Oceans to Trees

Shreds

Today Mr. Swartz isn't here, which means we can't use the tools. I freaking hate these days. The only consolation is that Katie and I get to goof around and chat for a whole 45 minutes. I am looking for Katie, but I can't find her. I check in the classroom, by the dust collector, and in the storage cabinet. I climb up into the wood loft. The loft is surprisingly large but feels small when it is packed full of boards like it is now. It also smells really good, and the mixture of freshly cut cedar, walnut, and pine is relaxing. I turn on the lights, and I see Katie nestled in the cedar planks looking at the wall.

"Oh... sorry. Uh... would you like the lights off?"

"No, no, it is ok."

I turn them off again anyway. We can see fine with the light from the classroom below.

"May I join?"

She says yes. I sit down beside her, and we are quiet for a moment.

I think back to when she told me that cedar is her favorite because it smells the best, and I stuffed her backpack full of cedar scraps. When she couldn't pick it up properly, she narrowed her eyes at me and unzipped her bag only for cedar blocks to fall across the floor. Katie is normally smiling and normally so positive, so I want to ask why she has isolated herself, and I want to know why the lights are off and I want to know everything, but I am just not sure what to do.

"Are you okay?" I softly ask.

I open my eyes because he has never asked me that before. He asks how I am, but this is the first time that he has checked to ensure I was okay. And I am not.

"It's been an exhausting day."

"Can you tell me about it?"

I look at him. This is new. I mean, I know he cares about me—we deliberately seek each other out for projects, but he hasn't really done any digging. I think that because it makes him uncomfortable when people pry, he is afraid that asking is rude.

"I just, I want to know more about you," and as I set my chin on my knees, she reluctantly starts talking.

"My character origin story is kind of long," I chuckle.

I look at the clock on my phone. "I have time," I say, getting comfy among the lumber pile.

My decision to trust him was made long before this time in the loft. "Today, my enemy is memory." He nods. "You know that I was out of school for a long time..."

"Yeah."

"...and you remember me in a wheelchair last year."

"Yeah."

"But I don't think I explained that whole situation very well."

"You don't owe me any explanation if you don't want to or aren't comfortable," I say, looking up at the ceiling in a reclined position. It sounds kind of sappy, but the words feel good out of my mouth because I mean it.

"Jordan, I talk to you every day, and we spend every period in here together. You are literally my friend, so I'm comfortable talking to you." He shrugs as if to say, fair enough.

"And I mean, I know I definitely spend most of my time trying to make you miserable," I say, flicking a splintered bit of wood into his hair, "but it is all in good fun." He ruffles his hair to get the wood piece out.

"Dude, I hope you know I actually try to look presentable some days, and your antics don't help." I pull my pocket comb from my pocket and furiously smooth back down the top of my hair.