The Art of Life (65 page)

               
“Oh, oops.”

               
“Do you want to stop?” He asks
me, looking back into my eyes.

               
I don’t know what to say about
that, but the word, “No,” comes out of my mouth.
              

               
Jeremy bends
back down and kisses
me again.
 
Instantly, it’s like my body has a mind of its own.
 
We push and pull at each other desperately,
like we are trying to bring the other one through.
 
The world disappears and all I can
concentrate on is Jeremy, the touch of him on my fingers, the heat of his body
on mine, the incredible drive I feel to stay connected to him.

               
Minutes, an hour, or a few
later, we finally pull apart.
 
Jeremy
just breathes heavily against my lips.
 
“We need to stop.”

               
Nodding, I squeak, “
Yeah, that
is probably a good idea.”

               
There is a moment of silence and
then he says, “I don’t want to.”

               
“We NEED to,” I emphasize.
 
“Come on, you should sleep.”

               
Not moving, Jeremy just stares
at me.
 
Finally, he whispers,
“Fine.”
 
He falls down next to me on the
bed and rolls onto his back.

               
We lay there quiet for a few
minutes.
 
“Are you mad at me?” I finally
ask.

               
Turning to look at me, Jeremy
retorts, “Why would I be mad at you?”

               
“Because I wanted to stop,” I
reply.

               
“No,” he murmurs.
 
“I could never be mad at you for something
like that.”

               
Nervously, I smile.
 
“Okay.”

               
“Come here,” Jeremy says,
opening his arms.
 
I go over and crawl
into them.
 
“Let’s just sleep.”

               
“Alright,” I whisper.
 
We lie there, but it isn’t long before I feel
Jeremy rhythmically breathing.
 

               
So my question is, did he fall
asleep or pass out?
 
I don’t understand
drinking.
 
Wait, is that why this
happened?
 
Is it because he was drunk?
 
If it was…….how
am
I
going to feel about that?
 
I press my
face into Jeremy’s chest and close my eyes.
 
I should know this is just what it is.
 
Jeremy needed the touch of someone and I was here.
 
I guess I would rather it be me than a random
stranger.
 
I think that is what he wanted
too.
 
Taking a deep breath, I clench my
eyes shut and try to go to sleep.

               
When morning comes, I find
Jeremy and I separated on the bed.
 
Sitting up, I see that he is still dead to the world.
 
Trying hard not to smirk, I just shake my
head.
 
He is going to be sleeping for a
while.
 
I carefully get out bed and sneak
out of the room.
 
Gently, I shut the
door, not wanting to wake him.

               
I go into the kitchen to make
some coffee.
 
While it is brewing, I just
stand there with my hand on my lips.
 
Every second of last night runs through my head.
 
My heart actually starts to flutter
again.
 
It’s like I can still feel his
touch.
 
Shaking my head, I wait for my
coffee.
 

               
After I am done with it, I sit
at the kitchen table staring at my bedroom door.
 
I am not even sure what to say to him when he
gets up?
 
What DO you say in this
situation?
 
Hey, good morning, thanks for
last night.
 
I don’t think that is how I
should handle it.
 
Finally, I groan and
decide to take a shower.

               
It is calming.
 
I wash my hair and everything.
 
After, I am done, I turn and let the water
run down my face.
 
Images and feelings
keep coursing through my mind.
 
Suddenly,
with a bang, the bathroom door opens.
 
It
makes me jump.
 
Then a few seconds later,
I hear
wretching
.
 
“Jeremy!?”
I gasp.

               
There is no response.
 
I turn off the shower and reach out for my
robe.
 
After I am done
pulling it on, I open the curtain.
 
Jeremy is of course, on the floor, throwing up in the toilet.
 
I sigh heavily and get out of the
shower.
 
Squatting down next to him, I put
my hand on his forehead to help hold his head.
 
He throws up for a while.
 
You
think this would bother me, but I have dealt with it enough with my mom.
 
This is nothing.
 
He heaves for a while and then finally stops.

               
“Are you done?” I ask.

               
“Yeah, I think so,” he
groans.
 
Jeremy falls over and sits next
to the toilet.
 
I go and get a wash
cloth.
 
After getting it wet, I come over
and hand it to Jeremy.
 
“Thanks,” he
mumbles, cleaning himself up.
 
“You don’t
have to help me.”

               
“Oh geez,” I groan.
 
“Yes, I do.
 
Relax.”
 
Turning I fill a tiny cup
up with water and hand that to him, too.
 
“Rinse out your mouth.”

               
He does and spits it into the
toilet.
 
“I feel like I am going to die.”

               
“You are not going to die,” I
say, crossing my arms.
 
“You are
hungover
.
 
You wish
you were dying.
 
How much did you drink
last night?”

               
“You know,” Jeremy retorts.
 
