The Red Thread (11 page)

I shrug once again. Why not get everything out already?

“I’m going to tell you now, Adam: I’m an incredibly sad man. I always have been, and I just sometimes don’t know how to control my sadness. I used to be in a really dark place, but I’m trying to get through it. The medication is helping a lot, and so is the therapy. I know you must be thinking why you asked me out now?”

I awkwardly chuckle, and Adam grips my hand. I like the feeling of his hand in mine. It feels nice. It feels right.

“N-n-not at all. I, I am g-g-g-glad I am h-here. With y-you.”

I can’t stop my smile, nor can I stop the blush that rises to my cheeks. How is it humanly possible for someone to make someone else feel this good?

The waitress brings the food to our table, and we eat and keep on talking. As we continue to converse, it’s like the world is a canvas, and everything bleeds away except for just the two of us. The canvas is blank, and we only focus on one another.

AFTER DINNER,
which Adam pays for, we get back in to his car, and he drives away. He holds my hand, while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. His smile is so big; it’s like a child’s grin.

“Is th-this o-okay?” he questions, sounding worried.

“What is?” I hope he isn’t getting second thoughts already.

“M-me holding your, your h-h-hand?”

I smile. “Definitely. It’s more than okay.”

“Good. Do you w-w-want to s-s-s-s-see my apartment?”

The smile fades from my face. Is this why he wanted to see me? He wanted to get some action. I should’ve known. He had an ulterior motive.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I broadly state.

The car comes to a screeching stop, almost like a hiccup, and then Adam drives again. His cheeks turn bright red, and he opens his mouth, but I think I made him too flustered to say anything. Every time he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

“I, I, I didn’t m-m-m-m-mean it, it, um, like th-that….”

“Oh… sorry.”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Well, I just ruined a good moment, once again. I’m really rewriting
all
the rules of first-date etiquette tonight, aren’t I?

“I l-like you, J-Jess and I, I w-w-w-want to g-get to know you b-b-better. That is, is my o-only motive. I s-s-s-s-s-swear.”

He sounds so sure, and when I look up at his face, I know to believe him. There is something in his eyes. Honesty.

“I believe you. I’m just awkward and weird. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he mutters.

He drives the two of us to a small building, and he leads me inside. I follow him up a staircase, and we stop outside a white door on the second floor. He pulls out a key, and he leads me into a small but quaint apartment. Family photos line the walls, and I see posters of musicians. There’s a bookshelf full of books and a small television, with a large mess of DVDs piling high.

“W-welcome to my h-h-home.”

“You said your uncle helped you get this place?”

“Y-yeah. I was living in New-New York, but my r-r-r-roommates screwed m-me over, and they, they both l-left. I was forced to m-move out, s-s-s-s-since I couldn’t pay the, um, rent by my-myself. My uncle off-offered to help me, and h-here I am.”

“Geez, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “That really sucks. Why didn’t your parents help you?”

He looks away, and I instantly realize I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m really on a roll tonight….

“They died,” he chokes out.

“I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. What do I do? Should I hug him, or should I just leave him alone?

“It’s o-o-okay. I, I was young. My un-uncle r-r-raised me. He m-m-moved to Wilshire a c-c-c-couple years ago w-when I w-w-w-was still away at c-c-college, and w-w-w-would always t-t-tell me how, how much he l-loved it here.”

I don’t know what causes me to do it, but I instantly pull him into a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck. I have to stand on my tiptoes to even somewhat reach, but it’s worth the strain on my toes when he wraps his strong arms around my waist. He pulls me close, and he looks down into my eyes. He closes his eyes, and I follow suit. His lips are everything I imagined they would be. When they meet mine, they’re soft and perfect. They taste like heaven. The kiss is short but sweet. As he pulls away, I want his lips back on mine again, but his smile makes it worth it. His eyes seem to sparkle, and I know at that moment, I might be in deep. I might be in
very
deep. Shit.

We sit on his couch, and as he wraps his arm around my shoulders, I cuddle up. My body seems to fit perfectly with his. I close my eyes and rest my head against his chest. I must let out a sigh, because Adam tells me this feels good too.

