Art & Soul (25 page)

M
om and Dad
were already at the hospital by the time I arrived. It was seven long hours of terrible contractions before the doctors decided it was time to bring Honeydew into the world.

Everything was a blur. It happened fast, faster than I thought it would, faster than I wanted it to. I was supposed to have a few more weeks with him. I wasn’t supposed to have to let go just yet.

The doctor told me to push.

Dad held my left hand.

Keira held my right.

Mom placed a wet napkin onto my forehead.

Simon’s dad tried his best not to faint.

I cried because of the pain. I cried because of the nerves. I cried because it was really happening.

I was angry. I was depressed. I was happy.

I was so freaking happy.

Push, Aria. Do this!

And then the room went silent. They told me to stop pushing.

Everything in my head started spinning. My baby was there, I could see him. But the doctor started hurrying. The nurses acted nervous. Everyone surrounded the baby.
Except me.
I was stuck in the bed, looking up, asking what was wrong, praying nothing was wrong.

He wasn’t crying. He was very silent. He was beautiful. Why wasn’t he crying?

Please. Make noise. Make a sound.

Say. Anything.

I cried for him until he could for himself.

And then he did.

His lungs finally moved. They became stronger as he screamed, proclaiming his arrival to the world.

Air.

Lungs.

In.

Out.

B
reathe
.

“Do you want to hold him?” the nurse asked.

I nodded my head.

Of course I do.

She placed him in my arms, and my tears fell against his skin.

I knew it was silly, but I swore he was smiling. My lips fell to his forehead. “I love you,” I softly spoke. “So, so much.”

My stare met Keira’s as she grinned my way. “Do you want to hold him?”

She sobbed and nodded. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

I handed him over to her, and she kissed my cheek. Paul stood beside his wife, staring down at the new life in their world. The way they studied every inch of him showed me how safe he was. He would always know love.

By then everyone in the room was crying.

I cried some more. From that point on, his tears would be wiped away by someone else. His laughter and happiness would be created from another’s soul.

But his heartbeats?

I felt sure I would always feel those against my own.

L
evi
.

I shot to my feet along with everyone else as Mr. and Mrs. Watson walked into the waiting room. “How’s Aria? How’s the baby?” I asked, frantic.

“Good. Good. Both Aria and the baby are doing great. A handsome seven pounds six ounces boy with ten fingers, ten toes, and a beautiful smile,” Mrs. Watson said. Simon released the breath he’d been holding for the past seven hours and hugged Abigail tightly.

I stepped closer to Aria’s parents. “Is she okay? Can I see her?”

Mrs. Watson frowned. “She’s resting, Levi. Plus, you’ve had quite the day. Maybe you should be resting, too.”

My shoulders dropped. “Yeah, okay.”

“Five minutes wouldn’t hurt, though,” Mr. Watson said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Come on, buddy.”

He walked me back to the room Aria was in, and I looked in to see her staring out the window.

“She’s not okay,” he said. “She’ll probably say she is, but she’s not, and she might not be for a while.”

I nodded in understanding.

“Just let her know that it’s okay to hurt a little, all right? I’ll be back to get you in a few.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away.

With a slow pace, I stepped inside the room.

“Aria,” I whispered. I watched as her body curled up a bit, her response to the sound of my voice.

“If you want to see the baby, he’s in the room across the hall. The hospital has a room for the adopting parents to be with the baby. Isn’t that nice?” She didn’t look my way. Her eyes were still trained on the window.

“It’s okay to be sad,” I said, taking a step closer to her. She tensed up. “Please look at me.” But she wouldn’t look.

She couldn’t.

A
ria
.

“Art,” he whispered again, his words sounding so close I was almost positive they came from within my own soul. “Look at me.”

I couldn’t look.

I wouldn’t.

Even though all I wanted in the world was for his eyes to bring me the light. I wanted those lips to tell me that everything would be okay.

My need to cry grew heavier and heavier as my body shook, but I didn’t shed a tear. “I’m okay,” I finally said, feeling in every bone of my body that I wasn’t okay. I was empty inside. My light was gone. It was all so overwhelming, because no books had trained me for this. No books told me what it would be like to let go.

Levi’s hand landed on my shoulder before he climbed into the hospital bed and wrapped me up in his embrace. I shivered when I felt his fingers touch my skin for the first time in a long time as his arms wrapped around me.

“I’m fine.” My voice trembled as my body shook along with it.

“Shh…” he hushed me, holding me closer and closer. “I love you, Art. I love you so much. Let me be strong for us right now. Let me hold you while you fall apart.”

His touch was so warm.

The tears fell.

My body was shaking uncontrollably as Levi held on strong, refusing to let go. We stayed like that for five minutes straight, maybe even ten.

His fingers pressed into my sides as his face lay against my cheek. His warm tears intermixed with mine, and we cried. We cried for the recent death in our lives, and the new life. For the beginnings and the endings. For the first breaths, and the last.

