Predominance (9 page)

“Funny you should say that,” I noted, “because it wasn't until tonight that I actually found the meaning of those words myself.”

Her eyes flew back to mine to meet my solemn gaze, her expression skeptical. She then looked down at our entwined hands and considered for a moment.

“It's a matter of fact, I've wondered about those words for years,” I added. “I've wondered if they were actually spoken or just something I thought of in the heat of the moment. But tonight you've confirmed them to be real… in more than one way.”

She pondered my words for the longest time, staring blankly at the aurora, until a sudden tremor shook our folded hands, snapping us both back to reality. Her eyes hardened then and she pulled her hand away from mine, as if regretting ever holding it again. “What are we doing?” she asked, her voice as hard as a rock. “Encouraging a romantic delusion from a stupid pre-teen crush?”

Her words plunged into my stomach like a rusty knife. “Is that how you see it?” I said, my voice rough with the edge of another mood swing.

“It doesn't matter how I see it, Victor! We're letting ourselves forget that we're sick—that any minute could be our last. You heard what Dr. Walker said. Even with this treatment, there are no guarantees. We still might not wake up tomorrow. Why do you think I locked myself in my room for two years? Depression? No! I didn't want to meet or get involved with anybody who was going to end up mourning me, Victor. And I'm pretty sure that's the reason you isolated yourself, too. Do you really want to rekindle something that's only going to bring us more pain? I mean, aren't you tired of attending funerals?”

Her last words got me back up on my feet.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized quickly, her voice softer. “I didn't mean that. I'm such an idiot,” she whispered, her eyes big and wide, like those of a sad puppy dog. “Please, don't go, Victor.”

I stood there fighting my anger and debating whether or not to speak my mind; and then I realized that the answer for that question was clear. So, I began: “You know what, Yvee? I didn't have much growing up. Maybe that's the reason why all my feelings were invested in so few people—making me love them, a little too much, I guess. Xavier for instance...he was not only my friend, but the brother I never had. I loved him dearly. And yet, I never told him. Instead, I teased him and patronized him. Now I wonder if he ever knew how important he was to me.

“My dad... he was my father, my mother, my mentor, my friend, my entire family. No son could ever love a father the way I loved him. And yet he never heard me say it. He flat-lined before I could utter the words. After that, I made myself a promise: that no matter how embarrassed, self-conscious, or out of place I felt, I'd never conceal my feelings again. Because I might just not have a second chance to let them show. And you're right. We might not wake up tomorrow. But I think that only makes what I need to say all the more imperative.”

I paused and paced around for a few seconds, pressing my fingertips against my aching temples. Yvette, still seated with her back against the tree, waited for me to continue, until I finally turned around and let my words gush like the waters of an open floodgate. “I loved you, Yvee. You were my neighbor, my classmate, my best friend for twelve years… You were my first kiss… You were my first love… And when I saw you again today—even though I didn't recognize you at first—my heart skipped a beat. It literally skipped a beat. I know how strange and even stupid that seems, but I swear to you it's the truth.”

I paused for a moment, realizing how neurotic I was beginning to sound. But the throbbing pain in my head reminded me that at this juncture in my life, being neurotic was just good common sense, so I continued. “All night I've been fighting this impulse, this urge, to reach out to you and hold you. I have this irrational feeling deep inside my chest that makes me want to protect you, that makes me want to be near you. I feel a connection that I can neither explain nor control. I've been racking my brain, running the numbers, trying to understand what I'm feeling here. But I can't find an answer.

“All I know is that these past few hours have been the happiest I've felt in a long time—if not ever.” My vision blurred with the tears I could no longer suppress, and the knot stuck in my throat was too thick to swallow. But somehow I managed to keep it all in. “My father spoke to me of a sign that would lead me to my happiness. I believe that sign brought me here. I believe that sign brought me to you. I wish I could've told you all this differently. Over dinner, maybe, in a beautiful restaurant, holding your hand, after dating you for some time. But time is a luxury we no longer have. And if I'm to die tomorrow, I want to know that I can go with no regrets. Telling you exactly what I'm feeling at this moment is the only way I can do that.”

The silence that followed my words allowed me to take a breather and rearrange my thoughts. And though I knew I'd spoken from the heart, I couldn't help but fear that my blunt display of candor might be misconstrued as the cry of a psycho ex-boyfriend. So I decided to stop embarrassing myself and leave—as I probably should have from the beginning. “I'm sorry,” I apologized. “I'll leave you alone, now, okay?” I turned around and took my first step out of there.

“Wait!” she called swiftly.

I stifled a sigh and turned around to face her again. She was on her feet now.

“That's it? Really? You're going to drop that bomb on me and just leave me here in the middle of the night?”

I shifted uneasily, trying to decide what to say. Finally, I shoved my hands into my pockets to steady myself, and let go of the first thing I had on my mind. “I know it sounds crazy, but I only said what I thought needed to be said… for me.”

“What about me?” she asked, a thread of outrage in her tone. “Don't I have a say?”

I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, too mortified to look her in the eye again. “Well, you probably think I'm crazy. And that everything I just said is nothing but a—”

“Stop!” she protested, her voice angry now. “Don't do that! Don't presume to know what I'm thinking! It drives me crazy—it always did! Just do me a favor and just…just stay there! And don't move or speak or… I need to think.”

I stood there quietly, like a reprimanded child, while she paced awkwardly in front of me. She finally stopped after what felt like hours, but in reality couldn't have been more than a few minutes. I looked up to see her leaning backwards against the tree, her eyes raised to the night sky. I could see the aurora glowing upon her face.

