Sit Right Here

I don't know what it is about tonight that's making me so nervous. Blue has spent the night at my place plenty of times before. But never have we... you know. And I guess that's what's messing with my head. The fact that I've known that I liked Blue as much as I do, for as long as I have, but never have I felt like it was going to go anywhere.

After all, he's Blue, the guy I'd do anything for, the guy who made my stomach turn circles like on the ferris wheel.

I don't know when Blue and I first met. I just have trouble remembering a time when we weren't friends because he always just seemed to be there. Every memory I have of high school, he's a part of. He's just there, in the back ground or right up front. Either way he's the one distracting me.

In my room, I'm lying on the bed in a pair of gym shorts and a teeshirt, the outfit that I usually let myself sleep in. I'm staring at the ceiling, and the lights are off, but I'm on top of all the blankets because I'm not quite ready to sleep yet. I don't really feel like sleeping, and there's too much running through my mind for me to really shut down and doze anyway. I don't know where to go from here. My lips are still tingling from the kiss and it's all I can think about.

Blue, kissing me.

Me, kissing Blue.

And the fact that he'd stopped and pulled away.

What did that mean? Did that mean I was bad at kissing? Did it mean that he'd gotten a taste and, eh, it wasn't as great as he'd thought it would be. And the fact that he'd been so quick to say he'd stay on the couch instead of my room, where he usual sleeps when he stays at my house. Blue always stays in my room, on the floor, or we stay up all night smoking out the window that's right next to the bed.

There's a tap at the door, then it opens slowly.

I jerk upright, and my eyes fall on Blue standing there. He's still completely dressed, and his hair is sticking up oddly as though he's been lying down on it for a long time. Which he probably had been. “Hey,” He says. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him, leaning against the wood.

I can't seem to formulate words in my mouth, so I just smile at him. Nervously, no doubt. I bet it's written all over my face, how jittery he makes me feel.

He comes over to the bed. My breath catches and I feel my face heat up. “Open the window,” He says, pulling a pack of camels from one of his pockets.

I lean to the side, get on my knees and force the window up, and suddenly a gust of cool air rushed through the gap. I restrain from shivering.

From another pocket he retrieves a lighter, then he hands me a cigarette before I can even ask him for one. He lights mine with a steady had, then his own.

We sit for a while, smoking.

It's not burning down my throat or anything. I'm far past the point where shit like this burns.

And sitting here reminds me of all th things that Blue knows about me. How he knows why I live alone even though I'm only eighteen. How he knows that I do drugs but not because feel the need to impress people. He knows who I've kissed, how far I've gone. My favorite drink. My favorite fucking TV show.

What do I know about him? Very little. I don't even know why he's here right now in the first place. I don't know the reason why he was kicked out of his house on a Sunday night.

He removes the cigarettes from his lips, and crosses his legs on the bed. One of his elbows rests on his knee, and he cheek rests in his palm. He looking at me, and I'm avoiding eye contact with him.

“What are you thinking?” He asks me, and I finally move my eyes to his. I take a drag.

“I don't know.” I say. Once again, all my usual talkativeness has left me, and I'm reduced to a puddle of nervous mush because I don't know how to deal with feeling this strongly about a person.

“You don't know?” Blue's tone is quiet, and he's smile, but it's also slightly incredulous. “You have to know what you're thinking.”

I just shook my head. “I dunno dude. I'm know what I'm thinking... It's just too much for words to express all at once I guess.”

Blue nods understandingly. “Well I know what I'm thinking.”

I look at him again, curiously. “Oh yeah? What.”

He smiles and flicks ash onto the window ledge. “When I was little, we used to have this porch in front of house house, and my mom and I would sit there, for like, hours, just watching the street.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There wasn't that much to see, but it wasn't like he had anything to do.” He paused and bit his lip. “My mom died of lung cancer when I was like, twelve or something.” He actually laughed as he looked down at the wasted cigarette in his fingers, then took a last drag and tossed it out the window. “When she was in the hospital, she's call me over to her and be like, 'Blue, sit right here. Just right here.' She didn't want to talk of anything, but she just wanted me to be with her, because she didn't want to die alone.”

He shook his head violently, and I looked away from him again because I didn't want to see the emotions on his face. I couldn't hear what he was feeling from his voice. It was completely flat and detached.

“The point is,” He started again, and I forced myself to look at him. He was looking down at his hands in his lap. “I was just thinking, that when I'm with you, I feel like I did when I sat on my porch, or when I sat with my mom. Like, with you I can just sit, and... be, I guess.” He shook his head again. “That's so dumb.”

“No it's not.” I speak up, and try to get him to look at me by gazing at him intently, waiting for him to look up.

He finally does.

I lean in and kiss him again.