Oct 2023 - the space between us

[Kaje]

Pretty unanimous vote this month - what's the story? GIve us your poem, story, flash fic, haiku, whatever you're inspired to write. Just keep it YA and LGBTQ.

[Kaje]

Isolation

He's on the far end of the bench today. Staring into space, hands in his lap— his closed-in state. Four months, and I still don't know his name, or whether he's a student like me or out of school. I told him my name, about day five, but he just nodded, and never answered back.

I sit on the other bench this time, because on these days, he doesn't want me near. Won't acknowledge me with more than a shiver of skin, if I sit closer than five feet away.

On a good day, we talk about the books I'm reading, or things he spotted on the internet. Most days are good days. He has wide-ranging interests, and seems to know a lot about science and history. I read biographies mostly, and he's mentioned offhand stuff I never knew about obscure historical figures, and when I check later, he's usually right.

That first time, I sat by him because a lady with four kids had the other bench. He eyed my reading in silence for ten minutes before saying, "You know, Tolafson had a lot of unsupported things to say about Mussolini. You might check out Mussolini - The 600 Last Days by Ray Mosley, or maybe the Bosworth bio."

Then his bus came, and he got on without another word. But I checked out the Mosley, and the next time I saw him I thanked him and mentioned one difference between the two versions. He gave me his take on the topic, and our little quasi-book-club-at-a-bus-stop began.

Sometimes I pick out books that the critics have panned, just to see the way his lip curls at the sight. His voice gets animated as he tells me everything that's wrong with them. And I can make him laugh by quoting the most outlandish bits in a sports-announcer voice.

Sometimes I bring a book I really love, or one I'm struggling with. Sharing them with him makes them better.

There are two buses that stop here at about the same time. He takes one. I take the other. The only time we ever spend is this brief interval, before someone's transportation arrives. And yet, it's become the highlight of my weeks.

Except days like this. The first time, I was shocked. The guy I'd met who was, yeah, shy and quiet, but friendly and animated when we got talking, suddenly was ghosting me from mere feet away. The icy silence lasted three long days. I began sitting on the next bench where I didn't make him actually vibrate with avoidance, and I almost decided to change my schedule so I wouldn't have to spend time near a guy I'd thought was becoming a friend and see his eyes dodge mine and his body tense as I neared him.

But then on the fourth day, he said quietly across the gap between benches, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For giving me space, and time."

I kind of snarked, "Does that mean I can sit by you again now?" because I was still pissed, or truthfully, hurt.

He looked at me, dark circles under his eyes, and said, "Tomorrow." And that was all he said before my bus arrived.

But the next day, when I sat down, carefully at the limit of the same bench, he nodded to me, and asked about the book I'd chosen that week. When his bus pulled up first, he gave me something probably meant to be a smile, and to my shock, reached over and touched my knee with one fingertip, the first and only time we've touched. "You're a good person. I'm glad you catch the bus at the same time as me. I don't like the days when you're not here."

Then he leaped up and into his bus, like he'd exposed something he didn't want me to hear.

In the months since then, there have been two episodes of frozen-man. One lasted two days, one an interminable week before he finally turned my way and gestured at the seat beside him.

And this makes three. My heart sinks and a cold feeling rolls in my gut. I know now he's not mad at me or shutting me out, he's shutting out the world. But why, I have no clue. How much toll does it take on him to zombie through his life for days? Does anyone else in his life care? I mention my sisters sometimes, my mom. He's never mentioned family.

I call over to him, my tone as soft as I can make it, "Hey, I'm here. Reading a really bad biography of Lincoln. You could tear holes in this guy's biases and lack of facts. But regardless, I'm here. Let me know when you want me closer again."

I don't expect an answer, but then he turns very slowly to look at me. He blinks, inclines his head in a tiny nod, and looks away again. He moves his hands and I wouldn't care but I see his thumbs pressed together, his fingers curling in, nails to nails, a heart shaped by his slender pale hands. Just for an instant, before they curl into fists again.

In that moment, something leaps to flame inside me. I won't push today, won't make demands. But I won't give up either. When the next thaw begins, and that place beside him is mine again, I'll ask his name. I'll do what I can to become the guy who one day will be allowed to sit close by even when the black dog bites at his heels. There's so much life inside him. I hope I can help. I hope we can become more than this.

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