I KEPT my promise to Alton. I’ve been trying to keep my head down. I haven’t called Levi, though I’ve been tempted; I haven’t spoken to Ziggy, mostly because she won’t take my calls; and I haven’t even gone to the corner shop without someone chaperoning me. That isn’t how they would put it, but it’s definitely what’s happening.
Now it’s Friday and I’ve managed to convince them to let me go out alone. It took a huge amount of negotiating—apparently I have a curfew now, which is ridiculous. I didn’t even have one when I was in school—but it’s better than nothing.
I wonder how John is doing. I wonder if he’s going to be receptive to us talking, or if he’s just going to shove the cash into my hands and send me on my way. Which could happen. He’s confused.
I confuse him.
That’s what he said about me.
He did seem a little worried when I had to leave and I felt bad that I had to go home, but I’m trying my best not to be presumptuous. He probably doesn’t even think about me when I’m not there.
I’m starting to get a headache.
This is complicated enough without worrying about what he thinks about me.
I DON’T really know what to do when I get to Crash. I don’t know if I’m meant to just push in and walk to John’s office, or if I’m supposed to wait for him out here.
He’s probably going to come out of the building at some point. There’s part of me that’s really apprehensive about going in, mostly because I’m worried this will actually be the very last time I see him. If it is, and if he dies, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The impact I’ve made on his life is both minimal and succinct; I have upset him.
If there’s such a thing as destiny, I have not stopped his, and he doesn’t seem interested in stopping it himself. I don’t know what power I have if any, to change his mind. The answer is probably none.
Maybe I can convince him, if he lets me. But I doubt he will. I can’t just stand around here all day. I should probably go inside.
I push the door open softly and it makes this horrible, creaky noise, one that ensures everyone knows I’ve arrived. Great, here we go.
I turn toward John’s office. I can hear noises coming from inside. I take a deep breath before I knock on the door, even though it is open.
John walks over.
There are dark circles under his eyes, but his entire face lights up when he sees me, and he flashes me a smile so sincere and so earnest I think he may have never smiled at someone like that before.
“Hey,” he says. “How are you doing? Do you feel better?”
I close my eyes. “I’ve had a weird week. What about you? Still coming down?”
“Nah,” he replies, shrugging. “You get used to it after a while.”
I nod. We look at each other for what seems like forever, not saying anything. This is starting to feel a little awkward, which makes sense, since we’re not somewhere private, but it also hurts. I guess I was expecting him to throw his arms around me and tell me he missed me, even when I was trying to convince myself otherwise.
He swallows and moves out of the way. “Come in.”
I do, closing the door behind me. He looks at me for a few seconds before he looks at his desk.
“I have your money,” he says. “I assume you wanted cash? I don’t know how checks work in the future….”
I smile at him. “Yeah,” I say. “Cash is fine. Cash is good.”
“Okay,” he says. He hands me the envelope. My fingers graze his when I grab it. He sets his gaze on me then he breathes out through his mouth. “Can you stay for a bit?”
“Yeah,” I say eagerly, too quickly. “Yeah, I can stay.”
“Great. Can you wait for me for a couple of hours? You can just hang around here and do whatever, but I can’t go to lunch yet.”
“Sure,” I say. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
I LIKE watching John work. It feels familiar and safe. There is, however, the issue of our looming conversation. Any domesticity or comfort I can extract from the current situation is fleeting, and that makes me more anxious. I’m chewing the inside of my mouth until I taste blood, so I stop doing that and opt to bite my thumb instead. I’m on a chair, slouching and watching him. I probably make him nervous.
At least he’s occupied.
That’s better than me. I’m sure I’m being creepy, but I can’t help myself. This is him, this is John, being alive, just doing things. And the fact that I get to watch him, with the full knowledge he’s going to die soon, kind of horrifies me. It also makes me feel important and relevant, which upsets me even more. I wonder what kind of person that makes me.
“Hey,” he says, looking at me. “Are you okay?”
I smile at him. “Yes? I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to go back to my place and talk?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “That sounds good.”