penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (16 page)

“I like your eyes
,” he said to me, bringing my attention from his neck. There was apprehension as he spoke.

I scowled for a moment before tilting my head in question. “Well, they aren’t that natural of blue, I have to have my contacts tinted so I don’t lose them
.” I smiled as I drank my coffee, trying not to look at him. I was thankful for empty words and false compliments from others, but hearing them from Wynn left me at a loss. There was flirting when I went out. But they were words without meaning to most people. I thought Wynn was different and it turns out I was wrong. His comment sounded empty.

“I wasn’t meaning the color
,” he said as he looked at the hand I touched, rubbing it with his other hand as if to work out an ache. “I was meaning you have this look in your eyes that says you see things the rest of us don’t.” He looked back into my eyes. “There is a whole world in your eyes.”

I held my breath for a moment as I lacked a response. What he said ricocheted through my insides and a simple thank you wasn't enough. As I looked into his eyes, I understood what he meant. He was seeing
me
and when someone
really
sees you that is someone you need to accept. If I allow myself to hold onto this, I will be treading close to abandoning my intended path. A fathomless path void of the hope he was creating in me. But I needed to hold onto this.

“I don’t get that level of reality from people in usual conversations. You don’t have a fake bone in your body do you, Wynn?” I asked as I broke eye contact, unable to keep it after the nakedness he left in me.

“No, I don’t,” he said as Sonya returned to fill his coffee. “I saw too much of it as a child. I only want fiction from books. In real life, I don’t want facades. I want reality born from truth.” He kept his eyes on his coffee mug even after he filled it with more honey.

“Is that possible all the time?” I tried to keep my own apprehension of being real with someone hidden
. “I mean, we wear masks every day. We wear our work mask, we wear our friendship mask, we wear our going out mask—different masks for different times. We can’t walk around letting ourselves be that open all the time.” The thought of that made me anxious. I thought I could be an open book at one time, but I discovered that it can get you into a shit ton of trouble. You can’t be honest and truthful all the time. It will hurt too many people.

“I didn’t say all the time
,” he spoke with a stern voice bringing my eyes back to his. Though his voice held that tone, his eyes were soft and understanding. “I wear plenty of masks and keep up my own walls. I meant the person one loves. I want the truth in that. I will not wear masks when it comes to love. People marry without even knowing their spouse. They live never having an honest conversation of sharing their dreams and what makes them tick. They never unleash the passion that makes them—them,” he said taking a drink of his coffee and watched a skateboarder that was jumping the parking blocks outside the coffee shop. The kid looked as if he were in his middle teens and was trying with determination to complete a jump. “You see that kid out there?” Wynn asked.

“Yes,” I said and kept watching the skateboarder as he kept at his task, trying to complete it.

“How much of his life is wasted if he never found his true self amongst the chaos? What if he gave up on this one thing he loves for another person? We aren’t meant to give up ourselves to be with someone else. But we are meant to meet someone that sees who we are and blows it out of the water. We aren’t supposed to wear masks. We live on this rock and that in and of itself is fucking inspirational—regardless of your religious belief.

“
Yet we choose to spend it in hiding. I am saying this for me, too. I live in fear, hiding from the possibility of life. If I show myself, what will that mean for me? What will that mean for them? That’s what has scared me. Maybe that is what scares everyone into hiding behind masks. We are afraid of reactions,” he said the last part in a whisper as he watched the kid on his skateboard. A girl approached him with a big smile on her face. They hugged for a moment before she took the board from him and completed the jump with the perfection he had been trying.

“It means we need to drop our guards sometimes, so we can help each other. We can’t drop the guards of others, but by dropping our own we can show them they aren’t alone
,” I said as I watched the kid now complete the jump after watching how the girl did it. We were having a conversation with each other, but sorting out our own thoughts along the way.

“I think you’re right,” h
e said as he turned back to me.

“So let’s see here, I have an idea. I ask yo
u a question then you ask me,” he said with a light smile, pulling us away from talk of hiding and fears.

“Okay, sounds good. You just asked one, so it’s my turn
,” I said with a coy smile that brought a laugh from him again.

“Go ahead,” he said as he waved his hand toward me, encouraging me to continue.

“Favorite book?” I asked as I sipped my coffee.

“
Fahrenheit 451
.” He lifted his eyebrow and asked, “Favorite book?”

“
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
.” I smiled at him as he gave me a smile back. “Favorite television show? Oh and by the way I appreciate this fast fire list of questions we are doing. I am going to take mental note of everything you say so I can analyze it later.” I laughed.

He shook his head at me and laughed himself
. “Good that means you’re as crazy as I am, because I was planning on doing the same.
Battlestar Galactica
is my favorite by the way and what's yours?” he asked.

“
Doctor Who
. But I've never watched the older ones, just the new ones. Lame, I know. All I know of the earlier ones is the one Doctor’s scarf. Other than that, I am clueless. But I see we both appreciate science fiction. So let's answer the greatest question of the ages…
Star Trek
or
Star Wars
?” I asked with a grin that filled my entire face.

He eyed me for a moment before he responded, "Let's say it at the same time. It will be my question too. On the count of three we will both say our favorite.”

I nodded agreement as he began the countdown with his fingers. We held each other’s eyes as he began to lower the last finger. We wore huge smiles as we inhaled to speak at the same time.

“
Star Trek
,” I said with inflection as he said, “
Star Wars
.”

