Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 30

I'm driving blindly until I blink out of the numbness that had echoed all over my body.

The familiar views of dilapidating housing and deteriorating neighborhoods roll into my view. Barely remembering to lock the car, I get out and walk to the entrance of the apartment block.

What do I say?

I nod at man at the front desk who barely registers it because it is probably normal for young men to stroll into dubious areas of city at such hours.

What do I say?

There is undeniable shame in me, an irrational conceptualization that I was somehow responsible for Lyra's misery, some part of it. The unfounded sense of needing to apologize for something I didn't know was wrong, a baseless berating of myself.

So when Kathy opens the door and her face darkens I say what every guilty person says,

"It's not my fault,"

And I don't know who I'm trying to convince, myself or Kathy. She looks at me untrustingly for a few seconds and then brown eyes smoothen into a gentle hue of understanding. She opens the door wider and beckons me inside.

"She's in her room." She says and then gives me a plate with a sandwich on it, "Get her to eat something,"

..........

The door is ajar, and there is silky shadow of light glowing inside. I press both my forehead and palm against the door because what do I say?

"Room service," I try and give a warning knock before pushing the door open with my palm.

The bed looked huge compared to the small figure curled up in a fetal position in the middle. It's almost impressive to see how she has managed to fold all her long limbs into a space that can be found uncomfortable by a three year old.

I place the food on the desk and sit on the chair. Leaning forward opening my mouth to speak, I say the first thing that comes to mind,

"I'm sorry,"

And I think she's asleep. She doesn't answer me for a long time. Or maybe it just feels like a long time. The silence stretches on and the rain droplets which looked like liquid glass glazing the view.

"As much as I would love to have another reason to not like you," she says finally and my heart leaps. "You can't take credit for this one,"

It's not your fault, stop doing that to yourself.

She sits up and her long hair parts to reveal those big, sad greys. They are looking at me unblinkingly. Her face is mellow and tender soaked in the light and tears she is holding back. All the harshness, all the anger has diffused into one scared little girl.

And she knows it. She hates it.

"Did you walk back here?" I nod smelling the rain in her wet hair

She nods.

"You are an idiot," I inform her and she snorts

"You say that to all crying girls, Romeo?"

"Oh fuck off,"

She laughs a little and tosses her hair back, leaning against the wall. She looks at me—shyly?

"Earlier," she clears her throat, "I was being rude, sorry, you were just being...trying to help,"

Oh. Right.

Why do you care?

And I had dropped my hand not because I was offended or was worried I had offended her (certainly not) but it was because I was struck by how even I wasn't aware of the answer.