He passes by me every day on this cold campus, and neither of us can stand to look the other in the eye. They may be two entirely different reasons, but they have built the same wall between us. Every time the two of us cross paths, our eyes are immediately lowered the ground. It is as if the thought of blue meeting grey once more will end catastrophically. It is only when he has made it nearly to the corner that I dare pause to watch him go. I wonder if he can feel my stare, and turns to look my way only when I've returned to my walk. Does he argue with himself on whether or not to say a greeting like I do each time? Does the thought that I would spit in his face cross his mind, and hold him back out of fear?
The two feet between us on these daily passing's may as well make us a million miles apart. He is close enough for me to reach out and touch, yet the mere idea of him flinching away makes my hand stay by my side like a well trained dog. I want to tell him how sorry I am even though a piece of me knows that it will be unwelcome.
Which one of us will take the alternate route, the one we both know exists, just so we can avoid the other? I pray every day that one of us will stop the other just to say something. Anything.
Tomorrow I hope I can find the strength in me to pull the end of his sleeve that I know will make him stop, and I desperately cling to the faith that he will not pull away from me.
YOU ARE READING
Stories That Never Get Told
General FictionThese are the stories of the things that have been, could have been, and should have been. They needed their voices to be heard, and I'm doing the best I can to give them that.
