I'm Here

2

The sky that afternoon was the color of a television tuned to a channel off the air; the gray clouds were heavy. It was certain that it would rain.

But the sky mattered little to me as I watched the landscape beyond the glass of the automatic door. The eleven line was busy at that hour. I settled into my spot by the door, a place I had adopted for myself. As the train braked at the station, I observed the people outside. Some were walking hurriedly, others were preparing to enter the carriage. There were those who were not alone. Most of their companions were friends, but there were couples. These were in the minority. The exceptions.

A couple entered the carriage where I was, smiling at each other. They didn’t seem to care about the other passengers glancing at them, some rolling their eyes, others wearing resigned expressions. For the couple, in that carriage, it was only them. I looked at the boarding platform on the opposite side where I was. More people were gathering at the end, stretching their necks to try to see if the train was arriving. Other people were focused on their cell phones. If a piano were playing an innocuous tune, I might find beauty in this scene of everyday life.

In life, everything depends on the right soundtrack.

The train departs once again, making me grip the steel pole.

I think of the blue-eyed girl. To tell the truth, she hasn't left my mind.

In the days since the first time I saw her, my mind automatically wandered back to the girl. Every time the automatic doors of the carriage opened, I hoped she would enter. It had been a week and a half since I last saw her. Once, while wandering on the boarding platform, I thought I had seen her. But it wasn’t. I think I wanted that person to be the girl.

But I am starting to forget her, one detail at a time.

It’s cold. I rub my arms with my hands and sneeze. Great. All I wanted was to get sick.

I scratch my nose and look outside the train again. The sky is like my mood.

(...)

At the moment the train makes another stop at a station, I am counting how many buildings fit into the silhouette of my thumb. Four is the answer. The train departs, and I don’t even notice. I’m not going anywhere specific today. I just want to travel by train. I feel like I should have brought a book today, along with an umbrella. The book would distract me. I get tired of counting the buildings and lean my back against the door. The carriage is silent. There are no conversations or whispers. Only the sound of the metal tracks exists here. But I hear something else. A muffled cry coming from the automatic door in front of me. I lift my eyes and can't believe my sight.

The blue-eyed girl. She is here.

Even standing in front of her, she doesn’t notice me. A fear that I had ignored punches me in the stomach. Does she not see me anymore?

Now my legs move on their own. They approach the girl. I command them to stop, but my legs have a mind of their own. They stop at the exact spot where I stood the last time I saw the girl. I realize now that I am a little taller than her. My eyes want to find the girl’s gaze, but they hesitate.

It is the blue-eyed girl who is crying.

I don’t want to see her like this. I don’t want her to feel like this. But I don’t know what to do. I stand there, as still as a statue. I just observe the floor in front of us, embarrassed. I lift my gaze again, and even before our eyes meet, I feel her staring at me. When it happens, I think of the bridge. I want it to form again, like that day. It feels like I have been waiting for this moment for countless ages.

But the bridge doesn’t form. The girl sees me but quickly looks down at the rubberized floor. Her face is red. I embarrassed her.

Damn.

A minute passes. Two minutes. No one says anything. We just look down. I tap the floor twice with the tip of my sneaker and lift my gaze again. She does the same.

And there it is, the bridge. I feel electricity in the air. My body is connected; I can feel every cell in my body igniting. But the bridge is fragile; one sway, and it collapses. I want to fix this. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if the girl will see that bridge between us strong again.

I decide to take the risk.

— Hi — my voice comes out dragged, lazy. My throat scratches.

I hardly use my voice in daily life. Generally, I don’t need it. I fear losing the girl because of this neglect of myself.

She looks at me suspiciously, seeming to evaluate whether I am a danger. The palm of my hand is sweating. The bridge is vibrating.

— Hi — the girl replies. I let out a sigh of relief.

I clench my fists; the knuckles of my fingers are white.

— Is everything okay?

— It is. It’s all fine — the girl wipes the tears from her face.

I don’t know if I have the right to ask her anything more. But she can see me! I need to know.

How do you do it? How do you see me?

— I regret asking the moment I do; I feel extremely selfish. I’m putting my questions above hers.

She looks at me suspiciously again.

Those blue eyes seem like sharp ice, piercing through me.

— Are you kidding or what? — Her voice is genuinely irritated.

Wrong move. I feel stupid. I'm being rude to the only person who has ever seen me.

— I'm sorry. I started off wrong. I just got worried about why you’re sad — that seems like a good start.

Her expression softens. My heart beats more calmly.

— You don’t need to worry. Everything's fine.

The train jolts to a stop. We’ve arrived at the next station. The girl looks outside and without saying anything, gets off the car. She is leaving again. But today I don’t take long to make a decision. I get off the train and go after the girl.

