Art & Soul
Page 47

“Give me a word to describe it. It feels like butterflies, and stomach flips, and stomach knots all at once. What’s a word for that?”
“Happy.”
“Happy?” she asked.
“Happy,” I replied.
She nodded. “I can’t stop crying.”
“I think that’s okay,” I said. “It’s a boy?”
“We found out today.” She cried harder. “And I’m a terrible person because I thought about keeping him when I heard that. I thought about what I would name him and who he would grow up to be, and then I wondered what I would say when he asked about the guy who called me cute but didn’t really mean it.”
“You’re beautiful,” I said, handing her one of my T-shirts to blow her nose in.
She cried even harder, because she knew I meant it.
“You’re not a terrible person because you think things like that, Art.”
“Then what does it make me? I told my best friend’s parents they could have the baby and then I think about taking it back. If that doesn’t make me terrible than what does it make me?”
I paused, searching for the right word. “Human. It makes you human.” We sat with our hands resting against her stomach. Each time we felt a kick, my heart flipped a little.
“He’s a cantaloupe now,” she told me.
“That’s pretty big, but still pretty small at the same time.” I stood up from my bed and turned on the light. “I have an idea.”
“And that is?”
“Stand up. You have to stand up for this idea.”
Questioningly, she stood. I went digging through my CD collection, searching for a certain song. “Ah, here it is,” I muttered, tossing it into the boom box that sat on top of my dresser. I went digging into my closest, knocking over boxes and my hanging clothes. Then I pulled out an old guitar case and sat it on the ground in front of Aria.
“What are you doing?” She laughed, wiping at her eyes.
“Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed I take my violin to the woods and play until I feel a little less broken. And seeing how it’s too cold to play outside, and no offense, but you are freaking terrible at playing instruments, therefore I am going to teach you the gift of this beauty.” I bent down and unlatched the case, opening it to reveal nothing and everything all at once.
“What are we looking at?” she asked.
I reached down, lifting up my first ever air guitar. “This right here is a Myers’ family antique. My grandfather taught my father his first air guitar song on this beauty here, and my father taught me on the same one. And now I would like to teach Cantaloupe his first air guitar song. Granted, I might need you to supply the fingers for the playing since Cantaloupe isn’t really…ya know, fully functional yet.”
“Understandable.” She giggled.
I placed it in her hold, and she took it. “Careful, you have to be gentle.”
“Of course. I promise to handle it with care.” She smiled, and I just about died.
I loved her smiles the most.
I lifted my air guitar and hit play on the boom box. “What song is this?” she asked.
“‘She Talks To Angels’, by The Black Crowes,” I said, tuning my strings. I smirked as I watched her start to mimic my movements. “It was my Dad’s favorite song to air guitar to when I used to come visit him. He loved it.”
I spent the next hour teaching her the intro to the song, and we kept playing until she started yawning.
I placed her guitar back into the case, took the CD out of the player and set it inside of the case also. I held it out toward Aria.
“I can’t take your guitar, Levi.”
“No offense, Art. But I’m pretty sure this is between Cantaloupe and me.” I bent down to her stomach and said, “Practice whenever you can, buddy.”
Aria climbed out of the window, and I handed her the case. “Thanks for tonight.” Her feet fidgeted back and forth. “Do you think we can eat lunch together again?”
“I would like that.”
She grinned and walked off with the guitar case in her hands.
32 Aria
It was a Sunday afternoon when Dad moved out. November 22nd, the Sunday before Thanksgiving.
Mom said he wasn’t really moving out, but he was just going to stay with his sister, Molly, for a little while. She said they needed space and time to figure out a few things. I watched him load up his truck with suitcases from my window. It looked like a lot of luggage for being a temporary move. Grace came in and stood next to me, staring out of the window. She had tears in her eyes, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
Mike came into the room next. I asked him not to blame me right now because I was on the verge of tears, too. He didn’t say a thing. He stood on the other side of Grace and wrapped an arm around her. We each stared out of the window.
It was the first snow of the winter.
As it fell from the sky, everything around us fell along with it.
After Dad drove off, the three of us stood there for a while longer. Mom joined us with KitKat in her arms. She was probably sad, but wouldn’t show it in front of us.
We didn’t eat dinner at the table that Sunday. It didn’t feel right without him.
* * *
During the whole Thanksgiving break, I didn’t see Levi, mostly because I spent the days with my family, trying to keep them from falling apart. I texted him about Dad moving out, and he sent me a word a day to keep me from going over the deep end.
Levi: Thinking – noun| [thing-king] : the action of using your mind to produce thoughts.
Levi: Of – preposition | [uhv, ov; unstressed uhv or, esp. before consonants, uh] : used to indicate specific identity or a particular item within a category.
Levi: You – pronoun|[yoo; unstressed yoo, yuh] : Aria Lauren Watson.
Thinking of you, too, Levi Myers.
* * *
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror wearing a tank top and sweatpants with Cantaloupe’s guitar case sitting open on the bathtub. The Black Crowes blasted and I practiced the song over and over again on the air guitar.
Grace walked past the bathroom. She backtracked her steps and came to a standstill. “Are you drunk?”
I laughed.
“My teacher Mrs. Thompson said she wasn’t allowed to drink when she was pregnant.”