Wrists

“Graham.”

I only just sat down in the coffee shop with my steaming cup when he approached me, hands in his tight jean’s pockets. I only glanced at him, and then quickly turned my head towards the window, afraid he’d be able to see that I cried in my car that morning. He let out a soft, strained sigh as he lowered himself in the chair across from me. I continued to avoid his eye.

“Graham.” He repeated. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I’m just a mess.

“You’re lying.” He insisted. “I can see it in your eyes. I did something wrong. What’d I do?”

“Nothing.” I said quietly, just before I took a slight sip of my coffee. It burned the tip of my tongue and my throat on its way down. I invited the pain like an old friend. “Really.”

“Then why are you so dismissive?” He leaned across the table towards me, trying to block my line of sight with his face. I turned my head the other direction. He leaned in that direction also. I cracked a smile at his pathetic attempts to catch my attention, but immediately held it back, not wanting to give him an satisfaction.

Unfortunately, he saw the smile before I could hide it, and he also cracked a smile. “Graaahhaaammm,” he cooed. “Talk to me. You never talk to me.”

“What’re you talking about?” I finally gave him my attention, raising my eyebrow in disbelief. “I always talk to you.”

“Wrong,” Elijah settled back in his seat, leaning on the back feet of the chair. “You never talk to me. Whenever you say you do, you’re really not. I don’t know anything about you but your name. You’re so secretive, Graham.”

I was taken aback by the sudden comment. There was a bitter truth to that statement; it was true he didn’t know anything about me but my name. And, in a sense, it was true I hardly ever talked to him. Sure, maybe I replied when he talked to me, but I never took any initiative to get to know him better, or for him to get to know me better.

Truth is, I was just afraid. I’m afraid he’d judge me and turn his back to me like my own family did. I was afraid he’d mock me and tease me because I was acting so fragile and feminine. I was afraid he was the type of guy that didn’t like to talk about feelings; that he was the type of men that would rather talk about girls and sports and cars and such.

I was afraid.

I gave him a weak shrug, not able to yet let out my emotions with him. I felt like I probably was never going to be able to. Maybe he’d just give up overtime, like all of the rest. Maybe Elijah wasn’t telling the truth when he said he wanted to know more about me. He was lying. Yeah. Just like the rest of them: a fake. They never cared; why would he?

“Graham?”

“Just leave me alone, okay!?” I snapped, setting down my coffee. I could feel my hands shaking. “I, I just. Just go away.” There I said it. It was painful on the way up, but I did it. Now things could go back to normal. Now Elijah and May could let me be, alone in my own misery peace.

He was staring at me for a long time. For a very, very long time. Even when I pretended he wasn’t there, staring motionlessly out the window, I could feel him staring at me. Finally, though, he said, “When you’re ready to really talk to me, you can find me.” He fished out a folded piece of line paper and dropped it on the table before getting up and walking off, hands in pockets, head up. I waited silently until he completely left the coffee shop.

And then I picked up the paper on the table and unfolded it.