The Lonely

by Brown, Tara

  "What?" I say breathlessly.

  "Are those Beats?" He's breathless like me.

  I frown, "My time?"

  He looks confused, "What?"

  I laugh, "You mean like, did I beat my time?" My heart is beating in my throat.

  He laughs too, slowing his treadmill down. He points to my ear-buds, "The buds-are they Beats? Dr. Dre?"

  I pull one of them from my ear and look at it. "I think so."

  "They're sick, hey? I have the full ear ones. So awesome."

  I slow my treadmill down more. He's messing with my run. He's hot, so I let him. I grin, "You run fast."

  He laughs, "Not as fast as you. If my legs were short like yours, I would be running half your speed."

  I open my mouth, offended, "Hey. My legs aren’t short."

  He laughs, "I didn’t mean like your legs are short. I mean like. Oh fuck it." He says breathlessly and presses the cardiac arrest button to stop the treadmill, "I mean like you're shorter than me. Like we run the same pace but my step is longer. So it's easier."

  I laugh and slow mine to a three so I can stroll next to him, "I know what you meant. I just couldn’t let you get away with that."

  He wipes the sweat off his red face and wipes it on his pants. "Thanks. Sebastian Hollinger." He holds the sweaty hand out. My nose wrinkles when I look at it.

  He laughs and puts his hand away.

  I bite my lip, "Sorry. I just have a thing with like …"

  "Some asshole rubbing sweat all over his hands and then touching you with them. Yeah, everyone does. Sorry about that."

  I swallow, "Emalyn Spicer."

  He smiles the most charming smile I've ever seen. My heart almost stops. Dark-sweaty hair, round-sweaty shoulders, thick-sweaty biceps, straight teeth, an amazing smile and brown-hazel eyes. They're almost green. I almost sigh, but the sweat bothers me enough to keep me grounded. "Nice to meet you." I say softly.

  He smiles. A lot. I like that. His smile broadens when he talks, "You too. Emalyn. I've never heard that name before? Where's it come from?"

  I hate the questions about my name. It always comes up. I shake my head and push the heart attack button too, "No clue." The treadmill comes to an instant stop.

  He shrugs his huge shoulders, "Cool."

  I want him to talk to me again but I haven’t been around a ton of boys my age. I'm not great at flirting and playing around. I can count the boys I've flirted with.

  "You from here?" I ask.

  He shakes his head, "No. I'm from Northern Maine. You?"

  I shake my head, "No. Long ways away." I don’t want to say it but I do. "I'm from New Mexico." I wait for it. I know it'll start questions, it always does. Questions I don’t like answering.

  He frowns, "Wow, you're really pale and blonde?"

  I laugh, "And blue eyes and no accent. I'm not Mexican. I don’t think even half the population is Mexican or Hispanic. It's just a regular state. You know regular percentages of regular people. You know, regular being a little bit of everyone."

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head, "Yikes. I didn’t mean to sound like I'm a Klan member. Jeeze. I meant like you're not very tanned. I always imagined New Mexico was warm and shit."

  I laugh and smile, "Wow. You are actually worse at this than I am. That's saying a lot. This bit of tan is about all I get. I've never tanned well."

  His red face loosens up a bit, "This is horrid. I'm way cooler than this, I swear. Can we just start over?"

  I wave, "Hi, I'm Emalyn. White, extra white actually, and non-Mexican from New Mexico. How are you?"

  He laughs, "You're funny. Funny and fast." He looks like he's struggling with something, "Wanna just have dinner with me? I promise it will be less entertaining than this." He points around us, "It's the workout, it's messing with me. I think I'm light-headed actually." His eyes twinkle, making me laugh.

  My face is split into a huge grin, "I'd love to." I would? My racing heart is saying otherwise. But I remind myself everything is about the New Leaf. Freedom, adventure, taking risks, all are the New Leaf that I so badly need.

  "What are you doing in an hour?"

  I raise an eyebrow, "Nothing." Why am I still answering questions?

  "Wanna meet at Chicken Lou's? One hour?"

  I want to think about it. I want to say no. I want to be rational, but I don’t. I smile and hop off the treadmill and grab a wipe, "Yeah."

