“I listen to this on a loop.” I chuckled. “Such a beautiful song.”
The lyrics to You and Me by James TW never felt as true as it did at that moment.
Ezra was humming along and even though we weren’t doing anything special, the serenity made the moment magical.
“You like love songs?” I asked him.
“Not specifically. I listen to a variety of genres just not electric. It hurts my brain. What about you, are you a romantic?”
I was. I’d always dreamed of my happily-ever-after but was too shy to ever admit it aloud. “Nope. I mean I like the songs I just don’t believe in them.”
“Hmm. Take out your phone, go to your music and tell me what are the first five recently played songs.”
I took out my phone and scrolled to the music section. I laughed. “This means nothing.”
“What are they?”
“First: Beneath the Street Lights and the Moon by PJ Cooper. Second: Summer by Beyoncé. Third: You and Me by James TW and Fourth: Perfect by Ed Sheeran.”
“You’re a romantic.”
“Am not!”
“Okay, name the last movie you watched.”
My ears heated up, spreading the flames down my neck and cheeks. “I re-watched The Notebook, but this is all coincidental.”
He smirked. “Last book you read?”
It was The Air He Breathes by Brittainy C. Cherry but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “It by, the one and only, Stephen King.”
He scoffed disbelievingly. “Total BS. You want to act all tough but in reality, you’re a softy.”
“I’m no such thing,” I said, turning up the music and drowning out his words. Ezra simply laughed, shaking his head.
Chapter Fourteen
Ezra
Ilooked over at Christina who was pensive, staring ahead. I wished I could read her mind. Her black hair flew in all directions—wild as a jungle, untamable and unruly covering her face.
On our way back from our little road trip, we made a stop at a beach in Legoland. We sat on the white sand observing a few brave surfers in wetsuits practicing close to the shore. California was ever sunny with clear skies but today a few gray clouds crawled in, overtaking the heavens ominously and the wind speed increased a notch. A cloud floated away and a streak of light peered through the gloom spreading warmth across my neck and down my forearms.
Last night I looked up her problem online and read about it for hours.
To seize her attention, I bumped our shoulders and decided to bring it up. Besides, unless she was willing to stand along the highway and hitchhike, she was stuck with me. We were still a good thirty miles away from home.
“Is it bulimia?”
Scrunching her nose, she growled. “The day was going so well why are you trying to ruin it, Ezra?”
She shifted and sat with her legs crossed, fighting to tame her hair into some semblance of order. I did the same and moved so we were sitting face to face.
“What did you read? That I have some sort of mental illness? That I’m crazy?”
“I read a lot of things but only you can tell me what’s up?”
Another gust of wind blew, dispersing her hair over her face again. She combed it with her fingers and brought it over her shoulder.
“You won’t understand.” Her gaze lowered, and she drew shapes with her fingers on the sand.
“Try me.”
She continued drawing and her chest heaved. She remained quiet for a while with her head down and I couldn’t see her face. I decided not to force the issue, if she wasn’t ready to talk about it, we would sit there in silence.
“It’s a diet,” she said all of a sudden. “I eat as much as I want and so that I don’t get fat, I throw up.”
“Isn’t it easier for you to follow some sort of healthier diet?”
“It’s not that easy,” she mumbled. Her voice trembled but she didn’t look up. “I get hungry and crave stuff. When I start eating I—I can’t stop even when I’m not hungry anymore. I eat to a point where I’m sick and filled with self-loathing, self-hatred and I have to get the food out of me. Food makes me feel better and then it makes me feel awful.”
She was right, it made no sense to me. In the stillness that followed, the sound of the crashing waves seemed unbearably loud. I was thinking of something to say that wouldn’t sound offensive or opinionated when she interrupted my thoughts.
“I was fat growing up. I got teased a lot and when I lost the weight, I promised myself I would never go back to that size no matter what it took.”
“Did you lose the weight doing this thing?”
She used the back of her hand to wipe away a few tears that escaped her eyes, sniffled and lifted her head, nodding. “At first, I starved myself. Then during high school, I saw these girls doing it. I asked them about it and they told me it was a diet. Eat all you want then throw it all out. No weight gain guaranteed. So I started doing it. After years, it took a toll on my body and I ended up in the hospital. After getting help, I stopped and was doing everything right but now ...” She shrugged, lowering her head. Her body trembled with her sobs. “I feel like such a disappointment. I promised everyone that I wouldn’t do it again and ... and ...”
“I’ve never been through what you have and I can’t judge or fully understand it. Although everything you said sounds pretty confusing, I will never invalidate your feelings or tell you to stop hurting. Every pain has its own lifespan and each trauma is different. How you deal with yours may not be the right way, but it’s how you push through it. All I can say is that if you ever need to talk, I’ll be here to listen. If you ever need me, I’m here.”
Heat seared through my chest with sadness. The warmth engulfed my entire body causing shallow breaths. I pushed up to my knees and held her by the shoulders to pull her in for a hug. She wrestled with me but I didn’t let her go and ultimately, she gave up the fight, allowing me to bring her to my chest.
She circled her arms around me, burying her head on the arc of my neck. The tears went through my shirt and wet my skin. Every sob was painful. Every whimper contained so much anguish and I could do nothing to lessen the burden she was carrying. I held on to her as tight as I could and promised to help as long as she let me.
The first droplet of rain fell and hit my arms. Even so, I couldn’t let go of Christina and the downpour intensified.
“We should go,” Christina murmured, tearing away from me. “We’ll be soaked in a minute.” She stood, brushed the sand off her jeans and I followed.
“Dance with me.”
“Hmm?” Confusion etched on her features.
The only thing I wanted was to put back a smile on her lips. We couldn’t leave until her mood shifted and dancing, for me, was always an escape. A way to express and expel emotions without words. I offered her my hand. Hesitantly, she took it.
“There isn’t any music,” she grumbled, “what are we dancing to?”
“Shh ... Close your eyes, breathe in and listen.”
“To wha—”
“Just close your eyes,” I insisted. Pouting, she closed them. “Now breathe in and listen.”