Page 145 of Last Letters to Ara
“What are you saying?”
I smile. “Lou, will you be my tenant? Will you open your café here, next to my future design studio?”
Tears fill her eyes, and she starts rapidly blinking, trying to suck them back in.
“I know it won’t be forever. People will go crazy for you, and you’ll need to expand and get something bigger, but I just thought for starting out–” The breath is punched out of me as Lou crashes into me for a hug.
We both go down, hitting the ground, pain blocked out by our laughter. Gravel digs into my elbow and my hip, but I focus on my best friend, my sister, and the possibility that we can make our dreams come true together.
“Of course, I’ll be your tenant!!”
A warm, happy breeze gently pulls through tendrils of my hair, and I know then that my joy rippled all the way to where my dad could feel it.
Theo - Last Year
MY FINGERS MINDLESSLYtrace over the folded-up piece of paper which has lived in my pocket for a week now. It’s something that should be framed, never creased, but I need it too much. I need to keep it where it can be a lifeline. Where I can cherish his words. Where I can go for guidance.
When I stepped back into our home last week, the ruse was up. Connor knew something had happened, taking one look at my face and defeated posture and going straight for the top-shelf liquor. I’d gone to my room to drop my bag off and shower, something I hadn’t done in days. I’d found the letter at the bottom of my bag, tucked below my things, where it had remained hidden for nearly a week.
It’s why I’m here.
The airport is one of those places that doesn’t change much. I haven’t been here in nearly five years, yet the colored signs and curved roads are just as I remember, the lights of the airport becoming brighter as the sky dims to dusk.
After dropping my car off in the short-term parking, I make my way inside past the crowds and hurried travelers to the escalator which takes me up to the busiest terminal at Tampa International Airport.
I will admit, it’s a great spot. Thousands of people rush by, offering a view of the entire spectrum of humanity from one little chair. There is even a little café across the way, offering respite from the exhaustion that comes with any journey.
Taking another good look around, I’m certain she isn’t here yet. I’ve taken up a spot a ways away from where I’d assume she would sit, that way I can check on her while keeping my distance, leaving her none the wiser.
More and more people go by, and I lose myself in the potential. I am one person, sitting here with such aheavyweightof emotion. The loss of a mother before I knew her, of a father who was never really a father to me at all, and now the loss of a father figure who could have been. I sit here as one person, here only because I was saved by the love of a friend who’s become a brother.
Love and loss are powerful things.
How much of it belongs to the thousands?
How much of it belongs to the millions? The billions?
When you walk into an airport or a crowded room, how much of that space is taken up by their trauma? How much of that space is taken up by their joy? How much of our planet is encased in grief, in apathy, or in anger? How could one tip the scales and fill our world with happiness?
Is it even possible? Is this world too broken? Arewetoo broken to try?
So wrapped up in the depth of it all I didn’t notice when she walked up and took a seat closer to mine than I planned, just an aisle away facing me. My once steady heart becomes a cacophony. With just a turn of her head, she would notice me. She would look at me with those cognac eyes that I’ve seen in photos for weeks, finally knowing I exist.
Despite the shadows which follow her, she is beautiful in a way that even as a writer, I would have a hard time forming words for. Yes, her face is obviously stunning, and people would kill for her long, dark hair, but it’s more than that. It’s in the way that her freckles are scattered across the bridge of her nose, the way her lips sit naturally full, the way her eyelashes don’t need mascara. She’s been crying, probably for days, with her puffy eyes and rosy nose, yet it takes nothing away from her beauty.
I couldn’t tell you how much time has passed as I sit here trying to figure out how I could ever do her justice with words. It’s been long enough that the crowds have emptied out and most have boarded their flights by now. Long enough to lose my ability to form words, coherent thoughts, and for night to fall completely.
Then, like daybreak, she smiles, banishing the darkness around her for just a moment. Suddenly the grief, my heavy heart, and morbid thoughts about the trauma of a broken world take a back seat.
I need to know why she smiled.
And suddenly, the only thing which exists is making her smile again.
Present - Ara
DING.
The elevator alerts us of the arrival of another guest. The doors open revealing Ryder looking broody as ever, nothing Christmasy in sight, arms full of various bottles of hard liquor. I’d take a guess that at least half of that is just to get him through the night.
