Small Town

II

"You could've said something to me," Sage's voice spills through the laptop speaker the second the call connected. It sounds even before his face was clear on the screen.

I bite at one of my fingernails slowly. The sigh is out before I have a chance to stop it and the vibration of my vocal cords is a little irritating when I speak. "What do you mean?" I ask. Of course I know what he means, but I want to be sure just incase. I don't want to expose things that don't need to be exposed.

"You're mentally ill. You didn't tell me, but you could've. Why didn't you?" His voice sounds sad and concerned. His eyes are wide. He expects a full answer.

"People react badly to those things.. plus it isn't exactly a conversation starter. 'Yo, I have depression. Let's be friends.' Most importantly, you never asked." He inhales sharply, but I continue before he can say anything. My voice is starting to strain. "I don't just share those things out of nowhere. It isn't something that defines me as a person, it's a part of who I am. It isn't important for people to know. I'm working on it."

Sage is quiet for a long time, and I don't try to snap him out of his thoughts. I'm glad for the silence, for a chance to rest my voice. It hurts to talk, even if it shouldn't. My head drops onto my mattress, my breaths slowly steadying. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Does he mean that much to me? He seems to notice when my hand reaches to rub my throat, an unconscious movement. I do it on instinct at this point, don't pay it any attention unless others do.

"You aren't telling me everything." He states. My head slowly rises. After a few seconds I nod, not able to bring myself to talk. I can't just lie to him, but there's a line between lying and keeping secrets. Sometimes the line has to be crossed. It wont be if, when the time comes, you tell the truth. I don't plan to lie. I just don't plan to tell him until he asks.

"Would you tell me?" I knit my brows together, slightly confused. "You said I didn't ask. If I did ask, would you tell me?" Oh. I nod again. He contemplates something, I can basically see how hard he's thinking about it, but then he changes the subject. He starts rambling about school and how, despite him rarely being there, he's somehow still passing. I listen happily. This happens a lot. I think he kind of expects it at this point. After he quiets down a bit I excuse myself, heading to the bathroom. I take my meds, the same meds I've been taking for the past five months - since the beginning of summer - and some pain killers. Then I hop into the shower, allow the hot water to soak my body. It's about eleven at night when I get out. Upon returning, sage's head lifts up slightly. His hair is messy and his eyes are fighting to stay open. I know I was gone for at least twenty minutes. He probably stayed awake just to say good night. His eyes flutter closed and for a minute I think he's asleep, but then he mumbles softly, "Good night, Bennett."

A chuckle escapes my lips. I make my way back to my bed, moving my laptop so I can lay down and sleep. "Good night, sage." I say back quietly. He smiles, his head moving to further hide his face. I shift around, too, and end up falling asleep within ten minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

—

From: Sage
Happy birthday, you big doof.

To: Sage
Thank you, innocent child.

To: Sage
It's kind of ridiculous how slowly we transitioned from facebook to phone numbers.

From: Sage
Yeah, that's true. I blame you for that.

To: Sage
Why me? What did I do wrong?

From: Sage
You didn't ask.

—

When Sage misses three consecutive days of school, I usually don't blink an eye. He does that all the time. When he misses two consecutive weeks of school on top of leaving me on read each time I text him, I take it upon myself to go to his house and check on him. The majority of the time when this happens it's just a common cold, something he really can't shake. Ive noticed they hit him harder than any one else I know, myself included. When I arrive this time his car is in the driveway, which is usually a good sign. I knock, hoping maybe this once he'll answer. My hoping doesn't work. His mother answers the door, as she usually does when he hasn't been to school for a while. The difference between this time and those times is I'm not here to drop off school assignments. My concern fades a little, though not completely.