The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

18...

18…

The sky was as gray as Roy’s sweatshirt and the air was bitingly crisp. But Roy didn’t seem to mind the cold, James noticed. The boy didn’t seem to mind the wind either, or the fact that walking through the woods had gotten his convers soaking wet.

            He didn’t care, because he was outside.

            Roy rushed several steps ahead and then stopped, waiting for James to limp up beside him. They had been walking for about fifteen minutes. James was surprised that the boy hadn’t spoken a word. He wasn’t asking any questions, or even touching anything, as James had expected. Instead, Roy walked in silence.

But James knew him enough to be certain that the boy was thrilled to be outside. It was what he had always wanted—to see the sky, and to see the leaves still attached to the trees instead of dead and dry and in his hand.

            So why didn’t he say anything?

            After a while, James decided to break the silence. He stopped in the middle of the path and waited.

It was only a moment before Roy noticed that James had halted. Turning around, the boy hurried back. His hands were clenched at his sides, the knuckles white with cold. His breath came in small puffs of air, turned into mist by the evening chill. “I’m sorry,” he apologized before James had a chance to speak.

            “You didn’t do anything, Roy. That’s what I’m worried about.” James replied, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “You’re not behaving…normally. Not even your kind of normal.”

            Roy glanced up furtively, his eyes flickering with confusion before they found the ground again. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.

            “Don’t be sorry.” James ordered with a sigh. His breath formed a large white puff of air that slowly dissipated. “Just ask me something.”

            Roy quickly shook his head. “T-that’s okay,” he insisted. “I-I don’t have any questions.”

            “Oh really?” James’ brow furrowed. “There’s nothing out here that you want to know about?”

            Roy’s eyes kept flicking up toward James’ face and then back down at the ground. They did this several times before he spoke again. “You don’t like it when I ask questions,” he finally said. His voice was very quiet.

            James frowned. “Well you can ask me something right now.” He said.

            Roy sighed. “Okay.” He said.

            James nodded.

            Roy said nothing.

            “Well?” James urged impatiently. He was sick of waiting for Roy to say something. They’d already been walking for a while. It was getting darker and colder, although that wasn’t really why James felt impatient. He wore a sweater, a heavy coat, a pair of jeans and two pairs of socks beneath his boots. He was plenty warm. But Roy wasn’t responding as James had expected, and this bothered him. He didn’t like surprises.

            “…I-I don’t know what to ask…” Roy replied nervously, his hands shaking at his sides. His whole body was quivering from the cold. All he had on was the hoodie, a pair of sweatpants and his red convers. Realizing this, James removed his coat and reached out to put it around the boy’s shoulders. Roy jerked violently, throwing his arms up and stumbling backward.