Beautiful Boy(19)

All night, visions of Novah consumed my sub-consciousness. Particularly,  the way her lips melded into mine. For years, I'd held that memory  close to me, understanding it'd been the only time in my life I ever  felt purpose. Her lips eradicated the image everyone else saw in me. I  hadn't been the son of Senator Richards. I wasn't the star quarterback  or prom king. I was simply Nolan. And keeping her memory in the  forefront of my mind had prevented me from becoming lost in the  ever-growing images, each one replacing the ones prior: the recruit, the  hero, the killer, the savior … the wounded survivor.

And even now, years later, her kisses did something to me. They held the  power to strip me bare, leave me raw, and offer me false hope. They  also protected me, covered me with warmth, and led me to believe hope  wasn't wrong, it wasn't bad, and it wasn't far from my reach.

All my life leading up to the moment her lips had touched mine for the  very first time, I'd felt lost and confused. I'd never been given the  opportunity to discover who I was, or what my purpose had been in life.  But one kiss from Novah, and she'd embedded herself so deeply into me, I  knew our purpose would surpass high school.

The high her lips offered had stayed with me for a few days before the  ground opened up beneath me. It had swallowed me whole, spinning me into  a whirlwind of confusion deeper than any I'd ever experienced before.

But now that I was back, and Novah was within reach, instead of righting  my axis, her presence only succeeded in spinning me in the opposite  direction, dizzying my already existing chaos.

It felt as if I'd been moving backward while everything around me paced  left to right. And then Novah spun me around, setting me on a forward  path, except now, the world moved right to left.

I understood my confusion had more to do with me instead of her, but I  still deeply yearned for the direction she could offer. I knew if anyone  could settle the unbalanced disorder around me, it would be Novah  Johnson. She'd done it once before-if only briefly-and I had  unquestionable faith she could do it again. However, my inability to  lower my defenses and let her in left me unsettled.

For the first time in years, my mind stayed at rest for the remainder of  the night. Not once did I wake in a cold sweat. I dreamt of nothing but  Novah and her touch. There were no bombs in my dreams, no bodies or  bloodshed. The unforgiving rumbles of a helicopter were replaced with  the whisper-soft sound of Novah's sharp inhalation seconds before my  mouth covered hers for the first time. And instead of waking to phantom  pains in a leg I no longer had, I found myself conscious yet unable to  open my eyes, wishing my dreams would last just a little bit longer.





Eight





I had a full day of work, but it wasn't enough to stop my mind from  drifting to my plans for the evening. For years, I'd been trained to  operate on autopilot, mindlessly preforming tasks without an ounce of  thought, which proved to be handy in times like these when I couldn't  seem to get my head in the game.

My administrative position in the company helped, but it didn't mean I  had a frivolous job. I had an entire crew to manage, schedules to write,  positions to secure. I had a company to run. I couldn't very well spend  every day with my mind so muddled in thoughts of Novah or my plans to  see her. I knew I had to do something-and quick before the last relevant  thing in my life fell through the cracks and joined everything else in  the pit of nothingness.         

     



 

Five o'clock didn't come fast enough. I knew this would be my one shot  to make it or break it. Depending on what she could offer me, I'd either  dismiss her and move on with my life like I had been doing until a few  days ago, or I'd give in and allow her to attempt the reconstruction of  the broken pieces of my existence. One thing was for sure, though, I  couldn't live every day like this one-with my mind lost in her, my  thoughts consumed with the various scenarios of our evening, or the  constant watch over the clock.

I waited until it was time to leave before texting her, giving her the  address of where to meet me, along with the helpful tip to wear  something she wouldn't mind getting dirty. She never replied, and I  began to worry she wouldn't show. But then I pushed that fear down,  knowing if she decided not to meet me, it would be for the best. I'd get  my answer one way or another, no matter what her decision would be.

Once I made it to the junkyard, a new fear attacked my nervous system. I  found Novah waiting for me, leaning against the hood of her car, and  the reality of what might occur left me unsettled.

Being the tortured soul home from war, only to face a bleak existence,  had been my only identity for so long, but without it … I had nothing. So  I'd found myself clinging to the emptiness, scared of what I'd be  without it. Because in my mind, letting it go didn't mean it'd be  replaced with the opposite. No. It'd be replaced with absolutely  nothing. And if I had nothing … I'd have even less to live for than I do  now.

And that's what scared me-giving her the opportunity to strip me of the only thing I had left, even if it was only desolation.

"Tell me something, Nolan," she said as she made her way over to me,  dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. She had her hair pulled away  from her face in a simple ponytail, and her skin had been washed clean  of makeup. It actually made me question if she'd gone to work this way,  but I didn't bother to ask. "Do you really want me to show you what the  world has to offer, or are you trying to dispute my credibility?  Because, I have to be honest with you, this is starting to feel like a  test."

I refrained from meeting her halfway, deciding instead to remain next to  my car, observing the harsh creases in her brow and the way her gaze  narrowed as she neared me. Even angry-or offended-she was attractive.  Wearing nothing but ratty house clothes, she made me feel like a boy  falling in love for the first time.

"I told you I'd help you any way I can. You asked me to show you  something you've become blinded to, but I refuse to waste my time if  this is nothing more than your way of remaining stubbornly ignorant to  what I have to offer."

I fingered a piece of blond hair that had fallen next to her face and  then placed it behind her ear. I turned my full attention to her wide  eyes. It seemed as though my affection threw her off balance and left  her jaw gaping in bewilderment.

"I won't lie … this is somewhat of a test. But it's not what you're  thinking. I honestly want to see what you do. I want to view the  world-and myself-through your eyes, but I'm still unsure if I can. And  the only way to know is if I test it. So, this isn't to question you or  your abilities … it's to see if I have what it takes."

"What it takes for what?" Her soft words gently blew across my face like an easy summer breeze, warm and touching me everywhere.

I grabbed her hand and held onto it like it was my last lifeline. I  stared unwaveringly into her blue-green eyes, noticing how she never  once broke eye contact, even to blink. "What it takes to be the man you  see when you look at me. The person you see in my eyes. The man worthy  of you instead of the boy who broke you."

She took a step back and dropped her gaze to our feet. After a quick  breath, she glanced up, but not at me. Instead, her attention darted  around the piles of metal and broken pieces of equipment around us.

"I take it when you look around here, all you see is junk? Trash?  Garbage?" She gestured to the narrow dirt path weaving through the piles  of debris, pointing to the things surrounding us on either side of  yard.

"It's a junkyard, Novah. Hence the name."

Her attention snapped back to me, her eyes boring into mine. "Does this place disgust you? Turn you off in any way?"

"Why would I ask you to meet me here if it disgusted me? Do I think it's  junk? Sure. Does it repulse me? Absolutely not. I think it's a yard  full of things that once held value, things people once considered  precious. But because of a wreck, or time, or weather, these things have  lost their use, lost their meaning to the ones who had thought so  highly of them at one point.         

     



 

"Look around … cars, which were probably owned by rich people for the sole  purpose of flaunting their wealth, lie in crumpled heaps alongside mini  vans once used to cart kids back and forth to soccer practices. Now  they're nothing but useless mounds of metal, sitting out here collecting  dirt and rust. The people who had owned these vehicles are now off  driving newer models, ones without dents and scratches or pinging  beneath the hoods."

Novah didn't say anything to me, no remark or argument against my claim.  She simply walked away from me and slowly made her way into the yard  while holding her phone in front of her. She stopped a few times, tilted  her head from side to side, adjusted her stance, and took pictures, all  while saying nothing as I followed.