Rye laughed lightly and shook his head. “They’re very simple. Not anywhere close to art yet. But maybe...” He trailed off as one of those little tugs in his gut hit him, and words long ingrained in his head repeated themselves, trying to remind him how juvenile he was. How stupid. How worthless.
But it was different than it had been before. There was still all that unpleasantness, still a tightness in his chest and a knot in his stomach. Yet, he could almost feel some sort of... separation from it, like it was part of him still, but part that he could maybe detach himself from.
“Maybe what?” Jake asked quietly.
Rye set his hands on top of the book in his lap, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he should say, but he found himself wanting to confide in Jake about the words, the unpleasantness, all of it. He let out a long, slow breath. “Can I tell you... something not so... happy?”
He couldn’t look over at Jake, but he heard Jake clear his throat lightly.
“Yeah, of course. You can tell me.”
Rye pressed his hands down into the book, feeling the smoothness of the cover against his palms. “The man used to tell me... lots of awful things. One of those things was how I was a... a stupid child. A stupid, worthless child.”
Stupid, fucking worthless child.
He left out the curse word, but he felt it. He felt the anger and hate, and it was cold and filled with pain. But in that moment, he couldstillkeep it separate somehow. He could say the words and even think about them, and he didn’t get... he didn’t get lost in the dark.
“The words are there, like... like they’ve become a part of me now, reminding me anytime I do things like this—things that are basic and simple, like when I was having to learn to read again or... or like all the time still, when I stumble over words I don’t know or things I should know about or know how to do... like fold a little paper bird. His words are my... my voice now, telling me how childish I am, how stupid.”
“Rye, no, I—”
“It’s awful,” Rye cut in, hoping he still had the courage to continue against the chill and heaviness settling over him. “It’s awful, and I know... I know it’s wrong, but I still feel it sometimes. Like... like right now. But...”
He paused and ran his hand over the top of the book, his fingertips brushing over a tiny scratch just at the edge of the cover. Jake was watching him; he could feel it, even without looking in Jake’s direction.
“But, then... then I think about how much I’ve learned already, just in six months. And—and even though that voice is there,my voice, telling me those awful things that just seem so real and true, I can... I can also know that they’renotreal or true. And I can know that... that if what I want is to... read or... make tea”—he finally glanced over at Jake with a small smile, and he reached up and wiped a single tear from his cheek—“or makeart, then I’ll be able to. I’ll get there someday. I... amnot... a stupid, worthless child anymore.”
And almost immediately, Jake said, “You never were.”
Rye closed his eyes again, another tear slipping down his cheek, and he nodded, doing exactly as he’d said he could. He pushed it away—the pain and dark and cold, the angry words that were so hateful and hurtful. And instead, he felt a deep gratitude as bits and pieces of conversations with Jake—conversations he could only seem to have with Jake—snapped into place.
You’re safe.
It’ll be okay.
You’re so incredibly brave.
I’m so proud of you.
He wanted to hearthosewords more. He wantedthosewords to be the words that filled his head, replacing all the negativity.
He smiled and looked over at the little paper bird sitting between the little paper rabbit and the little paper sea turtle. They were simple, but they already showed that he’d made progress, even just in the few hours since they’d left Reno.
“It’s... going to take me a while,” he said, and although it wasn’t his full thought, because he’d just talked a whole lot and he was sort of exhausted, Jake seemed to know what he meant.
“You’ll get there. You’ll get there, and I’ll help remind you, and your mom and your family—we’ll all help remind you every day. You are not what he said. His words have no place anywhere near you, Rye.” Jake’s last few words were said quietly, gently, and Rye felt more of that deep gratitude for his friend.
“Thank you,” he said, though his voice caught a little this time. “Thank you for listening and... and for everything. I...” He paused and shook his head. “I’m... kinda tired now.”
Next to him, Jake chuckled. “Yeah, no kidding. Me too. It was a lot of driving. But, um, I... thought it was worth it.”
What an understatement, Rye thought, and he smiled and nodded. “It was. It was fun. I had a great time. Thank you for inviting me.”
It still didn’t feel like enough. All the thank yous in the world couldn’t really say how much Jake’s friendship had come to mean to him. But hewastired, and maybe he’d said enough for now.
Jake’s expression was that kind, soft sort of understanding that made Rye feel so seen and safe, and when Jake gave him a gentle nod, he smiled again, an odd heat spreading into his cheeks.
“I should probably go inside. My mom... she’s probably standing at the door, waiting for me,” Rye said.