  "Great."

  I wipe down the machine and wave, "See you in a bit."

  He smiles the killer smile and makes my racing, panicking, and stressed out heart, stop.

  Sebastian, Seb? No. Bastian? Maybe. Maybe just Sebastian. My mind races and fills with terrors. Bad things. Fears and possibilities. By the time I get to the room, I've talked myself out of it.

  Michelle is there getting all curled and dolled and pretty. She smiles until she sees the look on my face, "What happened?"

  I shrug, "Nothing."

  "Tell Shell Shell what happened." She crawls onto my bed with her shoes on. My nose wrinkles involuntarily. She rolls her eyes and makes sure they don’t touch the blankets, I'll have to wash three times to get the smell of the store out. I'll have to wait for the weekend. The machines had waitlists I couldn’t bear.

  "I met a boy."

  Her eyes light up momentarily, "Cute boy?" Her face is panicked for a second. This is uncharted territory for me, us. She has always been the one with cute boy on her lips. Neither of us knows what to do about a cute boy and me.

  I twitch, "Cutest boy."

  "Name."

  I sigh, when I say it, "Sebastian."

  She makes a face, "What went wrong? I like that name."

  "Nothing. He asked me for dinner."

  She squeals and does a weird butt-hopping thing on my bed, before I can finish. "Where is he taking you? Oh my god, a real date. I could cry right now. You said yes to a boy and…wait…why do you look like that?" her face drops.

  I can't look at her, "Nothing. I just think it's super weird he asked me out the first time he saw me."

  "Oh my god. Em, you're never going to date and have a boyfriend and start this normal life you want so badly, if you don’t actually go on a date. Yeah, so what? He asked you out. He likes what he sees and wants to get to know you and see if he likes you." She takes my hand, "You don’t have to do anything. It's just a date. No different than eating at the table back home, next to a boy. Dude. You got this. Bring the sani and have a meal. We did restaurants back home. You can do this. Wipe the cutlery down under the table."

  I gag a bit thinking about it and shake my head, "I just can't okay." I stand and walk to the showers. I stay in extra long. I try to stay in so it's too late by the time I finish. But I can't. I go back to our room. She's gone, but the mirror has lipstick on it.

  GO OR I WILL CUT YOUR HAIR OFF IN YOUR SLEEP!!!!

  I shudder at the writing and pull on a t-shirt and some jeans. I look back at the red lipstick and rush to it. I'm wiping and cleaning in a frenzy before I realize it. I step back, horrified that the grease in the lipstick has permanently marked the mirror.

  I pull my phone out and send a quick message on my phone, 'I need a new mirror. Can Stuart bring one by later? Like a dressing mirror.'

  'Good evening to you too. How was the first day? Of course he can. What size?'

  I look at the mirror and shake my head as I text, 'I don’t know.'

  '…Take a picture….' He's awfully saucy and impatient.

  I hold the phone up and take the picture. It has me in it. I don’t look like me though. Not the way I see me. The girl in the mirror looks normal. Blonde, plain, blue eyes that sparkle with fake life inside of them.

  I ignore my thoughts and slip on my Nike sandals and of course my running watch. I love that it's plastic and washable. I pull my hair into a messy ponytail and don’t apply a drop of makeup.

  I grab my wallet and leave, feeling weird. I start my chants, "It's just like eating beside a boy at home." I wash, ri
nse and repeat this the entire way down the hall.

  I send the picture when I'm on the stairs. I then send another text. One that I have been dreading since I agreed, 'I'm going out for dinner.'

  'With who?'

  'Boy from the gym named Sebastian. Chicken Lou's'

  My cell rings. I swallow and answer, "Hi."

  He sighs into the phone, "Hi. So a boy from the gym? Alone?"

  He sounds annoyed and quiet. He's always quiet. I don’t know what to say. "Yup."

  It always sounds hollow wherever he is and his voice is a whisper almost, "I don’t like it."

  "Okay." His reaction throws me. "Uhm. See, I already told him yes."

  "Did you tell him where you live or what your cell is?"

  I shake my head, "No. You told me no one could know the number. I almost never even told Shell, even when you said it was okay."

