The Red Thread (7 page)

I don’t think you used enough exclamation marks, but I’ve never heard of the show.

There is a moment of silence. And this is when his barrage of texts begins.

Sorry… what?

You

Have

Never

Heard

Of

Doctor Who???!!!

Sorry…
I type into my phone and send to him.

It’s okay. I accept you for your flaws : P Maybe I can introduce you to Doctor Who?

I am overcome with something, some emotion…. Is it the myth of happiness? I doubt it… but it’s something warm, and it feels good. I could get used to this feeling. I mean, I guess as long as I don’t let it turn into anything more. Harmless, friendly flirting isn’t too bad? I just have to remind myself of what it is.

Soooooooo… is that a yes?

Yeah. I’d like that
, I finally respond.

Yay! Perfect! I’m happy now : ) I could dance!

I giggle to myself at the thought of his dancing, which I imagine is quite adorably dorky… adorkable I guess you could say. I like his childish charm, as I find it quite exhilarating. So far I like everything about him.

How old are you exactly?

I’m 22!

Could’ve fooled me
, I joke right back at him.

That is mean! I’m quite mature for my age… okay, even I don’t believe that. Good night, Jess! Sweet dreams : )

Good night
, I respond, overwhelmed by his absence already. I really don’t want to say good-bye. But he wants to see me again. Adam
wants
to see
me
. Why, I don’t understand, but right now I won’t think about it. I refuse to let anything take me back into my dark place. Right now I feel like I’m shining so bright the sun has nothing on me.

I grab my laptop and do a quick google search. What the hell is
Doctor Who
anyway? Shouldn’t it be Doctor Whom? Google tells me it’s a show that has been around since basically the dawn of time and is about a nine-hundred-year-old alien who travels through time and space and is only known as The Doctor.

Um, okay?

Yeah, it sounds kind of weird. I’ll probably stick with horror films and books. I turn my computer off, let out a yawn, and finally get ready for bed. My antidepressants and sleeping pills go down smoothly, and before I know it, I’m lying in bed, and I feel sleep coming on.

I WAKE
up to the sounds of vibrations on wood. I groggily grope the nightstand to grab the manufacturer of the noise, my wicked cell phone. Who the hell is texting me? If it’s Tommy, I swear I’ll punch him in the….

Oh, it’s Adam. It’s okay, then.

Good morning! : ) I hope you have an amazing day ^___^

He really does love his emoticons. He doesn’t exactly use them sparingly.

Good morning, Adam.

I look over at my clock. It’s only 8:57 a.m. Couldn’t Adam have texted me a bit later… like maybe closer to the afternoon? He’s probably one of those morning people. I hate morning people; they’re the worst. They’re always so happy and chipper when they wake up, unlike me. When I wake up, I’m more akin to one of the walking dead.

How did you sleep?

Why do I imagine him sitting there like a cute little child getting really excited as he texts? Maybe it’s just the image I’m hoping for. I picture him sitting on his bed in his pajamas wrapped up in his blanket. His light brown hair is a mess, and it falls into those icy blue eyes, and he has his dopey wide grin as he has his phone in hand. Even though it’s only a fictitious image, it still brings a smile to my face. How does Adam do this? Without even trying, he manages to make me smile. I only just met him, and he already brings me such joy. I guess that is what happens when you start talking to an attractive guy.

I slept okay. WHY are you up so early?

I like the mornings, silly!

I knew it. He’s one of those morning people.

You’re weird.

And proud
, he shoots right back.

I’m going back to bed. Good night!

Don’t you mean good morning? : P

Good MORNING!

I plug my phone back into the charger and settle under the blankets once more, with a smile still on my lips. As I try to fall back to sleep, my heart is pounding too fast, and Adam’s face just won’t leave my mind. Dammit. I grab my phone.

I can’t fall back asleep. Thanks a lot.

It’s my pleasure! : ) What are you doing today?

I’m working at the bookshop, why?

What time are you working?

12—6. It’s not a very long shift.

