Honesty Comes in All Forms
By Robyn Brand
I saw him tucking a
journal into his backpack as I approached him. My whole body was tense, poised
to run. Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I reminded myself that his
reputation was probably based on a whole pile of lies and that he was just a
boy. Just a boy.
A big scary boy with a
pierced eyebrow.
He bent his head over
our English textbook and didn’t look up when I stopped at his table. Very
faintly, I could hear music coming out of his headphones as I shifted my weight
from foot to foot as I debated what to do. He seemed a lot less intimidating in
the quiet murmur of the library than he has right after class when we’d made
plans to meet. But that did nothing to calm the tightness in my stomach. Taking
a deep breath, I forced myself into the chair across from him.
He pulled his headphones
off, and chuckled. “I wondered how long you were gonna stand there.” His words
made me pause in the process of pulling my book and notebook out of my bag.
I stammered, “Y-you
could’ve invited m-me to sit.” My face was quickly turning red as I set my
things on the table.
“But where’s the fun in
that?”
“Well, it’s polite.” I
looked up as I spoke and was surprised to find his green eyes fixed on me. My
thoughts turned into a jumbled mess as he continued to gaze at me; the very
small part of me that was still managing to think was disappointed that direct
contact with another human had yet again rendered me too nervous to speak.
“Shall we get started?”
he asked after I’d lost count of how many seconds we’d been staring at each
other.
My tongue was too thick
to speak so I just nodded as I pulled out the assignment sheet and read over
the questions again; the dread that I always felt towards English work welled
in my chest. I handed him the questions and flipped open my notebook, “How do
you spell your name?”
“Patrik Adams, Patrik
without a ‘c.’” I quickly scribbled both our names into the header and then he
asked, “What’d you think about the book?”
“It was pretty boring,
honestly.” Patrik clutched his chest and gasped.
“How dare you? It was a
great work.” I could see the surprise in his eyes but people rarely got
theatric when I offended them and I had to look away. I ran my pen over our
names again. “Seriously, you thought it was boring?” I heard him ask.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Um,” I muttered, still
running my pen over our names. Disagreeing never led to anything to anything
good so I said, “I mean it was all right. I just couldn’t follow it very
easily.” Suddenly Patrik’s hand was over mine, forcing me to stop re-inking our
names.
“You’re allowed to have
your own opinion, you know,” he whispered. Forcing myself to look up, I could
see something that I didn’t understand in his eyes.
Pushing away from the
table, I snatched up all my belongings and quickly fled the library. As soon as
I was outside, I slowed my pace to a walk so I was less likely to trip over the
uneven cobblestone as was a habit of mine. My head was pounding with Patrik’s
words, cheeks still burning with the intensity of his gaze. I shoved all that
away as I hopped onto the bus that was waiting at the curb. My brain slipped
into auto pilot as I slid my card across the scanner and found a seat; my head
had a destination in mind and I knew I could get there with my eyes closed.
Half an hour later, I
was stepping into the Thompson Dance Studio. The very familiar bell chimed with
my arrival and I came back into myself. Christy was chattering away on the
phone behind the front desk but she did wave as I walked by her. Ducking into
the locker room, I pulled off my jeans and sweatshirt, opting for the comfort
of my leotard. Once my hair was in a ponytail, I left the locker room in search
of an empty studio. The larger ones were full of classes--just like they always
were--and I could hear the instructors all counting as I looked through the
one-sided mirrors at the students; a little part of me remembered being in a class
like that. So much had changed...
I ducked into the first
studio with its lights off and stashed all of my belongings in a corner before
flipping on the lights and plugging my iPod into the AUX cable. After slipping
into my shoes, I sat in the middle of the room and stretched. I purposely faced
away from the mirror in hopes that not looking at myself would not remind me of
my conversation with Patrik. But it didn’t make a difference. I couldn’t forget
the way he’d been staring at me. Once I felt loose enough, I pressed play on my
iPod. Facing the mirror, I waited for the music to take over my mind before I
allowed my body to move.
Dance had been the only
thing for as long as I could remember that had ever made any real sense to me.
