“Plus your mother didn’t eat meat,” William says.
Adam winces. Only a fraction of a second before he catches himself, but it’s there all the same. I remember that William saidAdam lost his mother recently…and that Adam hasn’t once mentioned it to me. I wish it wouldn’t be weird of me to grab his hand right now. I really want to comfort him somehow, like all the ways he has done the same for me.
“Right,” Adam says, his voice pretty monotone. “She didn’t.”
I’m afraid William is going to volunteer more information Adam doesn’t want out there, so I say quickly, “My aunt is famous for her cheese enchiladas. They’re completely vegetarian. I can make them again next Friday.”
Adam smiles at me. “I’d love to try them.” He clears his throat and lowers his gaze to his almost empty plate. “And I can come over and help you cook beforehand. I’d like to learn some more. You’re really good at it.”
I blink and then smile. “You think so?”
Adam laughs. “Hasn’t anyone told you how good a cook you are?”
William pushes his chair back with a loud squeak. “Well, I’m going to lie down. Can’t take listening to you kids flirt like this anymore.”
“Flirt?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
“Yeah,” William says, walking away toward his bedroom. “Flirting like damn lovebirds!” He shuts the door behind him.
I frown at Adam, who just shakes his head good-naturedly. “Don’t mind him. He had a bad night. He’s probably going to sleep for, like, fourteen hours now. He needs it, though.” He glances at my plate. “You good? There’s more if—”
“Yes.” I hold up my plate with a smile. “More.”
Adam winks at me as he takes my plate and gives me a generous second helping. He sits across from me, where William was, and pushes his grandfather’s empty dishes away from between us.“So, ah. I have a few more questions to ask you. If you’re up for it now rather than later.”
I nod. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Adam pulls out a little Moleskine notebook from his back pocket, and a black Bic pen from his front pocket. “Petting the shark this morning. That shark…you were communicating with her, right? When you closed your eyes…and she came. It was like she heard your voice. And understood what you’re saying.”
I swallow my bite and take a sip of water. “Yeah. With my gift…it’s like…well. You know how you just sense things without questioning them? That information is taken into your brain without your permission. For instance, the feel of the wood under you as you sit, or—” I glance over him. “How your shirt, that fabric, is soft against your skin. We are in this room, right, and the air-conditioning is going on and off, and the draft is just behind you. So in the same way you and I, too, for that matter, take in these sensory interactions, I feel more. I feel that there is a squirrel on the roof right now, trying to decide if he wants to shimmy down the drainpipe or make the leap onto the juniper right there—” I point through the window into the backyard, and as though on cue, the squirrel makes it onto the tree branch, everything green-gold in the setting sunlight. “I know the bears, their babies, the birds. I know the creatures underground, too. The groundhogs, the moles…sometimes, oftentimes, or even all the time, really, I can sense that nothing exists without a community of life holding it together.”
Adam is furiously taking notes. After a minute, he stops and says, “Kinda makes you think, doesn’t it? Everything really does need a community to hold it together. In ecosystems…and humans, too. That’s what the leaders in my AA meetings say. Thatalcohol is often a way to stave off loneliness, and so one way we can stifle cravings is to make sure we are in community.”
“You have that at least,” I offer. “The whole town loves you.”
Adam frowns at his notes, then looks up at me. His eyes are almost glowing blue against the pumpkin orange of the sky through the window behind him. “They’re not my community, Sky. They think they know me, but they don’t. Community necessitates knowing one another.”
I furrow my brow. “Oh. But…” I shake my head. “But you’re beloved. They love you because of your work, and don’t people get to know you through your work?”
He shrugs. “A small part of me, okay. But they like, more than anything, the idea of me. They think that I can mirror their success with my own. That their being acquainted with me makes them successful by osmosis. Most of them…they want to get to know themselves by the reflections in my eyes.”
“That’s—” I search for the right word. “That’s poetic. And sad.”
“It is sad. You know how many people I had to call for help when I found myself unemployed with nowhere to stay?”
I shake my head.
Adam points to William’s bedroom. “One. And yeah, I know more people would have offered. But only Gramps would’ve accepted me and my fuckups and allowed me the space to figure out how to fix my life. Most people aren’t there for anything deep or uncomfortable. They want to rub shoulders. They want to network. They want a quick fuck. But they don’t want the whole human.”
I take a deep breath and push my now empty plate away. “I see that. I guess that’s why everyone is so mean to me. All they cansee is my wholeness when they look at me. They can’t pretend they don’t know about my weird layers.”
Adam nods slowly. “I’m going to write that down. You’re absolutely right.”
I wonder if maybe my being seen around town with Adam isn’t all he’s doing to help me. It kind of sounds like this piece might vindicate me. I don’t want to get my hopes up. But what if it’s published and it makes people realize I’m not insane? That I’m likable? That I’m valuable as a human being, just as I am, no matter what has happened to me in my past?
Adam closes his book and slides it into his pocket. The pen is next to be returned to its storage space.
I blink. “You’re done with the questions.”
