Page 80 of Pictures in Blue
I have no chance to respond before she hangs up and her words hit the mark she was aiming for. Dead center. Suddenly, I am wishing I had one of my oversized sweaters I could shrink my body into. I’m itching for my running shoes and wish I could take a few laps around the yard to ease my anxiety. My ankle is mostly healed, but I also don’t want to look like a complete lunatic in front of a family I just met.
I hear the door slide open and quickly dry my face. Maybe I can play it off like the wind was in my eyes even though there isn’t even a slight breeze. Hudson would be kind enough to ignore that fact though.
Instead of a tall figure coming to my side, a short one stands there and I am met with light hazel eyes and the sandy hair I have come to admire.
“Hey, Dory.”
There’s something about his kind features and the softness in his voice that lets me know what I say will stay with him. I sniff, not trying to hide the fact that I was crying anymore.
“I saw you out here on the phone and you looked upset. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, kid. Just mom stuff.” I stiffen and glance down at him. His head no longer angled toward mine, but staring straight ahead, not really looking. “Sorry,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say.
“It’s okay,” he says, sadly. “It’s been a while since she died. I get it though. I used to fight with my mom sometimes.”
“Yeah?” I ask, letting him direct the conversation.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “She used to chase me around the house with a towel every time I tracked in mud. I didn’t get the big deal about tracking it in because it’s always cleaned up later. I never got that she was the one who had to clean it.”
I laugh at his memory and imagine a younger version of him giggling at the idea of escaping his mom. “She sounds like a fun mom.”
“She was. What’s yours like?”
“Not so much fun.”
“What do you usually do after you fight with her?” He asks curiously.
“I run.”
“So let’s run.”
I glance down at him skeptically. “I can’t run. They’ll think I’m crazy,” I say, pointing a thumb in the direction of the house where laughter is spilling out of the open door.
“Not if they think I made you race me. C’mon, Dory. It’ll be fun.”
And just like that, my heart has completely melted. This kid, who lost a mother who loved him so much, is here beside me trying to help heal me without really asking why.
“I don’t have my running shoes.” I know it’s a lame excuse, but I feel extremely self-conscious at the idea of running in front of anyone, much less Hudson and his whole family. Ethan starts to push off his shoes with the tip of his toes. When his bare feet touch the grass, he looks up at me with a grin I can’t help but return.
“Running barefoot is better anyway,” is all he says before he takes off running. I slip off my shoes and take off behind him.
“Hey! You cheater!” I call after him, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in my ankle. My longer legs start to close the gap between us until he reaches the edge of the yard fenced in by a tall white privacy fence.
He crouches in a runner’s stance and looks over at me, waiting for me to do the same. I copy his motions and wait for him.
“Ready,” my heart is pumping adrenaline in my blood and the feeling of being a disappointment has already started to lighten.
“Set,” I tense, my body crouching lower, my thoughts only on the path ahead.
“Go!” he yells and we both shoot forward as fast as we can, sprinting across the yard. We each go around a side of the volleyball net and continue to run until I duck under one of the trees and feel the tickling, disgusting sensation of a huge spider web wrapping around my face.
I hear Ethan laughing somewhere ahead of me as I scream and try to get the webs off my face and out of my hair.
All I can feel are the webs sticking to my cheeks and I try to ignore the crawling sensation I feel on my neck and beg to whatever gods might be listening that it’s in my head. Made up by my fear.
Fun fact: I don’t like spiders. Ihatespiders. I have intense arachnophobia from the many times I hid in my closet having panic attacks. There was always one or two making a home out of one of the untouched corners. They’re gross, they have too many legs, and I don’t like them. I try not to kill them, but if they find their way into my apartment, they will live under a cup or some type of tupperware until I get Charlotte to come over and save me from their numerous beady eyes.
James was always about killing them, even though I begged him not to. He made a sport of it, a competition between him and the spider. He would always win in the end and dangle its dead carcass in front of me, thinking my fear of them was irrational and funny. Meanwhile, I was hyperventilating at the sight of it, fighting off a panic attack much like I am now.
