All the People in the World

Chapter 6: Limbo

I don't believe I've ever napped around someone else. Sleeping is vulnerable. It's meant to be done alone. Most vulnerable things are best kept to yourself. Like singing, if you're poor at it. Or sickness. You don't just go parading around your weaknesses. And if you are in a state of weakness, well, then you don't parade around yourself.

But I napped on the train. I think I might have even leaned on him. I hope I didn't. That would be horrifying. We'll say that I didn't. But I did nap. And the only explanation I can give is that... Well it felt like I was alone when I was with him. This is not to say I felt unseen, quite the opposite. I felt entirely too seen most of the time, actually. No, he never made me feel lonely; he made me feel alone. He made me feel like I could do all the things I would only do alone while in his company. Sure, sometimes his presence added things- irritability and chagrin come quickest to my mind. But most times, if I'm completely honest, his presence added nothing at all. His grandmother had this theory that you would know you truly loved someone when you could fight without fear. You could scream all the decrepit, horrid whispers of your mind at them with the full confidence that their love for you would not waver. It would persist... I had a similar theory. That you could tell if you truly loved someone by what kind of music you played on drives together. When you play music for yourself in the car, it's sporadic. There is no curation or need for a perfect set list. You play whatever it is you want to hear- even if that means replaying the same song eleven times and listening to only twenty seconds of another. There is no judgment, no pressure to please. And when you can do this with someone... Well, that is when I'll know I truly love. I've never done it, but that's when I'll know.

We were on the train, to go see his Nonna. She was dying, his mother had said. That had been the reason for his tears that day in class. I think he was embarrassed to be this torn up over it. Grandparents passing on was simply part of life, he felt. It was almost expected. But Nonna was different to him, not just because she had been more of a mother than a grandparent, but because he had fostered an unresolved, private idea that she was an untouchable being. She was the pillar of strength he had built his world around from a very young age. If she could be toppled, what did that mean for his world?

It would mean he would have to rebuild. A tricky and taxing business. I would know. I could have told him this, but it wouldn't have done anything. There is no way to prepare for a thing like death. Because you cannot really prepare for something you don't believe will actually happen. And few are willing to believe there will be ashes. Least of all him. Does this make sense? I don't care. It makes sense to me.

I had come with him on a whim. I had been sitting in his living room, twiddling my thumbs, searching for a way to bring up his writing when I finally asked,

"Can I read your notebook again?"

He looked petrified and shook his head. "No, no, Ava. Why would you wanna do that?"

"Because I want to see if it was really mean."

I had begun to second guess myself. Perhaps if I really dissected it, really annotated the lines, they would not be so bad. They might even be loving. Poetic. Ethereal writings from a man about a woman.

He got up, taking our plates to the kitchen. "No, Ava, come on. It was mean. I should have never written those things about you."

"Maybe I was being dramatic!" I said, following him.

"No you weren't. They were awful, horrible things to say."

I was quiet, thinking as I searched his face. I stepped closer to him. He exhaled heavily, his breath catching, giving himself away. He couldn't stand to be this close to me. I loved it.