The music just made me go; Dave had noticed me when I was in his Ballet for
Tots class. Over the years, he’d never let me quit, regardless of how much else
was going on in my life.
My reflection copied my
movements perfectly as I switched from hip-hop to jazz to ballet to blues--whatever
the music told me to do. The nerves that had formed a knot in my stomach during
my meeting with Patrik melted as my feet carried me up and back across the
floor. I was lost in the music and the movement; there was no room in my mind
for anything else.
The door to my studio
opened a long while later; I didn’t think anything of it, knowing that it was
probably just Dave or Christy coming to check up on me. Maybe we weren’t blood
but almost everyone as TDS was a family that cared, a family that could tell
when something was going on.
“So this is where you
ran off to,” a voice said, stopping me cold. Whirling around, I saw Patrik
leaning against the doorframe with a small and curious smile across his face.
“What are you doing
here?” I asked, suddenly feeling very exposed in my leotard.
He jerked a thumb over
his shoulder, “My kid sister is in ballet class right now.”
“You bring your sister
to ballet here?”
Patrik shrugged, “What
can I say? I’m a doting brother.” Silence fell between us and I turned my face
to my toes. My stomach felt odd; it was void of the nerves that usually
developed around people I didn’t know. But I didn’t know what to say to him.
Part of me thought I should apologize for running way but the rest of me
guessed that he probably didn’t really care. “Can I ask you a question?” he
asked after a few more minutes of us just listening to the music that was still
emanating from the speakers.
“Sure,” I nodded,
forcing myself to stand still as he walked toward me. He didn’t stop until he
was so close that I could feel his breath on my nose. I could see that his
eyebrow piercing was dark blue--not black like I’d thought the first time--and
his eyes had a ring out dark brown on the outer edge of the iris. My mind
flipped through my memories almost instantaneously and determined that this was
the third time that any boy had ever been as close as Patrik was at that
moment.
Then he spoke. “Why are
you scared of me?”
“You’re big and dark and
scary,” I muttered, all too aware that I sounded like a pathetic five-year old.
However, I did manage to bite my tongue before adding that he was a person and
that all people scared me.
Patrik’s face was
pensive for a minute then he laughed. “Am I really?”
I nodded.
He ran a hand through
his hair. “You’re scary, too, ya know?”
I blinked, shaking my
head. “I’m not.”
Gently, he took my arm
and pointed me toward the mirror. “Did you see the way you were dancing? That’s
scary.”
“It’s just dancing,” I
muttered, refusing to look my reflection in the eye.
“It’s intimidating; I
couldn’t do any of that,” Patrik insisted.
“If you had training,
you could; I’ve been doing this since I was a little girl.”
The door opened again
and I quickly stepped away from Patrik. Dave appeared in the doorway. “You
okay, Tami?” he addressed me but his eyes stayed fixed on Patrik. Sometimes
Dave liked to present that he was my dad, which was actually my favorite of his
traits.
“Yeah, Dave. This is
Patrik, a friend from school,” I murmured, rubbing my arms.
“Well, good. If he
wasn’t a friend, I’d have to have him forcibly removed from the building.” Out
of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrik nod to Dave. “Good. Watch your toes,
Tami.””
“Okay, Dave.” Turning
his eyes to me, he smiled gently before leaving Patrik and me alone again.
“Your protector is
intimidating too,” Patrik chuckled. “So, do you want to get together tomorrow
to work on the project?” He stepped in front of me again; I swallowed before
looking up at him.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Tomorrow.
When?”
He sighed, “My place,
around 6.”
“Where is your place?”
“Indian. Here, let me
grab your number and I’ll text you.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and
held it out to me. I punched in my number and handed it back to him. “Great,
I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He smiled and turned to leave. When he got to the
door, he turned back, “I’ll try not to be too scary tomorrow.” Then he vanished
through the doorway and I turned back to the mirror. The music took over my
body again and I couldn’t shake Patrik’s words that my dancing was
intimidating. Or the fact that I’d just had a real (well, almost real)
conversation with him.
