Lyra Parish - Weak for Him

Don't go around

saying the world

owes you a living.

The world owes

you nothing.

It was here first.

– Mark Twain

He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair and I caught sight of the heart on the back of his arm, and the word "Loyalty" down his side in script, and the two-inch number thirteen set below his belly button on his right abdominal.

He caught me staring, admiring, all of his beautiful tattoos. Luketon Brand wasn't who I thought he was. That man didn't exist.

"Turn off the light, and come to bed. We have an early flight tomorrow. There is a little change of plans."

"We're leaving early?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But we can come back anytime you'd like."

I crawled in bed and rubbed my cold skin against his warmth. I looped my leg over his and trailed my fingers lightly over his stomach. His breaths were ragged and slow, and I knew that with every touch he told himself no. Luke grabbed my hands and interlaced his fingers with mine, and I tucked into his arms. Before I fell asleep, he pulled his arm away and set my head carefully on the pillow. In a whisper, he said, "One day, I will have to tell you what each one means. They are all very special to me."

He kissed my forehead before rolling over. As he turned, the moonlight allowed me to see the feather tattoo on his shoulder that crumbled away into birds.

The next morning, I woke up before the sun rose, stole the keys to the car, and grabbed the flowers from the vase on the table. I couldn't tell Luke I was going to the cemetery, and was surprised he didn't wake when I scooted from bed.

As I placed the car in park, the sun barely peeked over the river. The sky had bits of blue and pink sprinkled around, and wispy clouds that greeted me as if I were the only human alive watching the sun rise.

The grass, still wet with morning dew, crunched under my feet as I walked past the many headstones leading to my parent's graves. I refused to visit before I went to Vegas the first time. I wouldn't leave again without doing so.

The flowers looked nice in the grave vases. I should have been more prepared, but tried to push out the waves of guilt. Their pictures stared back at me from the headstone, both marked with the same death date, both next to one another. They would have wanted it that way, I thought. Neither one being able to go on without the other, they were too in love, even after all those years.

My father would have stolen the moon for my mother and delivered it with a bow if he could have, and vice versa. Love. The word seemed so foreign.

I knelt down in front of the headstones and looked up at the heavens. The clouds continued to move. The sun hung a little higher while the sky faded from pink to light blue. I stared for minutes without blinking, feeling nothing but blankness.

Would a person ever get over death?

Death.

It seemed so unfair to every living thing. But something I would have to accept. Everything died and became a part of the universe, and the stars. Eventually, we would all be dust and nothing that we did in life would matter.

I knelt down and picked at the grass that had barely started to grow. They had only been gone for a blink in time.

"I love you both so much. Every day that you aren't here, I feel like something is missing. I hope. I hope that if you can hear me that you know that I love you. Did you see the house? It's exactly how you always wanted it, down to the wall being removed from the living room to open up the space."

I laughed to swallow down the tears. I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. Crying was a sign of weakness, and I refused.

"You didn't warn me that it would be this hard. Sometimes I feel like I can't go on, and that I don't want to."

I took in a deep breath, trying not to lose it.

"I want you to be proud of me."

I stood, and dusted off my wet knees and touched the headstones before walking away.

Little, yellow butterflies fluttered in front of me as if it were a sign from my parents telling me they loved me. And if it wasn't, I would take it as if was anyway. On the way back, I stopped at Davis Donuts and picked up a few maple bacon donuts and kolaches. Mr. Davis, the owner, gave me a grin, wished me a safe trip back to Vegas, and refused to take my money. Typical.

I walked up the steps where Luke sat in a rocking chair drinking a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," I said.

"Morning, love," he said, and then glanced down at my wet, grass-stained knees. I handed him the bag, and forced him to eat the best damn bacon donut in Texas before we went upstairs for our bags.

On the way out the door, I hugged the Hanleys goodbye and thanked them for the beautiful job they did with the place. Once our luggage was packed in the trunk, Luke hopped in the car, waiting before starting it.

"Are you going to tell me where you really went this morning?"

"Will you tell me what the thirteen symbolizes?"

"Touché. I will tell you, but you first."

"I went to the cemetery."

"To?"

"Take care of some business that I've been putting off."

"It's the day I was born. March thirteenth."

"Will you tell me about the house we stayed in?"

"Tell me about the Mark Twain quote."

He smiled a devilish grin. "You are bound to find out more about them one way or another, aren't you?"

"I think it's a fair trade."

"My mother read a lot of Mark Twain to me when I was a kid. That quote symbolized every harsh thing that's happened to me in life while reminding me of her." He paused, and then continued. "The world owes me nothing. I'm nothing more than a small footprint. I know it seems that I've had things handed to me on a silver platter, but… it isn't true. I want you to know that."

"Wow. That's powerful. And I didn't. The longer I'm with you, the more I realize how much I don't know about you."

"I could say the same about you. So. Carry on. Tell me."

I sucked in a deep breath.

"I grew up in that house. The room we slept in, that was my old bedroom."

Luke didn't ask any more questions. He didn't need to, and I respected him for not prying.

"I didn't know, you know. I'd have never brought you here if I would have," he said.

"I know. Your intentions were where they needed to be. I get it. It's no big deal. But next time, I think I'd prefer a beach."

Laughter filled the car. Beaches, we both hated them.

"I want to bring you to London. Have you ever been there before?"

I shook my head.

"I want to walk through the streets of Paris with you, let you experience my tourist city since I've already enjoyed yours. We can watch the Eiffel tower light the night sky, and drink wine. I want to take you through the heart of historic areas. It isn't the same as the States, you know. It's almost magical. I want you to experience it all, the Seine River, the Notre Dame Cathedral, the things most only think exist in fairy tales."

"I'd like that."

Turbulence and terrible food fueled the flight. No amount of mini bottles of booze or Dramamine could help it, but I kept dreaming about Paris, and Luke, and the semi-secrets I shared with him on the way home. No one knew personal things about me in Vegas. Granted, he didn't know the whole story, but just enough to get him in trouble. A simple Google search would give my parents' deaths and me away. Nothing was private these days.

Once on the ground, fatigue and hunger blanketed my body. The weather was colder and different from Texas, and I wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a handful of aspirin. I felt like we time traveled from the airport to Felton's and to the moment that Luke escorted me to the front door. I waited for him to speak.