There we sat. He said things and turned to look at me from time to time.
Gatherings of hair on his face softened me; the way they guarded his eyes and mouth like a prize. The gathering atop his mouth made his lips seem like a separate entity, calling, pulling to have me place mine on it.
He spoke adding “shey you get” when he ended a sentence. I nodded and turned to look at him at those moments, because I knew his eyes were on me whenever that question came. The eyes bore into me. In some of those moments, when our eyes locked into a communion, I felt he could see all the gray scenes that played behind my eyes. All my secrets were for a moment known. It terrified me, yet it also filled me with liberation.
He would look away as though he had seen only a familiar face, not a face that burned for him, enflamed a lust only to be quenched by the unity of his love.
I was unbalanced with uncertainty. I wanted to lock palms with him. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder. I wanted to be certain our interest shared an amorous commonlity, perhaps find out with a kiss. But I did nothing. I sat there, straight backed, leaning on a Keke Napep that galloped an uneven tarred road, and did nothing. It was better to keep my desires behind gray scenes.
I nodded to the things he said, adding things like “I don’t like seeing the world through the lens of competition”. An impulse to contradict so as to stir on conversation.
“But competition is what guides everything”, he said.
I shrugged, for me “everything was guided by creativity”.
“But creativity created competition”, he said.
The thrill of watching him engulfed in argumentative passion saw that I became a capsule of ecstasy.
In our disagreement I felt a oneness with him. A feeling that said I am home. I wondered if others felt this way, if they became seduced into blissful ease from watching him speak about things he cared about.
I wanted to melt onto his thighs in the way a girl had done when we sat in a bus. I laughed when he saw them, thinking it cute, and continued to read a book in my hand. I said a silence wish for such an opportunity, no, luxury: to place my head on a boy’s thigh in the midst of other people. It was a fleeting wish. The kind squelched because it lacked any bearing on possibility. So I straightened my book and continued to read.
Now, as a gallop jolted us on the Keke Napep, I wished my hand had not moved so quickly when it landed exactly where I wanted it to be since our journey began: on his thigh. I willed myself to place it back, but I couldn’t.
Something in my vision signaled I was close to my stop. My insides became a blend of sadness. I imagined he said he wanted to come to my house, me acting unsure but finally agreeing and us walking through the high grey coloured gate that guarded my house. But I stepped out of the Keke Napep and heard him say bye. I saw him make a thumps up in the way boys do to each other to signal the beginning of a budding brotherhood. And as I raised mine to mirror him I wished it pressed, palm flat, against my lips to show him the part I kissed. Signal to him the dawn of an amorous friendship.
You are Awesome.
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