope." He gives me a small push and I know he's smiling. "But then, we
wouldn't
want it to, would we?" "No." I pause, taking in the beautiful oak tree, each branch
reaching out to the next as if they need one another so desperately. "I loved those
stories my
mom would tell me, especially the one about the wind. How it tickled the trees and
when they laughed, the sky smiled." My own smile shines through a single tear
because now
she is one with the sky, and the wind, and the trees. As much as I miss her, I know
they are taking good care of her. "I love that one," Dylan admits, "and I know
that's why
you love to read so much, because of all those stories your mom crafted for you." I
glance over my shoulder through a curtain of hair. "Oh, you know, do you?" "I know
everything about you, Hopper." "Oh, yeah, and what do you know?" I tease, enjoying
our back and forth banter, excited to hear what he has to say next. "A lot of
things," he
utters confidently. "Like how you always measure out your peanut butter, making
sure you don't eat more than two tablespoons at a time." He chuckles. "Fat content,
of
course. And how you can't live without music. The first six songs on your iPod are
by Ed Sheeran, and if he ever showed up at your door, you'd fall at his feet." That
makes
me giggle, because he's spot on about that one. "Your favorite color is purple," he
adds, "and you love violets. You hate camping, but you never complained about it
because
you knew your parents loved exposing you and Zoey to nature." He keeps going,
little by little, a piece of me being revealed with each breath. "When we were in
middle
school, you brought two bag lunches every day for three weeks, and gave one to the
homeless guy who sat on the bench a block from the school. And you love to save
things, not
in a hoarding way, but in a sentimental way. The same way your mom did. Like that
worn lucky penny you found when we were eight." Wetness begins to build behind my
eyelids, but then spills over at his next words. "You still keep an old journal in
your dock drawer, because you don't want to forget where you've come from, and you
love to
dance in the rain because your mom used to take you out during summer storms to
jump in puddles." Tears rnu down my skin, my pulse thrashes against my neck. "And I
know with absolute certainty that you are one of the most selfless people I've ever
met. That you would give the shirt of your back to someone who needed it, even if
it meant
you'd be cold. "And you know what else I know?" I shake my head in answer, my voice
unable to catch up to my tears. He comes around to the front of the swing and
kneels
down on the ground. The sincerity in his gaze takes my breath away. "I knew that
your mom was right. You were meant to shine, just like Sirius, the brightest star
in the
sky." He brushes a tear away with his thumb. "I did't mean to make you cry. I gues,
I...," his eyes are full of uncertainty, "I wanted you to know that I've always
seen you.
That's not a bad thing, is it?" "No, Dylan." I cup his jaw in the warmth of my
palm, whispering, "it's the very best thing." His breathing picks up. His gaze
drifts from my
eyes, down to my mouth, then back up again. My own breathing becomes erratic and I
swallow. For a split second, I think he might kiss me. In fact, it surprises me how
much I want him to. My tongue darts out to wet my mouth as I imagine what his full
bottom lip would feel like underneath mine. But he stands up, and the spel is
broken.
He takes my hand and fireworks crackle and spark in my belly. While it's the same
hand I held not more than a few minutes ago, it seems dif erent somehow. My mind is
playing tricks on me again and I'm in desperate need of a distraction. Like now.
"Think of how mor of my tears have soaked this seat?" I blurt out when I feel his
gaze on me
again. "And how did we go from talking about you to ending up with me?" "Eh. I'm
not really keeping track. Besides," he winks, "you'r much more interesting." "I beg
to dif