I lay there staring at my phone, thinking Slate would respond right away, but nothing. I guessed he wasn’t going to finally enlighten me on why he was the way he was, so I went to put my phone back on the charger when the bubble with the dots popped up, signaling that he was typing.
I stared at the phone, waiting for his text. The dots kept appearing and disappearing, over and over, until finally a message came through.
Slate:Because I don’t want to end up like my dad.
I sat up in my bed. His dad? He’d never mentioned anything about his dad to me before. He’d barely told me anything about his mom. When he’d told me she’d died, I could tell it had been hard for him to share with me, so I hadn’t wanted to push him for more information.
Slowly I typed my question, hoping I wouldn’t scare him away with my frankness.
Me:Why don’t you want to end up like your dad?
It took a few seconds for the bubbles to appear, but eventually his text appeared.
Slate:He cared so much about my mom that when she died, it destroyed him.
I sat there and reread his text several times. Destroyed him how? What did that mean?
I wished we were having this conversation in person. But then again, maybe text was easier for him. I’d seen the way he had struggled just to tell me a few sentences about his mom, and then he had clammed up so quickly, I hadn’t had a chance to ask any follow up questions.
Me:What do you mean it destroyed him?
I wasn’t sure if he would expound, but I held my breath, waiting for his reply.
Slate:My dad was never able to get over it. Still hasn’t. He’s not the same person anymore.
I continued to wait to see if he would say anymore, but no bubbles appeared, and no text message was received.
Okay, so that was cryptic. That was not the explanation I’d been hoping for, but I guess it was better than nothing.
Me:I’m so sorry you had to go through something so difficult. Especially at such a young age.
Slate:Thanks, but I’m fine.
My eyes began to water as I read his words. He was so far from fine, but he couldn’t seem to see it.
Me:It’s okay not to be fine.
Slate:When can we get back to talking about that kiss of ours?
Me:Heaven forbid we have real conversations where we talk about our feelings and our lives.
Slate:I’m fine with talking about all that as long as I don’t have to share. I don’t like talking about my past. I work really hard to live in the present.
Me:Okay, I hear you. But our kiss was in the past.
Slate:Ha ha, very funny.
Me:;)
If he wanted to change the subject, I’d let him. I’d gotten more out of him tonight than I had expected him to tell me. Little by little, I hoped he would feel more comfortable telling me the full story.
Me:So, as my friend, I would totally gush to you about the hot guy who kissed me tonight.
Slate:And as your friend, I would want to hear all the details.
Slate:Like how hot was he?
I giggled. Yes, giggled. Like a girl in junior high talking about boys.
