2: RespiteA Chapter by Not hereChapter 2 “I barely even recognized you at first,” she said as we walked down the sidewalk. “With that hat and those sunglasses, I thought you were some kind of movie star at first.” That made me smile. “You think so?” It was a windy day, and her shoulder-length, black hair blew all around her like a halo. I felt like I could stare at her for ages. Every inch of her seemed perfect and absent of flaws, from her glimmering, brown eyes to her sleek shoes. “I think so.” “I don’t wanna take these off, though.” I groaned as I raised my arm, adjusting the sunglasses. “Every person I run into will think my parents beat me or something.” She sighed. “But maybe you could tell them what really happened and get Greg in trouble?” “Greg?” “The bully.” “Oh.” I laughed. “I thought his name was George.” “Don’t let him hear you say that,” she warned. “You’ll get another bruise.” “I don’t have any room left on my body. So I’m not too worried.” “At least it’s not bleeding anywhere. Just bruised.” I shrugged. “If it was bleeding, at least I’d get a bandade. Or a get-well kiss.” Abigail giggled. “What the heck is a get-well kiss?” “You know? Where someone kisses it, and it’s supposed to make it feel better or whatever.” She smirked and stared at me. “And who do you think is going to give you a get-well kiss? Or whatever it’s called.” I avoided her gaze, a sly grin on my face. “Were you thinking me?” “Oh, look!” I said. “The ice-cream truck!” “Don’t change the subject,” she said, pretending to be serious. “No, seriously.” I pointed ahead of us. “There it is.” The familiar song that it played drifted towards us, and I was welcoming towards the break in our conversation. Hopefully, she wouldn’t press the matter. “Oh. Ice cream sounds really good right now… But we’re not done with this.” “This?” I asked. “Conversation.” Well, crap. <><><><><> Later that day found us sitting on a bench, our ice cream melting in some trash can down the street. She sat close to me on the bench, so that our knees were touching. Oddly, she didn’t shy away. We talked for a while, about school and our families. Although we’d been friends for a few weeks, I knew almost nothing about her. I wasn’t sure how much I should tell her, either. “I live with my aunt and uncle,” she told me. “Same.” “Where are your parents?” I shrugged. “Sent me up here for a few months. They were going to counseling for their marriage and their bank accounts were stretched thin. So I came up here. Next thing I heard, they’d divorced and my dad moved out west somewhere.” “What about your mom?” “I don’t know.” I curled my index fingers together in my lap. “I guess she stayed there and just didn’t want me back. Or remarried. My aunt and uncle never told me. I don’t really wanna know. My last memories of her are good, and fun. I wanna keep it that way.” She paused for a minute. There was no helpful response to what I’d said. “Have you noticed that you always do that?” she asked. “What?” “You curl your two fingers together. Whenever you’re nervous.” She smiled. “Oh. No, I hadn’t. I must be nervous a lot for you to notice it.” She shrugged, but looked pleased with herself. “I guess I just see things about people that others don’t.” “Like about me?” She grinned. “I see lots of things about you.” I felt cold chills, but inside I’d never been warmer. Eager to change the subject, I asked “So what about you and your parents?” “Why don’t I live with them?” “Yeah.” She folded her arms against her stomach. “My dad got my mom pregnant when they were in high school. He wanted an abortion. She wanted to keep me. They compromised and sent me off to her older brother, my uncle.” “That’s a really short version of a complicated story.” “Longer is more emotional.” She shrugged. “You shrug a lot.” “So do you,” she countered. “Were your aunt and uncle already married when you moved up here?” I asked, trying to find a more comfortable topic. “Um, I’m not sure. I was barely two months when they brought me here.” “So you’ve lived here your whole life?” “Basically. Haven’t you? I mean, after you moved in with your aunt and uncle.” I shook my head. “We were living in a different town. Then we moved here and our house caught on fire. We lost a bunch of stuff, but some neighbors loaned us money to rebuild the place. That’s the only reason we didn’t move again. They tend to run away when bad things happen.” “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” She smiled at me, showing perfect teeth. “Why?” “Because I never would’ve met you. And I like being your friend.” <><><><><> Xavier was a nerd. At least, that’s what everyone called him. I met him later that day at the playground. Evening, when it was almost dark, I would almost always go there and