Fighting for Arielle (15 page)

I shake my head and clear my throat.
  “Sure, but just know I am the Trivial Pursuit champion, so be careful what you wager.”

             
“Mmmm...  While I can think of all kinds of ways to make it interesting, I thought I might go easy on you and relive some college days by making it a drinking game.”

             
“Aha…  So, every time you miss a question you drink?”

He looks at me, satisfied that I
was picking up what he was putting down.  “You read my mind, except every time the other person gets a question right, you drink.”

             
I try to calculate how many sips that means when someone plays a perfect game.  I don’t do all of the math, but I know it’s enough to get me very drunk.  I don’t care.  He’s going down in this game.

             
“Prepare to be drunk very quickly, my friend.”

             
“We’ll see about that.”

             
Playing Trivial Pursuit with McCrary is so much fun.  He is a very formidable opponent.  We both drink quite a bit, because the other keeps getting questions correct.  I have to drink for getting some sports questions wrong, while McCrary has to drink a few times for getting pop culture questions incorrect.  Ultimately, I win the game, but I am pretty drunk by the end, and I mean wine drunk, which is the least attractive form of drunk for me.  Wine drunk makes me feel all warm and sloppy and sleepy.  

I look outside of his patio doors to see the sun is soon to set and admire the grass that looks so cool and inviting.
 I stand up, reassuring myself inside of my head that I did not almost lose my balance as I stood, and without saying a word walk directly outside of the doors and collapse into the grass.  I rub my hands through its texture and love its cool touch on my skin.  

Shortly after my sudden exit, McCrary joins me, only he’s seated.
 

             
“It just looked so soft,” I answer a question that wasn’t asked.

             
McCrary’s hands run through the grass beside me and then his fingers brush against my arms.  “It’s very soft.”

             
“I know.  What kind of grass is it?”

             
“The kind that they planted when they built this house,” McCrary responds with a laugh.

             
“I thought so.”  I try to sound knowledgeable, but not really knowing what I’m talking about.  

I continue to feel the grass under my hands and legs while I stare at the blue sky that’s beginning to show yellows and oranges.
 “Have I told you that I like you?  Because I do.”

             
McCrary smiles.  “You may have mentioned it before.”

             
“Yeah, probably,” I sit up to face McCrary.  “I talk a lot and say lots of things.  You wanna know something else?”

             
“What’s that?”

             
“I would totally do you if I wasn’t so self-conscious.”  

I pause and McCrary doesn’t respond.
 

“But I’m working on it.
 One day, I’m going to take charge, and you’re not going to even know what hit you.”

             
McCrary brings his face to mine.  “I’m looking forward to it.”

             
He wants me the same way I want him, and I am excited by that revelation.  I think if I wasn’t so wine drunk, I would jump him right here and right now, but it’s probably better that I don’t.  Instead, I place my lips on his and we kiss, but more tenderly than before.  I pull him down on top of me in the grass and love the feeling of him over me.  Not only is his body covering mine super hot and sexy, but it also makes me feel protected.  

The sense of safety combined with a great deal of wine and almost no food makes the world start to spin.
 I know that my options are to either pass out or risk getting sick.

             
“McCrary, I think I need to go to bed.”

“Ok…”

“Please don’t consider this a statement regarding what we were just doing, because trust me, I could kiss you all night, but on a night where I didn’t consume so much wine.”

McCrary smiles and shrugs.
  “At least I can best you at drinking wine.”

“Yeah, yeah...
  I’ll give you that you can handle your wine better than me.  But, I wouldn’t be so drunk if I had eaten.”

Even with the cloudiness from the wine, I recognize I just admitted that I haven’t eaten.  It’s something I don’t ever say aloud.  I keep myself in denial and tell myself that if I say something aloud, then there’s no going b
ack- it’s real.  I don’t want my having an eating disorder to be real.

McCrary narrows his eyes on me.
  “I completely forgot about dinner.  Would you like some food?”

“No.
 I’m just going to pass out instead.  Besides, I don’t need any food.”

I try to play it down.  Right now, I couldn’t eat if I wanted to.  I don’t even think I can stand up.

My head continues to swirl as I tell myself I am not going to be sick and be
that girl
who yaks when she drinks too much. 

McCrary’s hands stop moving in the grass beside me and he seems to be in deep thought until he says, “Can I ask you something?”

