Page 48 of Am I the Only One

The drive takes about thirty minutes down to Gravelly Point Park, and I watch the scenery pass through the passenger’s side window. Luca was the one who told me about this place, and I’ve loved it from the very first time he brought me here. Today, the park has a different feel to it. It’s the middle of winter and only the two of us are crazy enough to come out here, but we don’t care.

We walk along the snow-covered grounds and situate ourselves in our favorite spot. Luca pulls his chair right next to mine, and with my hands snug around the warm thermos, we sink down in our seats, snuggle under our blankets, and tilt our heads back so we can watch the sky.

We’re less than half a mile from Reagan National Airport, and the planes take off and come in for landing right over this park. It’s loud and windy when they fly overhead, creating a vivacious rumbling in the ground. When the weather is nice, Luca and I will lie on the grassy knoll just to feel the earth vibrate beneath us.

“I see one in the distance,” he says, pointing straight ahead.

As the plane draws in closer, the engines become louder and louder until eventually, they are so loud that you can’t even hear yourself talk. A huge smile grows on my face as the ground rumbles under our feet, and before I know it, the plane is right on top of us, whipping my hair into a nest of disarray. The plane feels much closer than what it actually is, so much so that it seems as if I could reach my arm up and touch the belly of the magnificent aircraft.

The moment it passes, laughter erupts from my chest like a child who just stepped off a wild roller coaster. It’s an incredible feeling, which is why I love it here so much. A few seconds pass, and when the engine’s noise fades, I turn to Luca with an ecstatic, “That was awesome!”

He laughs at my excitement and then slips his arm around me, tucking me in his blanket as he does. My coffee warms me up when I take a sip, but too soon, Luca takes it from my hands and starts drinking.

“That’s mine,” I playfully scold.

“Your point?”

I soften into him as he continues to drink my coffee and then laugh when he complains, “Shit, how much cream did you dump in this?”

Snatching it out of his hand, I swallow another gulp before handing it back to him. We relax into each other in an attempt to stay as warm as possible, and ten minutes later, another plane zooms over us, sparking another barrel of laughter from me. Again, a few seconds is all it takes for the roar of the engines to subside, and when they do, I tilt my head to rest it on his shoulder.

As I stare off into the distance, I whisper a soft, “Matthew would love this.”

His arm strengthens around my shoulders. “Will you tell me about him?”

His question catches me a little by surprise. No one has ever asked me about him before, at least, no one I would tell the truth to has.

“He’s like a six-year-old stuck in a grown man’s body. He’s fun and playful, but he struggles to communicate properly. He likes routine and is very literal. In his world, there is no room for error.”

“How so?”

“If you say you’re going to be somewhere at a certain time and you’re either one minute early or one minute late, it disrupts something inside him. It’s nearly impossible for him to be flexible, and he won’t let it go.”

“Sounds like most women I know,” he teases, which earns him a nudge in the ribs.

“He’s obsessed with planes. And when I say obsessed, I meanobsessed. Ask him anything, and he’s going to know the answer. He’s like a vault filled with so much knowledge that it’s staggering to think about.”

“So, he’d kick our asses atJeopardy?”

We both chuckle. “No doubt. He’d humiliate us, for sure,” I tell him. “He’s sensitive, yet stubborn. He likes what he likes, and he doesn’t do well with change.”

“How has he been handling your parents’ death?”

I shrug. “He’s confused. He’s a smart guy, but he struggles to fully comprehend death, like any child would. When I call him, sometimes he talks about them as if they’re still alive, and he asks me why they haven’t visited him yet. Those conversations are the worst because I have to talk him through it and help him understand that death is final.” I take in a slow breath to steady my emotions. “It just brings everything to the surface again.”

The way he’s looking at me with complete understanding makes it a little easier to breathe. “I used to be really close to my grandfather when he was alive. He had a place right on the water. When I was little, we’d sit on the edge of the dock and he’d help me catch crabs,” he reminisces. “He’d tie a long piece of twine around a nail he’d hammered into the planks and then knot a piece of chicken neck with a heavy washer onto the end and drop it in the water. We’d sit together, and when that twine would start to move out, he would slowly pull the string, bringing the crab to the surface while I waited with the wired net to scoop it up. We would spend hours out on his dock catching crabs.”

I smile at his memory even though I can’t really relate to it.

“He died of a stroke when I was in the second grade. I kept asking my parents when he would be coming back, as if real life was just like the video games I played. You die, but you always have more lives.”

His analogy is spot on, and I nod in agreement. “That’s exactly what it’s like for Matthew. It’s hard for him to grasp that you only get one life and when it’s gone, it’s really gone.”

“We should take a road trip to Tennessee sometime. I’d like to meet him.”

I turn to look at Luca, shocked that those words just came out of his mouth. “Why?”

“Why not?” he counters. “He’s an important part of your life. Plus, he sounds like a cool guy.”

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