Dear Aaron

by Mariana Zapata

I had no idea right then that, for as long as my soul resided in my body and I could reminisce on the best parts of my life, I’d remember how Aaron Hall leaned forward and wrapped those long, tan arms around my back and pulled me into his chest.

The way he hugged the hell out of me would be something that sickness and death could never take away.

Looking back on it, it’s weird thinking about the moments you don’t realize are important. The sentences, the touches, the actions that seem so innocent in that second, you take them for granted. The words that make water into wine in the course of your life. But I would never forget the way his words made me feel. The way he made me feel right then.

“Will you tell me everyone’s name again tomorrow?” I whispered. That mouth smirked. “Yeah.”

Sometimes it was easy to let people who had disappointed you in the past make you think everyone was like that,

Blue, purple, lavender, orange, red, and so, so yellow in a few places it made my heart hurt. I’d been a lot of places, but watching the sun rise that morning—because I’d never been awake early enough to watch it before—was something I couldn’t forget. It felt like an awakening. Like nothing I had ever seen and everything I had, all rolled into one single, unforgettable event.

“Any morning you want, Rube. I’ll watch it with you.”

Something almost cool brushed across one small spot on my forehead the second before what was obviously his thumb made another tiny path over my skin. Aaron had kissed me on the forehead.

I sniffed, touched by his words, and so freaking in love with this guy I wanted to make a potion that would make him fall in love with me so I could keep him forever. I’d keep spiking him for the rest of my life if I could. All so I could have him.

“I was a goner from the first time you gave me hell.” Aaron smiled. “Maybe even before then.”