Hiding From Us

21. liam

At the moment, I wasn’t sure if I was considered an Australian citizen or a Canadian one. My birth certificate said I was Canadian. But I felt Australian. I hadn’t developed an accent or anything, and my skin was just as tan as it had been before I left (which wasn’t very tan at all), and I wasn’t suddenly taking nature hikes or taming great white sharks. I just felt like I was an official part of Australia, and Canada was simply my next door neighbor. 

     So I was exited and terrified, and I didn’t know what I was looking for. 

     Megan had said that she’d pick me up at the airport. Of course, she’d only texted me, so I wasn’t totally reassured. But I wanted her to come. I wanted someone to come. God, I was tired and hungry and I really needed to piss, but I wanted to see someone. Megan or Shain or anybody. 

     I’m here.

     It was so cold here. Even though it was only October, the air had teeth, and I wasn’t sure how to react. I couldn’t say that I missed the cold. But it wasn’t like I totally despised it either. 

     It was eleven thirty-eight a.m. I really wanted a Coke or a sandwich or something—

     Shain. 

     I was a radio tuned to all stations, equally numbed and equally deaf, but my sight was undamaged, and all I saw was her. 

     Shain. 

     Damn it. 

     I started walking. There were so many people and so much noise, but my feet were moving and my eyes were locked on her. My carry-on slid ungracefully behind me, and my knapsack suddenly felt extremely heavy. 

     Promise me you’ll come back.

     I’m back. Shain, I’m back. I’m here. Goddamn it, look at me, Shain. 

     She seemed totally oblivious. She was wearing an overlarge maroon hoody with the word EVOLVE on it and dark blue jeans. There was, of course, something on her head—today it was a blue and red toque that let her curls stick out. Her hands had their usual nervous energy: she tapped them against her legs, mimed invisible guitar chords, snapped her fingers to complex rhythms. Her eyes were smoky. 

     I wanted to yell her name. I wanted to run to her and wrap her in my arms and tell her how much I’d missed her. 

     But due to the thickness and loudness of the crowd, I had to push through silently. Lights pulsed and voices buzzed and bodies grazed and suddenly she was meters away, feet, inches, centimeters, and I touched her arm. 

     I said, ‘‘Have you gotten any books published lately?’’ 

     She turned. I saw nothing in her eyes. 

     ‘’Um,’’ said Shain, ‘’no.’’ And she turned away.

     Honestly, I hadn’t actually cared if she had or hadn’t gotten published. I just wanted to talk to her with the snarky attitude she knew me so well for. But her eyes. Her eyes. She didn’t recognize me. Had I really changed that much? 

     I took a deep breath. Closed my eyes for a millisecond. Clenched my hands into fists. Released. And tried again: ‘‘Episode five, season eight of Mythbusters. No Pain, No Gain. What did Jamie and Adam use test subjects for?’’

     Shain glanced at me again. There was something between confusion and fear in her eyes; it hurt me to look at them, so I turned away. 

     ‘’Um,’’ she said, ‘’I don’t remember.’’