Solo & Gangly

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Train Ride North

For over twenty minutes, Solo had looked over the very limited menu. He flipped it over and back again at least a hundred times, as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on the laminated cardstock.

The waiter wasn't amused either. Impatiently he stood there, waiting to take our order.

"Heirloom Bean soup for the lady," Solo finally said, making a face, "and I'll take the mushroom avocado burger with a side of roasted carrots. Numi organic High Mountain black iced tea for her and the organic house made lemonade for myself with a side of sugared lemons."

When the waiter nodded and went to put the order in, I kicked Solo under the table, causing him to jump.

"Ow. What was that for?" Solo demanded.

"Why did you order for me?"

"It's what the gentleman does," he said, his tone belittling.

"Not in this country," I mumbled under my breath and sulked down in my chair.

"Perhaps it should be," he retorted. "I apologize for telling you to shut up earlier. I was cold and wet, and I don't do well at funerals; especially funerals for mothers."

Most would have pressed it, but I didn't want to talk about the funeral so I nodded and left it at that.

When we had gotten to the car, Solo got the door for me, offered me a hand I was too oblivious to take, to help me get in. He stood in the doorway at the foster home and watched me pack, holding one bag while I packed the other. When we got to the restaurant he got the car door for me again, then the door to the restaurant, pulled my chair out and offered to take my coat.

It wasn't normal for people to do that, especially in this century.

Of course, it made me paranoid.

"You're staring," Solo complained.

I was.

There was something about him that made me stare, and more often than not, glare. Solo wasn't a bad looking guy, but there was something about him that annoyed me which was weird since he had said very little to me since I met him and was rather polite when not barking orders at me in frustration. His features were delicate, almost feminine, which I assumed was because of his partial Asian heritage. Frame was lean and lanky, and almost drowning in his slightly oversized clothing that made them baggy on his lithe build.

"Why aren't guys like that in this country?" I asked, trying to conversation.

Everyone will attest that silence with strangers was a bad combo and it caused me to ramble incoherently. Once I started talking, I couldn't shut up.

I didn't want to talk.

I didn't want to feel.

I didn't want anything other than to be alone in the dark where I didn't have to face the world until I was ready to.

A part of me hated Dad even more because he was taking that from me just as he took my mother from me.

Solo shrugged. "I can't speak for all of my gender; I can only speak for myself."

Of course, he was going to leave it at that. That's what guys did, in my experience.

"And why is that?" I asked.

He gave me a look. "Are you using me in order to keep from rambling?"

Again, I kicked him under the table.