Page 41 of Drawn Together
He shrugs again and we are off, walking down the street. I breathe in the air around us; I'd love to bottle it up and save it for later. I think fall will always be my favorite time of year. I like that the moment it arrives, you recognize the change it’s bringing—the color of the leaves and the way they scatter around you, the blaring heat slowly turning into cool, brisk nights where you can see your breath as you talk. I think everyone assumes that with change comes pain, and maybe that’s true. But, fallis an excellent reminder of just how beautiful the in-between stages of life can be—the uncertainty and the wonder. A point that sometimes it’s nice to not know what comes next, but to recognize the changes in us.
“I didn’t know you knew sign language.”
We round the corner. It’s my turn to pick our book club meeting spot, so I am loosely attempting to get us there in hopes we don’t get stuck halfway.
“My baby sister was born deaf.”
“Oh.” Fletcher is quiet for a moment as we pass a woman giving away free puppies out of a box.
“How old is she?”
I realize when I say baby sister, the assumption is of a five-year-old or younger.
“She’s eighteen. Just still a baby in my mind.”
“Ahh.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No, not really.”
“Not really?”
“Stephan’s a brother in my mind. Ryan was, too.”
I’m not sure where to go from here, but there’s a pressing button in my mind telling me not to ask anymore, so I stay quiet. I let the wind do the talking for us, rushing in and around the buildings. My hair keeps getting pulled from the loose bun at the nap of my neck, the stray curls catching my lip gloss every thirty feet. A woman passes us with a puppy in a stroller, a man is selling questionable kumquats, and we pass street dancers with a crowd forming around them. And above all else, everyone has somewhere they’re wanting to go. I like that part of it all, too.
“You’re close with your sister?” Fletcher breaks the silence.
“Yeah.” I smile. “She’s my best friend back home.” Or anywhere.
“That’s cool. I’m glad she has you.”
“Oh no, be glad I have her. She is covered up in so many friends that my parents and I can’t keep up with who is who.”
“That’s good, then.”
I really try to keep the sigh and wonder out of my voice, but like I have no other choice, it’s there anyway. “Yeah, it is.”
“You sound like it isn’t good.”
“No.” I wave my hands out in front of me and my cheeks burn. “Oh my gosh, no. It is so good for her. I want her surrounded by all the love she can get.”
He lifts a brow. “But?”
“But… She has all these people that like…I don’t know how to put it. She is always someone’s first, you know? First invite, first call to ask for help, first person to run to, to share amazing news with.” I kick a pebble down the sidewalk. “I think I’d like to know what that’s like. To be the first person someone thinks about. To be the one that everything someone else does comes back to you. The one they always choose, to not be a maybe or a possible add-on, but to be a definite. That’s got to be nice.”
He’s quiet for a while, long enough for us to cross the busy streets twice and to only be a handful of blocks away from our final destination. I did it again, my mind shouts. I’ve gone and overshared and pushed out these thoughts, that just because I am having, I assume someone else out there has to be, too. I’ve tried and tried to change, but ultimately this is the ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ of oversharing.
I open my mouth to say an ‘oops, just kidding. I totally never have felt like that,’ but Fletcher cuts me off first with a nod.
“Yeah. I get that.”
Maybe he does. Or, maybe he’s humoring me. Either way, I don’t take the words back. And that alone feels incredible.
“No.”
“Yes.”
