I stare at her fingers as they hook the loose strand behind her ear, and even that embarrasses her. She never hated it when I stared before today, and she won't explain it to me either. I can't will myself to stop. I put my graduation cap back into the closet, and bury it so far down that no one will ever find it, not even me, because I have to.
"Want to go get some coffee or food or something?" She looks me in the eye for like the first time today, nodding. We've never really called each other by our names, because even that always felt like too much space, way too much space. We make our way through the door connecting my bedroom to the kitchen of the small apartment I shared with Craig, and spill out into the blinding light of the sun. I pause, trying to let my eyes adjust to the brightness, but she keeps a steady rhythm towards my car, reaching the passenger side and trying the door.
"Hey, the door's locked." I snap from my disoriented state and fish around in my jeans pocket for my keys, hitting 'unlock' as I close the distance between me and my car. "Thanks," she says with a sad smile. Her smile, the one I thought was vastly more disorienting than the light of a thousand suns. When we begin the drive, I find myself wondering what she's thinking about, and whether it's good or sad or scary. I wonder if she's telling lies or finding the truth or maybe a little of both. A Little of Both is the curse of humanity. I know she knows exactly what I'm thinking, because it's never different and it's always her. She put her hand on top of mine as I started to flip through radio stations. She knows how my hands always have to move; she's used to this, and actually told me once that she thinks it's nice. It's human, you know? It's your thing, she had said. It makes me want to hold your hand. The memory of that conversation, of a time when we needed nothing but to touch each other, always makes me smile. She covers my hand with hers and we turn the dial together, like we've always done. I realize that we're both trying to pretend that nothing's changed. We both know that everything has.
Country rap oldies hip hop commercial pop country country country commercial YELLING commercial commercial Beethoven stop. We loved the classical station. She always used to say it made her feel important. You are important anyways I told her, before I could tell her something other than how beautiful she is. Our hands crank up the volume together, because I told her once that it made me feel epic. She laughed the whole day after I told her that. She hasn't laughed today. She hasn't let go of my hand either. I wonder if she actually understands that I'm in love with her. I squeeze her fingers in the palm of my hand and rub the pads with my thumb. She looks up at me; she knows what I mean, so we leave it at that. We pull up to the small, crowded café, and I take a deep breath, cutting the engine. She's looking out the window, and I wonder if she would hate me for letting go of her hand. I have to let go, and we get out of the car. There's a storm in her eyes, dark and cloudy, and I feel like turning around and going back. Instead, I lift my arm up and around her shoulders, because I know she feels safe like this. She tenses up as soon as I pull her close, and I pretend that I didn't notice. She pretends that I'm not pretending.
The coffee shop is buzzing with activity, so I find a table for two in the back corner. I raise my eyebrows at her in a question, and she pats my shoulder and sits down. You know what I drink is the silent request. I nod, give her what I desperately wish was a reassuring smile, and take slow steps to the counter.
"Hey Clyde, what can I get you man?" Kenny McCormick pops up from behind the counter, his Harbucks visor sitting crooked on his head.
"Can I just get a medium dark roast with whipped cream on top?" Kenny laughs at my order even though it's what I always ask for. I just like whipped cream.
"Sure, what about for Bebe?"
"She'll have a macchiato with caramel. Thanks."
"No problem dude, they'll be right up." He flashes me another smile and gets to work while I feel around in my wallet for some money. I trade the bills for the coffee and carefully return to the table in the back corner. She doesn't look up at me. She doesn't reach for her coffee. She doesn't do anything. I want to cry. Tears form at the corners of my eyes, and one makes it half way down my cheek before I brush it off in disgust. I sit down and touch her curls, her hands, her lips. She doesn't look up.
"Please tell me what's wrong." She looks straight at me, and her eyes are so dark they're almost black, and I wish she would just look down again. It's almost like she's about to lose some part of herself right here at this table. My mind screams at me to JUST FUCKING HOLD HER AND DON'T LET GO NO MATTER WHAT, but I can't do anything but stare, and now the tears just start coming. She's shaking her head from side to side, never taking her eyes from mine.
"I can't." The sob escapes from my throat, and I desperately want to convince her that I can understand, that I can help her. Doesn't she realize that I understand her better than anyone? My tears blur my vision until I can't see her face. She's still shaking her head, goldenrod curls dancing around her face, the light bouncing off them in all directions. I realize that she can't stand me.
"I – I don't –" I can't do this.
"Clyde!" What did she just say? A strangled noise leaves my throat. I want to plug my ears and scream and scream and scream. She never said my name. She never said my name. Something is so broken now, something irreversible, and I can't fix it. I need to say nothing, but all I have are words – they're ricocheting off my scull, racing through my veins, swimming in my tears. Words are all I have. She looks like she's going to start crying too. She looks like she wants to take my name back, but if I can't fix it, neither can she.
"Remember that one time we went ice skating the night of the first snow five years ago? Or was it six? I taught you how to skate backwards. Maybe it was seven. You caught on so fucking quickly –"
"I can't do this anymore." You can't do what anymore?
I pick up my coffee with whipped cream, piping hot, and throw it all back in one swallow. It tastes like sugar on fire, and my throat burns. She won't take her eyes off of mine, and they're suddenly so incredibly dark and so incredibly clear. I know every inch of you mine say as she stares into them. I watch her understand, and rip us apart. I can't hide, not from you she tells me without speaking a word, and then slowly rises from her chair. I watch her slice at the rope of us until we hang by a thread. One thread connecting 'me' and 'you' into 'us'. She can't take it any longer, and I see the tears begin to spill from her eyes, matching mine. She looks away from me, severing that last thread, and walks to my car, leaving the drink I bought for her untouched. I grab the drink and follow her out.