Page 18 of Xavier

I stumble out of the water and flop onto the grass, curling my cold toes into the dirt.

"That was amazing. Are you a dancer?" he asks.

"Well, I hope to be,” I admit.

"No, I think you already are."

I shrug.

"You don't sound so sure."

How does he know that? How does he know something I haven’t even admitted to myself?

"Right now, I want to dance more than anything. And that I know. But I guess, I guess I think that I may not always want to be a dancer, does that make sense?"

He doesn't pretend it does, but I know he wants to. I want him to understand it, understand me.

"Like, I want to dance, but... I'm discovering there are other things I want to do as well."

"Like what?"

I stand up, and go back to the water's edge.

"Like... that" I point out to the lake. "I want to make something as beautiful as that." Why do I feel so comfortable sharing things with this stranger more than I do with my family, my closest friends?

"Well, I think you dance just as beautifully, if those pirouettes were anything to go by."

"Thank you. I also love color. I see color when I hear music, you know. And when I dance, sometimes I imagine I’m painting with my movement onto a canvas. But it’s only something I can see, and fleeting. I want to make something other people can see with their eyes as well."

"Do you paint? Draw?"

"Fuck no." I laugh. "I cannot control these damn things," I look down at my hands." I can't make what I see in my head come out through my fingers and onto canvas. I can't explain it. My handwriting's atrocious. You'd know that if you'd read my letter." I poke my tongue at him.

He flushes.

"What about you? What is it you want to do?" I ask and I realize I want to know so bad.

He takes a deep breath. And I know that whatever he’s about to say, he’s never said to anyone else before. That seems to be the theme of our conversation.

"I just want to find where I belong."

"Wow, I've never heard someone say that before."

"That’s because you've been surrounded by people who belong,” he says, with no hint of envy or irony.

I nod. I guess there’s truth to that. "Probably. Lucky us."

"You have no idea."

I want to ask him more, but it feels like it's too soon. Like he's already given me more than he would give anyone.

The only way I know this is, because I've done the same for him.

"Hey." He stands up, brushing the dirt from his hands. "Come on."

"Come on, what?"

He's grins and holds his hand out again. "You game?"