Dead Boys // Sam Fender

8

I have a lot of practice running. I've always been a runner. I ran cross country in high school, I run with my dogs daily, and I run from my problems. My friends vaguely know my struggles, but they let me hide from them. I haven't told a soul at college the real reason I went so far away, which allows me to pretend that they don't exist. Running and hiding has always been easier. 

You can't run away every time you tell me something raw and real.

Sam, a guy that I've known for a very short time, is the first person that has told me to stop running. Because my family's problems are so stigmatized and unfamiliar to many, nobody has ever known what to do with me when I explode. They let me run because they'd run too. For some reason, Sam isn't running.

He's still holding onto my arm, preventing my escape. I turn to look at him, and ask, "Why aren't you running? You don't know me, you don't have a moral obligation to listen to my problems, so why not go back to your friends and let me go?"

"Because I know what it's like to lose someone and have everybody else pretend like it didn't happen. It sucks when you lose a friend or family member to suicide because the one person you want to talk to about it is gone. You and I lost different people for different reasons, but I know what you're going through, and it sucks, and I'm sorry. If I can be someone that you talk to about it then I should be, because everyone deserves a proper, judge-free moment to explode." 

His eyes show understanding, not pity. I don't know how to respond because I've never had anyone try to understand my thoughts and feelings. 

"Well, alright then," I finally break the silence, "if we want to catch Tame Impala, then we ought to get moving."

--

We walked back to the main stage quickly and quietly. It wasn't awkward, I think we'd just needed a minute to stop talking and thinking about sad stuff. I came to the festival to have fun, not dig up bad memories. Plus he was still holding my hand, and I don't think my brain could have put together full sentences or focus on anything other than how sweaty my palms probably were. I texted Anna and Ben in the meantime to plan a spot to meet up at the end of the final show. 

After some strategic maneuvering, we secured a solid spot in the crowd. Because we were late, Sam was behind me rather than by my side. While not ideal, he'd rested a hand softly around my hip to let me know that he was still there. 

As the show went on, we swayed and danced together, just having a great time. My eyes were probably closed most of the time, as I soaked in the moment and listened to the art that is Tame Impala's work. Naturally as the crowd gets closer and gaps shrink, I felt my back pressed up against Sam and his arms wrap around my waist. I could hear him singing along in my ear. I don't know the last time I was this close to a guy, let alone a really attractive guy that I've known for such a short time, but I didn't mind. This is why I came. To be act free and enjoy myself. 

In the middle of "Breathe Deeper" I turn to look up at him, "This is awesome, and you're awesome, and I'm so glad you didn't let me run."