Page 26 of Through Quick and Quinn
Quick:
Chortle and Charm
Quinn texted me the night before our little adventure on the trails. I didn’t know if it was to warn me or what, but she said that I needed to come to the door to meet her parents before we left. I was already planning on knocking, but I hadn’t really thought about the parent part. I figured it would be fine.
I woke up early that Saturday morning, much to my dad’s surprise. I told him I was going for a hike and I needed to prepare some things, which seemed to keep his questions or curiosities at bay. I grabbed some water bottles and shoved them in my backpack, which already held a picnic blanket and a deck of cards. When I pulled out two brown lunch bags, though, and it was clear that I was packing double the sandwiches and double the snacks, he couldn’t help himself. He asked who I was going with, and I replied, “Just a buddy of mine from school.” And that was that. My dad stopped prying, probably because he knew that was all he was going to get out of me anyway.
I headed out around 9:45, figuring the ten-minute walk to Quinn’s house would land me there at the right time. Not too early. Not late.
Knock. KnockKnock. Funny how my stomach flipped to the same rhythm of the knocks. Flip. FlipFlip. I realized I was nervous at the exact moment that the three of them answered the door together. Quinn, her mom, and her dad. Altogether, three faces shoved in front of mine simultaneously.
Her dad was first to speak, inviting me in after shaking my hand. The four of us stood awkwardly in the entryway while we exchanged handshakes and hellos.
“Hi, I’m Tate, Quinn’s dad. I hear you go by the name Quick, is that right?” Again, her dad was the one to initiate a friendly exchange, while his wife stood there and glared at me. To her credit, she was at least trying to mask the scowl with a smile, though it was crystal clear that it was literally paining her facial muscles to do so.
Then she spoke up. “What kind of name is Quick? What is your real name anyway?”
Quinn gasped, probably taken aback by the uncouth nature and tone of her mother’s questions. I tried to soften the moment with a little chortle. I agreed that it was a silly nickname and explained that the name was given to me in junior high and, against my wishes, it stuck. Apparently my charm worked, because I was able to avoid the second question and before I knew it, Quinn’s dad was telling us to have a nice time, to be safe, and to please be home before dark.
Before the front door closed behind us, Quinn was already apologizing. I told her not to worry about it, and that her parents have every right to show concern for their daughter. The corners of her mouth made their way north, and she silently nodded at me to signal that she would release what happened and let it go. I’m glad she did, because I wanted to have a carefree, chill day with my new friend. And that’s exactly what I got. For the most part.
Quinn:
Seen and Certain
My alarm sounded at eight o’clock that Saturday morning, but I didn’t need the typical chirping of crickets to wake me. I had already watched the sun peek over the horizon nearly two hours before, allowing the fresh light through my bedroom window to awaken my mind, body, and soul the way God intended. Sprawled out on my bed and in the comfort of my myriad cozy pillows, I welcomed the day with utter relaxation and total tranquility. While I had no idea what the day would bring, I understood that serenity came with surrender. By the time I floated out of bed, I was mentally prepared for whatever the universe had in store for me that day.
I chose to listen to the Solfeggio frequency of 639 hertz as I readied myself for the upcoming escapade. I thought carefully about what clothing would best suit a day of mild hiking, packed extra water and electrolyte packets for hydration purposes, and even threw some gloves and trash bags into my backpack in case the universe wanted us to encounter an area in need of garbage removal.
My parents and I greeted Quick at the door and upon seeing his face, I realized how much I was looking forward to our day. After a bizarre exchange with my mother, which Quick masterfully handled with grace and courtesy, we walked out of the house and towards a new level of friendship.
Just a two-minute walk from my home was the start of a trail that I hated to admit I never noticed. A clear path of decomposed granite was lined with a variety of desert rocks, meandering through the landscape of cacti, yucca, succulents, and acacia. The beauty of the desert was never lost on me, and that day was no different. If anything, I appreciated the scenery against the backdrop of our mountains more than ever.
With the curves of the trail came an assortment of questions and answers, stories and factoids. Quick and I found ourselves in effortless conversation, sharing with natural ease and pausing only to drink a bit of water or to remove a pebble from a shoe.
As we neared the recreational area, we simultaneously noticed a huge uptick in litter on the ground. Quick was obviously irritated and commented about how he would never be able to understand the selfish laziness of someone who leaves trash behind. I voiced my agreement but my grin was sending a different message, one that must have really confused him.
“What’s with the sneaky smile, then, huh? If it bugs you so much, why do you look so thrilled?” He laughed as he posed the questions.
I reached into my backpack and grabbed two trash bags. “Tada!” I sang. I used the bags as props in an impromptu ribbon dance and frolicked about in some sort of odd figure eight.
“You brought trash bags?!”
“And gloves, too!” I giggled as I tossed him a set. I could see a wave of disappointment flash across his face as he admitted that he wished he thought of it himself.
We expected to pick up such things like used napkins and straw wrappers, but we simply could not wrap our heads around finding one pant leg and a tennis racket with all of the strings removed. Consequently, we made a game of it, noting the strangest items we found and weaving them together to create a murder mystery story. Laughter ensued, and before we knew it, we each filled two bags, effectively using up our supplies. We tied them up and placed them by the park’s large cans. The sheer satisfaction that came with that check mark was undeniable.
I took a deep breath and was about to ask what was next on our agenda when I heard a distant waterfall. Quick tuned in as well, and through an unspoken agreement, we followed our ears to a simple but stunning scene tucked under low-hanging canopies of leaves.
“Wow,” he reflected, as he took in the sight of the water glimmering from the sun’s rays that snuck past the trees. “It’s like an oasis.” The word made my heart skip, and I felt a warmth in my soul that I had been missing for far too long. It was nothing like my oasis; there wasn’t a garden or a swimming pool, a sandbox or a grassy patch. But it was spectacular in its own right, and my ability to think about this without breaking down into tears really illustrated the growth and healing I had accomplished over the years.
Both in awe of our surroundings and knowing we had discovered a hidden gem, we spent no time deliberating where we wanted to spend the remainder of our afternoon. Quick retrieved a picnic blanket from his bag, flipped it open with a large wave, and placed it gently under the acacia tree. He hopped to a seat, patted the space next to his with his open palm, and asked, “So, are you hungry yet or do you want to play some cards?”
“Cards? As in, like, Go Fish, War, and Poker?” I suddenly found the scene absolutely hilarious and erupted in a fit of giggles. “We really thought of everything, huh? Between the trash bags and the cards… We are recreational area experts!” I plopped down next to him as my laughter subsided and grabbed the deck of cards. After impressing him with my shuffling skills, he beat me in three consecutive games of War.
Teasingly, Quick asserted that I had taken enough of a beating and that it was time to eat lunch. He had mentioned the day before that he would bring food, but I was astonished to see how thoughtful and thorough he was. Not only did he bring homemade sandwiches, a variety of snacks, and cubed watermelon, he even remembered to pack napkins and utensils. The gracious consideration he put into our lunch was humbling and I felt truly honored. I told him as such, and he merely smiled.
We ate in comfortable silence, relishing in the majestic space and the flawless weather. Upon chewing the last bite of my delectable sandwich, and without even really pondering the words I was about to release, I simply stated a very apparent truth aloud: “Today was the most fun I’ve had in an extremely long time, Quick. Thank you.” And with that, a raw conversation began, one that became a defining moment in the evolution of our friendship.
