July

Twelve

July 14th

He needed some air.

            That was a nice, safe idea, one that wouldn’t compromise his sanity. Like the time earlier that morning, when Jim had called Paul down, and he’d felt terror flow down him like never before.

            “Paul, we need to talk.”

            He’d felt like his death sentence had been pronounced, and was ready to confess everything and beg his father to understand, before Jim had saved him by saying something about the way he’d left the phone of the hook and to be more careful.

            A walk seemed nice. No one there to scare him, or at least he thought, until a figure appeared around the corner, a girl in a sky blue dress. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, hoping it wasn’t someone he knew, because he didn’t feel he was up to meaningless chatting.

            He saw her face and felt a strange mix of happiness and annoyance at the smile that bloomed on Judy’s face. “Paul!” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

            “Oh, hello. Out for a walk again?” Paul asked, remembering the last time he’d met her.

            “Yes, that’s it,” she said, laughing again, and again her hand went to her hair. Paul looked at her curiously, but he wasn’t about to analyze her nervous behavior. He was too tired for that.

            “So, Paul, do you think…” she said, hesitating, “do you have plans tonight?”

            “Oh, not really,” he said. “Maybe we can go out, get some dinner?”

            “I’ll call at seven?” she asked, and Paul nodded, grateful that she’d taken the initiative.

            “Alright, goodbye,” she said, waving slightly, and turning to walk past Paul. Paul went in the opposite direction, going nowhere in particular, except away from his home. He tried to listen to the sound that her shoes made on the pavement as he went to the bus stop, but the sound faded after a while.

            The bus came almost immediately, and he paid with a few crumpled bills almost absently. He went to settle in the back of the bus, before someone tapped him on the shoulder. Paul turned to see Pete, and anger took him over.

            “What do you think you’re—“ Paul began.

            “I’m just trying to apologize,” Pete said. His eyebrows were knit together, and he looked uncharacteristically serious.

            “Fine,” Paul said. Pete took a deep breath.

            “I’m sorry, all right? I was being stupid. And we’re probably going to see a lot of each other with the band and all, so there’s no point in holding a grudge. I know John likes you, but he’s not that patient.”