The Art of Being a F*ck Up - Chapter 20: Chapter 20

December's almost over, and so too is our break, yet even in the dead of winter the sun continues to shine. The holidays were great, we all had a lot of fun, but this morning marked the beginning of everything going back to how it was. It's a beautiful day today, one I can still enjoy before that happens as I emerge from taking my final make-up exam. I won't know how I did for a while but that's okay, I have so much more confidence now than I did last time and it didn't feel terribly overwhelming. It wasn't perfect, I'll admit, but it was better, and I can't stress how important that is, especially since I'm told it only gets easier from here. That'll be nice, but right now it's not what I'm looking forward to most.
"You look happy. I take it that means it went well?" Jonah greets me with a kiss. He didn't really suspect much when I asked him along for support, though that might just be because he's been working just as hard on being more attentive. And yeah, okay, I may be trying to pull a fast one on him, but that doesn't mean I still don't love having him here to personally cheer me on—something I demonstrate as I slip my tongue into his mouth. When he steps back after a minute he looks flustered in the best way.
"Well it must've, because they totally thought I was cheating." My hand lingers on his face, my palm gently cupping his cheek as if I'll go in for another kiss. Hell I might, I've earned it, there's a lot to celebrate today.
"That good, huh?" He inches closer, pressing into my touch affectionately. "I'm so proud of you, Brent. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but it looks like we owe one to Madison. Do you think we should get her something?"
"Don't worry about it, she's already made it perfectly clear what she wants." I joke, well aware of her price, and the debt I now owe her. Maybe things will work out with her online fling who has the great abs, who knows, but today is not about that—not about her. I lean in to kiss the corner of Jonah's mouth, barely breathing the words. "Besides, we don't really want to be thinking about Maddy right now, do we?"
"No, I guess not." Like always he takes my cue, his fingers creeping up the back of my neck while he bites his lip. "How about we head home instead and I can show you just how proud I really am. I'll even do that thing you like."
"Fuck, if I'd known that I might have passed my exams the first time around," though he makes a tempting offer, I've already put my plan in place and I can't back out of it now. I already knew I wouldn't, but I figured I might get nervous and at least think of chickening out, but I haven't. All I have is conviction. "But why don't we save that for later? Lilah already loaned us the car, I thought we could make a day of it."
"Sounds like fun, did you have something in mind?" Romance is worth just as much to Jonah as sex—probably more—and I can't say I disagree. He manages to cool off easily as he throws both arms around my neck instead, looking at me with that same unsuspecting trust while waiting for his answer.
"As a matter of fact, I do. But it's a surprise." The hand I offer comes with a question, one I don't get a chance to ask before he takes it without a moment to lose. Of course he trusts me, probably more than anyone else, and having that kind of faith makes all of this feel more right than it already did. There is no doubt, only excitement as I lead Jonah over to the car.
It proves to be a familiar drive for him at first—he would know the way back to the house from anywhere. It's where he grew up, it'll always be his home, and he alights with the joy from seeing all the Christmas decorations still up as we drive casually passed them. I don't take him home though, no, I take him to the first stop on the adventure I've planned. It's another place I'm sure he could get to from anywhere, one that I know holds its own incomparable meaning in the back of his mind—one he'll never forget.
It's the little park nearest his house, not much further than a stone's throw from the end of his street. What wonderful memories he had made here with his dad—memories he so eagerly shared with me—of how they would come here together when he was a kid. Of course that was before they lost each other, and then found each other again. Now it holds a different kind of specialness for him; the look on his face shows that he feels it too as we get out and start a walk that is just as familiar as the drive had been.
He had brought me here for the first time not too long after we really got to know one another. It was a big night for me—it felt like the biggest of my life then—and we stayed here together until the sun came up, lost in our own little world. It's special to me too, sacred almost, one of only a handful of places that still contain glimpses of the broken, fucked up boy I used to be. It doesn't make me sad to remember though, because for all of that these are the places I also stopped being so broken and fucked up, and started to just be me. And I owe it all to the guy who still leaves his unsuspecting hand in mine, and to memories like this tired, old oak tree that sits tucked away at the back of the park.
It's changed too, like us. It's gotten older, like us. But the one thing that remains the same is the mark that it bears, worn from time as all things are, a set of initials carved into its trunk by a boy in love. What a wonder to know that in twenty years, for the rest of its life, that love will be ingrained in its bark like it will forever be ingrained in my heart. Jonah remarks on it, on the day I'd first taken my knife to it, and we stay for a while to recollect all the hours that this tree has seen us through.
Old habits certainly die hard when we stand around a bit longer than I anticipated, threatened yet again with the notion of losing ourselves in time while we speak of all kinds of random and inconsequential things. But there are other places to be, other places that hold pieces of us that I can't wait to remind him of, so we backtrack to the car and begin the trek to our next destination. Jonah still doesn't ask any questions, he just enjoys the ride that takes us downtown, nearest the place I called home once, to a boardwalk we've immortalized in photographs.