“When you saw me in the presentation room…” she asked cautiously, “Did you feel this… connection then?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

She nodded softly, her face unreadable. And though her eyes seemed occupied with the aurora, her stare held complete emptiness. “Do you remember what happened in the old armoire after what you said to me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper now.

“Of course,” I answered solemnly.

Her eyes abandoned the mesmerizing aurora and locked directly onto mine. “Tell me,” she demanded.

“Why? You were telling this story better than I ever could have.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But this part I'd like to relive through your eyes.”

“All right,” I agreed, retracing my thoughts back to that gloomy summer night in Jersey. “After what I said,” I began, “I heard my dad's voice coming from upstairs. I knew it was over, because I knew that once he was in front of me, I'd never be able to disobey him. So I turned on my flashlight, thinking that was probably the last time I'd ever see you. It broke my heart when I saw tears running down your face. I tried to wipe them all away, but they just kept coming. I remember running my fingers through your hair, asking you to please don't cry. Then I promised you that no matter what, I would never forget you... because you would always be in my heart. And then I put my hand over the closet door, ready to turn myself in, but you stopped me. You pulled me close to you and said…”

I paused briefly, with an elated smile, lost in the memory. “...You said: You never break your promises. Don't break this one. Don't forget about me. And I promise you, I will always be your girl. And then we kissed, for the first time.” I stopped then and sighed wistfully. My eyes, freed of reminiscence now, sought reaction from hers; but Yvette's eyes were lost in the vastness of the night sky again.

“You were my first kiss too,” she said finally, with a faint smile on her face.

“I know.” My voice held no doubt.

Her eyes slid back to me then, with a hint of regret in them, her smile gone. “Then you know I didn't mean what I said before, right? About us having a stupid pre-teen
cr—”

“I know,” I interjected quickly.

“Good,” she breathed. “Because nothing could be farther from the truth. And I wouldn't want you to think that's how I remembered us.” She paused. “I wanted to hear my own words from you, because—much like yours—they needed to be confirmed as true... just as you've done. Thank you for that,” she whispered, turning back to me with a determined look on her face, her hands behind her back as she leaned backwards against the tree. “I want to tell you something that will probably just complicate things even more. But like you said, some things just need to be said. Especially when you don't know if tomorrow will ever come for you. So here goes.”

She took a deep breath and continued. “This morning I peeked over the reception desk and, uh... I saw your name on the list. At first, I thought it was someone else with the same name. But then, when I saw you in the presentation room, I knew it was you.” She smiled gently. “…My Victor. The one who use to fight bullies at school just to keep me safe... The one who made me so jealous when he let stupid Heather Thompson touch his beautiful, feathered hair in the fifth grade.” She chuckled, but solemnity returned to her voice in a flash as she continued. “The one who'd cry with me whenever I felt sad... The one who never got tired of telling me how beautiful he thought I was... The one I used to dream would come and wake me from my nightmares and tell me: I've come to take you with me.”

She paused, sniffling back some tears. “The truth is that you left a huge hole in my heart, Victor. And I'd be lying if I'd told you I didn't feel the same inexplicable urge to run to you and hug you the moment I saw you walking through that door. I did. I almost felt as if I was entitled to.” She shook her head, as if trying to regain some measure of courage. But then she looked up and bored into my soul with those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers, as if determined to finish what she needed to say. “And that connection you were talking about…?” She sighed. “I feel it, too.”

I stood there in shock; and though her words had brought me a flood of happiness, they had also managed to elevate the rhythm of my young ticker to a distressing jackhammering mode that I was afraid she'd be able to hear.

“So there!” she continued nervously. “Now we've expressed our feelings—exposed the truth. Now, if we die tomorrow... Well, then at least we'll do so in the knowledge that we haven't kept that knowledge from each other, right?” Her voice sounded desperately eager to justify our current behavior.

“Yes,” I breathed. “But... what if we live?”

“Ha!” She blushed and hesitated sheepishly before saying, “If we live? Yeah, well, if we live...” She considered for a moment, and smiled. “Then I guess tomorrow will be the most awkward day of our entire lives.”

We both broke out laughing then. Her hand flew to her face, cupping her mouth with embarrassment. She rolled her eyes at me and waved her other hand, as if blaming me for the awkward moment. For me, it was a treat to watch this blushing angel laughing in all her splendor.

“But at least we'll be able to spend that life together,” I told her, and she stopped laughing abruptly, her eyes glistening green-flecked pools in the aurora light.

“So...” she said, her voice meaningful again, “can your numbers or scientific method make sense of any of this? I mean, is it normal, or even possible, for two people who haven't seen each other for a decade to stumble upon each other in such an unusual out-of-the-way environment, under circumstances like these, and feel the exact same thing at the exact same moment?”

“I don't know,” I admitted.

Yvette smiled, as if pleased by my earnest response. “I like that,” she whispered.

“What's that?”

“Your honesty,” she said, capturing my eyes with a gentle glance, her smile so faint as to be almost unnoticeable now. “I always loved that about you. Your confidence, your loyalty, your courage, and even your stubbornness.” She snickered softly. “I love the fact that you were once an Eagle Scout... And that you named a star after me for my eleventh birthday. I love that you once helped me bake my favorite pastry, although we almost burnt down the house.”

We both laughed again, wishing we could return to that simple time. “I love the fact that you never left your dad,” she continued, “especially when he needed you the most.” Her eyes dampened then. “That shows the wonderful person you are. But what I really, really love the most is that you're still the same Victor I knew.” She paused, piercing me with her eyes, her lips trembling. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I... I loved you, too, Victor—I always did.”

Her words made my heart skip another beat, while one of her trapped tears finally escaped from the corner of her eye. The clear droplet rolled gently down the side of her adorable heart-shaped face as her lips gave me the most genuine smile I'd ever seen.