Christy gave me a ride
home a few hours later. She kept changing stations on the radio and fidgeting
with the volume--everything she did when she wanted to ask me if something was
going on. But I didn’t know what to say about Patrik’s visit in the studio so I
just stared out the window.
“I’ll see you later,” I
said when she pulled up to the curb in front of my dorm.
“Are you okay, Tami?”
she finally asked when my hand was on the door handle.
“Yeah, just got lots of
homework to finish up. I’ll see you later.” I climbed out of the car, ignoring
the guilt that I knew stemmed from not telling her what was going on. I ran up
to the door, unsurprised at the rain but still annoyed that I’d forgotten my
jacket. As I turned my key in the lock, I heard her car pulling away from the
curb and let out a sigh of relief before sprinting up the stairs to my room.
I collapsed onto my bed,
my mind working in overdrive to figure out what had happened over the past
twelve hours. It was nearly impossible for me to believe that I’d had an actual
conversation with Patrik or that he’d called me intimidating. If there was one
word I would never ever use to describe myself, it was “intimidating.”
Professors were intimidating; protesters were intimidating; Patrik was
intimidating...not me. I was quiet and docile. I could only think of one person
I’d ever stood up to and that had turned out terribly. Trying to push away the
memories of my past, I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Patrik was sitting on
the front stairs of his house when I walked up the next afternoon--I’d barely
slept two hours and felt slightly unsteady on my feet. I smiled at Patrik
without the familiar feeling of nervousness that always stemmed from human
contact swell in my stomach.
“Glad you came,” he said
as he stood then led me into the house. “By the way, house rules, no shoes.” As
I slipped mine off, I could hear shouting from down the hall. Then Patrik led
me toward the noise.
“What’s going on?” I
asked him.
“It’s a Smash Bros
tournament,” he answered as we entered a room that seemed to be overflowing
with boys; the nerves in my stomach peeked their heads out from their hiding
places at the sight. Patrik must have seen a worried look cross my face because
he nudged my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, they’re harmless.” I managed a
weak smile but it disappeared as all of the boys in the room--except
Patrik--started shouting.
“I so got you!” one of
them said.
“Dude, it was this
close,” another shouted back as a third groaned and leaned back into the couch.
“Oi!” Patrik yelled over
all of them. “Has anyone ever told you that you are louder than a bull
stampede?”
“Ole!” two of them
yelled in unison and the fact that I could barely hear that two of them were
talking made me guess that they were brothers. Patrik just rolled his eyes.
“Guys, this is Tami.
Tami, these are my housemates: Andrew, James and Charlie.” Each of them waved
in turn and I tried my best to smile back.
“What do you do, Tami?”
James asked a few seconds later. Patrik had stepped forward to take a perch on
the end of the couch; Charlie handed him a spare controller.
“Um,” I hesitated. “I
dance. What is this?” I gestured toward the TV.
Andrew turned to gape at
me. “Patrik, you brought a girl who doesn’t know about Smash into the house?”
“I did bring her here to
do homework, Andrew, not to play video games.”
“It’s blasphemy,” Andrew
cried and I couldn’t help cringing.
“Hey, would you pick
your character please?” James asked, tapping Andrew’s shoulder.
Patrik glanced over at
me, “I’ll be done in just a second. Then we’ll get started.”
“Ready?” James asked.
All the other boys gave their assent and, from my position at the edge of the
room, I tried to watch the screen and the boys as they battled. James and
Andrew yelled the most; Charlie’s fact was set in careful concentration, and
Patrik started acting really goofy. He would make his avatar run from one end
of the world to another, dancing his way through the others and creating chaos
in their battles until one of them would get annoyed enough to turn their
attention on him. James and Andrew seemed to be fighting in person as much as
on screen and I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what sibling rivalry was
like.
It seemed like years
later when the battle was over--it was very pointedly marked by James and
Andrew’s moaning and Charlie’s smug smile.
Patrik tossed his
controller to the ground and climbed off the couch. “We’ll be upstairs.” I saw
James give Patrik a very pointed look but Patrik just shrugged at him as he
said, “C’mon Tami.” We walked back through the hall and up the stairs. “Welcome
to my abode,” he welcomed me into his room.
