The Soil of a Man, the 3rd part

[from the the beginning, if you missed it...]



The next years were hard. We learned how to pick up our life and prod it forward, but I carried a steady hollowness. As every boy who's growing past being a boy does, I had lots of questions. But no one to ask them to. What do you do when the man you're following disappears? My mom loved me well, but she had her own grief to carry. We did the best we could. While everyone else was throwing themselves into college or at least pretending to figure out their life, I watched it all, just watched.



When I was with Emilie, though, I felt the things that remind us why we are alive: joy, hope, even fear – the fear that comes from worrying a good thing will go away. For a while, Emilie and I were inseparable. I may have loved her. One August, before Emilie left for her junior year at the University of Connecticut, we spent the night in the back of my truck, under the stars. We laughed and talked, words and kisses intermingling. Just before sunrise, Emilie rolled over and placed her hand on my chest, looking at me as if there was something hidden she was searching to find. She watched me silently for a few moments, then asked, "Thad, what do you want?"



"What do you mean?"



"What do you want?" she repeated.



"I want this."



"This?" She was searching, but I didn't know for what.



"You. I want you."



"Do you really? What else do you want?"



I sat up on my elbows. I hadn't seen this coming. "I don't know. Get a job, I guess. Figure out how to get married. You know, all that."



Emilie looked at me with kindness. "Thad, you don't know what you want. And until you know that, you can't know if you want me."



[to be continued...]