Beautiful Boy(30)

"You're being very standoffish and I don't know how to take it. I want  to give you whatever space you want, yet I can't help but be scared you  don't want this … or me."

I moved to the coffee table in front of him and held his face, making  him look at me. "A lot happened last night, and I'm battling a lot of  emotions right now, but it doesn't mean I don't want you. I'm just  having a hard time figuring out how to be what you want me to be. What  you want from me."

"I only need you to be there. I don't need anything other than you," he  whispered. "But I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be  happy with someone when I'm unhappy with myself. Or how to love someone  when I hate who I am."

"I'm going to be honest with you, Nolan. I can be there for you and help  you see the good in life. I can try to show you what's worth living  for, but it's up to you to see it. I can't help you find happiness or  make you love yourself. That's on you. And you have to be willing to see  it, to believe it if you ever want things to change. I'll be here, and  I'll do everything I can to help, but you're the one who has to put  forth the effort. Not me. If you're expecting me to perform magic and  transform you from this to where you want to be, all it'll do is hurt us  both."

"I'm trying."

"Then let's start off by talking. Open up to me about what you're so unhappy about, and maybe it'll give way to a solution."

He leaned back into the couch, tipped his face to the ceiling, and  rubbed his eyes like a tired child. "I'm unhappy with everything. I feel  like I'm living in someone else's world without my own place. I don't  have an identity, nothing to say ‘this is me in a nutshell' other than  things that don't mean shit to me. I fought someone else's war and lost  my leg. I had to take the fall for someone else's actions, and I've  spent years paying the price. I've been fulfilling someone else's vision  of me, and it's left me with nothing. I'm nothing."

"I know it's hard to grasp, but the war you fought was yours. It was  mine, our families', our friends' … our country's. You fought for our  freedom, to give us peace and security."

"I know." His grumbled response interrupted my thoughts, but I let him  have it for a moment, knowing he needed to get it out. "I'm a fucking  hero. I killed people, shot them, murdered them, and I'm a hero. Again,  Novah … someone else's vision. I don't feel like a hero. I feel like a  thug, the country being my mafia, sending me out to handle its  vengeance. I'm a criminal."

I leaned forward and braced myself with my hands on his thighs, the  extra material beneath the fabric of his left pant leg evident. "Okay. I  get that. I can't even wrap my head around what it must be like for  you. But whether you see yourself as a hero or not, you are one. And the  fact you harbor so much regret for the things you had to do over there  proves you're a good man. You have a good heart, regardless of how you  see yourself. I'm looking at you, and I know what I see."         

     



 

"Then why can't I see it?"

"Because self-hatred is a debilitating disease. It blackens your soul  and clouds your sight. It can be terminal if you let it, but that  doesn't mean it's untreatable."

He stared at me, unmoving and silent.

"Take some time and find something that makes you happy. Start small. If  it's the sun on your face, then we'll spend an hour every day lying in  the grass as we watch clouds float by until you accept it. Then we'll  move onto something else."

"Football used to make me happy, but I can't exactly get out there and  play again. Having one leg makes it a little difficult to run around and  to not get tackled."

I grew irritated with his pessimism. "You'll never be happy if you find  the bad in everything. I love to sing, but I can't carry a tune to save  my life. Do you think I let that keep me from belting out a song in the  shower or from singing along to the radio in my car? No. I love blue  diamonds, but I can't afford them. However, my inability to buy one  doesn't make me cringe every time I see one. Egg rolls are one of the  best things I've ever eaten, but don't ask me to make one, because it  just might poison you. Yet it doesn't stop me from wanting them on a  weekly basis."

"Okay," he said sternly, dropping his head until he could see me again.  "I get it. But how would you feel if you woke up tomorrow without your  sight? Just blackness everywhere you looked? How would you feel knowing  you'll never be able to take another picture again, or see photographs?"

I shifted and sat next to him, grabbed his hand, and held it in my lap  while my eyes locked with his. "It's no secret Beethoven was deaf. But  if there's one thing to learn from him, it's adaptation. When he was  younger and he could hear well, he loved high notes, and used them often  in his compositions. As his hearing began to deteriorate, the notes  drifted away from the high ones because he had a hard time detecting  them. But the real lesson was when he went completely deaf. It was then  he brought back the presence of the high notes in his music. It didn't  matter that he couldn't hear them, because he already knew what they  sounded like. He could compose music solely on the memory of the notes."

"So you're telling me if you woke up tomorrow blind, you'd still be able  to take pictures because you remember what something looked like?"

"I'm sure if I took a picture it wouldn't be the same as any I take now,  but I wouldn't say it'd be impossible to do. I know the controls on my  camera, and if I could touch the object or subject, I'd be able to do  it."

"But you'd never be able to see what it looks like when you're done."

The corners of my lips lifted into a soft smile as I tilted my head at  him. "No. You're right, I wouldn't be able to see it. But others could  and then explain it to me. I know what a face looks like, so if they  described it, I'd be able to use my mind's eye and imagine what they  were seeing." I squeezed his hand and then pulled it to my chest where I  held it over my heart. "Everything has a positive and a negative side.  Everything. You can sit back and only think about what you're missing or  what you can't do, and then live life watching everyone and everything  pass you by. Or, you can find the good side and live in it."

He nodded, and the way his gaze fell to his lap, his bottom lip pulled  between his teeth, I could tell I had made an impact on him. I only  hoped it was enough for him to accept.





Twelve





I hadn't seen Novah all week, mostly because our jobs had been busy for  us both. It worked out for the best because I clearly had a lot to think  about, and even more to process. I could tell my issues were bringing  her down, and it was the last thing I ever wanted to happen. The truth  was, I needed her in my life, but she would be better off without me.  However, I couldn't find the strength to let her go, so I selfishly held  on.

After our day together on Saturday, I thought a lot about her insistence  for me to find something that made me happy. And in a small way, she  did. Talking to her, listening to her laugh, made things easier to bear,  and lifted some of the weight off my chest. So starting Sunday night, I  called her after dinner and listened to her tell me about her day. She  asked about mine. If I had something to tell her, I did, but most of the  time, I just listened to her stories of Shari's antics and the clients  who came in requesting strange pictures.

Every day at lunchtime, she sent me a text. We messaged back and forth  for the remainder of our breaks while she worked on her computer, and  then nothing else until my call after dinner. It was strange to have  someone there to talk to on a daily basis without leaving me an  emotional wreck. Even more bizarre, it wasn't a one-way street. It  wasn't just me reaching out to her.         

     



 

We'd talked about getting together on Friday night, maybe go out and  grab something to eat, but I ended up having to work. Most of the time,  my job ended at five, but since retail stores were open later than my  office-and they technically employed me-the work didn't end when my  office shut down. And instead of changing shifts around to fill in the  gap, I went ahead and took the job. I apologized to Novah, and then made  plans for the next day.

My phone rang early Saturday morning, waking me up. I didn't often sleep  past eight, but working a fourteen-hour day before coming home to  unwind, I was more tired than normal.

"Get dressed and meet me at my studio. I have a surprise for you," Novah said excitedly over the phone once I answered.

"Are you going to give me some sort of hint?"

"No. Just get dressed and meet me there. I'm already on my way. It'll be  fun, so make sure you've had your daily dose of caffeine before you  show up." And then the line went dead, leaving me scratching my head and  rolling out of bed.