pencil shavings

eighteen: matt

It's like it isn't even real.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

Rain pours.

"It's my brother," he says, turning away. There isn't a word for the soft tone in his voice. Like every word is a house of cards, or a basketball on your fingertip. "Dan - his name's Dan. I - I don't know where he is."

Peter fully faces me with his shy eyes.

"And I don't have a good feeling. Dan - he's not like you or me. He's got something inside him that..." Peter looks away a second time, and something in the moment fizzles out. "I don't know. That's all. I don't know if he's okay. And - and I need him to be okay."

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. I nod once and force myself to not run a hand through my hair.

Looking at his downturned eyes, I curse why, for all that schooling and for all those practices, no one ever taught me what to tell a friend when they needed more than crappy comfort words. I guess until now it hadn't been an issue.

"Hey," I whisper hoarsely. And because there is nothing else for me to say, I add, "it'll get better," and force as much sincerity behind the words as possible.

Now Peter nods once.

And since both of us are shaking with cold, I lead him into the house and hand him a towel and let him use the shower and the dryer. I try not to think about what he must think of our mansion.

We leave the house once he digs up his change of clothes from out of his trash bag, silently agreeing on coffee. It's Peter who recommends that place where Sam brought us.

Avoiding the topic of all things sentimental, we talk about her, and I guess it's nice.

"She's nice," I start, arching my eyebrows at him.

"Yeah. 'Nice' in the sense of 'wow she's the real-life child of a PTA mom and Shakespeare.'"

I bite down my smile.

"And she's kinda cute," I prompt.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"You don't."

"Irrelevant."

"Oh no it's not."

"Did you ever stop to wonder if maybe that's because I don't want one?"

"Did you ever stop to wonder if maybe that's because you're so freaking insecure?"

"Shut up, you gel-headed, faux-therapist," he growls.

I can't help myself after that.

"Oh, that's right," I drawl, "couldn't remember you had all the ladies."

His eyes are cold as the clouds. "You know, for a moment there I forgot you were a complete ass."

"I won't let it go to my head."

"Does anything get into that brain of yours anyway?"

I glower. Why do I try?

But Peter isn't finished. "You know - I think they could do a brain scan, and there would be such minimal activity in your pathetic excuse for a human frontal lobe you may need to break up with your girlfriend - I mean do you really expect her to date a corpse?" 

"You like Sam." 

"Unless she's into the whole undead-zombie-thing of course..." 

"It's obvious." 

"Did you ever read that spoof on a road trip during the zombie apocalypse? Oh right - you can't read. Awkward." 

"Yep, it's a big crush." 

He finally looks at me and grits his teeth. 

"As if she'd like me." 

Pause. 

"I told you it's insecurity." 

He scowls. 

"But in all honesty" - his eyebrows flick up, though he won't look at me again - "I think she does like you." 

Pause. 

"This conversation is over." 

I sigh and stuff my hands in my pockets. I suppose Rogers encompasses all the friends I need anyway - I mean, this is clearly a waste of time. 

But then Peter shifts beside me, slowing nearly imperceptively. "She is different though," he says, not so loudly as before. He still doesn't meet my eyes. 

"Like if a hippy had a kid with a-" 

"Don't finish that." 

"Good idea." 

Pause. 

"It's a good different." Peter smiles when he says it, glancing at me with a confidence I have never really seen from him before. His green eyes are incredible when they glow with that amount of life. 

"Yeah. A good different," I say again, because some things need to be repeated. 

A nod. "A good different." 

I know the conversation is really over then, but I don't mind. The silence between us is oddly comfortable. He's still a dumb piece of work, but those are just stupid words I like to throw around, and the reality is so much more. Just knowing that we talked is enough to set off a green flash on the horizon of a west-coast sunset inside me.