I put a part in this chapter about the Orlando shooting because the shooting broke my heart and I think it deserved to be mentioned. I'll never understand how someone could do something like that.
At first it's really awkward. It's hard, spending time with someone you don't know very well with no distractions for an hour.
It gradually gets better though. Every once in awhile we talk, but a lot of the time we just sit there together in silence, and even that starts to become nice. As we go on, the "awkward" silences became less and less awkward, more relaxed. They also just become less. Once we become okay with having occasional silences, we started to talk more, for some reason.
We spend some time at the beginning of the ride just becoming more acquainted with each other. I tell him about my bad habits concerning work, he tells me about how he loves listening to piano but almost no one in his dorm knows, and few people play. This is nice to know, considering that it means I'll be able to make him happy relatively easily.
He asks about my past. I, of course, avoid talking about it in detail and pretty much just tell him that I'm a first generation immigrant. He doesn't start to suddenly pity me or make any snide remarks which is nice. He also doesn't push it when I don't tell him where I'm originally from, so I mentally tip my (imaginary) hat to him.
During a particularly comfortable silence (we ended our discussion on a great note, connecting about music, and now he's humming a song I don't know, but am beginning to like) I find myself thinking about what I'm going to do in the future.
Specifically, I think about how I've made some new friends but they're an hour away and the friendship may be completely one sided. It's true that I would continue to visit them even if none of us had become friends, just for their piano and the fact that I'm near them most weekends anyways, but I should probably take the people aspect into consideration.
As I mentioned, I've never had any really close friends, "best" friends if you will. Friends that I could actually talk with about almost anything, if not everything, without fearing unnecessarily harsh judgement. So, because of this, I think I deserve to be able to call myself a total social amateur.
It's just that I don't know how to interact with people unless it's in a professional environment. I'm afraid that even if I do my best to accommodate and satisfy my new friends, they won't like me. And I'm pretty sure, even with my lack of experience, that I don't want to have that kind of relationship. I mean, I definitely want to get to know them all better, but I just don't know if they feel the same way.
I sink into my insecurities for a couple of minutes, slowly convincing myself that I should probably just not see them again, and that that's probably what they want anyways, before John unknowingly saves me.
"I was just thinking," he starts, "about the shooting in Orlando, and just in general about discrimination. Isn't it terrible how much hate there is in our world? Why can't people just be nice, maybe even try to make friends, like us?"
The part about making friends fills me with joy, but I have thoughts on that topic too.
I think he might be testing me in a way, making sure I'm not a person who discriminates. It makes sense; if I was that kind of a person, and I was also, coincidentally, him, I would want to know about someone's stand on discrimination. I might even want to call off the forming friendship; I just don't think that I could continue to be friends with a person who would discriminate, possibly against me.
"It is. I don't understand how people can want to kill for any reason, much less something that might be a problem to them, but isn't really. They might not be able to see that it isn't a problem, but that doesn't mean that they should want to kill, or even just hurt people. I mean, putting more hate and sadness into the world isn't going to do any good at all. Why can't they see that?"
He nods his head in agreement, and we spend a moment in silence, both, I'm sure, thinking about how sad the world can be.
We find it hard to transition back into conversation after that solemn subject, but I think that talking about it was good for us and worth it. Now I know him better, and vice versa. Plus, we've only got about ten more minutes on the road, so I'm sure we'll be able to survive.
A couple of minutes later, I speak again.
"Thank you for giving me a ride, I hope it wasn't too inconveniencing."
"You're welcome, but it really wasn't a problem. I hope you come visit us again, if only for our piano."
"Yeah. I'm sure I'll come again, to enjoy your company," I give him a pointed, fake-scolding look, "among other things."
"Uhuh."
He chuckles and smiles sheepishly sideways at me.
I smile back and turn forwards again, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I'm still smiling, and so is he.
After a moment, he also turns forward and goes back to concentrating on the road. Smart.
Soon, I see my street come into view and relay this to John.
"Cool," he replies. Adopting a melodramatic, woeful tone, he continues, "I guess this is where we must part."
"Ah, but alas, it must be true."
We share a look, both wearing dramatic faces still, before bursting into giggles.
He pulls into my driveway. Using our strange fashion we've adopted, he gets up, walks across to my side and mimes opening my door. He mimes it because I've already opened the door at this point. Now while the effect may have been lessened slightly, it's the thought that counts. He then bows, and combined with a sweeping motion towards my house it compels me to say, "Why sir, how posh of you. Thank you very much."
"Of course."
I step, as delicately as I can, down from the car and fake a curtsy.
Soon, when I straighten up, he's still bowing.
"Farewell kind sir." I say.
He rights himself. "Farewell."
I walk over to the door of my apartment. Once I reach said door, I turn back to see him still looking at me. I raise my eyebrows and he shrugs. I put finding the possible reasons aside in favor of waving to him. He waves back, and after a couple of seconds of waving, I turn around and open the door to my apartment. I walk up a staircase or two, devoid of thought, before actually trying to find my door.
Once I've reached my apartment, I plop down onto my bed and recover for a moment. I'm not used to being so social, especially in just one day.
After I've had a moment, I begin to process everything that happened today. I start with the most recent thing on my mind.
I spend a while trying to think of John's reason for still looking at me when I turned back, but I soon make myself stop for three reasons. One: It's entirely possible he was just thinking or something, and that it had nothing to do with me; two: I shouldn't get stuck, thinking about his actions, or at least I should wait until I know him better; and three: I have almost no hope of deciphering anyone's reason for anything, even my own sometimes, so I really shouldn't attempt to think of his.
After I've given that up, I move onto the subject of the piano playing. I let myself indulge in the memory of how I felt for a moment before telling myself that if I want that again, I'll have to be a brave, social person.
Then I think about Lafayette. He was really nice, inviting me to his dorm to play the piano, introducing me to his friends. He's pretty much to blame for the whole debacle (in a good way, of course) so I should thank him again, the next time I see him.
And I've decided, at least for now, that there will be a next time. Sure, it terrifies me, but I should expand my horizons and all that kind of stuff.
It really will be terrifying though.
I fall asleep thinking about the next time. I think of possible scenarios, people I might meet. Eventually my thoughts land on John again. I really do want to get to know him better.
Content but exhausted, I fall asleep with a hint of a smile still on my face.