Authors: Valia Lind
"You were a Scout?" I can't help but ask as we make our way inside.
"Well, I thought about joining once." He shrugs a bit.
“Umm, isn’t there a rule or something about impersonating one?”
“Hey, she didn’t ask for a badge or anything, so I think we’re in the clear.” I shake my head at him, but before I can say anything else my eyes turn to the scene in front of me.
There are people everywhere. I honestly didn’t think so many individuals could fit under one small tent but I was wrong. I don't know if there is enough oxygen here to sustain all these people and their nervous energy.
I watch as a woman in all black hurries over to the rack of clothing, pulling off a bright red dress. At least I think it's a dress. My eyes follow her as she weaves and dodges the others, making her way over to a tall girl on the other side of the tent. Another woman steps up to the younger girl and together they pull the fabric over the model's shoulders. It looked more like a blob hanging on a rack, but as it falls around the model's small body I see the perfection of the design.
Involuntarily, my feet carry me forward so I can see it better and that's when I realize I'm still holding Grayson's hand. He tugs on it a bit, and when my eyes meet his, he smiles and shakes his head. I know he's right, I shouldn't interfere, but I'm too curious. They're tying a ribbon over the model's shoulder now, the color of the sun. The red and yellow shades are bold, challenging, and I love them. It looks like a flame wrapped around a tall figure, flickering in the breeze. Tearing my gaze away from them, I study the rest of the crowd. I can't get enough of them. Everything seems to almost scream at me, and I kind of feel like jumping up and down with excitement.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Grayson asks.
"Are you kidding me?" I exclaim earning me a few looks. "I feel like I'm in fashion heaven. These people are amazing." I’m probably acting like a kid hyped up on too much sugar, but I really don't care. All I care about is the fact that being surrounded by these people and this madness feels right.
It feels as if I'm exactly where I belong.
THIRTY - ONE
People often say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing--that's why we recommend it daily. - Zig Ziglar
Today is perfection.
I honestly cannot remember the last time I had this much fun. Not that I would actually utter those words out loud because Grayson doesn't need any more air in that already big head of his. He's pretty proud of himself and I have to grudgingly admit he did well. Okay, okay, I did thank him, I couldn’t not, and all he did was say you’re welcome, while wearing a smug smile.
It's a little after six now, the fashion show ended a few moments ago, but I can't make myself leave downtown yet. Grayson seems to gauge my mood as he leads me over to the car.
"I'll just be a minute," he says when I open my mouth to ask if we can hang around a bit. He grabs a backpack and what looks like a cooler from the rear of the vehicle before coming back to stand next to me. I ask the question with my eyes but he only smiles. "Come on."
He leads me down the street, people pushing around us in every direction. After almost getting separated twice, I'm the one to reach for his hand. I know I take him by surprise— his body physically jerks at the contact—and I wonder if I did the right thing. When he turns and throws me a smile, I breathe a little easier. Not that it's all that easy. The skin to skin contact of our palms is like a flame bursting to be set free. I know when we finally let go I'll feel that delicious tingle for a while.
"Tada!" Grayson exclaims a few moments later. We're at the downtown civic space park and it's one of my favorite parks in Phoenix. It's this tiny patch of green in the middle of all the skyscrapers but I've always felt like it had a lot of character. I watch Grayson as he opens up his backpack and produces a blanket, while setting the cooler down on the grass. Next follow two cans of Dr. Pepper, hot Cheetos, and sandwiches. Spreading it all out, he sits down, looking up at me expectantly. "I figured you'd be hungry after the show and I didn't feel like fighting with all the downtown goers for the food." Grayson explains. He never stops surprising me. Every time I feel like I have a grasp on who he's become, he goes and does something like this.
"Thank you," I say as we dive into our picnic. He packed my favorites. My eyes roam the park, before focusing on the giant piece of artwork swinging in the air over us. "It's beautiful."
"Do you know the history of it?" I didn't know I stated it out loud until Grayson comments.
"A little. I know the name, Her Secret is Patience, comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson."
"The piece was commissioned by the City of Phoenix and designed by Janet Echelman." He begins quietly, "It's an intricate web of painted, galvanized steel, polyester twine netting, and colored lights. It's about 145 feet tall and hangs around 38 feet off the ground. They had to work with several North American factories in order to create the specialized materials for the netting alone."
I watch the funnel of colorful lights as it moves a bit in the breeze, listening to Grayson's words. The structure is probably one of my favorite aspects of downtown. It's like a huge tornado, suspended over our heads, shining with the beauty of glimmering lights.
"The colors are to reflect the changes in the season, while letting a bit of mystery creep in," I pick up the explanation where he stops, almost at a whisper, still watching the tiny movement. "Suspended, fixed, yet in constant motion. 'Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience'," I feel Grayson's eyes on me and I finally tear my gaze away from the sculpture and focus on him.
"I guess you do know a little about it."
"I've might've read a thing or two. It fascinates me how something so simple looking can be so complicated and beautiful. Think about it. It's a giant funnel of wires and nets, yet it's beautiful and unique and full of character."
"Kind of like you," I almost don't catch his words, thinking it's wishful hoping he would say something like that to me, but I do hear it. When I turn my face to meet his I realize just how close we are and I can read the truth in his eyes. Tears come from nowhere and I stand before I can make a fool out of myself.
"Brooklynn?"
"I'm sorry," I close my eyes, willing the waterworks back. But no guy has ever looked at me the way Grayson does. He sees me for who I am without the judgmental glares to follow, without expecting me to be perfect, without expecting me to fit into a particular mold.
"Don't be sorry," he says, coming up to stand in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Talk to me."