I open my eyes and look at the bookshelf.

“What books do you have?” I leave Adam’s side, the magnetism of books drawing me toward them.

“They’re all m-m-music.”

He isn’t kidding. Each book is about a different musician or composer, and many of them are music composition books.

“Are you a musician?”

“Y-yeah. I p-play the violin. M-music is my l-life. I want to t-t-teach m-music. I g-g-g-give v-v-violin l-lessons to g-g-get s-s-s-s-s-some extra money.”

“Are you good?”

“Quite,” he responds with a proud smile on his face.

I return to the couch, and he pulls me back to him.

“One day, you should play for me.”

“D-deal.”

He kisses the top of my head, and I just want this moment to last forever. I want to freeze time, so neither of us can leave this moment. A never-ending perfect moment. It’s like I’m forgetting about the darkness within me.

“S-s-s-s-so what is your f-f-f-favorite s-s-s-s-song?” he asks me.

“‘Mad World,’ by Tears for Fears. Yours?”

“I-I Want t-to Hold Your H-Hand, by the B-B-Beatles.”

And there he goes picking something beautiful and somewhat happy, depending on how you look at the song. The song is about simplicity. That is what makes it so beautiful. It takes raw human emotion and narrows it down to just wanting to hold someone’s hand. It is also quite complex, because holding a person’s hand can be the most important thing in the world. It can be scary, but it can be life-changing. What makes the song even more brilliant is that while someone is singing about wanting to hold someone’s hand, you don’t know if they are with the person right now or not. It could be unrequited. For all we know, the person is sad and lonely and just wants to hold the other’s hand. There are so many songs about love and sex, but the simple act of holding one’s hand is like taking a dive into love. There is something so intimate yet sweet about holding hands.

I take hold of Adam’s hand.

I WAKE
up the next morning, in
my own
bed, with an actual smile on my face. Memories from the night before flood right back, and I want to go back and relive all those moments. After Adam and I spoke for hours on end in his apartment, he drove me back home, and he kissed me good night. I learned so much about him. He loves Chinese food, and he loves children. He is a huge science-fiction nerd. I also learned that he really is as genuinely nice as he seems. Neither one of us were ready to say good-bye as we stood on my doorstep. I wanted to just stay with him for as long as I could. The kiss lasted a bit longer, and as I entered the house, I was met by my mom
and
Clara sitting in the kitchen. They each had a huge grin on their face, and they barraged me with questions. Was he nice? Did you have fun? Where did you go? Do you like him? Are you going to see him again? I answered each and every one of their questions in my own standoffish way—with as little words as possible. After about an hour, they finally let me go to bed, where I could lie there and just think about everything that happened.

I am so happy to not have work today because more than anything I don’t want to get up and work. I love the bookshop, but I just want to bask in last night’s glory. It’s not often that I am happy, and last night I was truly happy. I want to savor that happiness, because if it disappears again, I want to make this last as long as I can. Maybe it’ll give me something to remember, something to pull me back. It’ll be my lifeboat in the sea of darkness.

As I lie here in bed, enveloped by my thick quilt, I think of one notion: dancing. I don’t know why the thought of dancing comes to my mind, but I have the image of Adam and me dancing together. No one has ever asked me to dance before. I wonder what it must be like to be swept away by the music and to move your body to the rhythm. To move your body with another in perfect synchronization. Is there anything more powerful than that? Or anything more heartfelt than that? It’s two bodies coming together, connecting and moving in perfect harmony. It’s true beauty.

As I fall back to sleep with the sun peeking through my window, I welcome the dreams about dancing. My dream is like my own personal ballet. Adam and I dance together, but it’s not just Adam and I. Tommy dances, and so does Alex. My family and Clara are there. Everyone has their own dance, with each dance telling a different and unique story. Everyone is happy in my dream, even I.

When I wake up for the second time, I wish to fall right back to sleep to be back in my dream world. I desire to return to that fictional life where everyone is happy, and I’m smiling and it doesn’t even hurt. Nothing hurts in the dream.

I check my phone to see a text from Alex. If I ignore it, does that make me a bad friend? I just so badly want a text from Adam. I instantly feel guilt over the slight annoyance of seeing a text from Alex instead.

