All The World May Be a Stage, But We Can't All Be the Best of Actors

James walked over to the rusted heater and turned it on. My eyes wandered to the thermostat. It read a mere fifty-one degrees and I felt myself shiver. Immediately, James removed his hooded sweatshirt and wrapped it around my shoulders. I began to feel guilty that I was taking the layer of clothing keeping him warm while I had on three other layers of clothes. I began to remove it but he gave me a wordless argument, his eyes shooting glares of disapproval. I made a face and pulled the hooded sweatshirt on in entirety.

His pale skin was an unnatural shade of dappled violet. I could see the goosebumps covering him and I felt guilty again. He must have sensed me looking at him, because he turned around quickly. He locked three dead-bolts and a padlock, then slid a door stop under the door. He turned and smiled a little at me, before walking to the battered sofa. I followed him, slowly, and seated myself next to him.

James was holding his violet arms close to his body for warmth. If I had not known better, I would have offered him the sweatshirt again. However, I knew he would be upset if I did, so I kept my mouth closed.

"I suppose you want an explanation," he mumbled.

I shrugged, "If you feel it's necessary."

He nodded, "I want to tell you. Just promise not to feel sorry for me or anything, okay?"

Knowing I probably would feel sorry for him anyway, I silently lied with a nod. He would not tell me his story, otherwise.

"Well," he said, eyes focusing hard on the floor, "my parents don't work at a car dealership. Actually, they don't work anywhere."

He stopped talking for a moment, his ice blue eyes giving the rotting linoleum his usual stony glare. I waited patiently. I had learned his ways well enough to know pushing him would not help the situation.

"I'm emancipated," he continued, "because I didn't want to become what they were. They played the system, and that's what they'll always do. I didn't want to live like that. So I got a court order and got emancipated.

"I run errands for Arny Hutchins. He owned that used car dealership...you know the old place not far from your house?"

I nodded and narrowed my lips. When I was younger and I walked to school, I had been terrified of the place. Arny, the owner, was always running around the lot, watching my friends and I walk to school. He had a fair amount of stubble, and an exceptional amount of odor. I cringed at the thought of working for the man.

"Yeah, he's a weird guy," James said with a chuckle, reading my mind, "but it's the best I can do. He pays me, and gives me health benefits. That's all I can ask for, really. If I didn't smoke so damn much I might be able to afford a better place. But those patch things cost more money than the cigarettes themselves.

I guess what I'm getting at is I want to get the hell out of here. I have all my credit, besides my art credit. So, thanks for helping me with that."

I blinked a little, confusedly. He did so poorly in so many classes, I wondered how he had gotten enough credit to be up-to-date. Figuring he just blew off his classes after he had enough credit, I tried to think of a new subject, trying to remedy an awkward silence.

"Where's your bathroom?" I asked.

He pointed to the left of the two doors and I stood to walk over to it. The door creaked as it opened and closed, and the off-white paint was peeling. The toilet was kept clean and the room smelled of bleach. I looked to the sink. It was a simple metal sink, with grunge and rust covering every surface possible. It was placed inside a small piece of countertop, just big enough to hold it. There was a medicine cabinet with a mirror just above the sink and countertop. The mirror was shattered, yet appeared to be glued together with some sort of adhesive. I opened it, curious, and found nothing but a few packs of cigarettes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a shaving razor, and shaving cream. I pursed my lips, coming to the conclusion he was not doing any drugs, and closed the medicine cabinet. I flushed the toilet and ran the tap water to cover up for being inside of his bathroom, and left the room quickly.

James was smoking a cigarette when I came out. He looked so relaxed when he was smoking. Asking him to stop, even if it was ruining his lungs, would be simply inhumane.

I sat down next to him and looked at his dappled violet skin. Since he was smoking, he would not be too angry if I tried to be nice, so I wrapped his hooded sweatshirt around his shoulders. He turned and smiled at me, but took it off his back and put it around me, anyway. I sighed and slowly reached out to touch his arm.

"You're freezing," I said. "You need this more than I do."

He shook his head, "You're not used to this cold. You'll die of hypothermia or something." He laughed and patted my hand, "Keep it."

Blushing, I looked away. He stood and put out his cigarette in the plastic ashtry before asking if I wanted something to eat. I was hungry, but I was unsure if I could take his food.

"No, I'm not hungry." To my misfortune, my stomach then growled.

"Well your stomach says otherwise," he said, taking a corded telephone off the wall.

I sighed, "At least let me pay for half."

"I eat your food all the time. Here's my payment, yeah? What do you want? Pizza? Chinese?"

I shrugged, and he pressed the number three, which told me he had takeout places on speed dial. Looking to his kitchenette, I realized he only had a microwave and a miniature refrigerator. There was a stovetop, but I could tell it was broken, for most of the dials were missing, and the ones that were not were set at "high" but no fire was being produced.

I heard him order a pizza for the two of us, and he walked back to the sofa, seating himself beside me. The silence was uncomfortable. It was the same silence between two strangers being forced to sit very close on a bus. It was not our usual silence. It was as if we did not know each other.

It seemed I was waiting for him to talk, because I could not find the courage to speak aloud. My thoughts were jumbled, and I knew if I said something, I may have regretted it. He did not find a subject. He merely sat and stared at the floor, trails of bumps across his dappled arms, his jaw trembling silently.

I tried to be inconspicuous as I moved closer to him, only wanting him to be warmer. The moment I slid over, he looked up, his ice blue eyes dancing with some sort of fury. He bit his lip and his eyes softened a bit before he looked away from me. I was unsure whether to stay put or to move to my previous spot. I did not move. I did not want to offend him.

"The pizza should be here soon," he mumbled.

I smiled, "Good. Thanks again for that."

He shrugged and murmured something. I knew if I asked him to repeat himself he would be upset, so I merely waited for the pizza to come, wanting retreat from our uncomfortable silence.

There was a knock at the door. James stood and walked over, looking through the small peephole. He unlocked the four locks and took the pizza from the man. He reached in his pockets and furrowed his brow, counting his money carefully. He handed it to the delivery man, who looked up at him, skeptically.

James cocked his eyebrow and the delivery man raised his. I could tell by the look on his face that he was looking for a tip. James closed the door in the man's face and locked the locks, obviously embarassed that he could not afford to tip him.

I walked into the kitchenette, where James had opened the pizza box. I smiled at him as he got two paper plates from one of the old cupboards, handing me one. He removed two glasses from the cupboards and opened the miniature refrigerator. I peeked in it while opened it. The only items inside of it were a bottle of ranch and a jug of water.

"All I have is water. Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, water's great," I said with a smile as he poured the water into both glasses.

He handed one to me and I thanked him, taking a piece of pizza from the box and putting it on my plate.

"We can eat in the living room," he said in a small voice. I nodded and followed him, sitting next to him on the couch and putting my plate in my lap.

We ate in silence. He had put my glass on the end table next to his, and my throat was a little parched, but I held my tongue and did not drink until I had finished my piece of pizza and could stand to get it myself. I went to the kitchen and almost took another piece but I thought again. I wanted him to have leftovers, so I threw away my paper plate in the small tin trashcan.

"It's getting late," he said, looking outside an old church tower in the distance as he stood.

I nodded, "Do you want me to go?"

"No, I like you being here. But...you probably should..."

"I'd like to stay," I said, honestly.

"You won't be safe driving in the dark."

I bit my lip and realized he was right.

"Well, thank you for everything."

He pulled me into an unexpected embrace and said, "No. Thank you."