searching for an explanation
or a hole to fall into.
Andrew slows beside me.
“Ay—Sonny.”
His hand reaches for mine. “You good?”
I don’t give it to him.
I can’t nod. I can’t lie.
I can’t even sayI’m fine.
My voice turned its back on me.
Ben spots me.
A pause knocks into him.
The quietwhat-the-fuck-is-this?flaring behind his eyes.
He peels off the wall and walks toward me.
“Yo, Raymond said you might need a ride.” Phone in his hand, jaw stiff, his gaze slides over Andrew—quick, cold, disgusted. Then it’s back to me. “Guess not, huh?”
My mind blanks,
trying to scramble for my next move,
but every word’s wrong.
Every move’s a mistake.
I’m caught in headlights,
nowhere to go, nothing to say.
I don’t know what will save me,
so I do nothing.
Ben's staring down at me the way men do when they already know the answer. How they just sit back as you hang yourself with the silence. “No intro?” he says, entertained. “Aight. I’ll just stand here like a dickhead.”
Andrew’s staring at the side of my face, lost,
his confusion hitting me in waves.
He’s waiting for me to explain,
introduce him,
to make this okay.
Ben’s amused.
Andrew’s bemused.
