Dipping Into Together

Ch 9

Maybe it was the fact that he was actually crying, or maybe it was because he looked so scared, but I forgave him immediately for everything that I might have previously been mad about. It didn’t matter anymore. That petty argument seemed so meaningless now; I didn’t understand why it had mattered in the first place.

His body shook against mine as he cried. Why was he crying? Why was he bruised? What had happened? I squeezed him as tightly as I could and tried to absorb some of his pain. Maybe if I just stood there and took away some of his pain, it would make everything better. Maybe the secrets wouldn’t matter anymore, because I had helped him. Maybe after this he would open up to me and me to him. Maybe we would both stop being so guarded. But the world was full of maybes. So all I could do was try to be strong for him, even though I didn’t know why it was that I needed to be strong; it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was here for him. Right now. When he needed me, no matter our argument, I was here.

I didn’t know how long we stood there. It could’ve been a mere couple of minutes; it could’ve been hours. All I knew that that moment, no matter how much pain Jonah was in, was partially beautiful. Because in that moment, we were together. We had each other, and that made everything seem a little less horrible.

When he finally stopped crying, I stepped away from him. His arms fell limp at his sides; his head was hung, and he was staring at the ground. Taking his hand, I linked my fingers through his and silently led him towards the woods.

The walk to the top of the hill was only filled with the sounds of leaves crunching beneath the weight of our feet. He was gripping my hand quite hard, but I didn’t mind. In a way, it helped to remind me how there he was. He was here. With me. And that made me feel good.

When we reached the top of the hill, we both climbed up and sat on top of the boulder. He sat to my right, knees up, arms loosely wrapped around them. I mimicked his position and studied him. The lights from the town below were soft and far away, but still partially illuminated his face.

“You know,” he said, his voice sounding worlds away. “When people ask me what’s wrong, it’s always an internal fight just to figure out how to answer that question.”

I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean, if the answer were simple, then it would be easy to answer. But when someone asks you that, how can your answer be, ‘Everything’?” His voice dipped, becoming softer. But it wasn’t hard for me to hear him. And it also wasn’t hard for me to hear the raw pain in his voice. “Because if that’s what you say, then they’ll immediately label you as an attention-seeker, or depressed or something. And like, I don’t want to be called those things. Even if they’re true, no one likes to be labeled. But really, how do you answer that question? It’s always confused me. And I know whoever’s asking that doesn’t want to hear my whole life story; they probably are just curious and don’t really care in the first place. So what do I say? Do I say nothing?” He sighed.

I studied him quietly.

“But then, how are you going to get all of this emotion out of you if you don’t tell anybody? How can you live with all of this stuff just bottled up inside you? I’ve lived like that for a long time. And then you come along.”

I looked at him, surprised. I found him looking back at me, tears in his eyes, but a small smile on his face.

“And you want get to know me or some crazy shit like that, and it’s weird. Because I’m not used to people wanting to know me, it’s different. And then you have all these problems of your own, and I really don’t need that, you know? I mean, I have enough problems; I don’t need yours too, right?”