Excuse Me

New Kid

"Excuse me." The scent of that phrase lingered in the air. It was so strong I began to see it, everything around me became a harsh green color.

Another excuse me pierced through the cloud and struck me in my face. Disrupted from my thoughts I turned to face the archer who had been shooting these bows in the form of excuse me. There, stood an unfamiliar, impatient young man, who I came to learn wanted directions to the town's library. Soon he was gone, and I, after a brief yet pleasantly intimidating interaction with this stranger, was left wanting more.

Our seemingly meaningless exchange of words had left me with nothing to hold onto. I had gained nothing from it, except the knowledge that this person could read and had an impatience about him.

It is the subtle shift in tone, or the slightest increase in a heartbeat that one should beware of. These small happenings are what pave the way for the most catastrophic events, like a small bird eating a worm, not knowing that the worm was coated in pesticides from the plants it wriggled in, and ends up dead, all for the immediate satisfaction of leaning into the pushes of its hunger.

With every block of pavement on the road from the cafe to my building I counted my steps. During the 17 years of this custom I had gathered it took 1012 blocks, 3 steps in each block, and ultimately 3036 steps for me to get home. Getting lost in the numbers and the pattern was never a distraction, but a task which I simply completed and did not question. Today however, each step in each block took me farther out of my head, took me farther away from that inner craving for a deeper dive into the life of this brash stranger.

The cafe is the closest taste of luxury I get after leaving my neighborhood. I gladly trade in dice on the corner and drug fiends for shallow banter and a latte. Every day this summer has been filled with the same routine, walk there, read a book, drink a drink, walk back, repeat. Now this boy comes in to throw it all in the blender.

I dreamt of him. A red dream. One of those that feels so real you can feel every swipe of their fingers on your cheeks. Here, now, that did not matter. I wrapped myself in that sweet dream, prepared to live in it.

I woke up dirty. Fingerprints and bite marks left all over my body. Unable to decide whether I hated or loved it, similar to how one feels after doing a bad thing and getting away with it, like stealing a candy bar or sneaking out. This was an unknown feeling, a new drug that I was experimenting with. I felt like its residue was glowing on my skin, so I hopped in the shower, keeping the water as hot as I could, trying to purify myself.

On today's walk to the cafe, the usual numbers were replaced by the stranger.

Had he thought of me after our encounter yesterday?

Was he eager, as I was, to converse again?

I knew the answer was no, but I still chose to dwell in this fantasy a moment longer, pressing snooze on the alarm of reality.

Later on my walk, the realization of my obsession with this man I had barely even met became apparent, and I was disgusted with myself. I grew to hate him for changing me, for twisting my mind into this dark, thorny forest which it had never been before. Rage overcame me with the knowledge that I let a stranger do that to me.

Nearing the cafe, I put my anger on the backburner, for I knew I would be able to read in peace. It was early morning, and the usual rich kid crowd didn't arrive until mid-afternoon.

I looked around to see which corner I would sit in today, I heard my heart hit the stone floor. I stood in an empty cafe, apart from the stranger. He had to have followed me here. He had to have somehow known I would be here. Why can't I catch a fucking break?

Taking the seat farthest from him was no use. He knew I was here. A solid 20 minutes passed by, then I felt the sear of his eyes on the back of my neck. Finally turning to face him, I was surprised to find kind green eyes, that grew lighter with each blink, staring back at me. A foreign fear ran through my body. I returned his friendly gaze with a grimace in an attempt to mask that fear. He was not shaken. I needed to submerge the horrifying effect he had on me. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my book.

We didn't speak. We occasionally snuck glances at each other, but we didn't speak.

I had no friends in the affluent part of town. No one to ask things about him. I was just as alone as he was, sitting in a cafe, early in the morning with a blue book, a book I presume he got from the library I directed him to. Without me he wouldn't have that book. Without me he would have nothing. Thinking that felt good, but wasn't exactly what I wanted.

For the next two weeks, every single morning, there he was. It didn't take him long to move on from the blue book to a yellow one. I wondered what he was reading, and if it was really good enough for him to devour it as quickly as he did. Just looking at him made me upset, so I left.

Pacing down the street, counting 1, 2, 3, then starting over as I reached a new block of pavement, a familiar "Excuse me" came from behind me. It flew completely over my head, as I was entranced by my steps, the excuse me grabbed my arm. I was shocked and tried to pull away.

"Sorry."

No words came up in time as I stared at none other than the stranger, now in front of me, just as he had been the day we met.

"You left your book in the cafe." He handed me the small hard-cover book.

A quiet "thank you" managed to escape me. I felt flames within. Not the warm fire you make love in front of with the man of your dreams, but the fire that conquerers use to set entire villages ablaze. The kind of fire that ruins someone's life. All I could do was look at that man with that same fire in my eyes.

"Did I do something to you?" Him asking this made me want to leave a handprint on his face.

"Why would you ask that?"

"You always look at me like you hate me." He wasn't wrong. Maybe he was more observant than I had thought.

"I don't even know you."

"Well maybe you could get to know me?" He was bold. This made my cheeks warm.

"I don't know."

"Now that you're all red I can tell you like me." I guess I wasn't too black to blush after all.

"Whatever." I walked away.

I felt as if I had just won a game of chess against a worthy opponent. Now I had left him wanting. He would be thinking of me. He would crave my presence, my being. I could bask in this feeling forever.

The following morning he was at the cafe as I had predicted. Instead of taking my seat at the other end of the room, I made my move. I waltzed over to his table, and sat directly across from him.

He did not look up from his book. He wanted me to notice what he was doing, being cold, just as I had been yesterday. I wanted nothing more than to snatch that yellow book out of his hands and say LOOK AT ME, but I played along. I could be an even bigger bitch.

I got up to leave, hoping I was making the right move in this game. He finally looked up and said "You don't have to go."

Checkmate.

By the day's end, I had learned his name was Forrest, he was new in town, he was 18 years old and he wanted to take me out.

I was taught that if a boy wants more than sex, he'll ask more than once, so I said no the first time. The second time, a few days later, I said maybe. I was hoping that he would see my denies as code for please keep asking and see what I say. The third time, I said yes.