I scoffed and shook my head. I tried to deflect, “What are you talking about? I’m not being anything.”
Before I could take a breath to try and defend myself, everything around us shifted. We were no longer in the dreary hospital room which always felt far too stuffy for my tastes and could barely contain Hillary’s personality.
That’s when I knew for sure that I was dreaming. Because one moment we were in the last place I ever wanted to be again, and the next we were in one of the fields on the Connors family ranch. It was a place where we spent a lot of time growing up. We would pick wildflowers and make crowns.
It’s where our loftiest dreams were whispered about in hushed tones, as if speaking any louder would mean they wouldn’t come true. It’s the same place where Hillary told us about the leukemia for the first time. She told me about how her parents wanted to be there with her when she told us, but she said no. She knew it needed to be in our field, in our place, where we could weep and then figure out a way to fight.
I wasn’t surprised to find me in that place again, when I felt so unsure. It was a place that always grounded me. Or was it the people who were there with me?
When I sunk my fingers into the soil, it felt so real as it gave way under the pressure of my touch, allowing me to burrow in and connect with the earth, with my home, with the place where solace didn’t feel so out of reach.
“Don’t lie to me,” Hillary’s voice which was softer but still had an edge had me snapping my gaze up to meet hers. “You’re being an idiot.”
She repeated those words, not apologetic in the least, while crossing her arms across her chest and giving me a look, a look I knew well. She wasn’t going to let this go.
I groaned and flopped back onto the grass which cushioned me while I stared up at the cloudless blue sky. The sun warmed me as I avoided the intense look from my best friend.
“It was never about the journey, Hollyn,” her words were whispered.
They danced along the tops of the wildflowers. They slipped around me until they could tangle in my hair. They felt like gossamer. Something close and still, somehow, out of reach.
My heart was pounding in my chest and as much as I desperately wanted to look at Hillary, to say goodbye because I could feel the edges of my dreams collapsing, I couldn’t. She would see too much. She would know too much.
“It was always about the destination.”
As those words fell from Hillary’s lips, I jerked awake.
And I knew.
But I’m not ready to admit it.
It feels like defeat. Like I’ve failed her somehow. It doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not.
When I open my eyes and take a sip of my tea, the first flake falls. And then another and another. The snow is light, but it is there, nonetheless.
It makes the scene even more special. The moment becomes a snow globe. Fragile. Beautiful. Worthy of a memory.
I feel a stray tear slide down my cheek, but I don’t bother wiping it away. No one is here to see it, and I can admit, if onlyto myself, that the cracks in the walls I’ve spent years fortifying around my heart are much larger than I’m comfortable with.
Another blanket, this one heavier, lands on my shoulders and is wrapped around me. I look up at Elwood and watch as his clear blue eyes soften as they roam over my face. I have no idea what he sees there, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like maybe I don’t have to keep searching and can, finally, call a place my own.
But it’s far too soon to have any of those feelings. Right? People don’t fall in love with a look, and they don’t upend their plans. Not to stay in a place they only know because they broke down. It’s not normal.
“Are you okay, Sweet Girl?”
Elwood’s question as he settles in the spot next to me has me swallowing hard. It shouldn’t feel like a loaded question. But it does.
Where do I even begin?
As if he can sense my turmoil, Elwood bumps my shoulder with his and smile softly. “Tell me something about Hillary.”
He doesn’t ask, not really, but his words don’t quite feel like a demand either. I look out over the land behind Elwood’s house and get lost in the flutter of snowflakes.
“She loved snow,” I whisper and find myself smiling. “She was fascinated with how every flake was different and unique and, yet, together could be so much more.”
Elwood makes a humming sound and wraps an arm around my shoulders before pulling me against his side. Our bodies fit together in a way that doesn’t make any sense. His chest is so much larger than mine and he’s so much taller. It should feelawkward and like we’re just too different when he holds me like this, but that’s not the case.
It feels perfect. It feels right.
