Steady as the Snow Falls(28)

"Do you play any instruments?" she questioned to change the subject.

A fallen tree branch cracked under his boots. "No. I thought about  taking piano lessons when I was younger, but I knew I wouldn't be able  to commit to them like I'd need to. Sports were my life growing up, and I  didn't have much time for anything else."

"Did you want sports to be your life?"

His jaw flexed. "They were, and it was that simple."

"Do you sing?"

He shot her a look. "Not well."

"What about dancing?"

Harrison set his hands on his hips and gave her his full attention. "Where are you going with this?"

"When you were in the music room last week," she explained. "It was  obvious that you care a great deal for music. I wondered if that  extended to anything else. I'm only asking for research purposes."  Foremost, Beth was asking because she wanted to know, but it was  something that should be in the book. He hadn't answered her about  dancing. Which, in her mind, meant he liked to dance. She could work  with that.

"Music heals what nothing else can," he allowed, turning his back to her and climbing over a pile of tree limbs.

"What does it heal?" Beth navigated through the brittle foliage,  catching her jacket on a sharp piece of wood. She tugged at it until the  earth released it, plowing forward and stopping abruptly in order to  keep from running into Harrison.

"The soul."

Music heals the soul. His words echoed through her mind. Beautiful. They were words she would not forget.

Harrison turned and placed a finger to his lips, setting a hand on her  shoulder and firmly pushing. She opened her mouth to ask what he was  doing, and he shook his head. Crouched beside her, he pointed to a small  body of churning water. Beth went still, listening to the soothing  sound of water as it flowed over rocks. On the other side of it was a  doe and its fawn. As Beth stared at the animals drinking from the  stream, she understood how special the moment was.

It was a realm of cold and white, but she focused on the scene before  her, and the sound of Harrison breathing next to her. In. And out. In.  And out. It was hypnotic-staring at the deer, listening to Harrison.  Harrison's father shared something similar with him, and he was sharing  it with her. The fawn was gangly, its reddish-brown coat spotted with  white. It backtracked and skipped around the doe, close to being  trampled a few times. Beth smiled at its gaiety and innocence. It didn't  understand that there was danger everywhere. It only knew that it was  alive, and it rejoiced in that.

Her eyes slid to Harrison's and found his on her. A ring of olive green  circled his irises, made his dark brown eyes that much more captivating.  Beth's heartbeat formed its own cadence, and it played for Harrison.  Strong and sturdy. She wanted to kiss him, and feel his breath on her  lips, taste the bitterness of his disease and turn it into something  sweet. Obliterate his loneliness. The need grew in her stomach, pooled  there like warm, thick molasses.

She let a slow smile overtake her mouth, careful to keep her thoughts  and desires hidden. Harrison studied her face, his eyes like a caress.  His gaze was remembering her, inch by inch. In the sharp bones and  design of his features, Beth saw severity relaxed with an unnamed  emotion. She liked it, whatever it was.

"Thank you for showing me this," Beth whispered.

Light flickered in his eyes, and he lowered his gaze to the ground.

Beth turned her eyes back to the wildlife. The deer and its fawn  galloped farther into the forest, and the surreal moment was broken. She  straightened, feeling the loss of it like a blanket ripped from a cold  body.

"Tell me what you were like in school." She glanced at him, smiling at  the question she was about to ask. "Was it like the movie ‘Varsity  Blues'? Drinking and partying and girls in whipped topping and nothing  else?"

Harrison snorted. "Not quite."

"What were things like then?"

He turned his eyes to the forest. "I got good grades, didn't drink or  party all that much. I had a goal of playing football in college, and I  didn't want to screw it up. Worked part-time in the kitchen of a local  restaurant. Had a steady girlfriend from freshman to junior year." She  felt the shrug in his words. "I was pretty boring."         

     



 

"I doubt that."

Harrison looked at her, interest lightening his eyes. "What about you? What were you like?"

