Page 39 of Through Quick and Quinn
“I want to know your real name. Maybe just think about it. You don’t have to tell me right now. Actually, you don’t have to tell me ever if you don’t want to. But maybe just think about it?” I asked gingerly.
Quick looked down at the grass, and I wondered if he would leave another bare patch in the lawn like he had done a few months back. He took a deep, deliberate breath before replying, “It’s complicated. I have a few names and it’s changed over time. Well, I wanted to change it. I was going to change it. To Maverick. I was going to change my name to Maverick but it never stuck, and I wanted to drop my middle names, but I never did anything official or anything. It’s, ugh, it’s just so heavy. There’s so much meaning to all of it. But, but my real name is—” he paused, and not for dramatic effect. The rushed and erratic stammer made it unmistakable that this was painful for him to share. “Declan. Deck. It’s Declan. My real name is Declan.”
“That’s a beautiful name, Quick. Thank you for sharing that with me.” I longed to reach out to him, to express my support and my gratitude through a gentle squeeze of his hand, but I didn’t dare. We cleaned up in that comfortable quiet that we had come to appreciate, and soon enough he had walked me home and thanked me again for the thoughtfulness I displayed on his birthday.
That same evening, after completing my nighttime hygiene routine and settling into my cozy corner of pillows, I opened my laptop with a clear intention. I wanted to do an internet search on Declan Williams, the biggest question mark in my life. I wanted answers to my favorite mystery. I wanted to better understand my best friend. I got as far as the letter ‘m,’ but never finished typing the name or pressing enter. I stopped myself, knowing that this action was one of betrayal and one that could never be undone. I needed to respect his boundaries.
I slowly and delicately closed my computer, knowing in my core that he would tell me everything when he was ready. My selfish curiosity was not worth endangering this friendship, his trust, or our parallel journeys. I placed my laptop on my bedside table, closed my eyes, and silently wished Quick a happy birthday one last time before drifting off to sleep, smiling as I pondered my favorite question mark.
02/09/24
2:28 a.m.
I hear muffled whispers that slowly rouse me from a deep sleep. Before I even open my eyes, I can feel the enormous weight of my head and the pounding of my brain that feels too large for my skull. The murmurs seem to be coming from very far away, and I struggle to recognize the voices. I feel a cool, damp cloth being placed on my forehead and I slowly begin to blink light into my eyes. My vision is blurred and it takes a conscious effort for me to hone in on my caretaker’s face. In the exact moment that I realize I do not recognize her, I am snapped back to reality and I remember where I am. And why.
She must see the look of horror on my face and immediately tells me that my parents are here. She calls over to my mom. Tear-stricken, my mom’s face comes to hover over mine. I cry out her name and I ask where my brother is, but she remains silent. Her eyes are vacant and her expression is devoid of emotion.
I continue to wail, wrapping my arms around her neck and trying to crawl into her lap, but her body doesn’t respond. Her arms hang at her sides and her body sways from my tugs and pulls, but she makes no effort to embrace me. I am physically exhausted, and as I lie back down, I see her stoic face and unblinking eyes.
I rest my head back on the pillow and drop my hands back down to whatever bed I am lying on. Without acknowledging me once, she robotically stands up, turns, and walks away.
Quick:
A No-Brainer
I startled myself awake the night after my annual and unwavering birthday wish. I found myself in a cold sweat, but I was not at all surprised. Flashbacks and nightmares riddled my childhood years and beyond, especially during the late winter and early spring. I always kept a bottle of water at my bedside for that very reason. I sat up, took a swig, and reconciled with the fact that it was going to be a long, sleepless night. Again. As expected.
When I was younger, I would wonder how long I would suffer from these episodes and the insomnia that followed, but at some point during my adolescence, I had accepted my fate. Besides, I deserved it. I deserved to be haunted. It was a small price to pay. Too small.
That night, however, was different. There was a little voice inside of me whose hushed tones became more audible. It told me that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t deserve to suffer endlessly. It told me that maybe, just maybe, I did deserve to be loved. It told me that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t to blame for what happened to my kid brother. And it told me that maybe, just maybe, my parents didn’t blame me. But if they did, that was their belief and maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t my truth.
It was not difficult to recognize that the little voice sounded a lot like Quinn. It probably was Quinn. Who was I kidding? It was Quinn. And it made me feel a bit better and even inspired me enough to try something different this sleepless time around.
I reached over to grab my phone and I brought up the podcast app. I searched “guided meditations” and perused dozens and dozens of them before landing on one entitled, “Sound Bath for healing and self-forgiveness.”
Um, that was a no-brainer.
I set it to a low volume, settled into a comfortable zone, and closed my eyes. Deep breaths, I told myself. Deep breaths.
I woke up to my alarm four hours later.
***
Quick / 5:17 p.m.
guess what I did last night
Quinn / 5:21 p.m.
Ummm, you ate tacos.
5:21 p.m.
how’d you know lol
no really guess again
5:22 p.m.
