Sweet Soul (Sweet Home 4)

I looked to Levi standing behind me. He was peering down at me, head lowered. His messy fair hair had fallen to shield his eyes and his hands hung at his sides.

Warmth spread within me as I watched this tall, well-built, beautiful boy standing so shyly beside me. I wondered what his life was like? The warmth within me cooled as a thought pushed into my mind: does he have a girlfriend? I pictured him at college, driving his fancy Jeep. He played football, he had money, and he looked nothing less than perfect. I was suddenly confident of the answer to my question: he would definitely have a girlfriend.

I shouldn’t be here with him, I told myself.

Gripping the jar tightly in my hands, I got to my feet. I headed to the door, keeping my head down as I passed Levi. He didn’t say anything as I reached the door. I needed to go, but I still felt more than a flicker of sadness, knowing that our impromptu meeting was over. I’d liked him talking to me. I’d liked watching him stumble shyly over his words. It warmed my heart.

I heard Levi mumbling something to himself, but it was just too quiet for me to make out. Suddenly, I felt him behind me and I froze in my tracks. I breathed in and out to steady myself, then turned to face him. His fists were clenching at his sides, and his was face rosy with a flush.

He held out his hand and, in his palm were several glow sticks. “To refill the jar every night.” I gently took the sticks and pushed them into the pocket of the hoodie. Levi’s head was kept down, his hands once again at his sides.

He caught me staring and slowly exhaled. “You wanna go.” He hadn’t asked me a question, he had assumed that’s what I wanted. Focusing on the light, still shining bright in the dark, I shrugged.

He stepped closer still. “It’s real late, but—”

He left the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished, but I was desperate to hear the rest. Levi rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and then blurted, “I’ll walk you to the kitchen door.”

Disappointment crushed me, but I walked out of the door into the cold night, gripping the glowing jar to my chest. As we walked to the kitchen door, I smiled down at the jar in my hand. It was bright against the darkness of the night. I wanted to tell Levi that I loved it, that I would cherish this gift because it was from his heart. It represented a kindness that had been lacking in my life.

But more, I wanted to listen to him tell me about his childhood, about catching fireflies in the woods behind his home. I needed to tell him that I wanted to see it too one day, I wanted to see this jar filled with lightning bugs, chasing the dark. But the urge to speak, the desperation to open my mouth and set the words free was held captive in my throat. Annabelle’s jibes threatened to come, and my mom’s warning rang through my head: They’ll laugh at you, baby girl. There isn’t a place for the likes of you and me in this world. We’re a joke. Never speak, protect your heart. Always hide your voice.

As if I could physically feel the words gathering in my mouth, I swallowed them back down so they couldn’t pass through my lips. The scars on my wrists felt hotter on my skin, under my cuffs, reminding me she’d been right.

I had to hide my voice. I had to protect my heart. I couldn’t go through it all again. I couldn’t let another like Annabelle win again.

Reaching the kitchen, Levi nervously cleared his throat. His thick arm reached across me to open the door. Glancing back, surprised at such a chivalrous gesture, I nodded my head and mouthed, “Goodnight.”

Levi opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something. But his expression fell and he simply replied, “Night, Elsie. Sleep tight.” As his sweet southern drawl wrapped around my name like an embrace, I wanted to tell him how I loved his accent, the way it curled around my name. But of course, I didn’t.

Stepping through the kitchen, I heard the door close behind me. With my feet planted on the tiled floor, I concentrated on breathing. My heart was racing. My hands were trembling, and my eyes lost focus in the darkness. I needed a minute to realize what I’d done. I had just spent time with a boy. No, more than that, I’d found a sweet and kind soul.

My chest filled with light, and I pushed myself to move, gripping the homemade lightning bug jar closely to my chest. I was silent as I made my way to my room. It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that Levi’s scent drifted to my nose.

I stopped, suddenly remembering I still wore his hoodie. Ducking my nose into the collar, I breathed deep, feeling a flutter in my heart. Not wanting to keep something else of his, I turned on the steps and quickly made my way back to the pool house.

I rushed across the yard and arrived at his door. The doorknob was still open and I went through. Expecting him to be back in bed, I startled when Levi was sat at his desk, a small lamp his only light. He had a pen in his hand and books were strewn over the tabletop. Yet he wasn’t working. He was sitting back in his chair, staring at nothing, his pen flicking back and forth in his hand.

Clearly hearing me sneak back into the pool house, his head turned in my direction. His gray eyes were narrow, until he spotted that it was me. Then they became wider. Levi jumped from his chair and got to his feet.

“Elsie? You okay?”

Nodding my head, I inched further into the room, until I stood almost where Levi waited. Placing the jar on the desk, I took out my pen and pad, and wrote, “I forgot I was wearing your sweatshirt.”

Levi read the sentence when I held it out; tension seemed to seep from his body. “Keep it, Elsie.”

I shook my head. Moving to lift it over my head, he was suddenly before me, holding my arms down at my sides. I met his eyes, unable to read what was in their depths. I heard his breathing deepen and his hands briefly tensed on my arms.

I breathed too, soft simple breaths, until Levi stepped back, pointing at the sweatshirt again and assured, “Keep it.”

Dropping the hem of the sweatshirt, I went to retrieve my jar, when the lamp on his desk caught my eye. I glanced to the books on the table, and took hold of my pad. “You don’t want to sleep?” I wrote and held it out to Levi.

Levi read the words, then shook his head, no. Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything else on the matter, I peeked at the page that was open on his desk. The page featured the picture of a painting. It looked like an old painting. Needing to move closer, curiosity controlled my feet. I stood right in front of the picture and bent down to inspect its details.

The picture showed water, images of people drowning under stormy waves: several images of men and women. I studied the men and the women closer: I realized all the images of men were the same man, and the images of the women were all the same woman. My heart lurched at such a sad portrayal, particularly since the picture displayed their bodies tumbling in a strong current, each image showcasing a phase of their struggle. Sadder still, they were reaching for one another, but they couldn’t quite catch each other’s hands.

They were being driven apart.

My chest ached. Yet I remained transfixed on the page; on drowning lovers desperately trying to hold on to one another, but failing in their efforts. For a moment I had forgotten Levi was in the room, too lost in the tragic scene.

“Hero and Leander.” Levi’s husky voice retrieved me from my trance. I turned my head and he had moved right beside me, his arm just a fraction from touching mine. I looked to his face, and he pointed to the painting. “Peter Paul Ruben’s ‘Hero and Leander’. It was painted in the seventeenth century.”