Finding an Angel (5 page)

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says almost in a whisper.

“You didn’t scare me. I was scared for you. The thought of you…”

My sentence was cut short when my mom walks in with my meds. After whining about how tired they make me, I swallow all the pills.

“I’ll go so you can rest. Can we talk tomorrow?” There is something in his eyes. Something I’ve never seen before. Was he going to tell me goodbye? Is this the part where he tells me being friends with me makes his life a living hell?

I nod my head and he leaves saying goodnight to me.

The next day my stomach is in knots. Instead of staying around the house, I head out to my flowers with Miss Lilly in tow. Mom is still asking me about my hobby. Maybe sitting out here will help me with that. There’s nothing I’m good at. I’m too stupid to figure a lot of things out. I frown thinking back to the last time I said that about myself to Hunter.

But it’s true. You’re nothing but a stupid fucking retard. Your death would be a blessing to us all.

Sucking in a deep breath, I fight the tears that the bad voice makes burn my eyes. He isn’t going to get to me today or ever again. They can all fuck off.

Still as I sit there trying to think of a hobby, I feel the tears start to fall down my cheeks. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees as I gently rock myself. It is a vain effort to try and calm myself down. There really is nothing that
I
can do for a hobby. I’m not good at anything. And today, I’m almost sure of it, I’m losing my best friend.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His soft concerned voice fills my ears as I look up at him.

He reaches for me, but pulls back and stays the safe distance away from me. It makes me cry harder.

“Hey, I told you that you can’t cry in front of me because it makes me want to hold you and I can’t,” he pleads.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” I stand furious with myself. “I’m such a waste of space,  a dumbass, pathetic…”

“Stop it, Jessa,” he growls.

“Well, it’s true.” Facing him head on with tears still falling, I take a shaky breath and a sob escapes before I can stop it.

“Jessa.” It’s a clipped warning from him. I know it is. He hates it when I talk bad about myself, but dammit I’m going to get him to understand why it’s all true.

“My mom asked me to pick a hobby yesterday, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m not good enough or smart enough.” I hold up my hand when he starts to say something. “Then there’s this,” I gesture between us. “This beautiful friendship…” looking down at my shoes I move some of the flowers around I whisper my secret, “and maybe more.”

“Jess…”

“No please let me finish. You need to understand.” After his nod, I continue. “You have shown me nothing but respect, happiness, friendship, and trust. Yet here I stand still two feet apart because I can’t bear the thought of being hurt. Actually you could even say that I’m scared of what would happen if I let you closer. So, I keep the distance. For my safety and yours really. There are bad people watching all the time, Hunter. They could hurt you because I let you close.”

He sighs and looks at me. “No one is going to hurt me. Only you can do that. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to push me away. Let me make a deal with you. Let’s just try something, okay? If you don’t like it, I’ll back off. Okay?”

Nodding my head, but I’m sure he can see the uncertainty that felt as though it was going to choke me in my eyes. He has always told me that my eyes tell him everything.

“First, I want you to listen to a song for me tonight – and every night you need the reminder – and…”

“What song,” I interrupt.

“
When I Look At You
by Miley Cyrus. I think it might help you.”

“Okay,” I say as I commit the song to memory. “What else?”

“I’m going to stand closer to you each day until I’m able to sit right next to you in this field of flowers. Then I’m going to hold your hand because it’s something that I’ve been dying to do… picturing to do… Then I’m going to hold you because I think that’s the only way you’ll be able to feel what I can’t yet find the words to say. Small steps not all at once. At any time you just can’t handle it, I’ll go back to your safety distance and stay there. Can you do that?”

Swallowing hard, I think about it for a moment before answering. “I will try for you, Hunter.”