  "Call her Michelle, please. I don’t like Shell. It sounds infantile. Message me from the bathroom when you get there." He hangs up. He always does. He never speaks to me nicely, well he never really speaks to me. That's not what he's for. I hate that he called me infantile.

  "Dick." I mutter and head for the restaurant.

  Sebastian is standing outside when I walk up. He smiles and I forget about the weird phone call and the ruined mirror.

  He looks the same as he did running. T-shirt that shows off his defined chest and arms and those shoulders, gah. His hair is shaggy and fluffy, most likely from being fresh washed and not styled. He has on baggy jeans and vans. I smile when I catch a glimpse of his running watch.

  "I didn’t think you were coming." He says. I glance at the time and groan. I'm half an hour late and he waited.

  He waited. I like that.

  I smile back at him, "I'm sorry."

  He opens the door for me. We walk into the chaos and madness. He walks past me when we get inside.

  It's packed.

  I'm frozen instantly.

  He wraps his hand around mine and drags me through the crowd. It's an instant shiver up my arm. Not because his hand is warm and so big, it eats up my whole hand. Not because his skin, against mine, is making my belly dance. Not because I am sexually attracted to him like a…I'll stop there.

  It's because his SKIN IS TOUCHING MINE! His bare hand is against mine. I can't imagine how many times he picked his teeth or scratched. I don’t know him at all.

  I'm almost gagging. I feel the panic coming. Someone bumps into me, knocking me. Another person touches my arm, "Sorry." They say. There is nothing but the sea of voices and chairs being shoved and waitresses shouting.

  I close my eyes in the sea of people. I don’t have any choice. They've surrounded me.

  I let him pull me along and drag me through the crowd. I start my affirmations silently.

  I feel grateful for the light and air I'm breathing. I have hand sanitizer in my bag. I'm grateful for hand sanitizer and the fact I remembered it. Every mess can be cleaned. I chant it. 'Every mess can be cleaned up.'

  He stops. I walk into his back and his arms wrap around the back of me. Hugging me to him. My face is squished into his back.

  "This is insanity." He shouts back at me. "Are your eyes closed?"

  I manage to open my trembling lips, "Too m-many p-p-people."

  He hugs me tighter to him, "Oh my god, Emalyn. I'm so sorry. I should have warned you. This place is nuts every night of the week." He is shouting loudly. It doesn’t improve anything. He turns back the way we came in and pulls me out. He doesn’t hold my hand. He keeps me hugged into him, like a two person conga line.

  I'm a moron. I feel it inside, but I can't stop and be normal. When the fresh air hits, I rip the sanitizer out of my pocket. I dump the cold gel across my hands. The smell of the pumpkin-spiced alcohol is therapy.

  I know he's watching me. I can almost feel the crazed look on his face. I can definitely imagine it.

  I finish rubbing but don’t move. My lip is trembling. I'm begging, pleading with myself not to choke up or freak out completely. I'm not too worried the tears leaving my eyes, just flooding them. I don’t cry. My tears always find their way to my eyes, but they never actually make it out. Instead, they make kaleidoscopes and change everything for me.

  He doesn’t even know me and I've revealed something so horrid. If he knew the rest, he would leave.

  I am seconds from pulling out the phone and sending the message for the car to come. I don’t know if my legs can walk back to the dorm. They have the cement boot feeling. The thick feeling they get. It's coming. It always does.

  His huge hand reaches over and takes the sanitizer like it’s dangerous. He squirts some on his hands and bathes them in it. He hands it back. But now that he's touched it I have to do it again. It's insanity but it's my insanity. I bathe in it a second time and put it away. He takes my hand in his and walks me silently down the busy road.

  "I'm so sorry." He finally speaks, his voice is traumatized.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. The tears are there in my throat. They are threatening me. I almost believe they will go to my eyes

  "I should have guessed. You cleaned that treadmill like it was your job." He laughs. He is smiling. I can hear it in his voice.

  I glance up, "I get it if you want to run away."

  He grins, "What? I have the cleanest date in town now. I've never felt so safe in all my life." He points with his free hand and I notice we are still holding hands, "I know a quiet place down the road. Very clean. Owner has OCD, so the service is slow but the place is immaculate."