I rotated my body to face him. His gaze searched my face, as if he was wondering where my mind had escaped to. His brow grew knit and gloomy.

“I’m so sorry, Art.” His lips hardened, and he pressed them to my forehead as he spoke. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” I said. “Me too.”

“We’ll be all right,” he promised me. “Just not today.”

A
ria was
in the hospital for the next two days. When Mr. and Mrs. Watson brought her home, I was waiting on her porch with my violin. I leaped up and hurried over to them.

She stepped out of the backseat and gave me a warily smile. She looked exhausted.

“Levi, hey. How are you?” Mrs. Watson grinned my way.

“I’m okay. How are you?” I asked her. My eyes moved to Aria. “How are you?”

Aria’s eyes blinked. She shrugged.

“I think she just needs some rest. Maybe you can come back in a little while?” Mrs. Watson offered.

I watched her daughter’s lips part as if she wanted me to stay, but then her dad agreed with her mom.

My fingers ran through my hair and I nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be back later.”

I walked around the block a few times before I headed to Aria’s bedroom window, which was already opened, waiting for me to step inside. She sat on her mattress as I started playing the violin. Mr. Watson stepped into the doorway when he heard the sounds, but instead of asking me to leave, he closed the door, giving Aria and I privacy.

I played “All Of Me” by John Legend, allowing the strings to voice the words I wasn’t saying. I played the song over and over again until she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

And I kept playing until I knew she was smiling in her dreams, too.

S
he was doing better
and better each day, but I knew she was still hurting. I wished I could take her pain and make it go away.

After a few days, I convinced Lance to allow me to stay at Dad’s house for a night. When I opened his refrigerator, I almost lost it seeing the cases of root beer sitting inside.

I’m still hurting. I wish I could take my pain and make it go away.

Grabbing a pack of root beer, I headed out to the woods and climbed up to the tree house.

The quietness of nature was peaceful, but I was happy when I heard a grumbling girl climbing up the ladder.

“Climbing trees isn’t something that one should do after giving birth.” Aria smiled, stepping into the tree house.

I laughed. “You know what? I was thinking the same thing. But since you’re here, welcome to my oasis. To the left you’ll find nothing, to the right, a case of root beer.”

“Your interior design skills are impressive.”

“What can I say? I’m fancy.”

She bit her bottom lip and tilted her head. “I love you.”

“I love you."

A
ria
.

Levi and I sat in the tree house for hours, sometimes crying, other times laughing until tears fell. He was the best kind of oxymoron. When I was with him I could be a sad kind of happy and be content with the feeling.

“Why did you eat lunch with him every day?”

“Because that’s what you would’ve done,” I replied. He tossed his emptied root beer can to the side of the room before he leaned into me and kissed my lips gently, sending a wave of happiness through me. “Can I read you the speech I wrote for him?”

“Yes.”

I reached into my jeans’ pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. I opened it, and smiled. “Kent Myers wasn’t an asshole. Most of the people who crossed his path would disagree based on the way he treated them, based on his actions, but he wasn’t an asshole. He was a man who made mistakes. A man who tried to fix those mistakes all on his own, which sometimes led to him to making things worse. He didn’t always say the right thing, or always behave in the best light, but he tried. He tried to be good. He tried to protect the ones he loved.

“A few days before he passed away, he asked me if I could hold his shaky hand. I linked my fingers with his and he said, ‘Will he be okay?’ speaking of his son. ‘Will he be okay?’ he repeated over and over, tears falling from his eyes. I nodded to him and said, ‘Yes. You’ll both be okay.’ He closed his eyes and muttered, ‘He’ll be okay.’ He slept that night more peaceful than all the nights before. He didn’t say another sentence in his life. There are so many words in the world, and his final ones were crafted solely for his son. Today I want to make two facts known: Kent Myers wasn’t an asshole, and he sure did love his son.”

Levi moved closer to me, placing his lips against my forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always,” I replied.

That night our conversation came in waves. We went from silence to nonstop speaking over and over again.

“They named him Easton Michael Landon,” I told him quietly.

“What? That’s ridiculous.” He groaned. “I was really hoping for something more food related. Apple. Or Eggplant. Or…”

“Broccoli.” I giggled.

“God, yes. Broccoli Kale Landon. It just rolls off of the tongue.”

“Or Pepper Pea Landon.”

“Okra Potato Landon.” He laughed. “Clearly they should’ve asked us for our opinion.”

“Obviously.”

More silence.

“There’s a gift and a letter for you in your dad’s office. The gift is from me. The letter is from him. I wasn’t sure if you saw it or not.”

“I haven’t been in there yet, but I’ll pick it up when I leave. Thanks.”

More silence.

“So what happens with us now?” I asked him, knowing that he was leaving in a few days.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.” His voice was somber as he stared out the window, sitting still. My stomach knotted, afraid of what his reply would be. “But if I learned anything about the future, it’s that it doesn’t matter. The future’s not real. So it’s best to live in the here and now with you.”