“You’re a boy?” I
commented but my voice jumped up at the end, making it a question.
“Last I checked, yes.
Why?”
“Isn’t your room
supposed to be a disaster?" We both looked around his very orderly room
and he chuckled.
“I guess I never thought
about that. My dad was Navy brass so our whole house had to be shipshape and
Bristol fashion at all times; guess the habit just carried over.” As my eyes
landed on the desk, I saw the journal he’d been tucking into his backpack the
day before. I took a half step toward it before I got scared to ask about it.
“So did you bring your opinions today?” Patrik asked.
I stuttered, not looking
at him even though I could feel his gaze on me. My eyes went back and forth
between the journal and my socks.
“Do you want to work on
the project?” he said softly, so softly that I felt like he was maybe actually
asking my something else.
“No,” I admitted,
forcing myself to look up at him; his smile made me relax a bit. He did look
less intimidating when he smile and I felt he nervousness in my stomach fade a
bit.
“In that case, I want
popcorn. Make yourself at home; I’ll be right back.” He touched my shoulder as
he walked back out into the hall. I heard him walked down the stairs as I set
my bag next to his desk and sat on the edge of his bed. The nerves in my
stomach hadn’t faded enough for me to be comfortable and my feet started
tapping, wanting to be able to move. But I forced myself to sit still until
Patrik came back in, popcorn bowl in hand. He smiled wider when he saw me.
“What?” I asked,
extremely nervous again.
“I wasn’t sure you’d
actually relax but I’m glad to see that you actually took the advice. Popcorn?”
Patrik sat next to me as he spoke, offering me the bowl. I took it and ate a
few bites, glad for the excuse not to talk. My eyes, again, fell on his
journal. It was leather bound and obviously well worn; I couldn’t stop myself
from wondering what he wrote in it. “You know that I’m not going to be offended
if you’re honest with me, right?”
“People always say
that,” I murmured. “Then they do get offended when people are honest.”
“Well true, but I mean
it; honesty is always the best policy.” His words made me freeze; it was
exactly that sentiment that I never understood. People wanted to hear what they
wanted to hear, not the full truth. Honesty--complete honesty--was never the
best policy. Honesty destroyed everything.
So I swallowed the lump
in my throat and asked, “If honesty is the best policy, why did my mom kill
herself when my dad told her he had a mistress? Why did that mistress--my
stepmom--tell my dad to throw me into the street when I told her she’d ruined
my family? Why did he say he loved me as he drove away with her in the passenger
seat?” Patrik moved off the bed to crouch in front of me as I kept talking. “If
honesty is the best policy, why did Dave have to lie to get the loan he needed
for the studio? Why is Christy hurt every time a boy says he doesn’t want to be
with her anymore?” I didn’t see Patrik take the popcorn bowl from me so much as
I felt its absence and then it was replaced by his warm hands. My eyes wouldn’t
focus on anything as I said, “Honesty is a terrible policy.”
“Is that your honest
opinion?” Patrik wondered.
“Yes.”
“Does being honest make
you feel better?”
Immediately, my mind
played an ultra fast version of the day when my stepmom decided that I wasn’t
worth her time. She’d yelled, hit me and forced my father to leave me. I didn’t
even know where he was anymore, if he was even alive. “No,” I told Patrik.
“Keeping my mouth shut makes me happy. People like me better when I tell them
what they want to hear.”
“Do you know what I want
to hear?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“I want to hear you say
that you’ll teach me some dance moves.”
“You want to learn to
dance?” I asked quietly as my eyes started to refocus.
“Yeah, you seem like you
know what you’re doing and I hear guys who know how to dance are really in
demand.”
“Yeah, I could show you
a few things; I’m not very good at teaching leads to partner dance, though.” My
eyes focused completely and I thought the gleam in his eye was a sign of
sincerity.
“Will you show me now?”
After a minute, I
nodded, “Sure.” He stood and then helped me to my feet.
“Do we need music or
anything?”