swing. It was childish in some people’s opinions, but nothing quite compared to that rush of the wind and feeling like you were flying, all from your own willpower. It was peace I never knew in another place, even if I was considered “too old.” Fifteen isn’t that old, I assured myself with every swing until those worries disappeared and I was just flying. At this time of day, after sunset, the bullies were never out. They stayed at one another’s houses, or sometimes went into town, where they could be found populating a few particular restaurants. I’d never seen anyone else at the playground, though, besides them. Not this late. “Hey,” I said as I approached the swingset. Xavier was sitting there, feet planted firmly on the ground. Despite being called a nerd -and he was definitely smart- I had only ever seen him with a hood pulled up over the back of his head. His skin was smooth, pimple-free and he didn’t have glasses, like I had first imagined him when someone told me he was a nerd. The two words were synonyms now all around town: nerd and Xavier. But the appearances were opposites. “Your name’s Xavier, right?” I asked, trying to be friendly. Honestly, I had wanted to meet him for a long time. I never had a chance to talk with him, though, since I was homeschooled and he rarely came outside. “Yeah. Yours?” “Caleb. Do you come here often?” Xavier glanced up at me, then back down to his shoes. I wondered if that’s what I looked like to the bullies. “Not really. I don’t go anywhere much.” “Why not?” “No reason to.” “You ever get around in town?” I asked, trying to judge exactly how anti-social he was. He smiled, like at the thought of a memory, but it faded. “I go to the library sometimes. And the coffee shop.” “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve seen you there before.” “Which place?” he asked. Hopefully he didn’t think I was a stalker or something. “Coffee shop. I hardly ever go to the library, or read in general.” He nodded. “I understand. Most people don’t. But I’m not like most people.” I sat down on the swing beside him. I wasn’t sure whether he thought of me as friendly or annoying. Whether I was welcome or not, I was going to swing. He could ignore me if he chose. “Why don’t you ever take your hood down?” I asked, unable to help myself any longer. The question was bugging me as I began to swing. “I don’t like my hair.” “Why don’t you get it cut?” I was rising up higher with every kick from my legs. “Mom doesn’t like when I ask questions.” “You know,” I said, “I don’t particularly like my hair either. I just deal with it. I’m sure yours can’t be that bad.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. “You wanna see it?” “If you wanna show it.” Xavier laughed, the first sign I’d seen of any happiness. “I know you’re trying to be friendly, but it comes across as creepy and kinda weird. Actually, pretty weird. Freaky.” I shrugged, tempted to retort he came across as emo. “Oh well. I have a friend named Abigail, and she always tells me I need to be more friendly to people. Says I don’t have enough friends.” “Abigail?” He held a thoughtful expression. “I know nearly everyone around here, and in the school, but I don’t know an Abigail.” “Don’t know. Maybe you just don’t know her name.” “Yeah, maybe. I’d probably recognize her face.” “Definitely,” I said. A few minutes of awkward silence seemed to drag on forever and I felt that asking him to take his hood off would be beyond freaky. I waited for him to break the silence, but the only sound was the wind rushing past my ears. Finally, I started to slow down and didn’t kick my legs, as the swing calmly slowed to a stop. “It’s pretty hot out here,” he said. Xavier pulled down his hood, revealing black hair pulled back in a ponytail. “That’s pretty cool. I don’t see why you don’t like it,” I said. I looked up at the bangs falling into my eyes. “I couldn’t do that with mine.” “Yeah. It takes a certain kind of hair, I guess.” He laughed. “I don’t even know what I’m talking about.” For the first time, he kept talking without me leading the conversation. “When I don’t keep it up, it comes down to about my shoulders. Mom hates when I do that, though. So I wear it like this.” “I get why you wear hoods instead of hats now,” I said. “Yeah. Beanies don’t work either. It looks like I have a mountain range on my head if I tuck it in, or a tail from my neck if I leave it out.” “Sucks for you. I love beanies.” He shrugged. “You don’t have sexy hair like me.” I grinned and shook my head. Xavier was a nerd. But he was alright. © 2016 Not hereReviews
|
Stats
325 Views
6 Reviews  Last Updated on February 26, 2016 Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|
prev chapter
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
