Ten & Levan

8. Eight

TEN

Dear God, I need help, I need a better joke to crack.

I need to make him laugh again.

I've been pressuring myself for the last ten minutes to think of something funny. I'd give anything to make him laugh. I'd do it again and again and again. I'd hired a comedian to keep him laughing for centuries, for it's such a treat to watch his eyes moon, his teeth bare themselves, his face glow like a thousand suns at once. Good lord, I'm blind.

I especially want to do it again because we've been so quiet, and he's so lost. I don't like being this quiet and I'm still contemplating if I like that Levan is as lost as he is. I also want to holler up a surgeon to help me slip inside his busy brain. I need to know what he's thinking, why he tunes out, why he transports himself to another universe. I want to get behind his baby blues and see how they see the world. They're so pigmented right now that I'm sure everything he sees is filmed with blue.

Do the canopies of the trees look blue to him right now?

I sigh, wondering if lying out here amidst nature, just breathing, could be any better. Levan is watching the sky, no trace of the smile I put on him, his eyes un-mooned but calm. My eyes wander down his sculpted face. This time I'm lying on his left and I can't see the bruise on his right cheek. But I know that just because I can't see it doesn't mean it's not there. There's a stitch right above his left brow. A small cut on the corner of his bottom lip. One of his elbow is scratched.

He's broken; inside and out.

I assume he either gets into fights a lot, or has just survived an accident. Or maybe he likes adventures, like me. The thought glows inside my chest like a lantern, it warms me up, but then I wonder if his adventures often turn into misadventures. I conclude that they must, given the evidence. I want to ask him about it. I take a deep breath and prepare to shake him back to earth, back under the trees, back, back, back. Back to me.

"I believe it's my turn to ask," I announce, he blinks with a start, turns to me and scowls.

"Tell me why we're doing this?" he questions. That's not the kind of reaction to give to my kind suggestion, but I get what he means and yet, I return his scowl with comparable indulgence.

"Doing what?" I ask.

"This," he says, gesturing at the air between us, "getting to know each other and –and trying to make a conversation?" I deflate, it's a rude question asked rather nonchalantly. I roll my eyes and let out an airy chuckle.

"Well, I think it's because we both find each other interesting," I suggest, shrugging a shoulder. He seems to be pondering if that is a valid reason. I wonder why he feels the way he does about it. Maybe it's because he has practically no friends at school. Maybe that's what makes him awkward. And I might be over-thinking this, but maybe that's why he wonders if I'm going to be his first friend after all.

"You think I'm interesting? I don't even talk as much as you do." That sounds like a blurt! My jaw is somewhere on the ground. Holy. Hell. I'm more than amused, I'm amazed. Uh to the fucking mazed.

"Excuse me? I need to go fix my ego's face because you sure as hell broke it," I tell him and slap his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to," he shakes his head, mortified. He's so naive. I want to mess with his hair. Okay, that was random but no lie, I want to.

"I'm kidding!" I tell him, "I know I talk a lot, obviously, I can hear it," I say, laughing at myself. I'm really funny sometimes. "But, I guess I want to be friends because you're so silent. I kind of need you to balance me out...so the world doesn't end sooner." I laugh again.