I shook my head and took
my place in front of him. “Not just yet, there are a few things you should
learn without trying to do it to music. So your hand goes around my back right
here,” I said, placing his right hand right between my shoulder blades.
“What are you teaching
me?” he asked as I laid my left hand on his shoulder and joined our free hands.
“I’m in a blues/fusion
kind of mood so that’s what you’re going to get.”
“Sounds great.”
I looked up at him and
took a deep breath; I was still on edge but didn’t feel like running away,
which I took to be a good sign. “So the first really important thing is frame;
feel how I’m leaning into your hand? Press back with the same amount of
pressure. See? Now we have tension so if you were to take a step forward, I’d
know to step with you.” He took an experimental step and I followed in turn.
“Same goes if you walk side to side or backwards.” For a few minutes, we worked
on just walking around his room--and suddenly I appreciated that his
cleanliness left us lots of floor space. After he understood the basics, we
moved onto turns and dips.
“So, like this?” he
asked as he pulled my hip against his and leaned to the side.
“Yeah, you’re a natural
at this. You could hold your own in classes, if you wanted to take any,” I said
as he situated me back onto my feet.
“You think?”
“Yeah, the girls would
be all over you.” As he smiled, my eyes started clouding. Quickly bringing my
hands to my face, I tried to center my balance.
“Tami?” I heard Patrik
ask just before I began to fall. “Whoa, you okay?” Relief flooded through me
when my body met his arms instead of his carpet.
I didn’t move my hands
from my eyes as I said, “Do you think maybe I could lay down for a bit?”
“For sure,” he said,
lifting me up and then setting me on his bed. “Can I get you anything?” he
asked as I pulled the pillow under my head.
“Do you have a blanket I
could use?” I wondered, still keeping my eyes shut and trying to breathe
normally. A minute later, after hearing a closet door open and close, I felt a
soft blanket around me.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he
whispered.
“Actually,” I started
before I could bite my tongue. It was the first time I’d been vulnerable in
front of anyone that wasn’t Dave or Christy but Patrik wanted honesty--and he
hadn’t yet thrown that in my face.
“Yes?”
“Would it be terrible of
me to ask you to stay?”
“You want me to stay?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled,
terrified that he would laugh and spurn me.
“Okay. I’ll just be
doing work at my desk, then.”
I shook my head. “No,
um...” I trailed off, not knowing exactly how to ask him for what I wanted.
“What is it, Tami?” I
managed to open my eyes but couldn’t see much through the cloudiness there.
“Will you cuddle with
me?” I breathed quietly. The worry on his face turned into a little smile.
“I can do that. Just
give me one second” As I closed my eyes again, he stood and I heard him move
across the room for a minute. Then he came back and I felt him lay on the bed
next to me. I rolled toward him, curling into his side. “Has this ever happened
before?” he wondered.
“Sometimes,” I said, not
entirely sure if he was referring to the cuddling or the fact that I’d almost
fainted; either way, it was true. But it had been a very long time since I’d
cuddled with anyone, much longer than it had been since I’d had an episode.
“Can I ask you a question?” I wondered a few minutes later.
“Sure.”
“What do you write in
the journal on your desk? The leather one.”
“Anything and everything
that makes me happy or that makes me think.”
“When did you start
that?”
“A couple years ago. I
was being a typical pain in the butt teenager so my mom bought me this really
nice leather bound book and told me to start looking for the good things in
life.” He paused for a second and then added, “There’s practically a whole page
dedicated to you thus far.”
“Why me?”
“You’re different; you
make me think. And you’re definitely honest, even if you communicate with your
body instead of your words.”
“Dance makes sense to
me. People don’t.”
“That’s okay; we’re all
entitled to have one thing that doesn’t make sense.” His arms wound around me,
pulling me just a little tighter. “But just because it doesn’t make sense
doesn’t mean that you have to be scared of it.”
“How I am supposed to
feel toward the things that don’t make sense?”
“Like you can figure
them out.” And, with that, I fell asleep next to the scary boy with a pierced
eyebrow and a journal full of quotes that make him happy.
