Is this real life?

9 03 2010

You sat down by me when that tiny lunch table was spilling over with people.  I had had to pull up a chair to sit down there.  Yet we still ended up being the last two.  Me picking at my full fat vanilla yoghurt, you staring intently at me.  What do you want me to say?  That I’ve become friends with your ex-girlfriend?  That I’ve been told you act a little more gay that you should?  I never noticed you had a little gap between your two front teeth until now.

My tray is littered with everyone else’s trash.  When we get up to leave for the dark auditorium where everyone is gathered, you take it from me.  I let you take it.  So I walk away.

“Hey, thanks for waiting for me!”

I look over my shoulder back at you.  “I’m walking slowly.”

You fall in step beside me.  I love that sentence.  I love that concept.  Whenever I read people falling in step beside each other.  Something just clicks.

We’re walking with Berries.  He’s first, then you, then me.  In we filter, flashing our paw-printed wrists.

“Let’s take pictures together, Berries,” I say.  “So then my sister can get jealous.”

The seats are all taken, so the three of us lean against the carpeted gray walls.  I’m in the middle, but then Berries leaves my right.  And it’s just you.  And me.  The low light.  The room is buzzing with noise, but my focus is on our little bubble.  Our stance oscillates from backs pressed to the wall, legs stretched out to mirrored shoulders turned inward.

“Who’re you texting?”

“No one.”

“Okay.”

Long pause. “It’s not a girl.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Again, a pause.  “I’m tying up a few loose ends.”

I nod.  I don’t know, but I know.

I know you still look at her.  Not the one on the phone.  The one who happened to become my friend this semester.  You make eyes at her.  You probably really love her.  But I hear you also messed up.  It doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.  Does my candidness surprise you?  It surprises me.  Maybe it’s because you are nice.  And you can keep up with my coquettish banter.  And you wanted me to loop my arm in yours.  I don’t expect anything.  Neither do you.  It’s still nice.  And gives me a reason to straighten my hair.  Heck, even look forward to something.  Even though it’ll never be more than nothing.  And I’m okay with that.  And I think you are too.

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4 responses

9 03 2010
hfm

I love these sort of moments, the inbetween-ness, the awkward yet so easy silences, I really think you’ve captured it beautifully.

I may have interpreted it wrongly, but it seems like he’s a little confused & muddled, but it’s still okay.

Wishing you luck with whatever.

10 03 2010
Lydia

Please write a book; any kind of book. I would be the first person to buy it, because you honestly have by far the best writing I have ever read.

11 03 2010
DForks

Emotive screenplay.

26 07 2010
Matt

Yea, in high hopes of running into your name while wandering in a book store

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