“Great,” he grins. “And I think art should be your hobby. I’ve been thinking about it all day. You love your flowers, but the minute you pick them they start the slow process of dying. And then of course during Fall and Winter, they’re not here at all. You could paint, draw, sketch whatever and always have your flowers with you whenever you wanted. I know you can do it. You’ll struggle in the beginning I know, but with your determination I know you can do it. No doubts,” he smiles, but it’s different.

“Thank you,” I whisper and my breath catches in my throat as he steps closer.

“Day One. Is this okay?”

“S-so far,” I answer with a shake to my voice and he smiles.

Present day…

The days to follow that day were some of the most exhilarating in my life. Every time I’d step closer, she’d take a deep shaky breath but never push me away. Her smile the day I sat next to her the first time is one I’ll never forget. It was like I finally found out what some of my friends at school had been talking about. They always talked about this buzz between them and a girl. Of course most of them were having sex already.

Me, I wasn’t ready for that kind of step and I didn’t lie about it either. Besides the only girl on my mind like that was the woman that had been my best friend for so long now.

When I’d told my mom about some of my friends having sex already, she was upset. She’d gone on and on about kids doing ‘grown up things’ way before the fully understood the ramifications that came with those. Of course she’d asked if I was. I told her no and told her that they’d probably know before I did because I’d need advice. My mom laughed at me and said, I wouldn’t if it was with the right girl.

Jessa had taken my suggestion about art and I got several paintings – and so did my parents – from her that would rival the most talented painters out there. She did incredible work. In fact, all growing up, I hung every single one up around my room. I didn’t care what they were, I hung them up.  My favorite and first one she’d ever given me was two hands reaching for each other, one definitely female and the other male. Actually, I still have that one.

My mom cried when she saw her first painting from her. I think even my dad got teary eyed over his. Mom got a painting of a cute little yorkie curled up with a bear with red, green, and yellow buttons down the front of his chest. Later, I’d found out that Mom had been talking to Jessa’s parents about her dog Gracie and how she gave her dog the bear she’d grown up with. Apparently, Jessa had been listening. Mom said it looked almost exactly like her.

Dad had gotten a painting of his first car he’d restored. In the background she had painted what the car had looked like before my father started to work on it, but the focal was definitely the finished product. When I asked if that was significant to him like it was to Mom, he’d told me the story. Then he told me that there’d been a fire and he lost all the pictures of progress from start to finish. He’d shaken his head saying, “Hang on to her, Son. She’s incredible.”

Every painting thereafter, all had special meanings. Either they meant something to her or something to us. We loved coming home and finding them on the porch. It had been the highlight of our days, especially one particular day when Jessa rocked my world again, but in an unexpected way.

Fifteen years old…

Out of habit, I walk over to her flower garden area. Though today everything looked like shit. No one could make me see different. I’m sure there was bright colorful flowers that Jessa will be eager to pick and give to her parents, but today I don’t see them. An invisible dark rain cloud hangs over my head. No matter how I try to shove the emotions down, I can’t.

“Hunt-” she stops abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

Realizing I can’t do this, that I can’t be here with her happiness while I’m drowning in my sorrows, I shake my head.

“I can’t come over today. Just wanted to let you know that. Maybe not for a while.”

As a fifteen year old boy, I’m ready to punch something that will help me feel some different type of pain. My anger is more acceptable to me than the overwhelming sadness. Anger didn’t make me weak. It didn’t make me a pussy. It didn’t allow the tears that burn my eyes to fall because there’s nothing I can do to change anything. There’s no putting my parents back together again. And there sure as fuck isn’t any making our pain go away.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again, standing right in front of me.

We’d made great progress in the closeness thing. Sadly, we’ve only gotten as far as the hand holding. But she said she’s working on it. Shaking my head, I look at her.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” I hiss at her unintentionally but I can’t stop it from coming out. “Go back to your happiness. Don’t come over or anything either. I can’t handle seeing or being around you right now.”

