9. First-Time Dater, Longtime Lurker #2
“I can’t imagine how difficult that must be,” she adds quietly—almost as if she doesn’t want to offend me with the loud, unvarnished truth.
It’s so fucking difficult. Somedays, functioning seems impossible.
Death is always a footstep away, lurking outside the perimeter, waiting for its next victim.
It doesn’t go into hibernation. It’s not dissuaded by the palisades designed to keep pests out.
It slips through weather-beaten structural cracks until it has access to the human-shaped pit of despair skulking inside.
“I’ve gotten used to being on my own. My dad has his job, I have school, and we work pretty well when we aren’t worrying about each other. I have to trust him.”
“He probably appreciates that more than he lets on.”
I hope so.
The conversation peters into silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but the kind that happens between two people who have known each other for years.
I don’t want to stop hearing Lake’s voice.
It’s a balm to the orchestra of nitpicking complaints in my ears.
She’s a safety blanket personified, and being with her is the only time my brain goes out of commission.
I forgot I’ve been holding her hand this entire time. It just feels so natural. So right. And my palm isn’t clammy for once. That’s an unprecedented win in my book.
I guide our heart-to-heart into a slight detour—a foot-beaten path off the main trail, winding through an underbrush of tall grass and blooming asters where the road never meets nature’s refuge. “I’d love to meet your brother some time. Maybe he can come to one of the team’s practices.”
Lake lights up brighter than a hockey goal light. “Really? He’d love that. My mom probably would too. She doesn’t think I’m the best role model for him.”
“What? She doesn’t want him following in your activist footsteps?” I joke.
“Oh, she’d have an aneurysm if my brother ever pulled the shit that I do.”
“I don’t know. I’d kill to have someone like you in my life who thinks for themselves, does the right thing, and stands up for those who don’t have the privilege to. In my eyes, you’re the perfect role model.”
Admiration coils inside my belly, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of the way her soft, moisturized skin rubs against my rough callouses. I can’t believe I lived through a time when I didn’t know she existed.
Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I can make out a film of tears—reminiscent of frothy spume—bubbling on her waterlines. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”
I don’t want to add to her distress, so I move the conversation along. “What do you protest about?” I question.
“Are you sure you want the in-depth answer?”
“Lake, I could listen to you recite the periodic table and not be bored. I want to know more.”
She blushes, tracking the tip of her fingernail through the condensation on a footed glass. “Well, I protest about pretty much anything that needs my attention, but right now, animal rights have been a big point of contention for activists in the community.”
“Animal rights?”
“You know, unethical animal testing in general. Experimentation on animals is inhumane. Experimentation for skincare and vanity products are the worst, but we don’t even need to use animals for medical experiments.
There are tons of alternatives to animal testing, like computer modeling, microphysiological systems that mimic human organs, stem cell research, and microdosing in human studies.
Animals can’t consent to being tested on.
The whole thing just rubs me the wrong way. ”
I didn’t think talking about morality would be on my bingo card for the day, but I’m glad that Lake doesn’t shy away from the tough conversations. “Wow. I had no idea there were so many alternatives.”
“Yep, but because we’re so physiologically similar to animals, a lot of people think animal testing is the only way we can produce accurate results. I get it. We don’t want to risk human lives either,” she acquiesces.
“And how long have you been doing this?”
“Ever since I can remember. I went through a rebellious phase in middle school. Convinced a bunch of animal lovers in biology to protest against the use of frog corpses in anatomy lessons.”
A laugh buoys out of me, because only Lake would be brave enough to spearhead a class-wide strike in her preteens. “Did it work?”
“Uh, sort of. A lot of us got in trouble, but on the bright side, the teacher promised to alter the curriculum to be ‘animal friendly.’” A giant smile unwinds over her perfect, plump lips, and I’ve come to find that it’s a much-needed succor built into the cushy foundation of our budding relationship.
I’m in awe of the way Lake’s brain operates. Her perspective on the world is so refreshing. She tries her hardest to see the best in people, which is more than I can say for the majority of the population.
“That’s incredible, Lake,” I reply, enshrouded in a chrysalis of pride.
“You should come protest with me one of these days. Really get the full experience.”
I stare deeply into the eyes that house glittering hope. I soak up this feeling like a complacent cat lazing in a sunbeam. “I’d love to.”