It's Not a Cure

Third: railroads

It was chilly. I pulled my hood over my head, as I walked behind Steven. He was lost in his own world.
He said he wanted to get out of the house. I drove over, and he told me he wanted to go to the park near his old elementary school.
He never talks about his childhood. He said he wanted to today. I didn't ask him any questions, I wanted him to let it out on his own.
"I always loved school," he said. It made sense. He was number 6 in his class of 245 in his sophomore year. He tells me he went through depression before that.
"Why?" I ask.
"It got me away from home. I never liked it there," he said. He was leading me through thick woods. "I never told you about it have I? About me before now?"
"No," I reply, pushing away a stray tree branch.
"My dad, I've never met him. My mom would cry sometimes about how much I looked like him. She never told me if its a good thing or bad."
Steven's mother lived in New York. She moved after Steven graduated.
"I hated seeing her cry. I would always go to my room after school and do my homework. I was not a person to participate in sports either. I had a lot of time on my hands. But I didn't know what to do with that time, but I would always find things to do instead of go home."
We eventually got to a clearing. There was a railroad behind the woods, which I felt had some meaning to him, otherwise he wouldn't take me here for no reason.
"I used to go back here when I was younger. I would..."
He trails off. He slowly crouches down, and sit on the ground covered in November colored leaves. I slowly make my way towards him.
"I would lay there. In the middle of the railroad. I would wish a train would come. But I look back, and I actually wish things were like that now."
"What do you mean?"
He smiles, and looks down. He picks the leaves out of his shoes.
"I wish I could wait for something to happen to me, instead of taking matters into my own hands."
I get confused by this statement. But I've never been through the things he has. Some may understand. But I am not apart of that quantity.
He kisses me then. Lifts his head, and puts his hand behind mine to pull me to him. It's not graceful, or beautiful as they are in movies and books.
It was sloppy, a little rough, and it was awkward. I loved it.