Page 55 of Through Quick and Quinn
While the neighborhood of squealing children around us celebrated with firecracker after firecracker, we simply sat. I squeezed his hands and he gently stroked my finger with his thumb, and as I smiled my messages to him, I could feel his thoughts, too. Nothing really needed to be spoken. We were surrounded by our bubble of friendship and forgiveness, of appreciation and adoration.
Quick released my left hand to retrieve something from his pocket. He opened his palm to reveal the small heart-shaped eraser and my own heart swelled to what felt like double its size. Without a second’s hesitation, I embraced him, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck before his arms slid slowly and gingerly into a loose hold around my seated waist. “I missed you, Quick.”
“Not as much as I missed you, Quinn.” He unraveled our hug to look at me. “I’m sorry I haven’t texted. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but seeing you now—”
“It’s like we don’t have to say anything at all.” I smiled. He nodded, and a chunk of his shaggy hair fell in front of his eyes. I tucked it back behind his ear and made sure we shared our gaze before I confidently whispered, “I understand you.”
In that moment, Quick let go.
I watched it in real time. I could see him release it all, to the universe and to me. His broad shoulders left that place of tension by his ears and finally dropped down to where they belonged, a place I wasn’t sure I had ever seen them before. With his chin held high, his eyes looked to the heavens, and he exhaled with his entire being. As difficult as it was and as much as I could hear the whimpers and pain in his voice, he pushed through. He told me every single detail he could remember from that awfully fateful day in April all those years ago, from the dropped churro and the panic to the yelling and the vomit. And it did not stop there. Quick proceeded to tell me about how long the search for his brother felt and how the investigators finally suggested for them to accept that Geoffrey was gone; about his mother’s addiction, how she could never look at him, how he was convinced she blamed and hated him for what happened; about his father’s continual absence and how hard it must be for him to see the shell of his wife; about his letters to Geoffrey along with the nightmares and flashbacks; about the guilt-ridden dysfunctionality that overshadowed the love he thought his father felt for him and wished his mother still did; about how he never allowed himself to think about what happened to Geoffrey after he was kidnapped; and about how easy it was to forgive me because he knew I only had the best of intentions for him.
Quick held back nothing. For nearly two hours, he spoke and he cried, he whispered and he sobbed, he yelled and he sniveled. Never moving from our initial spot on his exposed driveway, we were barely aware of the world around us. The neighbors had all retreated to their homes, their supplies of fireworks and fun depleted, and as Quick’s session subsided, we noticed the silence that surrounded us.
I disturbed the stillness as I reached to grab his hand. “Thank you for trusting me, Quick.”
“Quinn, I should be the one thanking you. It was ridiculous of me to ever think I could go it alone.” His eyes were filled with gratitude.
“It sounds like you have your own Life Lessons to share there, Quick,” I kidded. “But in all seriousness, please know this.” I paused to gather my thoughts, knowing that Quick would never rush me to speak. “You don’t ever have to go it alone. I will always be here with you and for you. But you should also know that you did do it. You have grown so much on this journey, Quick, and you did do all of that hard work on your own. You’re brave and you’re strong, and I hope you can see what I see. I see you, over the worst part of the healing journey, and as corny as it sounds and I never mean to sound condescending, but Quick, I am so, so proud of you.”
Comfortable in the silence, I waited patiently for the response I knew he was formulating. In the meantime, I took in the gentle breeze and the scent of sulfur it carried with it. I let my mind wander to the memories triggered by the odor, celebrations of the past that were filled with glee, knowing full well there would never be an Independence Day that would top the one I was experiencing right then.
“You’re right. I did do that. But I couldn’t have done it without your support and your inspiration.” He paused before he asked, “Fair?” He winked at me, and my stomach did a triple back flip like it was in the Emotional Olympics.
“Fair.”
My phone dinged, and I knew immediately that it was my dad. I had completely forgotten to update him on my plans. I was about to text him to come pick me up, but Quick stopped me. “I can take you home,” he announced.
“Whhaaaaaatttt?! Are you driving now?” My astonished reaction was thunderously loud and may as well have been the sparklers that were still waiting in my basket.
He chuckled as he stood up and helped me to do the same. “Here, you hold your basket and I’ll hold you, how’s that?”
“Quick, you cannot carry me home. That’s absurd.” He scoffed at me before turning on his heel and going around the back side of the house. He returned moments later pushing a bike toward me, his beautiful face brandishing the most ridiculous grin. He hopped on his bike and patted his handlebars, an invitation I simply could not refuse. It took us a couple of minutes to get going, partially because I couldn’t get situated but more so because of the laughter fits.
We finally arrived at my house, surprisingly uninjured, and although it was the most physically uncomfortable traveling mode I had ever experienced, I couldn’t remember a time in my life that I felt happier. I felt guilty for a snap second, and then I let it go. He was probably feeling similarly, so I decided to voice it.
I chose my words carefully. “Quick, I’ve never been as happy as I am right now, and I am not going to allow myself to feel guilty for it.”
“Fair. Same.” He squeezed my hand and I realized how much of that we had done that night, and how natural it felt to do so. “Sorry we never lit your sparklers. We’ll do them next year, I promise.”
I looked down at the basket quizzically. “Do you think they’ll still be good in a year?” I was honestly curious about the answer and made a mental note to search for information regarding the shelf life of sparklers.
“You’re so dense sometimes, Quinn,” Quick chuckled. “That was the piece of my statement you picked up on?” His dark brown eyes sparkled under the streetlight, but I swore the twinkles were just for me. I blushed when I realized what he was alluding to.
“You think we’ll be spending this holiday together again next year?” I quietly asked, suddenly and unexpectedly bashful.
Without an ounce of reservation, he enveloped me in his arms and murmured in my ear, “Yeah. Of course we will. We’re Quick and Quinn.”
I disentangled from the hug and brought my forehead to his. Our eyes locked, only inches apart from each other, and I smiled. “Quick and Quinn. Through thick and thin.”
“I love that.” he smiled back. And with that, I practically skipped to my front door, exuberant that the evening I experienced was better than any movie I could have ever concocted.
***
Quick / 11:17 p.m.
good night
Quinn / 11:17 p.m.
