Just Like Heaven

Chapter Six

After I had called my mother to reassure her that I was safe and sound at Tommy Olson’s house and she had talked to Tommy’s mother to thank her for having me, I took my bag and decided to leave.

      “But you haven’t had any cookies yet,” Tommy argued, taking the plate full of his mother’s freshly baked cookies off the table with a regretful expression on his face which made me smile.

     “I’ll see you later, Tommy,” I said with a grin and waved him off as I left their house.

     As I made my way over the main road, my mind was racing. I still didn’t know what I was doing, why I was doing it, or even what I was supposed to say to Adam once I saw him. But I just kept going until I stopped to take a taxi, getting me to St. Joseph’s church.

     Once I paid the driver and got off, I walked into the church. Not many people were inside compared to Sunday mornings when I came here every week with my parents. There were a few people every here and there on the benches, praying in silence.

      Not wanting to attract too much attention to myself seeing as the priest was in sight and was talking to a middle-aged man in the distance, I sat on the furthest row and looked around, trying to spot the red-haired freckly boy that I had seen yesterday, but he was nowhere in sight.

      A feeling told me that he wasn’t in the back room I had found him in the previous day. Maybe it was because there was no music playing from inside it. But either way, I stood up from my seat to make my way out of the church through its backdoor. I was practicing in my head to say that I was visiting my grandmother in the graveyard if anyone asked where I was going. Meanwhile in reality, I wanted to see if I could find Adam by the creek, underneath the cherry blossom tree, where he said he went whenever he wanted to be alone and think.

     But he wasn’t there either.

     The creek was still flowing, the spring breeze was still blowing, the cherry blossoms were falling, but there was so sign of Adam.

      I knew I had many bad personalities, but being stubborn was probably one of the worst. Once I had something fixed on my mind – no matter how minor it was – I had to try and go till the very end of it.

      Just then, a thought popped into my head. I remembered Adam saying that they lived in number 12, a small house near St. Joseph’s church. So with that, I ran out of the church and looked around, finally sighting Adam Smith’s house across the street.

      The ironic part was that yesterday we had parked our car right before this same house, yet I had no idea I would end up here at this moment. And that’s what is scary about the future; you never know what awaits you.

      Mustering all the courage I had left within me, I inhaled deeply and made my way across the street and toward number twelve. But it wasn’t until I had rang the doorbell that I regretted coming here in the first place.

     What was I thinking? Why would I even want to see him again? What was I going to tell him?

      The moment I saw the doorknob twitching, I actually considered running for it. My heart was throbbing in my chest, knowing that at that moment, the red-haired boy awaited me on the other side of the door. But when it opened, I took aback when I saw a middle-aged man standing behind it, smiling at me gently. It hadn’t occurred to me for a second that Adam wasn’t obviously living alone.

      “May I help you, Son?” said the man kindly.

      One look at him was enough to know that he was Adam’s father; he had the same illuminating blue eyes and as he was smiling up at me, I could see a dimple on his right cheek, on the exact spot that Adam had it. Although I could tell that Adam hadn’t gotten his red hair from his father, because even though the man’s hair had mostly turned grey, he still had a few strands of brown hair beneath them. And just then did I realize why he looked so familiar; he was the church’s janitor. I had sighted him for years, yet not really seen him thoroughly.

     “Er… I was actually looking for Adam,” I said rather awkwardly. “Is – is he home, by any chance?”

     “Adam? Well, of course!” said the man happily. “Why don’t you come in, Son? I’ll go and call Adam while you make yourself comfortable.”

     “I – I really don’t want to be a bother –”

      “Oh, nonsense!” He laughed, shaking a hand at me reassuringly and stepping aside from the door and gesturing me inside. “No guest can ever be a bother in this house. ‘Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God’ as they say.”

    “Right… thank you,” I said, hesitantly stepping into the small house. It was so small that my room was bigger that their living room and kitchen put together.

     “Adam!” he called out as he closed the house’s door behind me. “You have a visitor!”

      Moments later, I heard a door open from down the hall and footsteps approached us with the sound of someone humming a song to himself. Just then, when I turned around, I saw Adam walking into the living room where ma and his father were standing. But at my sight, he came to a halt, staring at me in disbelief.

      “Edwin!” Adam’s eyes widened.

      “Edwin?” his father repeated, turning to look back at me. “Edwin Hudson? Henry Hudson’s son?” I nodded weakly. With that, he moved toward me and took my hand in his, shaking it warmly. “It’s good to officially meet you, Mr. Hudson.”

      “Please, just call me Edwin,” I said as we pulled away. “Being called ‘Mr’ or ‘Sir’ makes me feel more important that what I actually am.”

     He laughed, shaking his head at me. “And how do you two know each other?”

      “We just met yesterday,” said Adam, his eyes still fixed on me. “It’s a long story.”

