But that’s what Dawson did. I’d already spotted the similarities between my father and him. What I hadn’t seen, until I watched the docuseries, were the crucial things that set them apart. The way Dawson learned to spot, and therefore overcome the challenges others like him face. Unlike my father, Dawson is a man of great character.
Accepting that fact has rewritten my narrative entirely. And it turns out that’s not something to fear after all; it’s something to celebrate.
This is a new step for me. A broader horizon. I only hope I’ve seen it in time to keep Dawson in my life.
I glance at the clock on the bathroom wall. I’m supposed to meet him in the studio in five minutes. A dose of adrenaline rocks through my body at the thought. It’s almost time. I can’t believe we’re finally here.
There’s no sign of Dawson as I make my way through the bedroom and down the stairs. I glance toward the cat den as I pass, spotting both Moonshine and Muffin on the same carpeted cat tower. Moonshine hangs by his claws the way he might dangle from my or Dawson’s backside were either of us within his prowling reach. It makes me think fondly of the way he’s warmed up to Dawson too.
I hate that this is our final day in the house together. I miss Dawson already, and I hope, with everything in me, that we won’t have to say goodbye for long.
I pull open the studio door and survey the area as I step inside. A black curtain, like the ones at last night’s staged event, hangs from the high ceiling in the center of the room, dividing it longways.
“Dawson is on the far end of the room,” comes Marsha’s voice. “Brinley, take a seat on the bench closest to the door. Please, do not speak to one another.”
It’s not until I take the steps and approach the stone bench standing on this side of the curtain that I spot two props on the floor. I take a seat on the bench. There, in the space between me and the curtain, rests a small box and a bright red apple.
“Before you are two items,” Marsha says. “You will use these items to relay your intent where the relationship is concerned. You each have a stage prop that represents your character in the screenplay, and an empty box. Take a moment and decide—before speaking to one another—whether or not you’d like to pursue a relationship outside of the house.
“Now,” she says after a lengthy pause, “both of you open your boxes.”
I move from the bench to the floor and scoot up to the box. It’s even on all sides, like a cube and, like the bench, is made of stone. I reach out, grasp the lid, and pry it open. Hinges hold the lid in place as I look into the empty depths lined in black velvet.
“If the answer is yes, youwouldlike to continue dating outside of this house, place the prop representing your character inside the box. Music will play for sixty seconds. Please have your lids fully closed before the music stops.”
The song starts, a dramatic sounding piano piece. I lift the apple off its coaster, grip the solid fruit in my hand, and cringe when I recall throwing it at Dawson on stage. I lower it into the box, grip the edges of the lid with both hands, and rest it softly in place.
I must have looked wild to him. Like an untamed beast in a bloody cheerleading costume with lipstick smeared over my face.No, Brinley, don’t.No more assuming. It’s not fair.
The music plays on as I fold my hands in my lap and rock on my knees before the box. Is Dawson placing his item in the case as well? Or did he let it remain empty and simply lower the lid on a hollow box, closing our future chances along with it?
At last, the music stops.
“Now before you take a seat on your benches once more,” Marsha says, “please slide your box forward until it reaches the curtain’s fold. Brinley, you go first.”
I slide the box until it touches the curtain, then stop.
“Good. Dawson, please take Brinley’s box, but don’t open it.”
The box gets dragged beneath the edge.
“Dawson, now you do the same.”
I watch the thick, black fabric as Dawson pushes his forward. Once Marsha gives me the cue, I secure the edge of Dawson’s box. It’s much heavier than mine, which makes sense, because it’s bigger too. It’s the size of a rectangle, just long enough to hold the axe. I position it before me, willing the prop I’ve seen Dawson wield to be inside.
“Brinley, please return to your bench.”
I do, and Marsha gives further instructions.
“Now, without telling Dawson your intent, please explain how you came to your conclusion. Dawson, please remain silent until it’s your turn to reply.”
I nod, pull in a deep breath, and release it through pursed lips. “Dawson,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you properly last night, or in the days leading up to it during our time here.
“I really enjoyed spending this week with you. It’s fascinating to watch you bring characters to life. It’s like, you transform, even if the character is nothing like you, and I can see how you’ve used that to better understand others. That’s an admirable trait. Also, it’s been especially fun for me to see you take a liking to Moonshine,” I add. “He’s going to miss you.”
The truth of that statement is magnified when I think of how very muchI’llmiss him. Especially if he’s determined to go our separate ways.
My heart thumps out of beat, and I can’t help but wonder if it will ever beat in sync again. What if life with Dawson is my path—the right rhythm for me; and I’ve messed that all up?