Hey Jess.

That’s all it says.

Hey
, I respond back with a sigh.

Can we hang out? I already texted Tommy. He’s not working at the garage today. He’s picking us up in a half hour.

Why did he even ask, if Tommy is picking us up? I never seem to have a choice in the matter anyway. Why is this all so damn awkward? Yeah he kissed me… but he didn’t mean it. He saw his ex-girlfriend, and he needed a companion. He was lonely and sad.

Sure.

I quickly dress into a tight T-shirt and a hoodie, zipping it up. By the time I’m done, I hear the sound of Tommy’s horn blaring. I jump into the passenger seat.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey, Tommy.”

“So this is okay for you?”

“Yeah, I have to see him sooner or later. I can’t avoid Alex, although with the way he is acting, I kind of want to. I can’t just ditch him. That’d make me a bad friend, I guess.”

“Yeah, that would make you an asshole. A major one at that. This is the smart, mature thing to do.”

If I am doing the “smart, mature thing,” then why does it feel like my heart is about to give out any moment from the speed it’s pumping blood? I simply nod and ask Tommy what we’re doing. He tells me we’re going to pick up Alex and then we’re just going to hang out at his place. His dad isn’t home. He’s at work. I’m honestly just happy we’re not going to the damn warehouse.

Tommy pulls up to Alex’s house, and he’s already waiting outside, with his button-up shirt buttoned all the way to his neck and tucked into his jeans. He always looks like he is ready to go for a job interview. He quickly walks to the car and gives us that small scrunched-up smile of his and he gets into the backseat.

“Hey, man,” Tommy greets him in his normal welcoming manner.

“Hey, guys. How are you both?”

“Awesome,” Tommy responds.

“Fine,” I lie.

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence until we get to Tommy’s house. We come up to a small one-story house. It looks nice on the outside. The lawn is freshly cut, and the outside is nice enough with the clean windows and white door. Inside, though, the house is a mess. Clothes are everywhere. Dishes pile up, close to reaching the ceiling. Mold is crusted into the corners of the walls. I’m pretty sure I saw a family of mice living here once too.

Tommy kicks the clothes off the couch, and we sit down. Tommy disappears off to the kitchen, and Alex doesn’t waste time apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to kiss you. It was stupid, and I was lonely. The kiss was stupid. You’re my best friend, and I just don’t know what came over me. I hate that you’re mad at me… please make me stop rambling.”

“Alex, it’s okay. Really. I’m not mad at you. It’s just all a bit weird for me.”

He lets out a sigh. “Really?” He still wears a frown on his face.

We go back to sitting in awkward silence. Wonderful. I’m a master at the art of awkward silence.

“I hope neither of you are doing anything today.”

Alex and I both look up at Tommy with confused glances. What does he have planned for us? I’m afraid.

“I invited some friends over, and I know it’s daytime, but we are going to party before my dad gets home tonight. I invited Alisha and Tammy.”

“Aren’t those the girls you hooked up with?” I ask.

“Both of them,” Alex states incredulously. It’s amazing, how after being friends with us for so long he still is shocked over the stuff we do. Every time Tommy or I do something, it’s like his eyes are opened up once again. Innocent, little Alex with his big green eyes.

“Yes. Not at the same time, sadly. Maybe tonight I can try again,” he says with a wink.

“You’re gross,” I state.

“I’m a man. I have needs. And hopefully one of those girls won’t mind helping tonight.”

“Why exactly are we here?” I ask him. Seriously, if this is just an elaborate ruse to get laid, why are Alex and I here?

“Because I wanted you two to have fun. Alex, you have been working way too hard lately, and you, Jess, need some fun.”

He does have a point. For seven months my life was nothing but pills, doctors, and white walls. There wasn’t really a chance of having fun there. While I’ve been out of the hospital, I really haven’t been doing much. My parents were happy that I was out before Thanksgiving. My mom really loves holidays, and even though we don’t have a big family, she still loves the idea of everyone being together and having a nice big meal. We all sit around the table, the scent of turkey wafting through the air.