They have a festival here every winter around this time, but we're just over a week too late. We didn't make it this year, or the year before that, but we always have the one after. It's decorous charm remains nonetheless, and even on an ordinary day like this one it's still filled with people. It replays in my mind while we take in the sights, what it was like here for me and Jonah five years ago, that first time I'd kissed him with a hundred eyes watching. It felt amazing, taboo, a rush of adrenaline, but mostly it was just necessary. I remember it fondly in action as I take his chin now and lift it like I did back then, kissing him.
I had something to prove—to him, to myself—it was the moment I decided that I was all in, that I wanted things to work with him no matter what. Before Jonah I had kissed so many girls, and each one felt more hollow than the last, but that was never how it was with him. Maybe it felt so intense because he made me work for it, because I'd wanted it for so long, but kissing him made me realize how it was supposed to feel. Kissing him has always been like being filled with a million jolts of lighting, my heart skips beats and my head gets fuzzy, and it's an incredible high. It's a drug I can't quit, I need it. I crave it.
I still do, no matter how much time passes, and even when I kiss him now, in this same spot and in front of all these people, proudly, he electrifies me. I'd stand here and kiss him all day if I could, but my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket with the notification I've been waiting for. Jonah, only now beginning to get wise, tries to get a peek at my screen when I check to ensure that my accomplice—plot twist, Devin—has fulfilled his part in my grand scheme. Once I know that he has, I take Jonah back to our loaned ride and hold the door open for him, chomping at the bit to show him the last stop on our journey.
"What the hell are we doing here?" His growing suspicion blossoms as we near our destination. These other places have continued to be special for us long into our relationship, but I'm not all that surprised at his reaction when we pull into the parking lot of our old high school. We haven't been here in years, not since we graduated, and he glances over at me with a befuddled grin. He's hopefully figured out by now that it's all part of the surprise, so I give him no answers as I start to get out.
"You hungry?" I ask, an inquiry which only makes him more confused before he follows at my side. There are a lot of old ghosts roaming these halls, and not all of them are friendly, but after giving it some thought I knew this is where we needed to be. While all the ghosts may not be friendly, we left some of our best pieces here too, and that seems to resonate with Jonah when I take him out onto the old football field.
"Oh my god, what did you do?" He stares over in wonder, more impressed with me than the romantic picnic spread I enlisted my best friend to help with.
"I hope it's not too much, I wanted to do something nice for you." I put an arm around his shoulder and lead him over to the blanket littered with rose petals.
"No, it's perfect." Jonah sits.
"Good, because I have something to ask you." The lump I've been expecting finally rises in my throat. I know he deserves the same unwavering trust that he puts in me, and I even know how this is going to go, but I can't help it. I've taken him around to all these places, and then brought him here—to the first place we ever shared a kiss—and I'm back to being a scared kid. He does more than electrify me, he makes me feel eighteen again.
"Really?" He leans in after turning his head to look around, lowering his voice. "Because I'm not doing that thing for you right now, not here."
"That's not what I was going to say, jackass." His comic relief is perfect and I laugh, taking the chance to catch my breath. I hadn't even realized I was holding it. I wonder if he knows what's coming, but I can't tell from his expression, he only waits cautiously for what I'll say next. The lump remains but I begin again, softer. "I was going to say you know that I love you, right?"
"Of course I do." The words suggest such certainty, yet I'm not so sure. If he knows I love him, does he know how much? This isn't just the first place we really kissed, it's where I gave up everything to be with him. Some might argue I wasn't losing much, not when we were so close to graduating, but that's bullshit. I lost my home, my family, friends I was stupid enough to think I'd have for the rest of my life. I traded all of this willingly for the one thing I knew I couldn't live without, the one thing that makes me whole—loves me whole. And he still does, I see it in the smile spreading across his lips. "And I love you."
"I know that, I've been thinking about all the stuff you said before, about knowing when you've found your person." I confess, honest. "You're it for me, Jonah, there's no one else. You always have been and I guess I kind of just thought things would keep going the way they are, but then I started to really think about it. And I want more."
"What does that mean?" He pushes for an answer, inquisitive and calm, so unlike the lovesick high schooler who used to wait anxiously for me under the bleachers behind him. He must've felt so uncertain then, much like I do now, but our roles are reversed and he's the one with the power this time.
"I don't know, man. Like, maybe a house out in the country somewhere where we can actually see the stars, and I can build you a porch swing, and you can make jam."
"Jam?"
"Or whatever. It really hit me that we're about to start our lives, and I don't know what's going to happen, I just know I want it to be with you. You're the love of my life."
"Well I'm not sold on the whole jam thing, but I want that too. Anything as long as it's with you." Jonah agrees, still so unaware of what's coming. It seems as though he might be starting to get a clue when I reach into my pocket, yet he only gets more confused when all I hand him is a folded up piece of paper. "What's this, a note?"
"Read it." How could he forget? There was an entire year where I grew to love him through a thousand notes. He makes short work of getting it open, just long enough so that I can get propped on my good knee as he reads the four words aloud. Then he looks back at me, only now fully understanding what I've been up to. Five years older and all I still want is to be worthy of him, of his love. All I want is him, and I make that as clear as I can when I hold out the ring, "Jonah Michael Pierson, will you marry me?"