Disequilibrium

Part 4: Senior Year - Scene 5

Casper comes by a week later with takeout in his hands.

He travels to the kitchen as soon as I let him in, acting like it's just any other Friday evening. I sort of stare at him in shock for a little. I mean, I didn't think I'd see him step foot in here ever again, but here he is, setting a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter.

He gives me a smile tight enough to crack when I fail to greet him, saying, "You hungry? I got that soup you like. I wasn't sure if you were feeling it today, so I got other stuff. But it's there."

Casper's great at a lot of things, but I think he's good at pretending the most. I mean, you've got to be a fucking expert to be able to smile and joke with someone you were beating days before, acting like none of it ever happened when it did. And I want to tell him that. It happened. It did. What does that mean for us?

But instead I say, "Thanks. I'll set up the table."

Casper hoists himself up on the counter beside the bag, watching me work on putting dishes on the table. He stares at me for a while, beating the heels of his feet against the cabinets.

"Do you even want Chinese?" he asks.

"I'm cool with it."

"I should've called first."

"Hey, I said I'm cool. Don't worry."

Thump, thump, thump. I'm starting to worry if he'll make a dent on the cabinet doors.

"Holden."

"Yeah?"

"We never talked about what happened that day. I don't think we can keep going on acting like things are still the same. They're not."

I stop moving for a second, matching his gaze. "I wanted to. But we only ever saw each other at school, and the way you were acting made me think you never wanted to talk about it." I snort. "You can be real fucking scary sometimes, you know that? When I saw you on Monday, I thought you snapped."

Casper laughs, but it doesn't sound amused. Fake and forced—the only thing I've been hearing all week. "It's true, I didn't want to talk about it. I still don't. But it has to happen."

I swallow. "Where do we start?"

He stays quiet for a moment, still swinging his legs until he says, "My parents had a long talk with me. Lasted for two days. They watch me more now like they don't want to be surprised ever again."

"Are they mad?"

"No, they're alright, I think. Well at least they're trying to be. I mean, the first few hours were awkward as hell. But then my mom let it slip that she already knew. Someone kind of hinted it at work. Said my boy tells me your son and his partner are making a nice statement at school. You must be proud. But my mom doesn't believe gossip until it comes from the person's mouth, you know? So she was waiting for me to say it."

There's a real smile slipping through this time, and it kind of makes me warm up to him a little more but resent him all the same. And I guess I could spend all night analyzing the shit out of this feeling, but he's waiting for me to say something, staring expectantly. Thump, thump, thump.

"That's great," I say, and go back to setting the plates and utensils.

"My parents offered to come talk to your dad for you if you want. They even wanted to talk to you during the week but considering what happened..."

It wouldn't be a good idea. He doesn't have to say it.

"I don't think I'm as ready as you are, Cas. I mean, with Nichole leaving and him being absent most of the time, I don't think now is a good moment to tell him I'm—"

"Stop." He's still hanging onto that smile. "Don't say anymore. Stop."

Alright.

"I'm getting my license soon," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My dad is in the process of getting me a car. He's been saving up for it. I'll be going in next week for the test."

"That's great, Cas."

"Yeah." He stays silent for a moment, and then he says, "Winston woke up."

That grabs my attention.

"He woke up three days ago I think. I was there for it. He just opened his eyes and blinked a few times at the ceiling. Then he looked at me, looked at his mom, and said, I'm thirsty." He laughs. "Thirsty. Jesus."

"Is he alright?"

"No." Casper looks down at his feet and swallows, stealing a moment for himself. "He didn't know who I was. He kind of remembered his parents but then a few minutes later, he'd forget again. They're going to be putting him in therapy soon. He's sort of paralyzed, I think. He can't walk. I don't know if—"

He stops to look at me. His eyes are saying a shitload of things I don't like, and it ends up making me grip the fork in my hand hard enough to leave a mark. He notices.

"I didn't do it, Cas."

He doesn't say anything.

"I didn't hurt anyone. I swear. Don't you believe me?"

I know he fully doesn't, but there's still small sliver of hope out there waiting for me. It shows in his eyes—in the way he's gripping the counter right now to the point where his knuckles go white. Casper stares at me and I stare at him, our chests rising and falling almost simultaneously.

"Tell me you didn't take them," he says.

"I didn't take them."

He doesn't blink. I don't either. After a while of tight silence, Casper finally quits gripping the counter and jumps to his feet, taking the paper bag with him. "Come on, let's eat. The food will get cold. I'll save some for your dad, alright? You'll never know when he'll come home."

But I'm still not satisfied. "Where does this leave us?"

"I don't know."

"Do you still like me?"

He smiles a little. "Of course I do. It just doesn't go away, you know. I mean, it might for some people but not me. Could be a blessing or a curse."

"So..."

"So I want to try to make it work. I want to try to trust you again. It won't be easy though. Hell, it might even break in the process. But there's no harm in trying, right?"

I want to agree with him. Plaster on a pretty smile and help him serve dinner. But instead cold laughter erupts from my throat as I slam my body down on the dining chair. "You know, Nichole once said it takes greater courage to let something go than to keep trying to make it work. That must've been the most idiotic thing she's ever said to me."

Casper shrugs, piling more rice on his plate. "I don't know. I always thought she was a smart lady."

I'm staring at him. He continues to distribute the food, not saying anything. And I guess I should say something to make him stop doubting himself. A bad joke, maybe. But all that's buzzing through my mind is the dim sound of static and the thought that damn, I could really use a smoke right now.