I think I know where this is going.  He’s going to want to know all about my eating habits and scold me for everything I’ve done wrong.  Or maybe he’s going to say I’m not trying hard enough and need to look better.  I’ve slowly been trying to eat snacks here and there, and the happier I feel about life, the easier it is to do that.  With Brody around, I can’t bring myself to eat.  It’s about control.  I can’t control him, but I can control what I put into my body.  I’ve shown McCrary plenty of crazy already today, why not go for broke? 

“Sure, but you’re going to get a very honest answer.”

“Good.  That’s what I want.”

“Shoot.”

A silent moment passes.

“Have you eaten at all today?”

I want to snap back and be defensive, or say I have, but I’ve already admitted that I haven’t.

“No,” I say quickly.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

That’s always the next question, except he asks it in a way that seems more out of concern as opposed to accusation. 

I let down my defenses and sigh.

“I don’t know.”

McCrary begins gently running his fingers through my hair, which is both relaxing and exciting as it makes my scalp tingle.

“Do you skip meals often?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

People ask that question as if the motivation is easy to explain.  For me, it started as more of a compulsive act, an act of control.  I felt like I had very little control of the world around me which made me anxious, so I naturally began to doing things to ease my anxiety.  But, the reality is that not only do I see nothing but unattractiveness in the mirror, I’ve been told that I am too curvy or too fat or that I would need to starve to fit into costumes or dresses. 

We don’t natu
rally consider ourselves ugly, unworthy, or anything but equal to everyone else on this planet.  Its society and those around us that shape our view and make us believe that we are supposed to be something other than what we naturally are.  So, an act that started out of defiance and as a way to take back some ownership over my life, has turned into a ritual and a self-fulfilling prophesy that I cannot seem break. 

“Because I don’t need to eat
.  Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.  More than once.”

“You’re perfect.
 You’d be even more perfect if you ate.”

I want to believe him.  I truly do.  I want to believe that someone can love themselves the way they are.  I also want to believe that that someone can love me the way I am.  I know that some people find me attractive since they tell me so, and at shows I get a good response
and attention, so I experience a great deal of cognitive dissonance.  I justify it by repeating those negative statements to myself over and over.  I tell myself that they don’t really know me, or else they wouldn’t find me attractive.  Or that they’re just desperate to get some female attention. Or that they have no standards and will say anything to get into a girl’s pants.

“I disagree,” I say in defiance.

“You’re beautiful and perfect, no matter how you look or how much you eat.  Will you promise me to eat?”

I wonder why he’s not scolding me or telling me how bad it is for me
, or even saying how stupid I am to limit food intake.  I was also expecting the usual responses of how I’m just attention-seeking.  He is genuine, and it makes me want to try to be better to myself and my body.  It’s not like this will happen quickly either, but he has enhanced my desire to be the best person I can possibly be.

“I can’t promise that I will eat regularly, but I can promise to try.
 I’ve been working on it.  I promise I will eat at least one meal a day.  Deal?”

“It’s a start.
 And thank you for trying.”

McCrary kisses my forehead, and I smile a weary smile in return.

“Can I pass out in your bed?”

“Absolutely.”

“Will you sleep with me?  I mean, cuddle with me?”

“Of course.”

Arielle

I
wake up with the sun shining in my eyes, which is in stark contrast to the typically dark room in which I normally arise.  I look around the room to remind myself where I am.  I'm in McCrary's house, in McCrary's bed, but with no McCrary.  Perplexed, I complete a mental run-through of last night. I am almost positive I fell asleep in his arms.  I reach down and feel the same shirt and boxers I was wearing when we went to bed- his shirt and boxers.  I look to my right and take in the smell of him on the pillow and sheets.  The aroma is intoxicating and heavenly.  I sit up in bed and look around the room, which looks the same as yesterday, only I get to observe it a little better and without distraction.  The furniture has surprisingly soft lines with a muted color palate like the guest room.  Books line the walls, and from my vantage point, I can see many classics and a good number of history books.  I wonder what time it is and subsequently wonder why I don’t see an alarm clock.  I decide I should either find McCrary or find my purse and keys so I can leave as his absence might be a sign that I should go.

My head is killing me, so I
first set off to find a remedy for it.  Not bothering to check my hair or attire, I walk to the front of the house where I see McCrary in all of his morning glow glory.  He’s in a grey t-shirt that settles on his chest and arms just tightly enough to not be a baby tee, but enough for the wandering mind to think of lots of unlady like things to do with him.  He has a few books around him with a yellow note pad in his lap, scribbling away.  

I am happy and relieved to see him, but then realize I haven’t even viewed my reflection.
 I’m sure I look like Medusa on crack.  

Sensing I am there, he looks up from his notes and smiles so warmly that I don’t care that I probably
look like death warmed over.  “Morning, sunshine.”

