Third Time's a Charm ✓

eighteen

THURSDAY. 17. MARCH. 2022.

THE WEEK HAD been busy— busier than I had expected— and it wasn't until Thursday that Archie and I ended up seeing each other again.

After staying over on Saturday night, I spent most of Sunday with my aunt Sandra and drove myself home after dinner. When I got home, I called Archie. I almost didn't expect him to pick up and I think I must've echoed his surprise when I first heard his voice. It had been brief and tense, but I had asked to see him when he wasn't busy and he said he would be free Tuesday since he was hanging out with his friends on Monday (which worked for me because I had homework to catch up on anyway).

But Tuesday came around and he didn't turn up to school. Worried and trying to soothe the waves of our lingering storm, I called him at lunch to see if we were still seeing each other, but he didn't answer.

It made me anxious and I felt that relentless tugging in the pit of my stomach, but he texted me during last period telling me that he was sorry he missed my call; that he was sick; that he would see me when he was better. I almost wanted to go over, to check on him, but managed to convince myself that I shouldn't. I wasn't sure how much he would appreciate it. In fact, I was mostly sure that it would only bother him. So, I waited.

Wednesday, he was still sick. Jude told me that he had a migraine and that he would most likely be better by Thursday which I was relieved to hear. I was growing itchy with impatience and whenever I thought of Archie I felt all jittery and restless.

Funnily enough, now I was here, sitting across from him, and I was still feeling all jittery and restless.

He hadn't come into school today either, but he had assured me that he would still be able to meet me later in the evening so we could talk.

We were sitting in a quiet cafe halfway between my house and his. It was only mid evening, but it was already dark outside. All day, the sky had been grey and heavy with thick, dim clouds suffocating the sun. What had been an endless downpour this morning and afternoon had thinned into a fine, hot drizzle, the rain falling like little dragonflies diving into the pavement and splitting there.

An uncertain silence hung over us. Only a handful of people were dotted around the cafe, the faint background music and incoherent muttering of the few other customers humming underneath the quiet.

I stared at Archie; Archie stared off towards the floor. He looked tired and I could feel the combined weight of exhaustion pooling in my bones. The bags under his eyes were dark and prominent; his eyes fractured with red, like blood seeping from the glazed window of his irises. His hair was dishevelled and looked like he had tried to brush it down but had promptly given up. His shoulders were sagging forward, as he slouched back, and he remained perfectly still.

By the time I arrived, he was already here but he didn't look at me when I sat down, only nodded his head in acknowledgement. He looked like he was somewhere far away. I wished I had a map of his brain so I could find out where and meet him there. Instead, I kept waiting for the right second to pierce the silence. Not only had he not so much as glanced at me, he hadn't opened his mouth yet.

My heart twisted in my chest, like someone was holding it and squeezing all of the blood out. "Arch," I said, still staring at him.

He didn't move. I don't even think he heard me.

"Arch," I repeated.