We have a strange bond that neither of us asked for.
That’s why I called him last night. I want him to be able to tell me to go. He doesn’t have any idea yet how deep this could cut.
Neither do I, I suppose.
He wrestles his face to neutral. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No. You?”
It’s loaded when he says, “No.”
“Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
It’s just us. I can feel that loneliness. I can feel it from his heart to mine, aching in the place we were both cut open fourteen years ago.
I’m in the hospital, waking up, seeing those worried faces of strangers for the first time. Knowing they were about to say something awful.
August starts searching through his cupboard. He could just pick any mug. I wonder if he’s buying time. His hands are shaking. So are mine. I force them deep into my pockets. “You like a lot of music.”
The tinkle of the cups as he pulls their handles together is soothing. A touch of homeliness, a change of pace. “Yeah. I… It was kind of my whole life for a while.”
Coming across a little green glass bowl full of guitar picks on the bookshelf, “You were in a band?”
“No.” He sighs when he notices what I’m looking at. “I should probably get rid of those. They’re just… part of that whole thing.”
Yet he doesn’t take them away. Instead, he grabs a jam jar full of tea bags. I think he is actually going to ignore my Coke.
“Were you born here?” he asks, dropping the bags into the cups.
“Yep. You?”
“Yeah. What’s your middle name?”
“Romeo.”
“Romeo.” He laughs properly for the first time since he came in. “What were they thinking?”
“We’ll never know.” I say it lightly, but it’s a truth I’ve come to accept. I hope he has too.
Then it’s, “Favourite colour?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Neither.”
“Favourite food?”
“That… there’s this… zucchini thing?”
“With the yoghurt?”
“Yeah! I love that.”
“I love that so much! You know, I’d almost forgotten it. It’s been so long.”