My throat is dry a
nd raspy.  “Morning.  You look like you’re working awfully hard on a day that’s supposed to be a day of rest.”  

He looks at me in confusion.
 

“It’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

He places the books and notepad on the side of the couch.  “Is that a thing?  I don’t think I’ve ever known such a concept.”

I’m sure he probably doesn’t rest much.
 He seems to be the type to take his work home with him and use any extra time he has working.  

“You haven’t?
 Let me fill you in.  On days like this, you’re supposed to lie on the beach, drinking cocktails with little umbrellas in them, and make shapes out of the clouds.  After that, you’re supposed to lie in bed, watch TV, snuggle, and eat Velveeta Shells and Cheese.”

He blinks his eyes slowly and places his index finger on
his chin.  “I’ve been so disillusioned.  Here, I thought it was just a day to prepare for Monday and the start of the work week.”  

I shake my head, smiling in return.
 

He closes the book in his lap around his notes and looks to me cheerfully.
 “Okay.  Let’s try it your way.”  

His response ignites that feeling that you feel when you’re so overjoyed and excited that there are no words to express it
, and you just want to squeal and jump up and down and clap your hands.  I keep it in so I don’t look like a fool, but I do all of those things on the inside.  

“Awesome flossum!
 I just need to go by my apartment and grab some things.  I bought a swanky new swimsuit that I haven’t yet-”

S
ome reality slaps me.  “Oh my god!”

“Something wrong?” he asks, reading the concern in my face.

“Swanks!” I say, feeling like I might cry.

He looks confused.
 “Come again?”

“Swanks- my tortoise.
 
Señor
Swankypants?”

I feel as though I might panic
, and I know it won’t be long before I’m walking in anxious circles, going nowhere.

McCrary continues to look a bit perplexed.
 “You were being serious when you said you had a reptichild named
Señor
Swankypants?”

I look at him
, a bit insulted.  “Of course I was!  Why would I make that up?”

Looking a bit more satisfied, laughing he says, “No, no...
  Of course you weren’t.  How could you make that up?”  

He stan
ds up and moves closer to me.  “And the mountain of beer bottles?”

“Yup.
 The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”  I raise my right hand as if I’m taking an oath.  “Anyway, I’ve been neglecting my poor tortoise.  He’s been stuck in that awful apartment all by himself.”

Sensing my oncomin
g panic mode, McCrary raises an eyebrow and says, “I think I have an idea.  He is more than welcome to come over here for his day of rest.  He might enjoy the spare bedroom and the large windows in the dining room.  That’s assuming that he too adheres to the same ‘Day of Rest’ policy.”

I clap my hands in excitement.
 “That would be so awesome of you!  Of course he adheres to the policy.  It is a requirement.  Plus, for Swanks, every day is a day of rest.”  I put my arms around McCrary’s neck and toss any care about morning breath aside.  “You’re alright, you know that?”  

I give him a peck on the lips.
 I’m so happy that not only am I going to spend the day with McCrary, but he just invited my tortoise to come stay at his house too.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”
 

He winks at me
, and I don’t want to break our embrace, but I do, so I can get back sooner rather than later.

“I’m just going to run by my apartment, run a brush through this mane, brush my teeth, grab what I need, including a tortoise, and come back here in say...forty-five minutes?”
   

“I can go with you, if you want.”
 McCrary looks at me solemnly.

“No
need.  I told you; I’m tough."  I flex my biceps to help emphasize my point.

He turns away f
rom me and rubs his forehead.  "I'm serious, Arielle.  I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Relax," I say, trying to reassure him.
 "Brody is out to sea right now and should be gone for a while.  I will be fine."

McCrary turns and looks at me dubiously, but he relents.
 "Fine.  But you let me know if there is even a hint of an issue."

I bring my feet together, lift my chest, and playfully salute.
 "Aye, aye, Captain."

He looks me up and down with mischief in his eyes.
 "That's more like it.  And I'm not a Captain."

"Close enough."
 I roll my eyes.

"Not even, but whatever floats your boat."
 He rolls his eyes in return.

I break out into belly laughs.
 I can't help it.  His "float your boat" comment cracks me up, mostly because it’s coming from a sailor.  

"You're hilarious!"

"A regular comedian," he says sarcastically.  "Would you get going so I can see you in your
swanky
bathing suit, already?"  

He waves me away with his hands.

"Sir, yes sir."  I tease as I turn on my heels and retrieve my purse and keys.

