Afraid of telling the truth

Always say what you feel, even when you're scared of losing someone.

A disheveled man stumbles his way to a park bench, seating himself beside a woman who seems to be patiently awaiting the arrival of a bus. The man straightens out his clothes and checks his wrist watch; an old, antique contraption he received as a gift for graduating college. Simple, but he’s used it every day since, so quite useful. His eyes travel from his watch to his hands, a forlorn look passing across his face in the shape of curved eyebrows, shaking lips, and a heavy sigh. The woman takes notice.

“Something the matter?” She asks, head shifting slightly as she glances at the man. “It’s a shame to be sad on such a nice day like this.”

He smiles lightly in return, thankful for her concern. “Not exactly sad, I suppose I’m more… conflicted.” She raises an eyebrow, an invitation for elaboration. “Have you ever,” a pause as he finds the words, “been afraid of telling someone something? Afraid of telling the truth and losing them because of it?”

“Is anyone ever fearless when facing such a situation?” She turns to make eye contact with him. “What is it that you wish to say?”

“I… I want to tell him that… that I’m gay.” She nods, “That I’m gay and that I may have feelings for him. I want to, I want to say it all, but I’m not sure how he’ll react. What if he hates me? What if he’s disgusted by what I am?”

“And what are you?”

The man looks around and raises an eyebrow, tightening the corner of his lips in confusion. “I’m…gay?”

“You are more than just gay,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “What’s your name?”

“Peter Marchelle.”

“Then you are Peter Marchelle, a man who rushed to the bus stop because he feared being late. Or feared that if he didn’t leave when he did, then maybe he never would.” They sit together in silence for a moment before the woman presses on. “You will never know until you say it, Peter. Good, bad, it doesn’t matter. If you never form the words, you will never find the answer.” She reaches out and touches his hand, smiling. “And even if it is bad, if someone is only willing to care for you until they find out something they don’t like, then did they really ever care in the first place?”

“I don’t want to lose him, though.” She squeezes his hand.

“We all lose people. No one is lucky enough to escape that. No matter how many times we get burned though, we all still love the warmth a fire provides. If he rejects you, he rejects you. You will find someone out there who will love you for who you are, for who you could be, and even for who you aren’t. Those people are the ones who care. And for all you know he could be one of them.”

The low, endless cough of a bus engine grows in the distance, and the woman stands. Peter stands with her, giving a wide smile before laughing. “I never got your name.”

“Marsha. I have a feeling we’ll meet again, though.” She hands him a business card, one for a fortune telling shop down the street. “Give me a call if it works out, and give me a call if it doesn’t. I have a brother who cares, and you may like to meet him.” She smiles and walks away from the park bench, off into the park. Peter watches.

Reviews

[LukewarmLollipop]

Interesting! I have to say, I really enjoy your writing style. It seems to be the perfect balance of imagery, emotion, and dialogue, at least for my tastes. A common theme I have noticed in a few of your works is prophecy/fortune telling, and I really enjoy that element. You write it very well :)

[Fin Buckley]

Thank you! :) A lot of my themes come back to what you said, prophecy/fortune telling, as well as places like the ocean or water-based themes. Not sure why, just happens. :)

[LukewarmLollipop]

Well at any rate, I enjoy it! You also write with a quite raw emotion which I admire. I have been kind of lurking and reading your work, and I really enjoy it all :)

[Fin Buckley]

Thank you! Really appreciate the kind words.