When I see the tears build in her eyes, guilt eats me alive, but I can’t change it. Anger is a fickle thing. It controls you. It takes over every movement, speech, decision… everything. When you let it take charge, it controls you. So when Jessa reaches for my hand, I yank mine away from her as if I’m repulsed by the touch. Glaring, I shake my head and turn and walk away without another word to her. I leave her standing there thinking I hate her. What was left of my heart broke even more, but right now… At this moment, anger controls me.

Opening our front door, I slam it shut. My mom jumps as I do so. Dad gets up and walks over in my direction.

“Don’t,” I threaten. “Don’t waste your damn breath. Take care of Mom like you’re supposed to do. I’ll be just fucking fine.”

With that I storm upstairs, I slam my door and start punching holes in the walls. Ripping her paintings down one by one and busting the frames and ripping the pictures to shreds. This continues until I reach the one above my bed. The one of the woman and man reaching for each other. I can’t destroy it. And anger finally leaves me.

Now that the anger was gone, sorrow and regret fill me to my core. “I’m so sorry, Jessa. I love you and I just treated you…” I trace the hands in the painting and I let the tears fall.

Fifteen years old…

Tears fall mercilessly down my cheeks as I stand frozen in my spot. I’ve never felt like this before. This consuming ache in my chest is foreign and I don’t like it. That wasn’t
my
Hunter, I observe as I watch his retreating back disappear around into the distance. That man… I don’t know, but something happened. Finally getting my feet to move, I run to the house to find my parents talking quietly with each other.

When I walk into the room, they stop and both look at me. Dad is the first to get up and wrap me in a hug.

“What’s… going… on,” I cry into his chest. “Hunter was just here and he was so mean to me. He broke my heart,” I sob.

“Come here sweetie. Sit down at the table for a moment. We need to talk,” Mom says as she pats the chair Dad was sitting in.

Cautiously, I move to take a seat at the table. Both of them take one of my hands, my mom has tears in her eyes and looks to my dad. He swallows hard and looks at me with sad eyes.

“Baby, Hunter is hurting. Don’t take anything he said or did to heart. I know when he realizes what he’s done, he’ll regret every second and wish he could take it back.”

“What’s happened? Please tell me. I can’t be there for him if I don’t know what’s wrong,” I plead with each of them, looking at them in turn.

“Does the name Hawkeye sound familiar to you?” Mom asks patiently.

“Yes. It’s Hunter’s brother overseas. I wrote him and he sent me letters back and pictures of him and Hunter and a picture of him.”

“Honey, he died. He was fighting overseas…”

“Hunter lost his best friend…” I whisper.

“Yes, he did and the Sandeans lost a son. So, please don’t take…”

Pushing from the table, I run to my room and I shut and lock the door. He doesn’t hate me. His heart is broken. Pulling out the pictures that Hawkeye had sent me, I start to work on three special paintings. I got to know Hawkeye a little from his letters; his relationship with each of his parents and his brother. So I know what I’m going to paint. Setting up four canvases, I start to work and I work without eating because I know Hunter won’t be. I didn’t sleep because I know Hunter won’t be. All I did was work on my paintings.

By midday the next day, they are done and dry. “Mom! Dad!” I yell opening my door.

They both rush into my room and their hands fly to their mouths on a gasp. Mom immediately starts crying silent tears and Dad stands there with his mouth gaping in shock.

“I need help getting these wrapped. Oh, and I also need an envelope for a letter and something else.”

Shaking his head, Dad asks, “How big of an envelope?”

“One of those big brown ones will work.”

Quickly, we set about wrapping them and wrote their names on them. The envelope I secure to the rope that crisscrosses around the four paintings. Walking quickly, I deliver them to their door and knock loud. I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I just run around out of sight, but making sure they got their gifts from me. Mr. Sandean is the one that opens the door, looking around he almost shuts it until he sees my packages laying there. He dips down, collects them, and goes back in, closing the door behind him. I don’t know if they’d read and open them now or if it’d be a while. So I go back home.