*****

McCrary

I
return back to my house with armfuls of Shells and Cheese.  I think the cashier at the commissary must have thought me insane.  How do you say, "No, really, this is for the girl that I spent the night with, but she means so much more to me, and demands Shells and Cheese in bed?"  I opted for a professional, confident look of silence instead.

Although I need to study for my case, when Arielle suggested we have a relaxing day, I was more than a little excited about the prospect of not only spending the day with her, but also seeing her in a bikini.
 I think my imagination probably won't do her justice when I actually see it in person.  I haven't had a relaxing day where I just enjoyed myself in quite some time.  I never really have a reason to slow down as my life has been dedicated to the Navy, my career, and my clients.  There's something so delightfully simple in spending time with her, yet she's very interesting and deep.  Since I’m trying to put happiness and trust in place of her fear of being hurt, I want to do anything that helps with it.  If that means inviting her tortoise over to spend the day at my house, then I will sign on for it, in a blink, every time.  I'm not quite sure what all having a tortoise as a house guest entails, but I am glad to learn.

I am tidying the place a bit and getting some things together for the day when I hear her close her car d
oors in my driveway.  She’s talking, but I can’t understand exactly what she’s saying.   Then, I hear a distinct noise of clicking on the pavement outside.  There’s a light knock on the door.  

“Knock knock!” a sunny voice says as the door opens.
 “Come on Swanks, he’s nice, I promise.”

Arielle walks through the door, smiling in a chipper way I haven’t seen before, followed by a large, greenish-yellow
, jagged dome with four legs and a wrinkly neck.  

Arielle stops and gestures.
 “Swanks, McCrary...  McCrary, meet
Señor
Swankypants- my best buddy.”  

She stops and brushes his head lightly.
 

S
eñor
Swankypants- Er...Swanks first turns his eyes my direction, then slowly, his head.  I don’t know much about reptiles or tortoises, but it’s pretty evident that he’s sizing me up.  I don’t know if I’m supposed to squat down to speak to him, or walk over to him.  I remain casual and talk to him as I continue cleaning.  

“Hey Swanks, nice to finally meet you.
 I’ve heard so much about you.  Make yourself at home.”  

Swanks raises his head, blinks his eyes slowly
, and begins to wander about the room.

“Is it weird that I have a large tortoise for a best bud?”
 Arielle looks at me sheepishly.  “I know it sounds crazy, but he really is good to talk to.”  

Admittedly
, I’ve never met anyone with a reptichild or a large tortoise friend, but it just adds to Arielle’s charm and unique character.  

I widen my grin.
 “Weird?  No.  It’s almost cliché how unweird it is.”  

I give her a sweet kiss on her nose.
 In response, she rolls her eyes and thumps me on mine.  

“Have you always been such a nerd?”
 

I put my hands on her waist and shrug.
 “Pretty much.”  

I pull her to me and gently kiss her mouth.
 I am reminded how, even though she was only gone for an hour or so, I felt as though something I needed was missing during that time.  

I step back to look into her clean, natural face, which I think is just as beautiful, if not more, than when she is made up.
 Her olive skin highlights her green eyes, whose corners I see wrinkle as she adds her glowing smile to her countenance.  

“You’re lucky you have such a hot body, sexy uniform, and adorable face to mask that inner nerd.”
 

“Lucky nerd, indeed.”
 

Our mouths meet again and I make the executive decision that Day of Rest with Arielle needs to
be added to my regular routine.

***

W
e take the top off of my Jeep and drive around the island of Oahu to take in all of the lush colors and varying landscapes.  We talk about the contrast between the steep rises of the topography that separate the leeward and windward sides of the island.  I teach her the terms
makai
, which in Hawaiian represents toward the ocean, and
mauka
which refers to toward the mountains.  

“Do you surf?” s
he asks me as we drive on the north shore.

“No.
 I’ve wanted to try it, but haven’t gotten around to it,” I say with a shrug.

“I haven’t either,” she says, grabbing my hand with hers.
 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her looking at the side of my face, smiling genuinely.
 “I should add that to my ‘List of Things I Want to Experience.’”  

“Maybe one Sunday,” I say with a smile, still looking toward the road.

“Maybe.”

“What beach would you like to visit?” I ask as we round the top of the island by Kahuku
, toward Laie.  

Arielle answers quickly.
 “Take me to your favorite one.”

I’ve driven this island many times, taking in the scenery and comparing the shore lines.
 There is not a bad beach on Oahu.  Kailua Beach is one of my favorites, when it is not crowded, but I opt for a piece of shore that is more untouched and slightly more private.