Maybe you should go...

She couldn't for the life of her understand why she couldn't for the
life of her understand how she felt about him. They talked, talked a
lot. About everything. She seemed to be completely enamored at times,
even though she was very much afraid to admit to anybody that she felt
anything other than the beginnings of friendship with him. Then, at
other times, she felt that having the beginnings of a friendship with
him was overestimating his value to the human race. But that only
happened very very rarely, never when the two talked alone to each
other. Of course, they never talked privately except over the internet,
and most likely that provides for a bit of embellishment, or the hiding
of true emotions or feelings. When talking over the internet, he
couldn't see her smile as the instant message from him popped up, even
as the first words he typed were crude sexual suggestions about other
people. He couldn't see when she blushed and smiled when he called her
"hun". But then, she couldn't see what his face looked like. It was a
vicious circle.


In hindsight, which is ALWAYS twenty-twenty, it would have
been wise for her just to come out and tell him exactly how she felt,
repeated nearly word for word the previous paragraph. Of course,
hindsight never occurs when needed most, at the moment looked back on.
So, she sat there, next to him, all alone too, and said "Maybe you
should go". She had, tritely, slipped up and told him the wrong date
for a party, and he showed up and nobody else was there. Freud would
have said that she had meant that to happen. And, truthfully, he would
have been right. But, even though things were going along perfectly,
the two sitting at her old, dying picnic table, she was afraid. She was
unsure. She did not want to mess up, take the wrong turn. So, instead
of being adventurous and taking a chance, laying her heart out on the
table on a hunch about her feelings, and his, too, she said "Maybe you
should go".


The day, mid-September sometime, was perfect, not unusual for
autumn in New England. The air was just slightly moving, and was a
perfect 70 degrees. Two or three wispy clouds graced the sky, and the
leaves were just beginning to show their fall color. It was the kind of
day when people just go outside, breathe in the air and sigh over how
right it feels. His hair fell a tinge into his eyes, which tended to
look down at the bench most of the time, sometimes wandering upwards to
search out hers, which followed a very similar pattern, though hers,
instead of being stationary watching the bench, wandered everywhere,
looking at anything. She thought that she might have been searching for
something to comment on in order to break the uncertain silence,
something simple like "Ooo, check out the neat bird" or "Wow, what a
big dragonfly".


Both were nervous, him suspecting her Freudian slip, and her
not sure if he suspected anything, afraid that he would, but also
hoping that he would. If he did, and he commented, they would have a
conversation, as awkward as it might be. He raised his arm, pointing to
something, and her gaze followed "Hey, check that out. What a fucking
awesome crow." He said. She laughed, and then they fell into their
silence again. It seemed, this time, that they were searching out each
other's gaze, rather than trying to appear to be avoiding it. He caught
hers once, and she quickly looked away, afraid she was blushing. She
was sure he wasn't looking when she looked back, but his gaze had been
focused on her the whole time, and their eyes met again. This time, a
grasshopper leapt up onto the table, making both jump slightly, and the
eye contact to be broken.


The grasshopper matched exactly the color of her eyes. He had
noticed that. She had noticed that he was completely taken by the
creature, watching the tiny movements of its limbs, how the little
being twitched in the wind. She became taken with it too. It moved its
rear leg a little bit, up and down, and then it leapt away in the same
manner that it had come. With the grasshopper gone, she began to stare
at her hands, the brush marks in the silver polish, the tiny freckle on
the knuckle of her right hand insult finger.


Quickly, suddenly, she looked up just to see where he was
looking, at the same moment when he looked up to see where she was
looking. This time no grasshopper leapt onto the table. She could feel
her face heating, but didn't know if he noticed that his was, too. That
was one problem with being a northern European. Their gaze held in
silence, and neither moved. She had no idea how long the two had
remained motionless, but it had been too long. She knew his feelings
now, but she didn't know hers. But, even though she was scared, she did
not break off eye contact. Instead, their gaze still strong, she said
to him "Maybe you should go".


"Why?" She was momentarily taken aback. She had not expected
him to say anything, but had expected him to just leave. Foolish. "Why
should I leave?"


"Please. Just, please. You really should." He inched closer.



"I want to know why"


"I don't know why!" She exclaimed, getting up off the bench,
distancing herself from him, afraid of being too close. He rose as
well, getting very close to her as she was trying not to get very close
to him. Eventually, she gave up and sat back down, as did he. "Why
aren't you leaving?"


"Because I don't want to. And I know that you don't want me
to"


"You don't know what I want"


"Yes I do"


"What do I want?" He leaned close, placing his hand at the
small of her back, and dragged her to him.


"Let me show you" And then he kissed her.


"That is not what I want. Please, just, please?go. I don't
need, I don't want this."


"Fine. But I know you're lying." He got up and strolled over
to his black charger and got in, pulling out of the drive without even
looking back. Tears stung her eyes as she watched the cloud of dust the
car kicked up dissipate into the air, and she got into her own car and
turned on the radio.


Ordinarily, she would have gone inside, but she knew that
inside, a straight shot from the front door, was the computer. It would
beckon to her, call to her, with the knowledge that she could log on
and he would be there, on AOL, just like always. She knew that she
would go straight for the computer once inside, immediately clicking
the AOL icon. And she also knew that that would be no good. He would be
online. But what would they talk about? The last half an hour? No, of
course not. That would be no good. But how could they not talk about
it? She figured she had another week before she had to see him again,
had to talk to him. It was only another week before the school year
began yet again. And he would be there, right when she got there in the
morning, sitting in his usual seat in homeroom. Right next to hers.



Why didn't she want to see him? Now there was a good
question. She thought it was probably because he was partially right
about her. She had wanted him to kiss her, deep down. But she also
hadn't, she hadn't wanted him to kiss her, as well. Because she knew
that if he did, there would be no going back. She would be hopelessly
ensnared in him. He would have her completely in his grasp. And she
would be thrilled. Until he changed into his other self, she called it.
Not the guy she was best friends with, not the guy that she thought she
couldn't live without. The guy that she wanted to kill more times then
not. And then she feared that her heart would be broken. If she was
correct in reading her feelings. Which she was afraid that she was
taking a teenager's crush into something way too deep.


After an hour of listening to Metallica and Godsmack, she
felt that she had a good handle on her feelings. She didn't love him.
She may lust for him, but that was a completely different thing. They
were friends, yes. But there was no romantic love. She wished. But
nobody other than her knew that, or ever would. Otherwise, she would
lose both her heart and her best friend at the same time.



The first day of school came, and the two acted like nothing
had happened. They chatted and laughed just as they always had, only
now there was an underlying uneasiness about their playful banter.