756 Benched
Walking was nice.
Having fun was nicer.
But sitting on a bench was… well, I wouldn’t say nicest, but… it certainly, definitely, was something.
Quiet, maybe.
Then again, it wasn’t even that. The word quiet and what defines it does not exist within this particular subset of time and space.
When every split-second of every minute a brand new noise would come and supersede the last, be it the shrill cry of squeaky shoes, the rippling boom of popping balloons, or an entire conga line being formed from a game being held nearby, you start getting the sense that you never actually had experienced a moment of peace in your life.
And yet against all odds, being in the here, living in the now, I was immersed in a serenity that no elephant of a noise could snap me out of. How I got here, how I achieved this zen, it’s a mystery to everyone.
It probably has something to do with the sleepy vampire laying on my lap—but who knows, really?
Adalia looked just as, if not, even more at peace with the world, misty gray eyes gazing aimlessly at the vast white of snow. My hand brushing and buried in a tangled of mesh of her silky hair… and like a needy cat, fangs and all, if I stopped stroking for a moment, she’d shift herself slightly to gain my attention, only resting, only content, once I began running my fingers through her silver locks again.
.....
If only these love judges judging amok also took presentation into account. We’d probably be drowning in points by now…
“How you feeling?” I asked, glancing down at Adalia and feeling a surge of sweetness nearly clog up an artery. “Well-rested yet? Ready to exhaust yourself some more out there?”
Adalia took a moment to consider her options, staring out at the mad, mad world of meandering crowds and blaring pandemonium, and slowly began wriggling herself back closer toward me.
“Later…” She whispered.
Later it was, then.
Alas, just like how every dark cloud has its silver lining… this peace, this endearing moment… it’s also truth that the brightest clouds cast the darkest shadows.
Which is to say that, as rested as we were… I couldn’t help but feel just a little restless.
To our right, I could hear an approaching stampede of feet. A few seconds later, a large swarm of people came ambling past, flowing almost without an end like traffic during rush hour.
Eventually the last of the group finally passed us by, and it was really hard not to notice the introduction of a brand new noise that came with them.
The squeaky swivel of a baby stroller, the soft coos and murmurs of a little child’s simple curiosity… tiny little hands peek out from the seat. The mother rattled a toy, and the father gently pushed them along the path. And when together, they weren’t so much as noises as they were harmonic.
Peaceful, you could say.
Then on my lap, I felt the slightest shift, the faintest moan… and that was when I realized that my hand had stopped moving again.
I quickly amended my blunder – but too late. Adalia veered her eyes upwards, and feeling like the fluttering pages of an open book, I felt her gaze all over me inside and out.
“You’re… troubled…” She muttered, her sense of perception as always so eerily sharp. “Why…?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Not… nothing…” briefly, she silently peered at me again, and it’s as if I could almost feel the weight of her stare against my face. “Do you… want… children…?”
“Y’know, you seriously have the weirdest ways of getting answers,” I told her, too shocked to even feel shocked. “And for the record, no, I don’t want children. Not… not at the moment, anyway.”
“Then… why are you… troubled…?”
At times, this time especially, I’m almost envious of her inability to feel the stranglehold of awkwardness.
“I’m troubled…” I began slowly. “Because I’m concerned you might be… troubled.”
“Aah…” the soft sound of understanding left in her in a light breath, and she gazed up at me even more. “You want to talk… about my… infertility…”
Again, awkwardness. If I could give the feeling a form, I’d turn it into a sweater… that way I can rip it off of me and tear it into threads and then fling the remaining pieces in a burning fireplace.
“I don’t want to talk about anything so long as you don’t want to talk about anything,” I firmly said.
Her pale lips twitch at that. I think she almost managed a smile.
“I can talk… about anything…” She said, “...and with you… anything…”
Was that permission? Did she just give me the go-ahead? I mean, I did want to know more about her, after all. But in what way… maybe I should have specified.
“Is it… is it because of your condition?” I asked, throwing caution to the wind. “Why you can’t have kids?”
“No…” She answered plainly, nonchalantly. “Sangumet… only affects… my ability to feed… it does not affect… anything else…”
So if her condition wasn’t the cause of it, then that only leaves…
“Your failed transformation?”
“Yes…” Adalia answered again, just as indifferently as every other word spoken. “I did this… to myself…”
“To survive.”
“And… I survived…” She affirmed. “When I… failed to become human… I had altered too much… of what I was… am… consequences followed… my emotions… my words… many things… lost… and many things… I can’t… recover…”
Every single time, it was like I was poking holes and peeking an eye through, deriving what I could through them. That’s what it was like everytime the topic shifted to her. I’d learn a little but never really the full picture.
“But I don’t… mind… I don’t care… I don’t need… all of… those things… any…more…” Adalia went on. “I have… my sister… I have friends… and I also have… you…”
Even closer, she huddled, nestled, the cold of her skin bleeding through my clothes.
“I am… not troubled…” She reassured, her lips twitching, trying again for that smile and this time, succeeding. “Because… I already have… everything… with you…”
I looked at her, and in my head flooded the scenes of all her unknown hardships, unbearable turmoil, sitting by and peeking through the hole that never gets any wider… unless I choose to tear it open a bit more.
But… should I?
Dredge up more bitter memories? Put Christmas on hold? All ’cause of my urge to know?
Adalia gazed up at my expression, her smile slowly fading empty.
“You are still… troubled…”
Troubled, was that really how I looked? Somehow even with an almost infinite catalog of diverse emotions to choose from, I’m completely unable to change from this one.
“Do you wish… I was… fertile…?” She blurted out, guessing aimlessly. “Did you want… to have children… with me…?”
Once again, I am blown away by her literal utter lack of shame. She should go into comedy… she’d be the queen of deadpans.
“Sounds like I’m not the one here wanting,” I shook my head at her. “And give or take, I’m at least a couple of years away from being troubled by something like that.”
“But… if I could… if I was able…” She mused, slowly and slightly, cocking her gaze at me. “Would you… want to…?”
“A-Adalia…”
“I… would…” She scooted closer, her gaze significantly heavier. “Would… you…?”
It’s like she’s turned into one of those judges of love with their paper and pen, and here I am the victim of a dilemma… one that I couldn’t afford to answer at all wrongly.
When the hell did we even get hung up on this damn topic?
“Me and you,” I squinted at her. “Your sister will kill me.”
“Sister… will understand…” She said, a swirl of determination rippling in the murkiness of her eyes. “I will make her… understand…”
Scary.
Come to think of it, this topic’s been cropping up a lot in my life lately. Ash, Amanda, and now even Adalia here was grilling me on it. What’s going on? Is the universe trying to tell me something?
“I would,” I finally answered, relented. “If you were able, I would. Definitely.”
Adalia didn’t do expressiveness, so there was no jump for joy, no squeal of delight. Just the usual blink, the slow, lumbering sway of her head, before falling back into a quiet again.
“You don’t look… so troubled… anymore…” She remarked, nodding once. “Good…”
Oh, so was that her intention? Shock me out of the state I was in with a ludicrous question? Well, shit… it worked.
“I… am… ready to… keep walking… now…” Adalia declared, raising her head from up lap and sitting upright. “How about… you…?”
For a moment, I hesitated. Here I was on the precipice of knowing more about her than I could ever want. An opportunity to do more than just peek through narrow holes again and again. All I had to do was ask.
“Sure,” I looked back at her. “Ready.”
But not yet, not now. After all, we still have a competition to win, don’t we? Her present from me.
And really, what could be more important than giving her that?
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