Good to know!

Why is it good to know?

Thank you, Jess!

Why are you being so mysterious?

Who’s being mysterious? Me? NEVER! : )

I don’t know if I should be scared or excited. I still don’t know too much about this guy, but I hope to know more soon. With my luck he is probably a psycho murderer.

I put my phone down and get dressed, pulling on my nicest skinny jeans and best button-up shirt. If he is coming by the shop later, which I have a feeling he might, I want to look good for a change. No hoodie and T-shirt today. I tie my beaten-up black low-top Chuck Taylors, and when I walk into the kitchen, my parents are shocked to see me up. I see the look on my mother’s face; she looks as if an animal just talked.

“You’re up early for any reason?” Dad inquires.

“Just woke up early.”

“Huh,” he grunts, sounding like a caveman. He’s always been sophisticated like that.

Dad gets up and says he has to start heading to the office, or he’ll be late. My dad works in a small cubicle at an insurance office. It’s not the job he dreamed of, but it’s where he ended up. He’s worked there for my entire life, but when I was growing up, when we would fix cars together, he would tell me of his dreams to open up his own car shop. Cars were always his life. In our basement the walls are still covered with shelves upon shelves of classic model cars. Any automobile connoisseur would tell you it’s quite impressive. Although, it’s nothing compared to my collection of books. My bedroom might as well be a library.

I sit down at the kitchen table, and Mom sits down in front of me. She sips a mug of coffee and lets out a sigh.

“This is good.”

“It’s the same coffee you drink every day, Mom.”

“So are you up for any special reason? I know you said before you just woke up early, but you
never
just wake up early. There’s a better chance of your sister failing a class.”

“Now
that
is impossible.” My sister is back at college, and I miss her terribly. Whenever she is home, it just feels right having the whole family together again.

Mom laughs at my sarcasm, pushing her long, dark brown hair behind her ears. The same blue eyes like mine stare back at me. Her skin, like mine, is pale and smooth. My mother is plain, yet she is still quite beautiful. She never did much care for dressing up or wearing too much makeup. She likes to keep to herself and stays out of the gossip in this town the best she can. I’m glad, because I would hate for her to hear what the town thinks of me. The Mrs. Rattrees of Wilshire would kill my mother. If there is one way to hurt her, it is to hurt one of her children.

One of my fondest memories of her has to be when I was in elementary school. I was beaten up by a group of young boys who were pretending to be badass. They thought they were in a gang, but never in my life have I seen a gang of sixth graders. Neither have I seen a gang in Wilshire. Wilshire isn’t exactly the badass capital of the world. Yeah, we have some deplorable people, but that’s every town. The people here are usually harmless. It’s their biting words you need to watch out for. But these sixth graders I guess were trying to start something new in Wilshire. They failed. You can thank my mom for that. They beat me up for being a weirdo, and they called me faggot, but at the time I didn’t even know what that word meant, nor did I know I was gay at that age either. I just figured every young boy was attracted to other boys. After beating me up, I went home all bloody.

My dad wasn’t home, but my mom was. I saw the anger boil up in her body. It was like watching a volcano preparing to erupt, and my mom erupted all right. She marched to each one of those kid’s houses and told their parents what they did. I went along with her, and to see their parents’ reactions was exquisite! Most kids don’t want their parents meddling in their business, but when you’re just a scrawny little sixth grader, there isn’t much you can do. Yeah, those kids bothered me until the day I graduated high school, but they never physically attacked me again. Their gang never came together, and instead they just stayed three lousy assholes. They didn’t go to college, and none of them have jobs.

I guess I shouldn’t say much, since I’m a psychotic college dropout. I’m not one who can judge others. I have a reason for the way I am. They had no reason or excuse. They were just assholes.