"I'm just an emotional wreck," I try to turn away, but he won't let me.
"Brooklynn, please talk to me. Please don't run away. I want to understand."
I raise my eyes to meet his. I've done nothing to earn his care. I've done nothing but push him away, afraid of things that may never be. Yet, here he is, genuinely wanting to know why I'm such a mess of emotions when he gives me a simple compliment. I cannot not tell him. My heart wants him to know, even as my mind is terrified. He shared parts of himself with me and maybe it’s finally time I return the favor. I take a deep breath, letting Grayson lead me to the closest bench, past a mother with a stroller and a few teenagers playing football in the grass, before I find the courage to speak.
"You know how you said your dad is proud of you for taking the steps in reaching your dreams? How supportive he is of the direction you're going? Well, my family is not like that. I'm the black sheep, someone who doesn’t want to be cooped up in an office all day crunching numbers. Someone who loves arts over becoming a doctor or a lawyer."
Grayson doesn't say anything so I go on.
"My sister Paige is the perfect daughter. She graduated high school in the top ten percent of her class. She got into University of Arizona where she's studying business. She dresses in slacks and blouses. My parents are proud of her and they want me to be her exact replica. Every day I get out of bed and dread seeing my family. We don't talk about anything but how I need to make sure I write my essays and turn in my applications before the deadlines. They want nothing to do with me as a person unless I follow the exact plan they have for my life."
I stop, because the disappointment that I am to my parents is crushing the breath out of my lungs. The feeling of not being good enough, of being a failure, is a constant companion in everything I do.
"My sister was the first to make fun of my dreams, and people, my own family, had been doing that ever since. I'm not good enough unless I'm someone else and I just can't—" I halt, my breathing coming in gasps.
Grayson says I'm afraid to let people see my work, well now he knows why. We sit in silence for a few moments as tears run silently down my cheeks, before I see Grayson shift just a little. Then, his arms are around me and I'm sobbing into the chest. Cries rip out of my body. I can't control the tears that I've been holding back for so long.
When I finally feel like I can breathe again, I sit up a little with Grayson's arms still firmly around my shoulders.
"I'm sorry." I reach to wipe my tears, probably smearing mascara all over my cheeks.
"Don't ever apologize for being who you are," he states and there is determination in his voice that I've never heard before. It's determination mingled with protectiveness. I see the fire in his eyes when I look up.
I don't move, waiting to see what he does, dreaming of what I want him to do. I lick my lips, and the sound that escapes Grayson would drive me to my knees if I was standing. My gaze flickers to his mouth. He leans in, just a bit and I find myself closing my eyes.
The solid contact of a football with our heads is what springs us apart.
❧ ❧ ❧
I rub my temples for what seems like the hundredth time.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Grayson asks as he walks me to my door. After the accident with the football, Grayson and I decided to leave. For a second there I thought Grayson would personally hunt all three of the teenagers who were responsible and wring their necks, but he didn't. We packed up our stuff, neither one of us commenting on what was about to happen before we were interrupted. On the drive back, we sang to the radio, almost refusing to talk.
"I'm alright. It’s just a little bump." He reaches to the side of my head to feel for himself. We're standing awfully close again, his hand moving down to cup my cheek, when the door opens. We jump apart almost in sync and it's like a practiced dance between us now. My dad is on the other side of the door.
"Brooklynn, glad you could make it home." He says it as if he's anything but, while glaring at Grayson.
"Dad, this is Grayson. We go—"
"I know who he is. He's the boy that used to pick on you in school. Now, say goodbye and come inside please."
Grayson and I exchange a look at my dad's harsh tone. "Good night, Brooklynn. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Summers." Then with a little wave, he makes his way to his car. I stand there for a second watching him, before Dad clears his throat. I follow him inside, dreading what I know is coming next.
"What are you doing hanging out with him?" Dad asks as we make our way to the kitchen. Mom is still at the table, except now there are shopping bags all around the kitchen.
"Hi honey," she greets me, "Did you have a good time?"
"I did. Thanks, Mom."
"You knew about this?” My dad turns on Mom, but she only shrugs, giving him a pointed look as if to say be nice. Not that it’ll help. He’s got his mind set on criticizing me. He proves it with his next statement.
“Brooklynn, I asked you a question." Dad states, crossing his arms in front of him. I glance over at Mom, but she doesn't look up, so I turn to face my father head on. What happened to us? We used to be so close and now all we do is fight. It's not the first time I've thought this, but it seems that every time I'm with Grayson, I'm reminded more and more how much I wish my parents would support me.
"He's helping me with a project."
"A project? You mean one of your design games."
"They're not games," I reply, my anger rising. Why can't he understand? I grab a glass and fill it with water, hoping that I can control myself before I say something I regret. Sometimes, I think I should just record my responses and play them at appropriate times, since this is all my dad and I talk about. He doesn't see how his words hurt me, how much I want his approval.
"Have you mailed out your applications yet?"
"No."
"You're going to miss the deadlines, Brooklynn. Then where you'll be?"
"I don't know Dad, maybe actually living my life and doing something I love?" I'm done, I can't stand here and talk to him any longer. Today, with Grayson, I finally felt like myself. He understood who I was without me even having to tell him. Now, the one man in my life who should be a constant is jumping down my throat again and I just can't take it. I move to go around him, but Dad isn't finished.
"We discussed this."
"No, you ordered and I stayed quiet. I can't be quiet anymore." For some reason, after talking to Grayson, I’m not afraid to tell Dad about our project. Maybe, for the first time, I know that I can be confident in my own dreams and maybe even one day have my parents understand.