Just to Hold You Close and Tight

While driving home, I saw Ray again, but this time he didn’t try to hide from me. When I smiled and waved at him, he stopped walking on the sidewalk and waved back. I hoped he would take this as an invitation to come see. Me.

However, his face was so shocked when I waved at him that after waving back, he stood still as I drove away.

I felt the familiar disappointment when I found that my room was empty. I sighed, took out my books, and started working on my homework.

When I was finished an hour later, I decided to kill some time by emailing my friends. I turned on my computer and checked my email. There was only one, sent by both of my friends. It said:

Dear Amber,
How are you? Do you like your new house? How is school? Have you made any new friends?
We miss you,
Chelsea and Gabby

“They ask a lot of questions,” a familiar voice said from behind me.

I jumped, and my heart took off. I clutched my chest. “Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Ray frowned at me. “Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

That caught me off guard. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I managed to stutter. I realized I would have to start being careful about what I said.

“That’s okay. Everybody says stuff like that out of habit. Anyways, your mom and dad are home. Try to keep it down.”

I grimaced. “Good idea. Last night my dad asked me who I was talking to yesterday afternoon.”

Ray nodded solemnly. “You have to remember that people are going to think you’re crazy if you talk to me in public. Or wave to me.”

“Does that mean I’ll be talking to you more often?” I asked hopefully, ignoring the comment about me waving.

He shrugged. “That’s up to you. I guess. I can understand if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “I do. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Ray pointed at the computer screen and asked, “What about your friends?”

I sighed. “My friends live in Seattle, where I used to live.”

“Oh,” he replied. After a short pause, he added, “Well, haven’t you made any new friends here?”

“I’m… not very good at making friends,” I said, looking away from him.

“And why is that?” he asked.

I examined his face. He seemed genuinely curious. “I’m not very good at talking,” I replied. “You know, like striking up a conversation. Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be invisible,” he said. The sudden emotion in his voice and eyes surprised me, although it he soft, not angry. I was used to him viewing everything with an air of calculation, of technicality. He hadn’t shown so much feeling before.

Not knowing exactly how to respond, I said carefully, “You’re not invisible to me.”

With a strangely confused expression he replied, “You’re not invisible to me either.” Then the openness disappeared, and his face was almost robotic once again.