Even when I came out, my mom took it so well. In most movies, television shows, or books, coming out is this huge, painful process. It involves lots of tears and fighting and your parents coming to terms with who you are and how you can’t control it because you’re born that way, blah, blah, blah. It’s always that clichéd bullshit. I know it happens a lot in life, but it didn’t to me. My mom just smiled and said she knew. She knew? I asked her how. Her only response was that a good mother always knows. It might also be because when I was only four years old, she caught me trying on her one pair of high heels she kept around for special occasions. That could have given it away too, but who knows. Clara was the same. She hugged me and told me she loved me. Dad just remained silent. I was only fourteen when I came out. I was fairly young, but I knew. My parents used to tell me I was quite mature for my age. Maybe that’s why I’m so depressed. I was mature enough at a young age to know how the world truly is: a piece of shit rock that fucks everyone and anyone over. It’s not something young children should realize.

“So are you going to tell me who you’re planning to see today?”

I look up, my eyes wide. How did she know?

“What?”

“Who is the boy?”

“How did you know?”

“I notice things. I’m your mother, not a wall ornament. I saw your smile last night, and I see that you’re dressing up to go to the bookshop today. I like it when you smile. You have a beautiful smile, Jess. I just wish the world got to see it more often. This boy must be special to be able to pull that smile from you. What’s he like?”

I watch my mom as a smile blooms on her face. It’s so beautiful and full of love. There are laugh wrinkles around her mouth, showing a lifetime of happiness.

“His name is Adam,” I finally respond.

“That’s a nice name. I like Adam. Tell me about him.”

“There really isn’t much to say. We’ve only hung out a couple times. He seems nice, I guess. But it’s really nothing. We’re just gonna be friends.”

I downplay my attraction toward him. I don’t want her to get her hopes up for me, for what might end up just being nothing. Or is it me who doesn’t want to get my hopes up for nothing? I just really don’t want to go back to my dark place again.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of getting attached, Jess.” It’s like she can read my mind.

My mom kisses my forehead, and she leaves the kitchen. I’m left to ponder what she says. Why shouldn’t I be afraid? If I just let myself get attached to Adam, then when we end, it might send me back to my dark prison.

I make myself a cup of tea and silently sip it, wondering if I’m doing the right thing with Adam. What if I really do begin to like him, what then? Do I allow it to happen, or should I stop it now before it becomes too much for me? But I’m only thinking about myself. I’m being selfish. What if I hurt him in the end? I’m only thinking about me getting attached, but it could happen to me. What if I actually succeed with killing myself, and then he’ll have to live as that guy whose boyfriend offed himself.

Maybe I’m getting too ahead of myself. I should probably go on a date with this guy first. I pull my thesaurus out of my bag, which hangs off the back of my chair, and I open it up to a random page. I close my eyes and slide my finger over the smooth page… and I stop.

Beautiful; adj.

Synonyms: Attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking, alluring, prepossessing; lovely, charming, delightful, appealing, engaging, winsome; ravishing, gorgeous, stunning, arresting, glamorous, bewitching, beguiling; graceful, elegant, exquisite, aesthetic, artistic, decorative, magnificent, cute, fair.

Antonyms: ugly.

Which word to choose here? I’ve had beguile before, and beautiful is too simple of a word that everyone knows. I like winsome. Yes, winsome is a very good word. As in Adam Foster is quite winsome.

I return the small book to my bag and grab my hoodie. I leave the house, locking the door behind me. It’s still too early to go to the bookshop, so I just walk through town, taking in the warm autumn day. The leaves crunch beneath my sneakers. I look down at the ground, going out of my way to step on each crunchy leaf. I smile at the sound.

I do my best to ignore the stares. When will I not be the talk of the town anymore? I pull my iPod out of my bag, and I crank up the music so that I am in my own little world. No one else matters. No one is even here, except for me. I’m alone on the sidewalks, my Converse crunching the leaves. I don’t even know where I am walking; I just let my legs go.

Soon, I find myself at the local bakery. I walk inside to be overwhelmed by the different smells of cakes and cookies and pastries and pies. Each one smells better than the last. I close my eyes and just take in everything. All the different smells come together to create something delicious to the senses.