Chapter 2
There is a knock on my door the next evening. The sun was burning brightly in the bloom of April, transparent gusts of wind balancing out the bursting heat. Luckily for the boy three doors down, there were only a few morning classes on my agenda for him to plan around.
I open the door, tucking a lock of hair into place. "Mystery boy," I greet softly.
"Afternoon to you, Valerie." I chuckle at his overly-formal greeting before shutting the door behind me as we walk the neighborhood sidewalk. The coffee shop was a good walk away, and with a day so beautiful, there was no second thought in mind to pass the opportunity of enjoying it.
"The immature boy knows old formalities, how impressive." I taunt with amusement evident in my smirk.
He nudges my arm playfully as if we're best friends tangled in our normal banter. It's odd, yes, but it's something that makes the conversation cohesive. We are two puzzle pieces from different puzzles that aren't meant to fit but somehow do. I had never considered our encounters to have any purpose or intent of the universe, but I find everything somewhat familiar. He's a mere stranger. A boy with no name, no story, and owns a stubborn cat. I'm quite nervous because of how comfortable I am. Only a few sentences tossed around and I am enraptured.
"Woah, lost in thought?" The boy waves his hand in front of my face and I am now aware of the growing silence.
"Oh sorry," I sheepishly blink into reality, my feet still moving in the right directions but my mind a blank. "I just realized I don't know your name."
At the words of my response, he smiles. It's alluring.
"Then I guess I shouldn't tell you."
"Well then, mystery boy, well then." I shrug, a little lost and dazed but still listening. "I didn't know your name was confidential."
"Secrets are a lovely thing to keep, Valerie." He tells me as we turn a corner nearing closer to the coffee shop. "A lovely thing."
"If they're so lovely then why do people get hurt over them?" I question his opinion, I had never heard such thing. What's the beauty of secrets when they destroy things, destroy people.
"There are many types of secrets to begin with." He explains. "Some will hurt, others just keep you guessing for the mystery of it. Do you know what it's like to be a mystery to the world, Valerie? It's refreshing. And I promise you, the secrets I carry will never hurt you."
"Promises and secrets are so similar, and both easily can be broken. Why should I trust you? A breathing mystery." I retort with a curiosity of what else he has to say.
"Because there is no real reason not to. In your eyes, I'm just a boy." A genuine smile - I assume, I'm not so sure - crosses his face naturally. "You have no idea who I am. Isn't that fascinating?"
I tilt my head in wonder, carefully placing my words seconds before I speak them. "I hope so."
As we arrive at the coffee shop, I have chalked up more questions than answers. He opens the door for me in a gentleman's manner, an unknown though happy expression sitting atop his features.
We order basic coffees; I a latte, him an espresso. I ask why he orders it out of sheer curiosity, he says he enjoys the simple flavor. He bounces the question to string on the small conversation, I respond a fairly similar answer but with a different arrangement of words.
"What's your life in three words, Valerie?" He asks out of the blue as we slide into opposite ends of the booth. Every time he calls me by name it's a bit irritating. It's like he knows so much more about me than I could say for him.
I don't think long before answering, "A simple one."
A sugary sweet smile tugs, so subtle it's comforting. He takes a sip of his coffee and the simple action compliments the void of simplicity. It's almost as if we have a limited amount of words and once they run out there's just silence.
"And you?" I prompt, not knowing what else to say.
"The world's stranger," He says very quickly like it was mapped out before I even asked. It's so predictable that I'm not confident it's real.
"Is that how you really think of yourself? Nothing more than a wonder upon Earth?" I suppress a grimace, masking my face to look more quizzically than disappointed.
"It's a simple truth, Valerie." He shrugs. I can't deny that I'm trying to figure him out, read him like an ordinary book and not Shakespeare. He is so fixated on what he assumes is fate that he has confined himself in a box of perception, not facts. He thinks his life is condensed into the boundaries of three short words, though I already know it's not.
"If you say," I let go of the topic completely. He's a stranger. Why should I care for a stranger so much? I awkwardly clear my throat, "So Mr. Stranger, tell me a secret, a belief, spare me any. I know there's one on the tip of your tongue."
"Well I believe," He leans over the table, his arms folded into the other. "That there is more to life than the future. Jobs, schooling, marriage, love, I know that my life is not the priority of that."
"So then what is the main priority of life?" I ponder aloud. I don't know how he does it so easily, but I am encapsulated by the vague thought of who he is. His unpredictability speaks like a poem; I don't understand it. I want to know what opinions he has to nurture for.
"This conversation," I tilt my head at his response. To that, he smiles. "As of right now, the priority of life is this conversation, nothing more."
"Don't you ever think that one day you'll regret those words?" I counter, my eyebrows knitted. "That one morning you'll wake up and realize that your future is the result of what you made a priority."
"What's your greatest fear, Valerie?" He drives away from the question; avoiding it. For what reason does he ask such thing? Like I have a clue.
"Death," I say measly, unsure if there's supposed to be a correct answer. "I fear that one day I'll die knowing that I hadn't accomplished a multitude of my dreams. That I'll never finish college, that I won't get a lifelong job, that I will never find my soulmate, that I eventually won't have a future."
"You're living your entire life in the worries of a fear." He furthers his point, with confidence might I add. "You worry about waking up in the middle of the night because you think about school and how that'll affect you. You worry that you'll never get a career or that you'll become so tangled in life that you can't control it. Worries, worries, worries."
I hate that he can read me like a simple tale while I see him as an old sonnet. I hate how well he thinks he knows me.
"I'm doing what's best for me," I argue back stubbornly. "Because I believe that those things are worth worrying for. My priority is the future."
He shakes his head nonchalantly. I hold my gaze strong against his; a flicker of flames roaring across the gloss of his eyes. In the halt of time, or as it feels, I'm confused about where I'm heading. This boy thinks so highly of himself as if he knows the secrets of the universe. There is a silence as we finish the last few sips of our coffees, our staring not as heavy as before but still very present.
"Still sure, Valerie?" He speaks abruptly, it takes me a moment to align our pages.
"Most definitely."
