Page 4 of Last Letters to Ara
After meeting about seventeen other Sarahs before the third grade, I finally decided to go by “Ara.” It’s one of those names that everyone will pronounce differently, but whatever way they end up saying it is still better than Sarah.
But Theo will never know that.
I allow myself one more look before the elevator doors come together. Theo is still standing by the chairs, hands in his pockets, the look on his face sending chills over my entire body. For a split second I consider jutting my hand out to stop the elevator doors from closing. I imagine what it could be like, acting on a whim and seeing where this went.
Then I remember what trusting someone inevitably leads to. I remember that the only person in the world that Icouldrely on is dead and I just spent the day at his funeral.That’swhat I should be thinking about, not a random stranger from the airport, even if he does look like he fell out of aGQspread.
I decide right then to forget all about Theo.
I’ll never see him again anyway in the randomness of running into someone at an international airport.
It will be easy.
Since my usual spot seems to be occupado, I guess I’ll be forced to be miserable in the comfort of my own home. The elevator doors close and I don’t let him cross my mind again as I get home, open a bottle of wine, and push play on the nextGossip Girlepisode.
Five Years Ago - Ara
“COME ON, ARA.I promise it won’t be that bad.”
“The only reason you can say that with such confidence is because you’re not a girl in high school.”
“And I could never be more grateful forthat,” Dad mumbles under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. I try to hide my grin and fail. “Too late. I saw that.”
“Ughhhh, come on, Dad!! I’m not even going to prom, why do I need to try on one of those silly dresses?” The truth is they’re not silly at all, but if I admit that, this whole “not going to prom” thing gets a lot more depressing.
“I thought we were stillconsideringgoing to prom. We should be prepared.”
“You say ‘we’ as if we’re in this together, but it’ll just bemesitting in a corner all night. You of all people should understand why I have no interest in going.” I never use a whiny voice, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Engaging full whiny mode. “As if I wantanotherexcuse to see the kids from school. They’ll eat me alive for not having a date.”
“Then I think you should at least have the experience of dress shopping,” I groan, ready to fight him on that, too, but then, “Your mother would have wanted it.”
Every word I was prepared to slew comes to a screeching halt. Dad never brings up my mother. He just loaded the big guns on me.
“I don’t want you missing out on these experiences just because I’m your dad and it’s something girls usually do with their mothers.” His voice is quiet, sad. Dad never gets sad. “I want to make sure you haveeveryexperience in life. I want you to enjoy being young.”
“Dad, I’ve never felt like I was missing out on a single thing.” I reach over to the driver’s side and touch his arm. “I’m just...not like the other kids. It’s not your fault I’mdifferent.”
“Being different makes youspecial, Ara. Someday, you’ll find the people who will appreciate that,” he tells me again for the thousandth time. “I won’t let you miss out on things just because you haven’t made friends yet.”
“Butyou’remy best friend, Dad. I don’t need anybody else.”
“Well then, as my best friend, please do this for me.”
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Dad never pushes me to do anything that I don’t want to do, so this must mean a lot to him. With what recently went down with Cameron, he’s been extra worried about me.
“I’m really serious,” he says.
“Fine, but I’m only trying on the most hideous ones I can find.”
“No deal. You have to try onat leastone that you like.”
“What if I don’t like any of them?”
“Then we will drive to other stores until we find one that you do.”
As much as I love Dad and want to make him happy, I can’t contain my groan. It’s not that I don’t want to spend my day looking at the dresses. I would be utterly fascinated to explore the materials and stitching which are used. I just don’t want to try any of them on. With my luck, one of the Barbie bitches from my school will be there just in time to snap an embarrassing photo of me to put on Twitter or Instagram.
“Fine. One dress that I like, but nothing more.”