She leaves the station, and I follow her. We walk aimlessly for ten minutes. She moves ahead, and I follow her like a shadow but at a respectful distance. She glances back, checking if I’m still following her. Her look isn’t fearful or accusing. The girl seems to realize that I mean her no harm. I put my hands in my pockets and breathe, feeling the heavy air surrounding us. The girl waves a hand, signaling me to come closer. In long strides, I soon find myself next to her. She adjusts her hood, sniffing.

After a turn around the block, we enter an empty playground. We sit on swings, one on each seat. She grips the chains with her hands, while I keep my hands in my pants pockets.

— You know it’s really strange to follow me like this, right? — she asks, raising her eyebrows.

I shrug, embarrassed. I look away, staring at the slide.

— I just thought you weren’t okay. That’s all.

I can hardly suppress the excitement in my voice. I’m talking to someone who can see me, hear me. My words never reached anyone; no one could see me. But this girl. She sees me, she hears me. I don’t feel part of the collective. I just feel connected to her.

The girl with blue eyes sighs. She rubs her face with the sleeve of her shirt and then looks around. Even with a sad expression, she’s beautiful.

— And why do you care about me?

— You don’t even know me — she pauses and laughs. — You don’t even know my name.

— Because you can see me. — I say so softly that I can barely hear my own voice.

But she hears.

— Of course I see you. You’re not invisible, you know?

That phrase hits me hard. If she only knew, if she understood...

I bite the inside of my mouth. I want to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about this, not now.

— You say everything's fine, but your eyes say otherwise — I tell her.

Her eyes widen, and the girl seems to realize that tears are still coming.

She tightly closes her eyes and wipes them with the sleeve of her shirt again.

— Do you want to tell me what happened? — I say, swinging back and forth.

The girl starts to stomp her foot on the ground, seeming to deliberate. Her eyes brush against mine and quickly dart away.

— I must be going crazy to tell you this.

— I just want to help — I also want to be close to her for as long as I can, but I keep the thought to myself.

— Uh-huh, why do I hear my mom in my head right now, saying not to talk to strangers, huh?

I let out a quiet laugh. I can imagine my mom saying the same thing.

— We’re not strangers. This is the second time we’ve met.

Our eyes meet. A bridge forms. It’s not as fragile as before, but it’s not very solid either. The girl smiles. It’s not an automatic smile like the ones we give every day. That smile tells me she’s allowed herself a little relief, even though she’s still sad.

— It doesn’t change much — the girl says.

The smile still lingers on her lips.

I push off with my feet and start going higher on the swing.

— You’ll be telling something to someone you know. We were complete strangers before! — I say from high up.

Her eyes follow me the whole way. Whether I’m going up or down, I’m coming back to her. A playful smile appears on my face.

I’m definitely crazy for wanting to tell you this.

I’m coming down now. I stretch my legs and bend my knees as I reach the ground, bringing me to a stop. Her gaze is like a magnet, and I’m metal. She’s so attractive that I can’t help but move closer to her. The girl sees me, and I see her. There’s nothing else, just the two of us.

— Crazy people are my type.

A smile rises on her lips, but her gaze is sad.

— Okay, fine, I’ll tell you. But if you laugh, if you don’t take it seriously, if I hear a mocking tone in your voice, I’ll walk away and you’ll never see me again. Is that okay?

I look at her outstretched hand. I squeeze it, agreeing.

— I thought everything was fine, you know? My life finally seemed to be getting on track. I got a part-time job, I’m doing well in school, I’ve met some nice people, — the girl looks at me at that moment. I feel my face heat up — things at home were calm. Too calm.

She pauses, and her jaw tenses. I sense we’ve reached the delicate part of the story.

— My dad was distant. Well, more than usual, you know? He didn’t talk to me properly and hardly directed a word to my mom. I thought they were in a delicate moment in their relationship or something like that. So I stayed quiet — the girl bites her lower lip, nervous. — But today... today I understood why they were like that. This morning, I woke up early, very early. I couldn’t sleep anymore. I went to the window of my room, and I saw. My mom was wrapped around another man, like they were passionate lovers.

She gripped the swing’s chains tightly, and the knuckles of her fingers turned as white as polar ice caps. It startled me a bit to hear the anger radiating from the voice of the blue-eyed girl, but I understood that something like anger exists within us all, without exception.

— I wanted to believe that wasn’t my mom! I tried to convince myself she was a neighbor or something like that. But I knew the truth. It was my mom, and she was having an affair. At school, I just thought about it. Then I went to confront her. When I got home, my parents were talking with a lawyer. There were papers scattered across the table. You should have seen their faces. It was like I had discovered their biggest secret! They made me sit in a chair, then told me their story.

