Before I can sit down on the dusty hardwood floor, Michael is standing up. "Let's go out there, then," he gestures out the window. "It's kind of hard to breathe in here." I follow him back down the stairs and out through the hallway, this time able to guide myself. The slight light allows it.
"Come this way," Michael says, leading me through one of the open fields. The air is perfect, the chill just enough to combat the heat of the sun. Michael and I walk in comfortable silence to the edge of the grass, where a long concrete runway splits the field in two. Michael stands at the edge while I curiously step onto the pavement, reveling in the way it feels like springy rubber under my feet. Michael joins in my laughter as I bounce up and down a little on the balls of my feet.
I sit down, cross legged in the middle of the runway, and gesture for Michael to join me. He looks confused, but he steps onto the pavement and sits across from me.
"I have a proposition," I tell him.
"Enlighten me."
"Let's play a game."
His eyebrows knit together conspiratorially. "A game?"
"Yes."
"What kind of game?"
"A game where I ask you questions and you answer them."
Michael rolls his eyes. "I don't think so."
"Hear me out," I plead. "I dragged my ass out of bed before the sun was up, jumped across a river, scaled a fence, entered a deteriorating building, all for you, someone I barely know."
"So?" He challenges.
"So let me know you."
"What do you want to know?" He asks, caution in his eyes. Now that the question is out in the open, I find it hard to hone in on one thing.
"You didn't go to college?" I ask.
"Nope," he rolls his eyes again.
"Why not?"
"Because I hated school. You have terrible questions."
"I'm just trying to avoid asking you something that you don't want to answer," I huff. This gives me an idea. "Wait here," I tell him. Not like there are a variety of places that he could go.
"Where are you going?" Michael asks. I just ignore him as I stand up and walk back to the edge of the grass, combing through the fallen leaves scattered in the grass. I pick out three colors, several green, a handful of yellow, and a few red. Michael gives me a look of pure confusion as I lay out the collection of leaves in front of us. "What are these for?" He asks.
"Green questions are easy," I hold up a green leaf. "Yellow questions are a little more difficult," I hold up a yellow leaf. "Red questions are a no-go."
"Where are you going with this?" He asks.
"I'm going to ask you a question, you tell me what color it is."
"Okay..." he is watching me warily.
"What is your middle name?" I start with.
The corners of his mouth twitch up a little. He never once breaks eye contact with me as he reaches for the small pile and holds up a green leaf. "Gordon," he says.
"What do you do for a living?"
Michael holds up a yellow leaf. "How do I answer yellow questions?" He asks.
"Answer them as well as you feel comfortable with," I shrug.
"Okay. I work for my... parents, but that has become a little complicated recently." He stops talking, and I understand that that is all he is going to say. That was yellow.
"Are you rich?" I blurt out. Michael's eyes are alight with humor as he holds up a green leaf.
"Yes," he says.
"Are you rich because of your parents?" I ask.
Michael holds up a red leaf. Oh.
I change tactics. "Where were you born?" Yellow leaf. Why? That's an easy one.
"Not here," he says. That's all.
"If you're rich, why do you live in that apartment?"
Yellow leaf. "I was told that I needed to start taking care of myself, making a living for myself. So I decided to try and do that like any normal person my age would."
"You don't consider yourself normal?"
Red leaf.
I change tactics again. "Have you learned to use a dishwasher?" I ask.
Michael laughs a throws a green leaf at me. "I might need you to show me," he laughs.
I hold up a red leaf. "I am not doing your chores for you," I raise my eyebrow and he laughs again, louder this time. The sound travels out into the nothingness but also seems to echo back to us.
For the next hour, I ask only green questions. During this time, I learn that Michael is allergic to cinnamon, he likes cats more than dogs, his hair has been a lot of colors but purple is his favorite, and that he wears jeans as often as he can. Very tight jeans, I might add. He jokingly holds up a red leaf when I ask how long it takes him to get them on in the mornings.
I lie back on the pavement while Michael talks about a teacher that he had in third grade. The sun warms my face and I feel an odd sense of peace wash over me.
"We should get going," Michael says after a few minutes of silence. "I have a thing tonight."
"A thing?" I ask.
"A rich people thing," he shrugs. "It's for my parents. I have to wear a suit."
"I'm sure you'll enjoy that," I laugh as I stand up.
"Um. Maybe, uh. You could come, if you want," he fumbles.
"I probably shouldn't," I say. "I just started working for your sister, we didn't even tell her that we knew each other."
"We didn't know each other," he laughs.
"Do you think we do now?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "Even without the red questions, I've told you more than anyone else knows."
"Oh," I am a little surprised, but I got that feeling. Why is he choosing me to open up to, of all people?
We walk to edge of the runway together, and I find that I am sad to leave. I will definitely be coming back here, no matter how early I have to get up. I feel like I got to lose myself in the world for a moment.
As we step off the pavement and into the grass, Michael presses a red leaf into my hand, his fingers brushing mine.
"What's this for?" I ask.
"Keep it," he says. "A free pass to ask a red question sometime." He gives me a small smile before gently tugging on my wrist and walking back the way we came.