"I was pretty boring too. I never once got in trouble for anything. I  wrote poetry and short stories for fun. Dated Ozzy. Babysat for extra  money. I took dance classes until I was sixteen. After that, I don't  know, I lost interest." Ozzy told her they were silly, and like the  insecure person she was, she believed him.

That isn't you anymore.

His eyes darkened at the mention of Ozzy, but he didn't say anything.  Beth's inhalation was shaky, knowing that just because someone didn't  say something, didn't mean they weren't thinking things. What did the  mention of her ex-boyfriend mean to Harrison? Something? Nothing?  Everything?

She stood along with Harrison, her knees stiff from being motionless for so long. "Will you dance with me?"

Harrison's head jerked up, the frown on his face a definitive no.

"Will you let me dance for you?" Beth tried.

"That is an odd request."

"It isn't. You'll see." Beth turned and tramped through the snow, a  spring to her step. It made her think of the fawn and she laughed. A new  life, a new day, a new start. She hadn't wanted to dance in so long,  and now her body ached to do so.

"What does dancing have to do with the book?" he asked her back.

Grinning, she picked up her pace, swinging her arms. "I can write it  into the story. ‘Harrison wouldn't dance, but that didn't mean the music  didn't move him. The lyrics swept through his eyes, and his rigid mouth  softened with the song. His very existence hummed with the melody. It  made him dance, though he claimed he wasn't a dancer. That was because  Harrison didn't realize he could dance without moving a single part of  his body.' What do you think?"

When he didn't respond, Beth looked over her shoulder. "Harrison?"

Harrison faced her, pale and unmoving.

She took a step toward him. "Are you okay?" A trail of blood appeared on  his face, trickling down from his nose like a solitary, deadly  announcement of his mortality. She gasped, stunned and horrified.  "Harrison, you're bleeding."

His eyes didn't leave hers as a hand carefully went to his face, leaving  a smear of red above his mouth. The blood dripped to the snow, red on  white. It made the snow appear to be bleeding, uneven stains of it  spreading and fading to pink, sinking into the soil. It was beautiful in  a way, a splash of color on a pallid canvas. She watched it fall as she  sprinted for him, her stomach rebelling at the wrongness of it. It  didn't seem like a lot of blood, but its iron smell hit her hard.

Beth halted her footsteps and reached for his hand without thought.

"Don't touch me," he shouted, swinging away from her.

"You're bleeding. Let me help."

With his face turned away, he ground out, "If you get my blood on you  and you have a cut on your skin, you could contract the disease. Stay  back."

Beth inhaled icy air, feeling helpless and irrelevant. She was warm and  she was frozen, flashes of horror controlling her body temperature. The  facts of HIV couldn't be glossed over when she was witnessing the  consequences of them in motion. This was minor compared to what she  could be seeing. That didn't make her feel better. What would happen to  Harrison as the disease progressed? Who would help him get through this  until there was nothing left to get through? Her chest squeezed, harder  and harder, and it hurt. It hurt so much.

She saw his future, and it was painted in streaks of black until that  was all there was. And she hated it. Beth despised the disease taking  over his body. How did one destroy the destroyer? She sniffed and fought  the tears that wanted to come. To anyone else, it was a nosebleed. To  Harrison, it was an enemy. To Beth, it was a threat.

"Is there someone I should call?" Her voice wavered.

Beth kept her hands stiff at her sides, and it felt like a betrayal. Her  lack of movement was a lie. It wasn't her; it wasn't in her heart to  stand by and do nothing. Her heart wanted to cocoon him, to hold him and  lie about how everything would be okay. Lies weren't always bad.  Sometimes they were all that could get a person through a day, a moment,  a reality.

"Do you need to be seen by a doctor?" Beth briefly touched his shoulder  when he continued to remain silent. "Tell me how to help you, Harrison."

Harrison pulled a glove from his jacket and pressed it to his face. His  eyes slammed into hers, stealing the air from her lungs. "There's  nothing to do for it."