We walked in silence for awhile, but it was a pleasant silence. The sun peeked out at us between the buildings, casting long shadows across the street. Then we would pass into the shade again and, as if on cue, a cool breeze would greet us. It was warm, for April, almost like a summer evening. I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed being with James. I knew he wouldn’t judge me. He was judged too often by others to wish it on anyone else.
Following that train of thought, it occurred to me that I could be blatantly honest with James. He wouldn’t care.
“To tell you the truth, James…” He looked at me expectantly, but my voice sounded loud, even above the noise of traffic. I took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, I’m intrigued by you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve found you…interesting to me. Most people are depressingly boring, but you…” I couldn’t explain the hold he had on me—even to myself.
“You’re the first person in a long time who really seems to care about me,” he said. “Lots of people take pity on my and…force themselves to be nice to me, but you…”
I suddenly realized we had both trailed off the same way. It made me feel that maybe James and I were more alike than I’d supposed.
I linked my arm through his and asked, “What are your goals in life? Your dreams?”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“What do you want? If you could be anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
“I want to be right here with you, with your guitar in my hand.” We stopped walking and turned to face each other.
I laughed. “Why with my guitar in your hand?”
“Because as long as I’m holding it, you can’t leave.”
I probably blushed. He took a step closer to me, so that the toes of our shoes were almost touching. He leaned in closer, and closer… We were going to kiss!
If it had been anyone else, I would have kissed him right then. But two thoughts made me step back and turn my head: one, He’s thirty-two! and two, I can’t take advantage of him. Of course he liked me—I’d been kind of him when everyone else shunned him. But I, knowing it could never really work, shouldn’t string his heart along any further. I couldn’t use him like that.
But aside from all these gallantries, my heart ached when I turned away and I had to fight not to cry. Why did I have to be such a crybaby?
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he were apologizing for high treason.
“It’s okay, I’m really—“ Fine. I couldn’t get it out, though, because my sobs threatened to break loose.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I…I understand.” He held out my guitar, I took it, and he walked away. I turned the other way and headed back to my car, holding my chin high and taking deep breaths to cool my spirits. By the time I reached my car, my vision was clear and my breath smooth. I put my guitar in the back and drove home, trying not to think too much about what had just happened.
