[ I should've kissed you longer.]

[ The Post Office.]

Simon was headed to the post office with me. Simon, and the post office, with me— you might be wondering, " why would Victor, someone with no friends or family to call outside of the state— be going to the post office? " . Well, in fact, I do have some family. Like my aunt Maisy. But I wasn't exactly here for her, I was here for dad. For the first time, I was going to send a letter without one prompting me to.
   Simon looked as I nervously folded the paper and set it in the envelope. " Are you sure you can do this yourself? ", I felt mocked in the moment but then later realized just how worried he knew I'd be. Which, is funny that Simon Winters knows me all that much considering he is the only and will forever be the only person who knows how nervous I can get. I don't even think I know how nervous I can get until I'm nervous.
    That's why Simon's here. Emotional support I guess. More like he is just pitying my abilities and helping me strengthen them by standing next to me.

Once we got the letter sent off, and left the post office, there was no turning back to retrieve the letter.
  Dad would read every little scribble and sentence I'd decided to make. Every word, Every moment, and every smudge. Dad would see the fingerprints the pen ink acquired from me as it sat beneath my thumb not yet dried. Dad would finally get to know everything about here. How Fred is,  Moms long business stays— He'd finally get to be a part of my life.
Simon kept me company for the rest of the day. He even went as far as to get me coffee when I'd said I needed it around 2:30 AM. It was hilarious that he complied, but also sweet. Simon's sweet.

                                         A little too sweet.

Simon was always kind hearted, never meant a thing he said when he was angry. Which was usually nonsense or large profanities. ( Yes, the golden retriever of a guy can yell profanities. Surprising, I know. I was shocked when he did it the first time. Which, was the day I'd accidentally stumbled upon all his tools and messed one of them up. ) .
   He yelled non-stop all day about it.

   Simon sat in silence when I needed him to, more like when I  needed to. He joined it.
              " Are you okay? " He asked. A serene and solitude filled my mind as I conjured an answer. " ... Yeah, I'm okay. " I said. " It's just weird. He'll finally be able to know what my life is like, and mom and Fredrick have no way of stopping me from doing all of this— " . Simon gently assured me in his own way, by gently holding my shoulder and smiling at me. " But it's good he'll know. And it's never their choice if you have any contact with your dad. He's your dad. " .
  Simon was right, but I was never gonna admit it. I only ever admitted Jarred was right, about some things. Not all. Jarred just was a know it all princess half the time. Which helped his ego, due to the fact other people never helped it. Jarred was never a guy to use people, but he was never one to claim or gain his own confidence. So, being told he was right was pretty benefitting to his ego. Sometimes, We all joke that maybe his head will explode if he gets anything else right. 
  Simon came up with that joke.

   " Don't you think it'll be nice to hear what he wants to know about you if  he wants to know more? " , the word " if " rang through my head a lot harder than I thought it would. If  was only a word used to describe broken promises, or situations where you would be entering an unknown premise about things. I didn't like being put into the unknown. The day mom and dad decided to divorce, they acted as if everything was okay that morning. Sent me off to school with everything perfect, but that was the problem. Mom and dad usually had moments, fights. They'd scream and argue, mom would be a total jerk to dad and sometimes he'd get stuck sleeping at his friend Micheal's house for a week.
  I liked Micheal. Micheal helped me a lot. Even when dad moved.
  Micheal still lives a couple streets away, I never visit anymore because he got busy — but maybe one day it wouldn't hurt to stop and see how he's doing.

    "  ' If '  isn't even in the question, he won't want to know, Simon. Take my word. " I say, Simon notices I'm a bit distasteful obviously by the fact he hugged me seconds later. I felt trapped in a warm embrace, but this time that trapped feeling felt more like solitude than anything else did.
  
  Arizona had to be a nice place, dad talked fondly of it in his letters – how the trailer parks he lives at are cleaner than mom would ever leave the house. It's funny when he talks about her, because it's never a nice statement. Mom never talks about dad anymore, unless it's telling her new toy ( Frederick.) made up stories of how she " survived " a nightmare with him. I was there the whole time she told him the time " dad went off the rails and ran off." . That wasn't the story.
  Let me elaborate, dad had a fight with mom. I was around five years old, so my memory is working to the best of it's abilities— when they'd finished screaming their heads off, more like mom finished doing so, dad went for a walk. He was gone for about a half hour. Nothing more. Nothing less.
  Fred sat in sorrow for mom, pity in his seat as he held moms hand and let her soak it up.
 
" I'm sure he'll love to hear it all though." Simon assured, as if he knew me– assurance wasn't something I needed.
Up until this point.

I was never openly grateful for Simon, and I hated that I wasn't. Realizing now, he's the best I've got.
  So, instead of pushing pessimistic hatred onto him— I gave him a lighter response. A soft smile, and " ... thanks. " . Did I really?
No. It was all in my head. Surely.
But, then I realized it wasn't when Simon beamed in excitement about the fact I smiled and said " thank you " for once. I had to admit to being thankful for his presence, and it seems nobody does that enough to him because I saw tears bubbling at his lower eyelids. " Are you okay? " I asked. He nodded, nothing spoken. Which was okay. He didn't have to tell me he was okay for me to know anything.
Simon stayed the rest of the night, keeping me company. We spent our time doing things like playing games or bugging Jarred over the phone. Jarred was at the mall, shopping for his niece's birthday party. " She'd look adorable  in this. " He held up a jumper to the phone, it was small. The size of Jarred's forearm maybe. His niece, Delilah, was no older than a year old. Or at least, she was turning one.
Simon had clear fever over this, going crazy about it as he agreed. " Aww! Yeah! She would! " He exclaimed. I didn't understand the excitement, this was outfits— for babies. It's nothing special.
  Either way, I chimed in politely saying " It'd look nice." . 
   The rest of that day Jarred, Simon, and I were all talking on the phone. About everything that was going on in life. I even told Jarred i sent a letter to dad.