III

“Tell me your life story,” I say, and he does.

He tells me about Akron. He tells me about the humor in that somehow, despite all the states he and his family have lived in, they were all somehow born in Ohio. It’s the center of the world to him. Everything has to come from somewhere, he says, and for him it’s there.

Despite all of this, he doesn’t consider it his home. He wasn’t shaped by Akron, or Cleveland, or Cincinnati. The mold that took his gentle flesh and gave it life was Georgia. In the middle of nowhere, far from the hustle and bustle of the cities, grew his soul.

Things weren’t easy for him as he aged. He never really learned how to focus, and constantly got into trouble for being a distraction. As he tells me this, I laugh. If only he knew that he still is one, when I’m trying to focus on schoolwork but instead I think about the sparkle in his eyes. I think about the feeling of his skin on mine. Even now, he has me enraptured in his story, and as I absorb what he’s saying, I can’t help but ponder his beauty.

There is tragedy, as there always is. He tells me about the words that left marks on his heart, hands that hurt the very life they were supposed to protect. He tells me about his mistakes, the things he would give just to take something back, and I want to hold him. I want to tell him he’s good, like nothing else. But I don’t.

He talks for about and hour and a half, and to anyone else, it would drive them mad. But I’ve always loved being told stories, being able to listen to the cadence of someone's voice and memorize the way they speak.

Three months ago, I never would have imagined being in the car of a boy who lives an hour away and treats me like I’m his world and stars. I thought I’d continue to be stuck in my own head, allowing a boy who lied when he promised to pick me up if I fell control me.

This boy isn’t like that. He is an old beech tree. He’s weathered and cracked, but stands strong. He takes and takes and takes, corroding under the forces of nature, but is still so gentle.

“You’ve gone through so much, been beaten down so many times, but you are still so kind. How?”

He grabs my hand and squeezes.

“Because you will always find things to keep going for.”