26. Hi.

Well here goes

As I stare up at the ceiling of the room that used to be mine, struggling to find comfort in this inflatable mattress, the first few rays of dawn make their way through the window. I had spent a good portion of the night out with Theo, and had barely a few hours of sleep, yet I can’t will myself unconscious. So instead I turn and watch the light make itself known. For the first time in I can’t remember when, I’m watching the sun rise.

I hadn’t told Theo at first, and had admittedly tried not to avoid thinking about it myself, but he was only the second person I had reached out to since landing back in New York. Not that I had gotten a reply from the first person, or that I even expected one, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. I grab my phone and soon my eyes are adjusting to the bright light of the screen.

The message I previously sent was simple.

“Hey. It’s Richie. I’m on a plane back to NY for a couple of days.”

In so little words, it said so much. It was the hardest sequence of letters I have ever transcribed in my life. And upon looking at my phone, I see there’s still no reply. I think back to Theo’s take on it.

“So lemme get this straight,” he said in partial disbelief as we headed out of the bar. “She wants to be a guy but still likes guys? What’s the point of that?”

“I don’t know how it works, man.” I answered with a sigh.

“Well, not to be all negative, but high school was a long time ago. How do you know she or he or whatever hasn’t forgotten all about you?”

Those words run through my mind, replacing the silence of this empty room. I sigh deeply and close my eyes, as if I could ever sleep now. Lifting the old sheets up over my face, I begin to wonder why I even came back on this visit to begin with. I thought I knew why, but now the sense in all my reasoning is starting to fade away.

I thought another long walk through the city would clear my mind, but it didn’t. The Manhattan streets are full of life but that isn’t enough of a distraction. So I headed back home. Seeing the empty driveway, I remember Uncle T is at work all day, so I enter and return to my air mattress of the floor.

Beside the temporary bed and my duffle bag I had traveled with, I see that infernal flash drive collecting dust on the wooden floor. I kneel down and pick it up, staring at it with more unease than ever before. I want to destroy it; I want to break it in half, or stomp on it until it’s a pile of fragments, or run it over with a car, or set it on fire, or go to the bridge and toss it into the Hudson River. But I know I can’t do any of those things. All I can do is sit here and stare at it. I resent how much power this stupid, little thing has over me. It’s just a flash drive for God’s sake, but as long as I’m in New York I may as well be trapped inside its cheap plastic and tiny wires.

I toss the drive as hard as I can at the air mattress and bury my head in my hands. I don’t know why this is so hard, or why I’m losing control of my head. When I first got on that plane to California all those years that now seem like forever ago, I knew something inside of me had changed. I knew I would be be different; I was done being afraid of the world, I was done being stuck in my own mental prisons, I was done letting my life pass by while I was too scared to take charge of it, and I was done letting people like my scumbag dad or CJ Wellings or the judgmental high school crowds get into my head and take over my frail emotions. When I stepped off of that plane on the other side of the country, I was not that scared, miserable kid anymore, in fact I had grown to hate him. I pushed him away to the far corners of memory and continued on with my life as the person I wanted to be. But now that I’m back in Queens, I can feel him waiting around every corner, hiding behind every door, trailing me as a silent stalker only I can see.

As I sit here, kneeling on the floor in the silence of my old room, my cell phone vibrates from my pocket. I take it out and look at the screen to see it’s a reply. Finally, I’ve gotten a text back from you.

Are you doing anything tonight? It reads.

My heart nearly skips a beat. But I can’t let the opportunity pass.

No, I reply. Not yet, at least.

Another moment passes and you send me an address.

Be here at 5.

By four thirty my mind is racing again, but this time with a different string of thoughts. This time it’s about you, who I haven’t since before I left. The last time I saw your face was the day it had tears streaming down it, and even then it had become harder to recognize you. Now I’m fearing what the years might have done to you, wondering if the face I’ll soon meet would be one I knew at all. Of everyone, you’re clearly the most destined to change, aren’t you? I suddenly begin regretting this, because I now realize I probably won’t be able to handle what you might be now. You might be so different I won’t recognize you. You might have a mustache or something. I had never in my life considered the possibility that I would be scared of facial hair, but for the love of God and all that is holy please don’t have a mustache.