It was all we had, the here and now, and that was good enough.

We stayed inside the tree house, not looking toward one another, but holding each other’s pinkie fingers. We stared out the window, into the night sky. It was right then that we knew. We knew we were small. We were tiny specks of paint on the universe’s canvas. Most of the world would never know of the love between Art and Soul. We knew that in a flash, life could be ripped away, leaving us only with death and loneliness. But, in another flash, love could heal, leaving us with only life and hope. Levi made me hopeful, hopeful for the tomorrows that we had yet to meet.

Right then, we were very much alive.

And we were hungrily in love.

Levi Myers taught me three important things about life:

Sometimes pinkie holding was the best kind of holding.

Sometimes forehead kisses were the best kind of kisses.

And sometimes temporary love was the best kind of love.

L
evi
.

Leaving Mayfair Heights was hard. I didn’t know the next time I would be back, which made it even harder, but the one thing that felt as if it would be okay was Aria.

Somehow we would make it work.

When I got home, Mom was still Mom, which made me beyond happy. While she prepared dinner, The Pogues played throughout the house. I sat on my bed with the letter from Dad and the gift from Aria. I’d been debating which one I should open first, and after a little too much back and forth, I went for Aria’s gift.

I ripped the wrapping paper off and saw a painting she’d made for me. Attached to the canvas was a picture of my dad and me when I was a kid. We were smiling bright with our fishing poles, and I was holding up the old hiking boot that I caught that summer day.

Aria had painted the same photograph using her abstract skills, running yellows and oranges through the skies, making it look like the canvas was exploding with life.

I texted her right away.

Me:
I –
noun
, 
often capitalized
 
often attributive
 | \ˈī\ : Levi Wesley Myers.

Me:
Love –
noun |
\ˈləv\ : a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person.

Me:
You –
pronoun
|[yoo; 
unstressed
 
yoo, yuh
] : Aria Lauren Watson.

Aria:
Ditto –
noun
 | dit·to | \ˈdi-(ˌ)tō\: I love you, too.

I picked up the letter and opened it as knots formed in my gut.

Lee,

I’m a shit father.

I’m a shit person.

And I don’t know how to start to tell you how much I hate myself daily. I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’m sorry because you would probably think it’s just the cancer and the fear talking.

Which might be true.

I’m afraid to die. I’m afraid to die, and it’s not a surprise because I was afraid of living too. I’m afraid that I’m leaving this place with no one who will remember me. And if they do remember, it will be memories of things I wish I hadn’t done. I treated this town, these people like shit. I’ve treated you even worse.

But still you came back to me. You loved me when I didn’t deserve to be loved.

I was afraid to get close to you again knowing I was dying. I was afraid it would hurt you even more when I passed away. The happiest days of my life were with you sitting inside of that tree house. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

I’m not a good person, I was never a decent friend or husband or father, but somehow I got one thing right. Somehow I didn’t screw everything up, because I know this to be true:

You’re the only thing left of me that’s good.

I’ll love you well after the end.

-Dad

I sat there with the letter in my hand, rereading it ten times over.

I love you too, Dad.

D
uring our homeschooling violin lessons
, Mom and I sat outside in the forest playing. In front of me was a music stand holding the new song Mom was teaching me. The branches of the tree swayed back and forth, casting shadows over us. She kept frowning at me every few seconds.

“Okay, stop, stop, stop.” She slapped her hand to her forehead before leaning against a tree. “What in the world happened?”

“What do you mean? I played all of the right notes.”

“Hitting the right notes doesn’t matter if you play the music without putting your soul into it. Otherwise it’s just noise.” Her head tilted to the left. “What’s on your mind?”

I sat down my violin in the case, and shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why Dad ever stopped writing me or having me come up to visit him. And now knowing that I’ll never find out the answers…I don’t know. It’s just eating at me.”

“I see.” She pushed herself off of the tree trunk and headed into the house. When she came back, she had a small box. “He made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you about these. I was in a really bad place, Levi. I don’t know how to explain it but, I felt like I was losing you to him. I thought you would leave me to go stay with him. My mind was unstable. When I was doing better and wanted to give these to you, your dad asked me not to.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t want you to hate me.”

I took the box and started going through the cards. Holiday cards, birthday cards. Five and a half years of cards that I never knew existed. I read them over and over again as Mom stood across from me. “I wouldn’t hate you, Mom.”

“He’s the one who talked me into going to St. John’s. He paid for it all himself, too. He pretty much convinced me that the only way you would come home this time was if I went to the treatment center. The deal was if I went in for treatment, he would send you back to me after I started doing better. Plus, he didn’t want you to watch him get sicker.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he knew his life was ending. He didn’t want you to lose us both.”

There was so much about my father that I didn’t know. I had questions that would never be answered by him, but the one thing I’d always wondered about was answered.

He never stopped loving me.

And that was good enough for me.

“He left you something, Levi.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She started walking toward the house and said, “Come inside. You might want to be seated for this one.”