While You're In The World

We'll Still Have Each Other

I manage to go all day without talking to Neil, though the weeknight curfew is nearing and I know I can't hide from him forever. There's this horrible feeling in my gut, like butterflies, but ones with big sharp teeth and razor blade wings that are taking flight around my stomach. But as painful as it is, I'd rather this pain than whatever I was feeling last night.

It took me all day to come to the realization of why I felt so odd this morning. About why the site of Neil made me feel so sick inside. It was the same sick I felt whenever I was around Lucas Perlman, the boy who sat beside me in 7th grade science. I couldn't focus on anything the teacher was writing on the board, I could never get my work done in one class. I couldn't understand why my brain was so drawn to him, what about him made me so excited to show up to class every day. He was just some boy.

For years, I really liked Lucas as a friend. We drifted apart after that grade 7 science class, but he was always sure to wave at me in the hall, share a smile with me across the crowded lunchroom. For months on end, just the sight of him going by as fast as any other passing face in the hall made me feel like I was going to explode. And I realize now that it's because I didn't just really like Lucas as a friend. I liked him as so much more than that. So, so much more than that. 

I hear the door handle turn and in walks Neil. His eyes go wide when he sees me, and I can see regret in his face as he hesitates entering the room. I keep my eyes on the floor, but can feel his on me from the doorway. He finally sighs, closing the door carefully behind him. He walks over to his bed and plops down, so he's facing me.

"Todd, about last night,"

"It didn't matter Neil, it wasn't anything." I sit up on my bed so that my body faces his, but I cannot  will my eyes to look at him. 

"It wasn't?"

"No, it wasn't." I try to seem sure of my words, but they come out more like a question. "Right?"

"Right."

I finally manage to rip my eyes from their firm gaze at the carpet, though am forced to settle with them taking the long way up to meet his. His body is long, legs stretched out before him. My eyes trace up the ribs of his socks, up the seam of his cords, pausing a moment where his belt meets  his soft cotton sweater. I can feel my eyes rolling up his body like nails on a chalkboard. I feel sick. 

"And I mean, thank you again for the tape player," I sputter out.

"Of course, of course, I'm so glad you liked it."

The entire time we speak, neither of us look the other in the eye. It isn't until either of us can come up with anything else to say that we finally exchange glances. I want my eyes to be confident, and strong, and sure. I want my eyes to tell Neil that I'm telling the truth. I want my eyes to tell him that I truly believe that there was nothing that happened between the two of us. That we are fine. That we can go back to normal. That we never have to talk about that night ever again. Though I know it will be seared into my mind for the rest of my life, even if I live forever.

But as much as my eyes wanted to say, they're saying the complete opposite. They're saying that although what Neil and I did was wrong, that I enjoyed it. They tell the secret of all that I would give to feel Neil so close to me again. They tell of the way that my hands yearn to be around his waist, behind his back, in his hair.

Neil's eyes are loud too, though I'm unsure what with. I want his eyes to tell me all the secrets mine are spilling. I want his eyes to want me. But I know better. His eyes are fixed on me, and there isn't an ounce of warmth within them. 

Neil POV

All I can do is stare at him. That's all I can do from everything within me boiling over and spilling  down my cheeks. His eyes feel so cold on me, like he means what he's saying, which of course he means what he's saying. What happened between us didn't matter, because it wasn't anything at all. If only I could get myself to believe that.

Maybe it meant nothing at all to Todd, but I knew it meant something to me. Because even in this moment, when all I want to do is hate him, be mad at him, anything at all, I can't stop thinking about his hands, and what they would feel like. The way they would feel around my waist, behind my back, in my hair. He's probably disgusted with me, as he should be, and all I can think about is how much I want him. And how much I want him to want me back. Because I like him. I like Todd Anderson.

I can feel my palms start to grow clammy, and my heart starts racing like there is a prize to be won. But the only prize here is for Todd not to hate me, and there's no way that's going to happen if I let my stupid heart get the best of me.

"So, we're all right then?" I manage to squeak out.

His look changes, and for a split second he looks almost disappointed. But I know he isn't. I know it's all just in my head. 

"Right, yeah, we're all good." And then he does something that truly lets me know I've messed up; Todd reaches out to shake my hand.

I almost can't believe it, but I find myself reaching out, connecting his palm with mine. His fingers are firm, sure of all five of themselves. I feel my hand close around his but can't feel his hand in mine. It's like he's not even here.

We each take our hands back, and go about our ways. Todd retreats to his desk, where he buries himself in homework. I fall back into the windowsill where I start the last chapter of To Kill A Mockingbird. I can feel that the air is still tense between us, and I try to think of ways to break that tension. But before I can come up with anything, the familiar piano sounds of Elton John rise quietly from Todd's desk. A smile breaks out onto my cheeks, and although he's trying his best to hide his face, I can see Todd smiling too.

"So you uh, going to that party Charlie was talking about?" Todd asks, laying his pencil down gently on his desk top and turning towards me.

"Thought about it," I lie. Truth is, parties have never really been my thing. Not that I've ever been invited to a ton of them, but the few that I've been too haven't been overly thrilling. Drinking scares me and quite frankly tastes awful, and I always end up alone on a couch or a kitchen counter or in a corner somewhere.

"Yeah, me too." He squirms a bit in his chair before lifting himself and walking over and plopping down on his bed. "Cause I mean if you were thinking about it, I'll go if you go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I've never been much of a party goer, but I'm sure it could be fun."

"They did say the 70s was going to be the decade for wild teenage parties."

"Did they?" Todd asks, a chuckle in his voice.

"I mean, some old crank on the news said that, at least."

Todd laughs, and the sound of it ripples through my bones like a marble running down a bumpy track. It fills my brain, and I decide that I'd happily die of suffocation if it meant being consumed entirely by Todd's laughter. 

"So you'll go?" He asks, a hint of impatience in his voice, like he needs me to say yes.

"Yeah, if it means you'll go, I'll go."

"Cool."

"Yeah, cool."

"And hey, if all hell breaks loose like most of the plans Charlie makes," he says with an eye roll, dropping himself back so he's laying on his pillow. "Then we'll at least still have each other, right?" This part he says with his eyes glued right to the ceiling.

"Right," I say, barely above a whisper. We'll still have each other.