Flicker Pain

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A few weeks later, Conrad invited me over to his house after school. It took a lot of begging and pleading to convince my mother to let me go. She never liked me going to people's houses when their parents were complete strangers to her. But I couldn't accept her over-protectiveness, not when this was so rare.

So after many discussions and stern looks, she told me that I had three hours - that was it. The next day at school, no one could wipe the satisfaction off my face.

At the end of biology class, Conrad and I packed our things, left the classroom, and walked down towards the bus together. He told me that he didn't live too far from school. The only reasons why he didn't walk was because it was still chilly. The gusts of March winds blew our hair into our faces as we stepped on and off the bus, and into his neighborhood.

His neighborhood was stunning. The houses were large and in their immediate vicinities were breathtakingly green expanses of land - but the similarities stopped there. Each house was uniquely their own, and no two houses had the same shape, color scheme, or style. There was so much to admire, it felt like there wasn't enough time in the world to do it.

I voices my awe to Conrad, who gave me a crooked, flattered smile in return as he shook his head a little.

When he reached his two-story house, he ushered me inside before I could tell him how beautiful I thought it was. It reminded me of a miniature castle, the kind that any young prince and princess would die to live in.

Alas, Conrad told me to just set my things on the floor near the front door and then we could go up to his room. As I was setting my backpack down, I heard a timid voice call:

"Conrad, is that you?"

A small woman appeared in the foyer, hands on her hips, which were covered by an apron. If I had to take a guess, I would've said that she was his mother. If that was the case, then it was obvious where he'd gotten his looks from.

"Hey, mom," He replied. His voice was sugary sweet — but not insincere. If anything, there was more sincerity and love in his voice than I'd ever heard him use before, which was heartwarming to see. He continued: "This is Maya, my friend from school. You remember me telling you about her, right?"

"Of course," Her eyes - which were just as big and brown as Conrad's - shifted towards me, "Hello, dear. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, uh," I didn't know her name.

"You can just call me Sylvie." She smiled.

"Well, I'm going to take her up to my room and we're just going to hang out for a few hours," Conrad said. Sylvie's eyes suddenly went wide.

"I haven't cleaned up in there, so you might want to — " She paused, looking at me uncomfortably. I wanted to tell her that I didn't mind a little bit of a mess, but Conrad beat me to it.

"It's fine, Mom. I'll clean it up." He didn't sound very pleased. She didn't look convinced, but nodded, before disappearing again.

When she was gone, I turned to him, "I should've told her that it wasn't a big deal. I don't mind if your room is a little messy."

He wouldn't look me in the eye, "We don't have to go up there. We can watch tv in the family room or something."

I frowned, "If it's really bothering you that much, I can help you clean it up. I don't mind."

He shook his head vigorously, "No, I couldn't let you do that. It's my fault, and it's my responsibility to clean it up."

It was strange, seeing how vehemently he opposed the idea of me going up to his room. I understood that when you invited people over, you wanted your room to be immaculate, but there was nothing wrong with a few dirty clothes or an empty bag of chips here and there.

But I decided not to press him, especially when he seemed so uncomfortable about the whole situation, "It's okay. We can do something else."

His relief was almost palpable, "Want to see if there's anything worth watching on tv?"

"Sure."

For the next few hours, we talked and laughed and had a bunch of fun together. Occasionally, I thought back to his room, and wondered what was in there that he didn't want me to see.

Perhaps I was overthinking it, but perhaps the skeletons in his closet were closer than he wanted.

I was hardly one to talk.

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