Marked with Silence

The staring started up again when Sapphira and I walked into school the next week, side by side and talking. Although, I was pretty sure that she was the main cause of it. Girls’ eyebrows rose as they whispered questions. Boys’ head shook while they sneered. Out of all the people at school, Sapphira had chosen to use her vocals and keep the company of the guy that had only been there for a little more than three weeks. Somewhere, they couldn’t figure out where it all added up.

I kept my word. I didn’t make any moves. We did the things that friends did: we talked, hung out, texted, called. I let her set the pace. She dictated anything that surpassed the realm of friendship—the touching and the flirting. Surprisingly, she was quite the flirt: messing with my hair, teasing, giggling. Sometimes it was too much.

I walked with her to her house almost every day after school. We hung out in her bedroom (with the door always open of course, when her aunt and or uncle was there) until my mom came to pick me up right before dinner. I mostly talked of all the places I’d been while she listened intently—sometimes playing a board game or cards while holding the conversation.

She no longer gave me the silent treatment, but she was far from talkative, so I held on to every word that she said. But even after a month of friendship, I didn’t know as much about her as I should have had. But I guessed I knew enough. Her favorite color was the shade of pink the sky turned at sunset. She hated soda. She used to be popular. It was the “used to be’s” compared to the present that made her so intriguing. And when I had tried to piece it all together, I didn’t think I would have recognized the girl that she was a year ago. They didn’t seem to fit at all. I wondered if I would have like the old her. I wondered how honest my feelings were if I only liked who she was now.


“D-3.”

I smiled, “Miss.”

She scowled.

“A-7.”

“Hit,” she groaned. I had already sunk two of her battle ships, while all of mine were still on the board. “How can anyone be better than another at this game? It’s just guessing.”

“And yet I’m clearly the better player,” I replied smugly.

She made a face at me.

“Why do you have all these games anyway?”

Over the last month we had played a variety of games: Monopoly, Chinese Checkers, Jenga.

“Uh,” she looked away. “My family was really cheesy. Every other Sunday was Game Night.”

I was a little shocked that she almost didn’t have any trouble responding. Every subject that touched on her family was a sensitive one. I had to be careful of my words, and chose which questions I really wanted answers to.

I nodded, “Which game is your favorite?”

“It’s a Filipino card game. Pusoy Dos. Ever heard of it?

I shook my head.

“It’s like Poker,” she explained. “You go around trying to beat each other’s hands so you can get rid of your cards first. It’s a little complicated.”

“Let’s play,” I suggested. “Will you teach me?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s um, usually a four-player game.”

I knew that she was thinking about her family right then. I carefully studied her face for any signs of crumbling.

But no, this wasn’t a moment to breakdown for her. Sometimes, when her mind couldn’t help but wander to the past, she’d open up her entire soul to me. During these times, she’d voluntarily give me another part of herself. Sapphira’s thoughts would go to a distant area of her mind, and she’d let me know everything.

“I can lose it in seconds,” she began. “I could be thinking about my brother’s last birthday or the smell of my dad’s cologne, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from crying. I hate not having control of myself. Time hasn’t made it easier, or made me stronger. I can still weep over them like they just died yesterday.”

I slightly shook my head, “That’s not true. Considering what you went through, I’d say that you were remarkably strong. You continued living.”

“Is it still that remarkable when I didn’t continue living my life before? I didn’t cope. I copped out.”

I laid my fingertips on the top of her hand, “You’re still remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly.

“No problem.”

She looked straight into my eyes then, “You’re kinda great too.”

I thought I loved her. Both Dylan and my mom told me that the notion was stupid, considering we hadn't even truly kissed yet, but I was so attracted to her. I had never felt so strongly about another person. Sapphira made me feel so many different emotions. She made me feel protective, and caring, and happy. But I didn’t know how to be certain. I had heard a lot of different things about love—from friends and television. Some sources say that you just know, and others that it’s something that gradually develops. I tried to tell myself that I needed the romance to really know, but deep down I didn’t believe it. I was pretty sure that I loved her.

I didn’t move my hand, and she didn’t oppose the contact. If this were any other girl I would have leaned over, and would see if she would let me kiss her. The urge was overwhelming, but I knew that with Sapphira the action would be futile.

‘On her terms,’ I reminded myself. ‘Don’t screw this up.’

“You must think I’m a tease,” she said, seeing that my gaze was on our touching hands.

“What? No.” I snapped out of my thoughts, “We’re just friends, remember?”

“I’m afraid to take this further.” She started biting her bottom lip, “But I really do want to.”

“What you are afraid of?”

“Of missing you,” she admitted. “It’s easy to say that I am the way I am for other people’s benefit, but I’m not that selfless. I don’t think I can survive losing another person. And you can’t guarantee that you won’t have to pack up and leave me next week.”

She was right; I couldn’t make her any promises.

“Please don’t hold that against me,” I pleaded. “I’ve been holding that against myself long enough.” I had told her about Melinda. “Trust me; I don’t want you to hurt me as much as you don’t want me to hurt you.”

I noticed that we were closer—both of us had leaned in. Our faces were inches apart, but neither had crossed over the imaginary line that the Battleship boards had made between us.

“It’s your move Sapphira,” I reminded.

She crossed the line.

She kissed me softly. God, her lips were so warm, and I surprisingly liked that they were chapped. There were no hands on faces or arms around necks, just lips on lips. And it made me feel so good.

I loved her.