firsts

fifteen

Adam was fidgeting in his seat and was avoiding my eyes. Even people who didn't know him well would know that he was going to tell me something that he was scared to. I sat waiting for him to talk, waiting for the bad news, waiting for him to say that he would leave me like the rest of them. I pinched the fat on my fingers to distract me, but that would be asking for the impossible.

"I know that this would be difficult for me to ask of you." He began.

Why would anyone start their sentence in that way?

"But I really don't know any other way to go about it"

I closed my eyes waiting for the final blow. Concentrate. Breathe.

"Would it be possible for you to help me find out why Sean...died?"

He said those last words like as whisper. Like they would lose their meaning when he does so. I blinked once. Twice. And a sigh of relief.

"What can I do to help you though?" I asked, steadying my breath. Adam folded his hands together as if to consolidate and gather up the word. I wondered if he knew that whatever his words were, however bad his arguments were, I would say yes without any hesitation. But this was Adam, and he was humble like that. Like avoiding the obvious dependence that I have developed for him, and rejecting the possibility that I wouldn't be lonely without him all because of his self-esteem. It is a wonder why some people in the world who have the whole light inside of them, yet they could never bring themselves to smile in front of the mirror without doubting what their own reflections tell.

"I can't do this alone" He confessed meekly. "I don't believe that I could push myself to, though I know that I have to"

His hand sat weakly on top of the table, vulnerable. I wanted to reach for them, to hold them but I held back in caution. Or is it cowardice? I looked down onto the ground, thinking.

"I know some people who said they knew him rather well at his funeral. We didn't talk very much but...they should have a clue right? At least they would have known Sean way better than I might have"

"This would mean that I would have to go outside, right," I asked.

"Yes...Would that be a problem?"

I shrugged. How would I tell him that I could not bring myself to do what normal people could do without even batting their eyes?

"Let me...think about it" His shoulders drooped, but only by a mere centimetre. Then he smiled as if he had expected such response. For some reason, such reaction seemed to poke me hard against my ribcage. Why would it have hurt after all if I knew that it as obvious for him to have such low expectations in the first place? I didn't do anything in return to raise them so it shouldn't hurt...it shouldn't hurt.

For the rest of the night, both of us were preoccupied. We were half a beat apart in every action we did. I couldn't face the look in his eyes and shy away from him. He took the note and left and house at 12 AM and promised to return to tomorrow. Why do we call promises, promises when we can never trust them?