The girl stopped, letting out a bitter laugh. I didn’t say anything, didn't make a sound. I’m the listener she chose, and I intend to stay until the end. She took off her beanie, releasing her wavy blonde hair, which fell to chin length. The ends curled, framing her face like a golden mane. I lost my breath for a moment.

— They were discussing the divorce. My dad knew about my mom's affair for a long time. It had been so long that I didn’t believe it. But do you know what the worst part is? They had been in this divorce circus for a while. At no point did they intend to talk to me! In their relationship, in their perception of this situation, I don’t exist! I’m invisible to them!

This hits me. I know that these words, this anger, is not directed at me. But I feel the weight of them, every word, every syllable. I want to run, run until my muscles burn, until the air in my lungs runs out and I’m breathing smoke. But I stay. I can help her. I know I can. Being invisible. In this subject, I’m the teacher.

— I won’t say that your parents didn’t tell you anything to protect you.

— You just said that — she retorts.

Her words are pure acid, and I’m unprotected.

I take a controlled breath.

— But I know what it’s like to be... invisible.

She looks at me curiously. The girl realizes that her words hit me. She’s angry, but she doesn’t want to take it out on me. It would be easy to be mean like that, but she doesn’t. I like her more for that.

— I know what it’s like to be there, but for people not to see you, not to add to the rotation of their world. That hurts. It’s almost abandonment — I say.

I realize I’m telling her how I feel. I’m safe. No one but the girl will know my feelings. I feel like I’m taking off armor I wore to protect myself from arrows that would never come. But I can’t tell her everything. That would be too fast. I want to tell her everything. I know I can. But her world isn’t the same as mine.

She looks ahead, gathers her momentum, and starts to swing. I follow her with my eyes. She doesn’t take her icy blue eyes off mine. The girl reaches out her hand to me, and I know I should take it. When her seat is coming back, I prepare myself. I quickly grasp her hand and push back with my legs. In a few seconds, we’re swinging in sync. Her hair whips through the air, the bangs fall in front of her eyes. But I know she’s looking at me. Just like I’m looking at her. And she’s beautiful. Her lips part in a sincere smile. I don’t want to leave this moment, and I know she doesn’t want it to end either.

When exhaustion catches up to us, it’s already getting dark. I let go of her hand, and we both look at the sky. The first stars begin to appear. I look at her, wishing her parents could see her. I want them to see her the way I see her. She turns to me, making me blush. I was caught sneaking a peek at her face, and I feel like a fool. The girl laughs.

— In the end, it was nice talking to you — she says, running her fingers through her hair.

— I would love to talk to you again.

Our eyes meet, the bridge is there. Strong and firm. I feel something warm in my chest.

The girl laughs, and I find that strange. What is she laughing about?

— What’s up? — I ask.

— It’s just that we spent this whole afternoon together, and I don’t know your name.

A smile appears on my face.

— My name is Dante. Dante Clarke. And yours? — I ask.

With a finger, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

— My name is Mavie. Mavie Sykes.

— Mavie...

That name suits her. I just feel it perfectly fits with that girl.

(...)

We return to the train station. While she pays for her ticket, I leap over the turnstile effortlessly. Years of practice lead to perfection. Mavie finds it strange that the guards didn’t notice me jump the turnstile, but she doesn’t question it. I give her no other reason to.

We take the same train back. All the seats are occupied, so we stand together by the automatic door. She leans against one corner and I against another. Mavie looks out the window, taking in the scenery beyond it. I do the same, but I can’t help sneaking glances at Mavie. I notice how restless her feet are, her fingers seem to play piano on her arm. My imagination is the limit for guessing her past. But I don’t go beyond that. Guessing. We don’t say anything during the ride. We don’t need to. The creaking of metal is the melody that accompanies our silence. One time when I glance at her, she catches me. Our gazes connect. I want to get closer. I want to feel her breath, feel the touch of her skin. But I don’t do it. I keep our distance. She sees me, and I see her. I give a shy, embarrassed smile. Her head tilts with a smile that melts me.

When Mavie reaches her station, I feel like I’m going to fall into a hole. She steps closer, and my heart begins to race like crazy. Mavie stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. She leaves the car but stands in front of the doors. Her lips whisper a “thank you,” but no sound comes out. But it’s not necessary. As the doors close, she waves goodbye. I wave back.

I’m in my bed. I didn’t even have dinner with my parents; I went straight to my room. I’ll have to fix that tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow excites me for the first time in a long time. I stare at the ceiling. My mind is racing. I’m fire, and I want to burn more, be bigger and burn more intensely. I chastise myself for not having gotten Mavie’s phone number. I’m not used to this kind of thing.

It’s not the blanket that warms me; it’s the possibilities that simmer in my skin.

Before sleeping, I catch myself praying that Mavie wants to see me again.