Memoirs of Class 1A: Talk You Down

Step 2: Six Degrees of Separation

There was more than a wall that separated us. Make it two or three desks. Though we're called friends, we sit four seats up and two seats to the left of each other. Not exactly diagonal, not exactly straight—just separate. More than six degrees of separation.

As I sat at my desk, I couldn't help but stare at him while he sat at his. He was perfectly still, like he hadn't been missing for more than a month. And everyone else acted like nothing had changed, too. Though we were now done by one member, it still seemed like normal. It was because their connection still remained. Their constellation was still connected, and so they were fine. They didn't care about the others in the room—they weren't part of their group. It made sense, but it hurt to see Cyril just sitting there alone.

I got up from my desk and walked over to him and put my hand on his desk. He perked up and looked at me. He was obviously surprised. I mean, I would be, too. I generally don't do these kinds of things. Especially at school.

"Why are you sitting here alone?" I asked.

He looked away. "I'm always alone."

Trying hard to not make my annoyance obvious, I said, "You're always alone because you separate yourself from others."

"No, I don't."

I pointed at the closest group to us. "Then why don't you go talk to them?"

His eyes darted back at me. His brown eyes were dull—they had lost their shine years ago. "I don't want to."

Sighing, I rolled my eyes. "Cyril, this attitude of yours is a headache to deal with."

Under his breath, he murmured, "Yours is worse, Cass."

I felt something inside me rip. Without thinking, I slammed my hand on his desk. The room became quiet. I felt everyone's eyes on me. They're probably thinking, "There goes Cassandra again," or "She should really get her anger management issue problem fixed" right now. I sighed. There was no reason for me to release my anger about my problems to him. Not when I know he's right. Still...I can't help but do the things that my instinct tells me to do.

With a softer tone, I said, "You know, it hurts me to see you like this. I would love it if you could go talk to everyone else. Then, you wouldn't be so hard to look at." I felt my heart pang. That wasn't what I meant to say exactly. Yeah, I wanted him to go talk to people...but not because he was embarrassing to look at right now. I just really wanted him to go make more friends so he wouldn't look so lonely all the time. Inside, I wanted to take it back, I wanted to fix it. But looking at his face, I knew the damage was already done.

"If I look so pathetic, don't look at me."

I looked away. "Yeah, you're right." But I didn't really mean that, either. Because even if I didn't look at his face, I still knew. I still knew that deep down, he was in pain. And because of that, I was in pain 'cause it sucks knowing that your friend is in pain.

Inside, I wished I could change everything. I wish I could change those words I said years back—change it to what I meant to say, what I could've said. But I knew it couldn't happen.

The damage was already done.

I looked back at him. The dullness of his eyes were unbearable to look at. And now, there were bags underneath his eyes—bags from all the nights he's spent up late, thinking about what he had done wrong and what he did to deserve all the shit he's been through. And just knowing that made things a lot worse. If only I could bring back that twinkle in his eye, that look in his eye that he had when we were little. Then, maybe then, everything would be better. He wouldn't be as grumpy, he wouldn't be as dim as he is now.

Suddenly, the smell of the ocean breeze popped into my head. And with it, the sound of crickets chirping and the view of the dark sky with stars twinkling in it. I suddenly felt a lot younger. That cliff near our houses that looked out at the ocean popped up.

I looked back at him. He didn't look like the type who was into nostalgia. But I knew that he needed it. And I needed it, too. So I leaned in close to him, close enough that I could smell his tufts of black, and asked, "Hey, do you want to go to the cliff tonight?"

He shot up. I shot back up. He turned to me with this hilarious look that showed that he was obviously confused and obviously thinking of the wrong thing based on the red flush painted on his face. I held in a laugh. At least he was showing a different emotion right now.

"I don't mean it in any weird way, Cyril."

"What way do you mean it?"

"Just look at the stars," I replied, "like we used to do when we were little."

His face turned back to its usual shade of brown and he looked away. Retorting, he said, "It's mid-November." But he didn't say 'no'.

"We'll bring blankets," I said. "And we could camp out there tonight since it's the weekend. It'll be fun, but we won't be doing it behind our parents' backs this time. We'll eat, stare at the stars, and have fun. Just like old times."

Murmuring, he said, "Maybe I hated the old times."

I laughed. "From what I remembered, you didn't."

He threw a glare in my direction. But it wasn't really a glare. His 'glare' was more like a look that a cat would give you when they were annoyed with you. And I should know—his resemblance to Oscar was uncanny.

"I don't think our parents would let us."

"They wouldn't let you spend the night with any girl," I agreed. "But I'm not any girl, Cyril. I've been your best friend since we were toddlers. You'd think they'd trust me enough to let me spend a night with their son."

"I'm behind on practice."

"Cyril, you always say that," I murmured, "but you always go out with me, anyway."

"Well, I'm really behind on practice."

"You can make up for it tomorrow," I said, "but tonight, we're going to camp out and stare at the sky until we pass out. It'll be fun and chill in more than one way."

He grumbled. But looking at his face, I knew I had him sold. And soon, his words finally agreed with his face. "Fine." I felt my face light up. "You'll bring blankets and tents and I'll bring food." The wall was starting to fall down. I grinned.

"Meet you there at 6 o'clock."