“Oh man!” I said and shook my head at him
. “
Star Trek
it has to be. Leonard Nimoy is glorious.”

He laughed at me, “I knew you were going to say
Star Trek
, so I said
Star Wars
. Both equal in goodness, I find. It's illogical to pick one,” he spoke with a monotonous tone resembling characters from both franchises.

“You ass, that was a lame attempt at a geek joke by the way
,” I said as I threw my napkin at him. “Okay it’s my turn now since you used your turn on that.” He nodded for me to continue as he drank more of his coffee. “What is the worst case you have seen at work? I don’t need the details.”

He gave me a shocked expression before speaking, “Well, I was expecting more of what is my favorite color, but okay
.” He looked at the ceiling trying to find the answer in the fluorescent lights above my head.

“Every part is horrible. But assaults are the worst.
 It’s more difficult to cope when I hear them crying or screaming in pain caused by another person. I always wish to the universe that they left before I arrived. It's a different cry than when it's an accident. Something changes in those cries as if trying to understand how a human being could do that to them was consuming them, piece by piece. The confused cries come from trying to grasp for understanding. The sound is as if they believe with each cry they could make sense of the chaos. I don’t understand it myself and that is why I hate working those cases.”

“Why do you do it then?” I interrupted, wanting to know why he chose to do something that haunted him.

“Nope, it’s my turn to ask a question,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I am going to tone it back. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue
,” I said without hesitation. “Now why do you do it then?”

He sighed before responding, “I don’t know why I do. The job fell into my lap and I keep doing it because it has become habit. Maybe I am a masochist and enjoy putting myself through the pain. Now, I will ask you a lighter question again, favorite band?”

I sighed myself at his dismissal of the topic. “I can’t think of just one. I appreciate music in various styles. But I guess any music that embraces life. I don’t want bullshit songs with a chick in tight pants and glamorous bullshit on being a rock star.” Taking a deep breath, I continued.

“The style doesn’t matter as long as it taps into that. I guess it goes back to what you said earlier and the truth in people. Music should show us the truth of its creator or a truth in the world. It should have a single minded focus bent from the creators own sense of humanity. I have the same view on books. I don’t want something the musician or author thought I wanted to hear or read. I want
their
truth. Without that it deserves to be in the bargain bin or twenty-five cent table at a library book sale.

“
However most of the world doesn’t want truth. So we are given the popular. Which becomes a person walking around accepting what they are told is good instead of deciding their own mind. It’s sad. It comes from a wider umbrella of wanting people to find out who they are without others' opinion.” I laughed at myself. “I pulled a politician and digressed from your question, didn’t I?”

“Is that your question?” h
e asked.

“I don’t know, was that yours?” I asked and laughed at his expression. “No, that was not my question. My question for you
is… favorite food?” I smiled at him.

“Mexican and I mean authentic Mexican, not from a drive-thru or the frozen food section at the supermarket. I mean the real authentic cuisine. What’s yours?”

“The fake Mexican food from the supermarket,” I deadpanned, bringing a smile to his face. “Just kidding, my favorite meal is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It’s the perfect sandwich,” I said as I pointed at him with my coffee mug.

“
I’m not meaning any old bread from the store or any old jelly. It has to be my mom’s homemade strawberry jam on her homemade bread. She grinds her own flour and bakes the bread herself. I use refrigerated natural peanut butter, too. That’s making my mouth water thinking of it. Top it off with a glass of fresh milk and I’m in heaven.” I looked away from him as my heart caught at the thought of my mother. She was both wonderful and annoying. I missed her like hell and I never wanted to see her again. “So question for you—favorite band?”

He laughed, “How am I supposed to respond to that after your eloquent
response earlier?” Raising an eyebrow he looked over at me as he began to run his finger across the top of the sugar packets again. “Part of me has the need to impress you, but I won’t because that isn’t truthful.” He leaned forward, folding his hands together and resting them atop the table. “So in honesty, I don’t have a favorite band, but I have been listening to Lord Huron lately.” He looked away with his usual demure smile and continued, “Especially the song
She Lit a Fire.”
I smiled at his confession. I didn’t know Lord Huron or the song, but I was going to find them as soon as I got home. “Okay, my turn, now. What's your favorite place in the world?” he asked with a light look in his eyes. They held a joyful expression that made flutters dance across my abdomen.

I took a deep breath as I focused my thoughts on my favorite place, which now held dark memories as well. It was still my favorite place but it was no longer pure.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Wynn said. “I don’t know where that look came from, but I’m sorry that my question caused it.” He leaned forward and with hesitation, he touched my hand. I looked up into his eyes and saw that he meant his apology and I felt horrible for showing him this side of me. Putting my hand atop his, I lifted it and set it back on his side of the table.

“No, it’s fine. No worries. My favorite place is the flower field behind my parents’ house. My sister and I used to play there when we were little. I miss it sometimes. Not the place itself, but the happy moments it holds
.”

I looked at the playground across the parking lot again and watched two little girls playing together on the swings. They were happy and they were free, as Lily and I once were. Happiness in my childhood was fleeting. Once we met the world we realized how small we were in it. We shared our dreams with that field and it was as if they waited for us to return to find them. But we never will.

When we grew older, we realized possibilities were not limitless, because we learned to limit ourselves. Life made more sense when we stopped floating in the clouds. After she died, I quit believing in dreams because it made it easier to cope with the reality of life. Everyone will leave this world regardless of their dreams so what is the point?