Disequilibrium

Part 4: Senior Year - Scene 1

Summer

Christmas never happened, and I didn't even have to do anything to stop it.

Casper called me that day in a panic, breathing heavily while inhaling more medicine from his puffer than he's supposed to take. I can't do it, he was like. The entire family is here. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins...they're all laughing and having fun. I know if I let it slip—if I tell them, it will ruin Christmas. I don't want to do that. I can't.

I was okay with it, mostly because I didn't want his parents knowing anyway. So I jogged over to his place a little earlier than the time we were supposed to meet, hugged him like I was supposed to, and joined him for dinner as if nothing was the matter.

We never spoke about Christmas again.

The trailer is boiling hot, and even so, Casper stays in my arms as we lounge on the couch, him flipping through an old family album while a movie plays in the background. Once in a while, he'd glance up and say something like, "Is this really you?" when he knows it's me, and then laugh like it's the funniest thing in the world.

We've been doing that a lot lately—laughing. It seems like the only thing we can do since he's uptight most of the time. We do other stuff to keep his mind busy; to build the illusion that everything's okay and we're just as fine as any other couple in the world. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes we'd tease, and sometimes we'd make out. We were getting better at that—making out. I still find it weird. Not kissing boys, but just kissing him.

There are moments when we'd just lie in bed and stare at each other. Not for long though, since we get uncomfortable after a while. We'd just stare and wonder how the hell we got there in the first place, but we never want the answer. Knowing too much tends to kill things, so we're only left wondering.

Then he'd put his forehead on my forehead, then his nose on my nose. And he'd say nothing. We never said anything mushy to each other, but little gestures like those told me how he felt. Or wanted to feel. To be honest, I don't know the difference anymore.

"What're you thinking?" Casper asks. He flips a page. "You got all quiet all of a sudden."

I let my fingers rest in his hair. It's getting curlier by the minute. "Kind of wondering when the storm will come in. Things are never this peaceful around us, are they?"

He ignores my question, forcing a smile as he flips through old pictures of the kid I used to be. It isn't the kind of smile people give at birthday parties or graduations. It's a sad smile, the kind people wear when they start regretting something.

There are many moments we share where I know he knows I'm not exactly balanced. It shows in his eyes from time to time even if his expression says something else. He never talks to me about it so I never bring it up. Until now.

Casper is swift to change the subject though, pointing at a picture of a woman lying on a bed, her hand resting on a round stomach. "Is that your mom?"

"Yeah."

"So that must be you in there, huh?" His finger grazes over the picture. "Damn, she's pretty. Where did you say she was again?"

"Greece. Studying ancient artefacts or some shit."

Casper frowns. "But I swear you said—"

"I thought you were coming over to borrow some poetry books, but you haven't even looked at them. With the movie and the photos and the lounging, it kind of seems like you're avoiding something."

His eyes are hard on mine, words still lingering on his mouth. I'm prepared for when he decides not to drop the thing about my mom, building sentences in my head already. Did I say something else? Shit, I must've gotten the places mixed up. She travels around a lot anyway, so it's hard to keep track.