  "Okay." The warmth of his hand is nice. It makes the lonely go away. He's the cure. I sigh. Quietly.

  He pulls me into pace with him. "So is it as bad as Howie Mandel's?"

  I snort, "It's not what you think. I'm not a germaphobe."

  He looks confused, "You are so."

  I shake my head, "I don’t do it because I care about the germs. I was raised to be clean." I don’t tell him that I've spent my lifetime trying to clean something up.

  He makes a face, "Oh, those scary cult families where you get scrubbed with boiling water like Mommy Dearest?"

  I laugh, "Something like that." The similarities are disturbing.

  He shrugs, "My uncle Frank is a surgeon. I get it. He went through a vodka phase once. He had bottles of it in every bathroom and we had to wash our hands with it." He steals a glance down at me, "The crowds are hard too. New Mexico is probably pretty quiet. Boston's not exactly quiet."

  "What kind of surgeon." We need to talk about him.

  "Orthopedic."

  "Wow."

  He doesn’t sound interested, "Yeah."

  "You taking medicine then? Keeping it in the family?"

  He looks down at me laughing like I'm missing something, "No." His eyes are filled with a touch of something intense, but it's too far beneath the surface for me to see it. "I'm in business. What about you?"

  "Journalism is what I want to do. I ran the paper at my high school. We did a lot of earth sciences pieces. Trying to be proactive about the environment. But I'm a freshman, so we'll see."

  The Town Car pulls up as we round a corner. Stuart climbs out of the car he parks illegally, "You said you were going to Chicken Lou's." He looks pissed. His dark eyes are stormy. Shell is right, he's hot. Especially angry. Yowza.

  I don’t want to explain the car or the driver to Sebastian. I scowl and shout across the street like a psycho, "Go home! I thought you were on a date!"

  "Had to end it early." He's speaking through his teeth.

  I roll my eyes, "The chicken place was too busy. Huge crowd." I pray he gets it without me having to explain.

  Sebastian looks down at me, "Is that your driver?"

  I laugh. It's nervous and I shake my head, "No. God no. Stuart, this is Sebastian. Stuart is a friend of my…uhm…family's. He's like a big…older…annoying brother."

  Stuart looks less than impressed.

  Sebastian smiles uncomfortably, "Hey man. We'r
e gonna eat here. You wanna come?"

  Stuart ignores him, "This is a bad idea."

  "I'll call him. Now go away." I turn and pull Sebastian to the door. I almost grab the handle but my hand freezes looking at it. Thankfully, Sebastian grabs it quickly, "Let me. Is everything okay?"

  I look back at Stuart and nod. "He's really over protective."

  "Who are you going to call?"

  "My…uhm…family." I laugh inside my mind. I've never said the word uhm so many times in my life.

  Stuart doesn't get in the car. He watches. He always watches. It's creepy.

  He isn’t creepy, but his job is.

  My phone vibrates the minute we get inside. I ignore it.

  The restaurant smells great and I can see the sparkle and shine in every corner. The servers are clean, with their hair pulled back and greased to their heads. Everything is white linen and immaculate. I almost sigh relief, but then I notice how everyone else is dressed. We look like slobs. I look down at my chipped toenail polish and ugly blue sandals and grimace.

  He must have seen the look in my eyes because he leans in and whispers, "Yeah, I forgot how fancy this place was. You okay here?"

  I nod, "I'm starving. I don’t care. I feel like an idiot but whatever."

  "Me too." We are still holding hands. It's weird for me to hold hands with anyone. After my panic attack it's nice. More than nice. He's like a hero. I feel rescued. The right way. Like he is a prince and not a dictator. My knight in shining armor. He cured the lonely.

  Chapter Three

  "We ate and talked and ate some more. He eats a ton like me, so that’s good. I didn’t look like a pig." I'm nattering. It’s a first.

  Shell rolls her eyes, as she applies my toenail polish, "I don’t know how you eat that much and don't get fat."

  "Sprints. But yeah, we ate and talked. He is so sweet. He never tried to kiss me or tried to touch me, except the hand and that was after he did the sani. I super liked him." I'm gushing.