Free To Catch a Falling Star by L. Duarte

therapist.
    Finally, he pulls over into a parking lot.
    “We are going up on the purple trail. It’s Portia’s favorite.” He grins. It’s starting to annoy the hell out of me.
    He begins to climb the mountain and it appears effortless to him. For the first stage of the trail, we hike along a stream. For just a moment, I wish to swim in the stream. But, I puff along and follow the preacher, feeling lousy that a fifty-year-old is kicking my ass on a hiking trail.
    We hike in silence. Occasionally, he stops to admire a sight. No wonder Portia likes this trail. It’s fucking beautiful. It’s deep in the woods. The only sounds are the distant chirps of birds and the leaves in the breeze; it’s soothing and peaceful.
    When we reach the summit, he guides me to the ruin of an unfinished castle. We stand side-by-side at the top of the ruin. Stunned, I stare in awe at the panoramic view. There is only silence. Never has silence spoken so loudly before. No music, no conversation, and no noises. Just silence. Sublime, soothing silence.
    I don’t know how long we stay there absorbing the peace of the place. I’m not one to mull over deep thoughts and shit. But for a moment, I have a glimpse of understanding why Portia has changed into this brainwashed, la-la-land type of person.
    Peace can be so appealing; it grabs hold of a soul.
    “What are you looking for Tarry?” The pastor’s deep voice breaks the silence. I startle. And wince at the fact that he notices my reaction.
    “What do you mean?” I ask with skepticism. If he is thinking I’m spilling my guts to him, he is in for the same trip Mel took. My chest itches ferociously.
    “There is no double agenda to my question, son. Life is a relentless pursuit of the unknown. Whether or not we consciously choose to embark on this journey, every one of us is a passenger of this quest. That’s how we are wired, full of an undying desire to seek, to discover, to evolve. Humanity is a masterpiece. What is it that you’ve been searching for?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it,” I say dryly. I never had, not even after the hallucination on the airplane.
    “That makes it even harder to find, doesn’t it?” He grins. Another long silence follows.
    “This is where Will proposed to Portia.” He grins. “And this is where Portia told Will she was expecting Dominick and the baby they are now expecting,” he says. It’s so out of the soul-searching conversation he started that I’m unsure if I’m disappointed or relieved.
    “Son, I don’t want to impose my beliefs in you. It would be impossible for me to interact with you without intertwining what I hold true in our talks. So I ask you to indulge me when I throw a thing or two about my faith into our conversations.”
    “Sure,” I say. Either he has no idea how to do counseling or he is bat-shit crazy.
    “Portia and Will searched for each other. I’m sure their souls cried out, until one day, their world collided. That’s a pretty darn good definition of a miracle, if you ask me.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Bat-shit crazy.
    “What are you searching for, Tarry?” he asks me again. Redundant, but I can deal with that.
    “The hole in your chest, son. It needs to be filled, if you want a fighting chance at winning this battle.” For once, he is serious.
    Fingers, long and rugged, poke against the aching, rotting flesh surrounding the fucking hole he mentioned. How the hell does he know about this hole that is so big it threatens to swallow me entirely? I never told a soul about this void that the numbness from the drugs scratches and makes almost bearable. My chest closes and the air ceases to reach my lungs. It suffocates me. It hurts me. Fuck.
    I rub my shaking hands over my eyes. There is no way in hell I’m crying in front of a man who knows shit about my life.
    “Oh, by the way, Maritza invites you to dine with us tonight. Do you happen to like authentic Spanish food? Portia loves it. In fact, I