“No worries, really.” She combed her thick, beautiful hair behind her ear and whispered, “Oddly enough, this was kind of a dream come true for me.” I studied her as she bit into her bottom lip and nervously nuzzled against the skin. “Can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“If it’s too personal, you don’t have to reply.”
I nodded again.
She leaned toward me, growing closer as she placed her hands right beside mine on the window frame. “Are you okay? Like, overall. Are you okay?”
Her question was so gentle and packed with care. That’s what it felt like that morning, ever since I’d crossed paths with Emery. She felt like a weighted blanket of protection that was keeping me from crumbling. In her brown eyes I saw the concern for me that she held.
Why would she care about me?
I was no one of real importance. Then again, perhaps she only cared about the Oliver Smith who was a performer, not the Oliver Smith I truly had been. If she knew my truth, she probably wouldn’t have cared as much.
I knew what I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her what I’d been telling the rest of the world. I wanted to lie. I wanted to say I was fine and that everything was okay, but for some odd reason, my lips parted, my voice cracked, and I said, “No.”
No.
That felt good to say.
No, I wasn’t okay. No, I wasn’t going to be okay. No, nothing was getting better.
No.
She smiled a smile that looked as if it were dripped in tears. I never knew smiles could feel so sad. Oddly enough, the sadness in her grin made me feel more at peace with my own despair.
Her hand moved on top of mine, and she lightly squeezed. Her touch was warm and soft, like I’d imagined it to be.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver. I’m going to pray for you to find better days. You deserve better days.”
Was she even real? Or was she just a figment of my imagination that came to tell me the words I so very much needed to hear? I wanted to tell her the truth about prayers, about how they never came true. Before Alex was pronounced dead, I prayed for him to come back, but it never happened. I prayed for healing, and nothing got better. I prayed for the universe to take me instead, yet it’d left me behind to live.
I wasn’t living anymore, though. I was a dead man walking, quietly wishing that the sun would fade forever, and I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.
I don’t want to be here.
When Emery pulled her hand away from mine, the warmth she’d given me faded away too. Before I could reply to her, my parents were rushing toward me.
Emery’s warmth ebbed from my hands as she pulled away, and she nodded once toward me as if it were our final goodbye as Mom rushed toward me and drew me into a hug.
“Oh my gosh, Oliver! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m fine,” I lied.
Sometimes it was easier to tell the truth to strangers. Your truth wouldn’t hurt them as badly. I knew if my parents knew I wasn’t okay, it would eat at their souls. I didn’t need them worrying about my well-being after I’d been the cause of them losing the other half of their hearts.
When I glanced back at Emery, she gave me a halfway grin, noting the lie I’d told my parents, and I gave her a lopsided, weak smile back. When she looked my way, it was as if she was saying, I see you, Oliver, and you’ll be okay. Then she nodded once and put her car in reverse and drove away. Unlike how I’d crashed into her world, she slowly retreated from mine in a much classier fashion.
“Why did you fly out here?” I asked as Dad pulled me into a briefer embrace than Mom had.
“Well, we heard last minute you were doing a show, so we figured you could use some family support,” Dad said. “Then, when we landed, we weren’t able to get ahold of you, so we got worried.”
Mom’s eyes watered over as she hugged me again. “I was so scared that something happened to you.”
The heaviness of her words and the fear that was in her made me feel like the worst son in the world. “Sorry, Mom. My phone died, and I haven’t been able to make it back home until now. I’m sorry for the stress.