Dangerous Fellows

OUR STORY | 005

| Before the Apocalypse |
| Harry |

The ground was damp. Glistening in midnight dew that clung to the seat of my sweatpants. I was unaware of the makeshift seat she would soon offer for me to sit on; a piece of flat cardboard. A welcomed alternative to the soaked grass.
We sat together. The top of my bent knee almost touching hers. It was a small piece of cardboard.
"Thanks for all the help," she said.
I didn't think I was all that helpful. Two of the bags I'd filled, tore open and we'd spent precious time gathering up the scattered contents.
My pant legs reeked of alcohol. My mother will no doubt wonder what I'd been up to. It didn't matter. The job was complete and I would do it all over again, if it meant staying in this moment a little while longer.
The night was painted in the hue of navy blue. Not too dark to see, but dark enough to cast teasing shadows over her body. Hiding her form in campus colored Polo that matched the night's overcast.
As we sat together, the stench of grease and cheese was carried away. A rolling wind brought in a lung full of crisp fresh air. It ruffled my hair and tickled my nose.
She must've enjoyed it too, as her eyes closed and her chin turned up. Grabbing her share of the refreshing breeze.
"How do you do it?" The words fell out of me. Raw and unfiltered. Not how I would usually speak to someone. She responded nonetheless.
"Are you referring to my job?"
I nodded.
"I don't know. It's not easy, that's for sure." Her eyes were pointed to the sky. The stars, now deciding to poke out from their hiding spots behind the clouds. "I guess it gives me a sense of accomplishment. Like I can make a difference everyday. No matter how small."
"They shouldn't be treating you like that." I couldn't help my honesty. I forgot how to think before I speak. How to choose my words. It felt so natural; talking with her. A warmth began to grow, not on my cheeks, but inside my chest. And it was telling me, you can open up to her. You can trust her.
Her eyes were soft and bright. I liked her smile. It was small, thin. Sometimes a tiny flash of white peaked out, before it was pinched away again.
"Don't hold it against them. Most of them are really good kids." She sighed, still holding on to that smile. "They just can't see the effect of their actions yet. You know? It's all just a part of growing up."
"I suppose." I offered, unsure how to respond. Her patience was intriguing. Something, I don't think I could replicate. Knowing, first hand, what it meant to live with an oblivious college student; care free and unaware of their actions. It had been a running joke between my mother and I; each morning, walking into the communal bathroom, wondering what it might look like that day. It was always a mess.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" She didn't give me a chance to respond. As if a pause would result in my disappearance. A missed opportunity to answer the question she'd been so eager to ask. "We've run into each other three times now. And each time, I've never gotten your name," She giggled before she continued. "So, what am I supposed to call you?"
I matched her laugh and brushed a hand behind my head. I'd been wondering the same thing about her.
"Well, if you called me clutz, it would be an accurate descriptor." I joked.
She laughed again. I could tell she was trying to stifle it behind a small balled up fist. Not wanting to offend me and agree to my being clumsy.
I liked the sound of her laugh.
It made my chest flutter and chased away the nip of the breeze from my skin.
I couldn't stop smiling. My emotions, crystal clear, in the form of my upturned lips and fidgeting fingers.
I'd daydreamed about this moment.
Something so simple, taken for granted everyday when brushing up against a careless student or meeting a new roommate. At first, their names had no meaning. Just another person that lived in my orbit. Until I'd get to know them.
But her name, her name carried with it tingles, and butterflies, and unknown possibilities. Heat coupled with excitement. I was dying to know.
"Tell me yours first." I said. As if I were a nervous high schooler again, finding the courage to talk to my first crush. It didn't matter that her hair was sticky with punch or that I could smell the dried grease on her body. She was captivating.
And at that moment, I realized how wise she was. How much she'd already taught me. No matter what job you hold or where you're at in life, some people, special people, can remind you how incredibly rich you really are. Make you feel accomplished and help you focus on what really matters. And, to think, I would've never learned that, if I hadn't lent her a hand.
I felt so good. She made me feel good.
I could be myself around her.
It wasn't just a coincidence; the times we ran into each other. There was something calling to me. A reason why she was always on my mind.
"My name is Grace. But everyone just calls me Gray."
Gray.
I played her voice over in my mind. It was simple, beautiful and easy to remember.
Just like she was.
"Which do you prefer? Grace or Gray?"
"Well, if you call me Grace, I might not respond. It's been that long since someone's called me that."
" All right then." I said. "Gray it is."
For the first time since I'd agreed to coming on this trip with my mother, I was grateful for the adventure. If I hadn't, I wondered what I'd be doing back home; probably be working right now, the afternoon rush storming into the coffee shop. I'd have my hands full, making money and putting it away for some undecided necessity. I'd have a set schedule. A routine. Each day would look the same, excluding my one day off. I'd spend it alone. Doing chores and killing time. I'd been so long, those slow days of mine.
I'd forgotten how lonely I truly was.
"So, are you going to give me yours?" She said while bumping me in the shoulder with hers. "That's how this thing works." She playfully jabbed.
"Oh, right." I paused for a moment. I could live in this moment forever. Content with my life. "My name is–––Harry."