real. And I’m right in front of you so don’t act like I’m not,” Dark says.
“See? I’m not crazy.”
Ryan runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “No, you’re not crazy, but this is . . . weird.”
“I had trouble believing it at first too,” I say, starting to get excited. Finally someone else knows. Someone who believes me that is.
“How are you talking?” Ryan asks Dark.
Dark just rolls her eyes at him and hops off the bed. “I’ve already been through this with Lissa. Why is it so unbelievable that I can talk?”
“Because animals don’t talk,” he answers, still in awe.
“I’ve heard that one before.” Dark sets to grooming her fur. Carefully licking her pelt before starting on her face.
Thirty questions later and a thorough inspection of my room—with permission of course—Ryan is watching my fish swim around their tank.
“I say the red one should be named Bob,” he says suddenly.
I laugh. “Bob?”
“Yeah.”
“Why exactly?” I hadn’t named my fish. It had only ever occurred to me once that I should give them names. But I didn’t. I’m sitting on the floor, reading a list of songs Ryan had rattled off to me—songs he swore were the best—, but now I get up and kneel beside him.
“The name fits.”
“I don’t think fish are meant to have names.”
“Why not? We name our dogs.”
I tilt my head slightly, thinking. These guys are the only pets I’d ever had. When I watch them swim around I think of them as a collective beauty. I know they're also individuals but together they make the tank beautiful.
“Because you don’t call fish they just stay in the tank. But if you want him to be named Bob that’s fine with me.”
Ryan snorts. “Can I feed them?”
I nod then open the green box filled with fish supplied and take out the flakes. Unscrewing the lid I take a pinch of food. “Only take about this much and wait for them to eat everything before putting more in.” I sprinkle the flakes on top then lean sideways so I can see the clock. 9:47.
“Only feed them as much as they can eat in three minutes so they don’t over eat.”
“Kay,” Ryan says.
I watch Ryan take a pinch of food and drop it in. When the first bit of food is gone he drops in more.
Since Ryan is staring intently at my fish, I risk studying him more carefully. His face is less than a foot from mine; our arms are teasingly close. I take in Ryan’s cheeks, his lips; his forehead, strands of hair just begging to be brushed away. I think back to every time his eyes had locked with mine and I’d gotten a peak into his heart.
A little boy who didn’t get to live like one. A subtle reflection of myself. A kid who had been dealt a tough hand and was forced to either grow up and deal with it or break down and give up, letting life toss you into whatever corner it can find to most likely be forgotten.
Ryan is grown up, responsible, wise beyond his years. He’s seen things, heard things. Whatever troubles Ryan’s been put through he’s not only lived through them, but overcome them to some degree. And Ryan is a stronger, better person because of it. There is an understanding to his eyes that only comes from years of experience.
I realize that I know nothing about his family and it makes curiosity prickle my skin. Ryan glances at the clock.
“Time’s up,” he says, screwing on the lid.
Like scissors snapping off a rose from its bush, the connection is broken and I’m released back into my own mind. I blink a few times and look away.
Ryan looks at me. I think he’s going to say something but our eyes meet and he stops. Ryan swallows. The air seems to zap with invisible energy.
I wonder what he sees in me. Did I have the same wisdom about me that I could see in him? Or did I just look like a childish girl who has seen only a clean world and not the troubles and hardships life can bring and bestow on people, breaking those weak enough to succumb to them.
I look in the mirror
“See? I’m not crazy.”
Ryan runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “No, you’re not crazy, but this is . . . weird.”
“I had trouble believing it at first too,” I say, starting to get excited. Finally someone else knows. Someone who believes me that is.
“How are you talking?” Ryan asks Dark.
Dark just rolls her eyes at him and hops off the bed. “I’ve already been through this with Lissa. Why is it so unbelievable that I can talk?”
“Because animals don’t talk,” he answers, still in awe.
“I’ve heard that one before.” Dark sets to grooming her fur. Carefully licking her pelt before starting on her face.
Thirty questions later and a thorough inspection of my room—with permission of course—Ryan is watching my fish swim around their tank.
“I say the red one should be named Bob,” he says suddenly.
I laugh. “Bob?”
“Yeah.”
“Why exactly?” I hadn’t named my fish. It had only ever occurred to me once that I should give them names. But I didn’t. I’m sitting on the floor, reading a list of songs Ryan had rattled off to me—songs he swore were the best—, but now I get up and kneel beside him.
“The name fits.”
“I don’t think fish are meant to have names.”
“Why not? We name our dogs.”
I tilt my head slightly, thinking. These guys are the only pets I’d ever had. When I watch them swim around I think of them as a collective beauty. I know they're also individuals but together they make the tank beautiful.
“Because you don’t call fish they just stay in the tank. But if you want him to be named Bob that’s fine with me.”
Ryan snorts. “Can I feed them?”
I nod then open the green box filled with fish supplied and take out the flakes. Unscrewing the lid I take a pinch of food. “Only take about this much and wait for them to eat everything before putting more in.” I sprinkle the flakes on top then lean sideways so I can see the clock. 9:47.
“Only feed them as much as they can eat in three minutes so they don’t over eat.”
“Kay,” Ryan says.
I watch Ryan take a pinch of food and drop it in. When the first bit of food is gone he drops in more.
Since Ryan is staring intently at my fish, I risk studying him more carefully. His face is less than a foot from mine; our arms are teasingly close. I take in Ryan’s cheeks, his lips; his forehead, strands of hair just begging to be brushed away. I think back to every time his eyes had locked with mine and I’d gotten a peak into his heart.
A little boy who didn’t get to live like one. A subtle reflection of myself. A kid who had been dealt a tough hand and was forced to either grow up and deal with it or break down and give up, letting life toss you into whatever corner it can find to most likely be forgotten.
Ryan is grown up, responsible, wise beyond his years. He’s seen things, heard things. Whatever troubles Ryan’s been put through he’s not only lived through them, but overcome them to some degree. And Ryan is a stronger, better person because of it. There is an understanding to his eyes that only comes from years of experience.
I realize that I know nothing about his family and it makes curiosity prickle my skin. Ryan glances at the clock.
“Time’s up,” he says, screwing on the lid.
Like scissors snapping off a rose from its bush, the connection is broken and I’m released back into my own mind. I blink a few times and look away.
Ryan looks at me. I think he’s going to say something but our eyes meet and he stops. Ryan swallows. The air seems to zap with invisible energy.
I wonder what he sees in me. Did I have the same wisdom about me that I could see in him? Or did I just look like a childish girl who has seen only a clean world and not the troubles and hardships life can bring and bestow on people, breaking those weak enough to succumb to them.
I look in the mirror
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