Shoelaces

Dirty Patio Chairs

Are you sure you are okay?"

"Y-uh, yes, thank you."

I say that I'm fine, but in reality, I'm mortified. I genuinely don't think I have ever been more humiliated in my life. After explaining to this kind soul that I was not actually in danger and that I was only overreacting to being locked out of my house with a dead phone, I really don't think I can make it any worse.

"Here, let me help you up."

Oh, yeah. I'm still on the floor in basically a fetal position. Forgot about that part. The boy, who looks around my age now that I have actually been able to look at him, walks over to me, extending his arm down. His pushed-back black hair has slightly fallen, covering his forehead, his brown eyes somehow looking at me with sympathy instead of pity. I mean, if I was him, I would probably look at myself in disgust. But I guess he's actually nice. I grip onto his hand, which he promptly pulls up, allowing me to stand on my own two feet again.

"Uh, thanks," I mutter out, the embarrassment leaking out of my lips. I divert my eyes to not look at him, yet I somehow feel the heat from his glare on my face.

"Is your mom or somebody coming home soon? So that you can get in?"

Why does he have to be so kind? Can he please just leave me to my own demise? No, he has to make sure I'm okay before continuing on his trek back from the doctor's office.

"N-no. My mom is on a business trip, and my sister is taking my dad to a soccer tournament."

"What?"

"I-I mean, my dad is taking my sister to a business tournament."

That same smile forms on his lips from earlier, the same one he had painted on his face during the incident in the waiting room. Why can't I just speak correctly? I do goddamn musical theatre, but I can't even form a coherent sentence.

"Your mom is on a business trip and your dad is taking your sister to a soccer tournament?"

"Uh, yeah, you got it."

Wild that the man I just met can speak about my life better than I can. He chuckles again before continuing.

"Well, that's not very good, is it?"

If anybody else said that, I would be annoyed. But something about the tone of his voice being lighthearted and sentimental at the same time, and the fact he went out of his way to help me, causes me to laugh. Only a little, though. I'm still upset.

"No, uh, not very good at all."

A gust of wind blows into the patio, bringing along a wave of silence that washes over the two of us. I finally move my eyes from the sky to his face. He's still somehow looking at me with sympathy. At this point, I would have just left. Yet he and his surprisingly sharp jawline are still on my patio. I swipe my feet against the wood floor, feeling like forever before he speaks again.

"So?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted to use my phone to call somebody."

He smiles kindly, and I feel like an idiot once again. How did I not hear him?

"Um, uh, yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

He reaches into his khaki pockets and pulls out his phone, sleek in a slim black case, which he hands to me after unlocking it. I awkwardly take the phone from him, almost dropping it because of how sweaty my hands are. I'm so nervous. And for what? I already made a complete fool of myself; how could I make it any worse? Well, I guess cracking this stranger's phone would actually make this whole train wreck awful, so at least something went right. I enter my mom's number into his cell and place the ringing device up to my ears. In the meantime, he turns around and sits on one of the patio chairs my dad and I constructed last year. The day we made them, they were so pristine and clean, but now they are covered in grime and dirt. I swear if they stain his pants, I'll never forgive myself.