By four forty I’m wondering what I’m even going to do upon seeing you. Scratch that; I know what has to be done, though I have no idea how I’m going to go about doing it. I don’t have any more time to sit around and ponder it though, so I grab the flash drive and head out the door.

The address you sent me is apparently that of some type of performance space. It’s a small venue, and there are a bunch of guys in the parking lot carrying boxes of stage equipment from trucks into the building. A woman seemingly three times my age leans on the side of the door smoking a cigarette. I don’t know who to talk to or what to even say, so I make my way through the front door with surprisingly nobody stopping me.

Inside the building a narrow hallway leads to what I can only assume is some kind of auditorium. Through the thin walls, I hear a muffled voice being amplified by a speakers on the other side. It’s a voice I can’t place, and I can tell it’s singing but I can’t hear what it’s saying. Something about the melody seems vaguely familiar though. I follow it to the door at the end of the hall, and open it to see an auditorium bigger than what I was expecting.

A few rows of chairs attached to the tiled floor are lined up before a stage on the other end of the room. Some people are seated, but mostly everyone is walking around moving boxes, microphones and other equipment around, as if preparing for something. I hear the voice a lot clearer now. It’s kind of like yours only somehow distorted; it’s just a little deeper, as if I was listening to a recording of you being slowed down a peg. This familiar yet new voice continues to sing

“In your mind, could you ever be

Really close to me

I can tell the way you smile…”

I make my way past the chairs and closer to the stage, where I can get a clear look at the figure standing in the spotlight. When I do, I can’t believe my eyes.

“If I feel like I could be certain then…”

I almost don’t want to think it’s you, but as your voice fills the room and the spotlight reflects in the big lenses of your glasses, there’s no way I can deny it. You’re wearing a stylish long jacket over a dress shirt with a tie, and black jeans. Your hair dyed a bright orange, and is cut short on all sides but hangs over your forehead in wavy streaks.

“I would say the things I want to say tonight…”

You don’t notice me at all, though of course you wouldn’t from the stage. I can’t see your eyes through the glare in your glasses, but I assume they’re closed. For whatever reason, I start to sing along. In a low mutter under my breath, the next few lines of the song come out as if from a reawakened memory.

“But till I can see that you’d really care for me

I will dream that one day you’ll be really close to me

I can tell the way you smile…”

Somehow, your voice and mine in sync together from across the auditorium seems like an alignment that’s always been there in the distance, like a constellation in the sky.

“But till I can see

That you’d really care for me

I’ll keep trying to hide

The way I feel inside…”

The room erupts into applause. You grin sort of awkwardly, after all these years still not used to that reaction. A man’s voice on another microphone comes in through the speaker system.

“Great job, Jason,” he announces. “The show’s gonna be a hit. For all the performers, that’s a wrap for the day.”

The auditorium is flooded by a sea of voices in indistinct chatter. You walk off the stage, exchange a few passing words with random people walking by, and make your way to the seat where you left a backpack. You stand beside it for a moment, pulling out your phone and nonchalantly going about what I assume is a regular part of your day. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to continue standing here in silence staring at you from across the room like a creep, I walk over.

You’re so engrossed in texting or something that you don’t notice me until I’m right there in front of you. As you become aware of someone’s presence, you look up from your phone and see me. Your face is frozen, and we meet eyes. It feels like ten minutes of us not saying anything and just peering into each other’s eyes with stupid blank expressions. I know I should say something, but I have absolutely no idea what. I try anyway, and with all the nerve in my body I force the speech out of my throat.

“Hi.”

Brilliant, Richie.

Your mouth opens, but hangs there for a second in hesitation as you try to figure out what to say. And when you finally do.

“Hi.”

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