      “Well, why don’t you two kids sit down and catch up while I go get you something to eat?”

     “No, Mr. Smith, there’s really no need –” I was trying to say, but he was already gone.

     “Let him be,” said Adam, smiling. “He enjoys hosting our guests. Trouble is, we don’t really get many visitors here.”

     A silence followed after this as we both looked away awkwardly. But I knew I had to break the silence sooner or later, so I finally said, “I actually came here to apologize.”

      I watched Adam’s eyebrows furrow. “Apologize? What for?”

     “The way I left yesterday,” I tried to say, looking away. “I just overreacted. And… I’m sorry. You hadn’t said anything wrong, it’s just that… I tend to get a little sensitive over those sort of subjects.”

      Adam chuckled. “I feel like you’re a little overreacting now, too.”

      I grinned. “Am I?”

     “Very much.” He smiled.

     A long silence followed. We both looked away from one another. But we were saved from the uncomforting silence when Mr. Smith’s voice rang from the kitchen, “I think the snack’s just about ready!”

      Smiling sheepishly to myself, I walked after Adam into the kitchen when he gestured me to follow him, only to be welcomed by the delicious scent of pancakes.

      “Isn’t it a bit too late for pancakes?” I asked jokingly, looking at my watch. It was almost dark outside their small window.

      “Oh, it’s never too late for pancakes,” Mr. Smith said cheerfully, making Adam and I chuckle.

      We took our seats around the little kitchen table, which only had four chairs around it, and Mr. Smith placed the plates before us. A smile crept through my face as I saw that it was designed with blueberries to make a smiley face.

      “All right,” said Mr. Smith happily, sitting behind the table as well, drawing his chair closer, “Adam, why don’t you say grace?”

      But before I could stop myself I suddenly said, “Shouldn’t we wait for Mrs. Smith?”

      The moment the words escaped my mouth, I came to deeply regret it as an obvious feeling of tension suddenly filled up the room and Adam and his father shared a quick uneasy glance.

     Mr. Smith sighed, looking down. “I’m afraid, it’s just the two of us.”

      “Mom passed away fourteen years ago,” said Adam, he too avoiding my gaze.

      I felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt in my stomach, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me in from the embarrassment. “I’m so sor –”

      “Don’t worry about it, Son,” said Mr. Smith softly, the same smile on his lips again and he shook the matter off. “I’m sure she’s in a better place now.”

      Once again I was at loss for word as I pursed my lips and looked away. But Adam and his father seemed less bothered by the matter than me as they closed their eyes to say grace. I tried to do the same, but I couldn’t get myself to focus on what Adam’s prayers. I only opened my eyes once I heard them pick up their forks and knives.

      “So, Edwin,” Mr. Smith started, “tell me about yourself.”

      “Er…” I cleared my throat, putting down my fork. “My father’s a lawyer, Mother’s a housewife. As for myself, I was planning on going to New York University next year after graduation to study law just like my fa –”

      “You must’ve misunderstood me,” said Mr. Smith, cutting me off. “What I meant was that, what are your passions in life? What gives you joy? What brings you sorrow?”

      I hesitated at first. Everyone had always assumed that studying law was the best suit for me that lately I had come to believe that as well, despite my old dreams.

      “I actually love poetry,” I finally said. It felt weird, saying it out loud for the first time. But yet, it made me feel free, if that even makes any sense.

     “Poetry, huh?” Mr. Smith repeated in amusement. “Any favourite books?”

      “There’s quite a lot of them, actually.” I chuckled. It felt so easy talking about this. Even though it was my first time talking about this matter with someone, it was proved to be easier than pretending to be someone I was not all those years. “But there’s actually one that I think stands out the most; it’s a book by a Persian poet, Rumi. I’ve bought the translation with difficulty, but it was worth it. I’ve read it many times.”

      “He writes a little himself, too,” said Adam, catching me off guard.

      I felt a hint of embarrassment, but when I looked up at him and saw him smiling at me, all that was washed away, replaced by the feeling of proudness, which was the first time I was experiencing.

      “Ah, a poet?” said Mr. Smith enthusiastically. “How fascinating!”

      “Not really,” I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck goofily. “I write poems. But I’m not a poet.”

      Mr. Smith smiled, leaning a bit closer to me and then whispering audibly, “You can be whoever you want to be. As long as you believe it, the whole world will believe it.”

     The edge of my lips twitched up into a grin as he winked at me and Adam chuckled. I don’t know how long I was sitting behind that small table, talking and laughing with Adam and his father. I had only known their little family for a few hours, but I felt more at home than I ever had at my own house. Perhaps it was because for the first time, someone cared enough to get to know the real me, other than wanting me to become the person they expected me to be. Perhaps this is exactly what’s wrong with the world. We live our lives in a glass made from the expectations of society. And it is only when we decide to shatter down the glass that we are finally free to live and learn what it means to be truly alive.