The pond sparkled in the sunlight while an empty boat drifted in the center. As I ate a sandwich on Celeste’s rooftop, I smiled down at the scene. I’d made that boat. From the rooftop I had tied together the strings to make the boat appear on the water, though it had been difficult at such a long distance.
That was last night. Suddenly, the boat vanished, snapping back to the strings it had come from.
“Not bad for a second try,” I muttered to myself.
I weaved my fingers through the air, feeling the slick strings slide along them. I could see the vibrant colors of the threads across my palms, but I wanted to see more than that. I focused on the different strings, trying to see their paths from the edge of my hands down to the pond.
Slowly, the threads became more visible. The rainbow of strings gently sloped in long lines of light from my hands toward the pond. I could almost see the threads down to where they touched the pond when a knock sounded.
I jumped. My concentration broken, I could see only the strings directly across my palms. With a huff, I let them drop. Since Celeste was at work, I’d have to be the one to see who our visitor was.
When I finally arrived at the front door, I found Leslie on the other side. “What… what are you doing here?” I managed to ask.
“I, uh, came to give you this,” Leslie replied, holding out a thick white envelope. “It’s from the Strokes.”
“Can’t you just tell me yourself?” I asked as I took the envelope.
Leslie shook their head. “I have no idea what’s inside there. It was decided I wouldn’t be part of the decision making process with you because of our, um,…” They sighed. “Since I know you personally.”
“Right,” I whispered, tapping the envelope against my palm.
“Dax, can we talk for a minute?”
I took a deep breath and set the message from the Strokes down on a nearby table. “Yeah,” I replied, looking back at Leslie. “Let’s talk.”
I stepped outside and led Leslie over to the bench on Celeste’s porch.
As soon as we sat, Leslie said, “I’m sorry.”
My jaw dropped. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one apologizing?
They leaned forward, looking out at the wilderness as they spoke. “I kneoiwtewmfnjnstk ththeiojfdsklmtnjefhudisjs, but I want you to know it’s not. I just – ”
“What’s not?” I asked.
Leslie paused, turning to look at me. “What?”
“You want me to know ‘it’s’ not. I didn’t hear what you said before that.”
They blinked. A small smile flitted across their face. “The day the military dismissed you from service,” Leslie continued slowly. “You said your defect ruined everything, including your relationship with me. I wanted you to know that’s not true.”
I frowned at them. “You were so upset. How could it not be?”
Leslie sighed, rubbing their eyes. They rested one arm across the back of the bench as they turned to face me completely. “I was angry,” they said, “when I thought you were like… him. And when you finally told us the whole truth, I was…” Leslie scoffed. “I was hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me your secret. I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted since then. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.”
I looked away from them, unable to meet their gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Dax, please don’t apologize for that. Itheudsjy problem, not yours.”
Leslie smiled at me when I glanced back at them. They reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I hope you come home soon.”
After they left, I opened the envelope Leslie had delivered to me. Inside was an application for the Strokes.
To be continued…