They find themselves in a park, under the cover of darkness, just down the street from where she lives, and where he used to. They're sitting on a picnic table, awkwardly close, he thinks, yet so very comforting.
Only hours before, he was struck by a debilitating crisis of loneliness, and sought her out like he had so many times before. It was past 130am when he finally reached her. "L? is that u?" He had written her when her online status had flashed on his screen. He was going to call, but decided that it was a bit much to call past midnight, so he decided to message her instead, all the while questioning the wisdom of such a move.
"d? yes, it's me, what do you want?" She was being cold, not ready to forgive.
He thought that it sounded a bit harsh, something he had never experienced from her, but given recent events, he understood. "To chat?" He feels like a cat prowling, undeterred.
"Ok. First, let me be clear, what are your intentions, your motivations?" She was being firm, she had been burnt too many times before.
He pauses for a long time, unsure how to answer, he was expecting this to be a bit easier, lighter.
"d? Did you get my last message?" She will not let her question go unanswered.
"Yes. Just thinking...give me a minute."
Five more pass, while he's going over every possible way he could answer that question. He decides on something that's only marginally satisfactory, but no words seem to capture his feelings.
"I could say a lot of things I suppose, but I'm writing you because I've been thinking about you, and wonder how you're doing. We haven’t spoken in a while.” He leaves it at that, somewhat suggestive, but also kind.
"Fine, I was mad as hell, you know that, don't you?" she replies, but the interrogation mark seems out of place, strange since she's so clearly trying to make a bold statement. "And I don't really know what we could have to say to each other.”
His heart sinks. "Yeah...” He was hoping she'd be in a laughing mood.
"Look, it's nice to know that you care, but what do you want exactly? I'm still not clear." She's in no mood for games, something she told him last time they spoke, over two months ago now.
He's stuck, so goes with something easy. "It's nice to know you're, well, alive sounds so dramatic, but that you're around and well." He feels sheepish. Around and well, how lame, he thinks to himself. We should be talking in person, I'm way better in person, and if I see her, maybe I'll know what to say.
"Let's go for a walk now." He feels bold, and isn't entirely sure how she'll react, but he feels confident about being able to handle her response.
"It's late, and I live far..." She leaves the door open purposefully.
"And I have a car..." He thinks his poetic response deserves some serious consideration. "And I'm cute, and we haven't seen each other in a long time." He's trying humour again.
She thinks about this for a few minutes. She's upset she's even considering it. But she can't help herself, she feels madly connected to him, it's something she has never been able to explain to him, to herself, to others around her who question her, who judge her for constantly hanging onto something with so little potential.
"Yeah, I'll go for a walk with you." She's surprised at how easy this has all been. Just an hour before she had been out with her new lover, out having an exciting time, she felt alive, strong, like she had been dealt a great blow and moved on, untouched, unharmed. Moments before he messaged her, she was thinking of how empowering it was to be falling in love again. And now they were going for a walk, at 230am.
"Where should I meet you? I can be there in 15 minutes. Does that work?" He presses on, wanting nothing else but to see her, perhaps as a test, perhaps to fulfill some fantasy.
"Same old. 149.”
"See you then. Meet me out front."
"Ok." She's now feeling pangs of anxiety in her stomach, entirely unfamiliar of late. She hates that feeling, and associates it with him, and the pain she has endured for the past year. And he'll be on her doorstep in minutes.
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