“Or Pepper Pea Landon.”
“Okra Potato Landon.” He laughed. “Clearly they should’ve asked us for our opinion.”
“Obviously.”
More silence.
“There’s a gift and a letter for you in your dad’s office. The gift is from me. The letter is from him. I wasn’t sure if you saw it or not.”
“I haven’t been in there yet, but I’ll pick it up when I leave. Thanks.”
More silence.
“So what happens with us now?” I asked him, knowing that he was leaving in a few days.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.” His voice was somber as he stared out the window, sitting still. My stomach knotted, afraid of what his reply would be. “But if I learned anything about the future, it’s that it doesn’t matter. The future’s not real. So it’s best to live in the here and now with you.”
It was all we had, the here and now, and that was good enough.
We stayed inside the tree house, not looking toward one another, but holding each other’s pinkie fingers. We stared out the window, into the night sky. It was right then that we knew. We knew we were small. We were tiny specks of paint on the universe’s canvas. Most of the world would never know of the love between Art and Soul. We knew that in a flash, life could be ripped away, leaving us only with death and loneliness. But, in another flash, love could heal, leaving us with only life and hope. Levi made me hopeful, hopeful for the tomorrows that we had yet to meet.
Right then, we were very much alive.
And we were hungrily in love.
Levi Myers taught me three important things about life:
Sometimes pinkie holding was the best kind of holding.
Sometimes forehead kisses were the best kind of kisses.
And sometimes temporary love was the best kind of love.
* * *
Levi.
Leaving Mayfair Heights was hard. I didn’t know the next time I would be back, which made it even harder, but the one thing that felt as if it would be okay was Aria.
Somehow we would make it work.
When I got home, Mom was still Mom, which made me beyond happy. While she prepared dinner, The Pogues played throughout the house. I sat on my bed with the letter from Dad and the gift from Aria. I’d been debating which one I should open first, and after a little too much back and forth, I went for Aria’s gift.
I ripped the wrapping paper off and saw a painting she’d made for me. Attached to the canvas was a picture of my dad and me when I was a kid. We were smiling bright with our fishing poles, and I was holding up the old hiking boot that I caught that summer day.
Aria had painted the same photograph using her abstract skills, running yellows and oranges through the skies, making it look like the canvas was exploding with life.
I texted her right away.
Me: I – noun, often capitalized often attributive | \?ī\ : Levi Wesley Myers.
Me: Love – noun | \?l?v\ : a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person.
Me: You – pronoun|[yoo; unstressed yoo, yuh] : Aria Lauren Watson.
Aria: Ditto – noun | dit·to | \?di-(?)tō\: I love you, too.
I picked up the letter and opened it as knots formed in my gut.
Lee,
I’m a shit father.
I’m a shit person.
And I don’t know how to start to tell you how much I hate myself daily. I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’m sorry because you would probably think it’s just the cancer and the fear talking.
Which might be true.
I’m afraid to die. I’m afraid to die, and it’s not a surprise because I was afraid of living too. I’m afraid that I’m leaving this place with no one who will remember me. And if they do remember, it will be memories of things I wish I hadn’t done. I treated this town, these people like shit. I’ve treated you even worse.
But still you came back to me. You loved me when I didn’t deserve to be loved.
I was afraid to get close to you again knowing I was dying. I was afraid it would hurt you even more when I passed away. The happiest days of my life were with you sitting inside of that tree house. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.
I’m not a good person, I was never a decent friend or husband or father, but somehow I got one thing right. Somehow I didn’t screw everything up, because I know this to be true: You’re the only thing left of me that’s good.
I’ll love you well after the end.
-Dad
I sat there with the letter in my hand, rereading it ten times over.
I love you too, Dad.
* * *
During our homeschooling violin lessons, Mom and I sat outside in the forest playing. In front of me was a music stand holding the new song Mom was teaching me. The branches of the tree swayed back and forth, casting shadows over us. She kept frowning at me every few seconds.
“Okay, stop, stop, stop.” She slapped her hand to her forehead before leaning against a tree. “What in the world happened?”