“I don’t remember.
 
Oh crap.”
 
He bends over and starts to puke again.

               
I kneel down next to him and rub
his back.
 
When he is done, Jeremy rests
his head on the toilet.
 
“I wish I could
do more to help you, but trust me, there isn’t anything I can do.
 
You have to wait this out.”

               
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
 
“Been through this before.”

               
Getting uncomfortable, I sit
down on the floor.
 
I arrange my robe so
nothing is showing.
 
You know what
happened last night isn’t important right now.
 
Jeremy groans and falls over, laying his head on my lap.
 
That makes me laugh.
 
“Why don’t you get comfortable?”

               
“
Shh
,”
he hushes me.
 
“Not so loud.”

               
“Sorry,” I whisper, still
giggling.
 
“I am sorry, but this is kind
of funny.”

               
He closes his eyes and
moans.
 
“It is not funny.”

               
“Yes, it is.
 
Maybe it will teach you not to drink so
much.”

               
Jeremy drapes his arm over his
face.
 
“Sunlight is so
fricking
bright.
 
Ugh!”
 
I just laugh and shake my
head.
 
Sighing, Jeremy finally says, “So,
how did I get home last night?”

               
“What?” I ask.

               
“Well, I remember being at the
bar and…….then I woke up in your bed,” Jeremy replies.

               
My heart shatters into a million
pieces.
 
I don’t even know if I can come
up with words.
 
“You don’t remember last
night?”

               
“Nope.”

               
“Like anything?” I quietly say.

               
Jeremy removes his arm and looks
at me.
 
“No, why did I do something
stupid?
 
How did I get in your bed?”

               
I think I may actually cry…..on
top of him.
 
The look in his eyes is a
confused one.
 
I can’t tell him, I just
can’t.
 
What would he say?
 
It would just be awkward.
 
He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t
drunk.
 
“No,” I finally say
, trying
to put on a smile.
 
“You just crawled into my bed and passed out.
 
I didn’t want to disturb you.”

               
“Oh good,” he sighs.
 
“I know I didn’t drive.
 
I got a ride to the bar we were at.”

               
“
Mmm
,”
I hum.
 
My eyes are starting to tear
up.
 
I dig my nails into my palm to try
and distract myself.
 
I look away, hoping
that Jeremy won’t see.

               
When he puts his arm back over
his eyes, I take a sigh of relief.
 
A
single tear falls down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away.
 
There is just silence for a while.
 
My hand is probably bleeding from me digging
into it so hard.
 
“So,” I finally say,
kind of harshly.
 
“What would prompt you
to drink so much damn liquor?”

               
There is no movement from
Jeremy.
 
He seriously fell asleep on
me?
 
Suddenly, he says, “I tend to get
drunk every year on that day.”

               
“On purpose?”
I ask, dumbfounded.

               
“I don’t start out with that
being my goal, but it usually ends up that way,” Jeremy answers.
  
Slowly, he articulates, “To drown my
sorrows.”

               
My hand reaches to the top of
his head, and my fingers start to twirl the light curl to his hair.
 
Hesitantly, I ask, “What were you sad about?”

               
Taking a deep breath Jeremy
says, “Yesterday, well yesterday was the anniversary.”

               
“The
anniversary for?”

               
“It is the day that Kaitlin
died.”
 
The pain in my chest ebbs for a
second.
 
He is telling me something about
his past.
 
What do I say?
 
What do I do?
 
I just keep on twirling his hair and leave it for him to talk about.
 
Jeremy takes his arm away from his face and
looks at me.
 
“No questions?”

               
“No, I want to know who Kaitlin
is, but I promised to not talk about your past, so I am not asking any
questions.”
 

               
“Well,” he says quietly looking
at me.
 
“I think I am ready to talk about
it, but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone what I tell you.”
 
I nod in reply.
 
Jeremy takes in a deep breath and then
starts, “To start off, I am from Texas, but you knew that already.
 
What you didn’t know is that…well….I am an orphan,
I guess you could say.”
 
He looks at me
as my eyebrows shoot up.
 
“See, that is
the reason I don’t tell anyone, because I hate getting sympathy for it.”

               
Shaking my head, I retort, “I
wasn’t doing it for sympathy, I was just surprised.”

               
“Okay, well, I bounced around
from foster home to foster home.
 
I was
very closed off and never really attached to anyone.
 
I was much like you.
 
There were never signs of affection or the
reassuring touch of family.
 
So, that is
how I grew up.
 
During the summer before
my 8
^th
grade year, I finally got to my last foster home.
 
They were incredibly nice people, but I was
so closed off and guarded that I kept my distance.
 
The wife was a music teacher and she said it
would be good for me to start playing an instrument.
 
I, of course, scoffed the idea, buts she said
that was how I would earn my allowance.”