“Your stop’s on Fairway?” I asked as we moved off down Charleton. After a quick glance to confirm the absence of cars in either direction, Asher had abandoned the sidewalk for the street itself; I guessed he wasn’t a fan of the stretches of cobblestones. I paced alongside him; his wheelchair could go at a good clip.
“Yeah, the Ridge St. stop,” he confirmed,
which put us at about a 10-minute walk, and then however long it would take the
bus to come. Thanks to taxpayers with an enthusiasm for public transit, buses
ran every 30 minutes even this late at night, but that still meant it could
take an hour end-to-end for him to get home. He must have been thinking about
the same thing, because he said, gesturing vaguely at the sky overhead, “Honestly,
I think I could use the air and stuff. I need to chill out after that. I don’t
think I’d be able to settle down if I called a cab, went home right away.”
I shrugged, not comfortable making a
recommendation either way. At that point we hit Fairway, turned left onto its
broad, well-lit expanse. I noted, as he regained the sidewalk, that his shakes
had subsided.
We continued on in silence for a couple of
blocks. I watched my breath puff out ahead of me, glanced around at buzzing
streetlights, closed storefronts, dried leaves skittering down the sidewalk,
and – not too often, I hoped – Asher next to me. His profile looked tense, and
he let loose an occasional hard, audible exhalation. But he looked resolute to
me, his mouth set. He wasn’t all right, but there were no signs of panic. I was
impressed.
The streetlights showed his hand on the
joystick to be finely shaped, with long fingers. I could still see the fingers
of his bent-down right hand flexing, but slowly now, almost meditatively,
instead of the involuntary twitches I’d seen before.
“Long week?” Asher said suddenly. It was
so banal, out-of-place, that I almost laughed outright. I might have grinned
for a second.
“Huh?”
“You’re not much of a talker, is what I
meant,” he said, turning his face up to me and grinning mischievously. His eyes
crinkled at the corners.
I tilted my head to one side and started rubbing
one ear, taken aback by his sudden pivot. I tried again to ignore how his smile
made me feel. “Mm…”
He continued to grin up at me, raising his
eyebrows demonstratively; the headlights of a rare passing car rolled over his
face and then off again.
It was my turn to exhale hard now. After
that, I sucked my lips in. It felt natural to want to tell him, but that didn’t
mean I was comfortable doing it. “I used to have a rrrrrrrrr… Rrr. Fuck. Excuse
me.” There it was again, on cue. “I used to have a very bad stutter. It’s a lot
better now. But it could still be better.”
“Ah, shit, sorry, that sucks.” Asher was
looking ahead again, had lost his grin, and his face was hard to read. But the
way he said “that sucks” was strangely and immediately comforting, to an extent
that belied the casualness of the words. The way he said it seemed to encompass
a lot of things – real acknowledgement, acknowledgement without expecting
reassuring qualifications (“but it wasn’t really that bad, it made me stronger,
God intended this for me”); and a kind of weary acceptance that had to refer to
his own state, too. Mostly, I heard companionship.
I went on rubbing my ear without saying
anything, until I forced myself to stop fidgeting. “Thanks” felt inadequate, so
I gave him a kind of nod, and hoped he knew what I meant. I also hoped that he
realized I was being awkward, not reveling in the idea that my pain was unique.
Or, you know, plotting to mug him, again. He’d only just met me, for god’s sake.
I’d helped him out once, but he still didn’t know me from Adam.
We were almost at the bus stop. After a
couple cars went by, sending a slight gust of wind and a low flurry of leaves
by us, he cleared his throat and said, “I just keep thinking, if I were you, I
would be dying to know how the hell I
got myself in that situation in the alley.”
I laughed, finally. “Yeah, well.”
“It’s both a worse and better story than
what you’re probably hoping for, depending on how you look at it.”
“I don’t even know what kind of story I’m
sssss – s – supposed to hope for.”
“I like it, no expectations are even better
than low expectations. Well, I’ll cut you a deal since you’re obviously so
eager to pry it out of me.” He grinned again, and my insides twisted
pleasurably. “I’ll tell you my tale of woe once we get to the bus stop, and if
we have time before the bus gets here. Deal?”
“Deal.” I did want to know, but it wasn’t my style to go needling after stuff
like that.
He paused his wheelchair, taking his hand
off to offer me a handshake. I took it. His hand felt so small. He held on for
one second, two seconds longer than would have been expected, his slender fingers
pressing gently. I wasn’t sure what my face was doing during that time, so when
he finally let go, I composed it as quickly as I could into a caricature of a
proud businessman’s – chin tilted up, eyes hooded – and gave him a crisp nod.
He was grinning again as we pulled into
the bus stop. It wasn’t a windy night, but even so, it felt a touch warmer
inside the shelter, which I found I appreciated even though I’d been
comfortable with a worked-up heartrate from the brisk walk. I wondered about
him, though; it registered now that his hand had been cold. (Even so, I felt
like I wanted to live in the memory of that handshake.)
“Do you need gloves?” I said. His hands
just looked vulnerable, I caught myself thinking.
He looked up, a bit surprised. “Actually,
that would be nice, now that you point it out. And since it’s going to take me
a while to put them on, I can ask you to work on something else for me.”
“I thought I was going to get to hear your
story now. I don’t see the bus.”
“Yeah, but I’m hedging my bets.”
I looked at him quizzically.
He swiveled his wheelchair a bit to face
me, leaned back, and put his hand on his knee. “Look, Roy.”
The way he said it, my heartbeat was
already speeding up with an uncomfortable expectancy.
He continued, “You’re very intriguing,
you’re very handsome, and I like the way you look at me. And you saved me
tonight. So I’m going to ask you to do me the favor of putting your number in
my phone, right now, so that I don’t risk getting whisked away into the night
without ever seeing you again.”
My face immediately went hot. All I could
do was put my hand out for his phone after he’d fished it out of a coat pocket
and opened up his contacts. I typed in my info. Now my face felt like it was
going numb.
Meanwhile, Asher had also fished out a
pair of leather gloves. He’d gotten one onto his right hand while I wasn’t
looking, and was now using his teeth to pull the other by the cuff onto his
left hand. The way the right glove hung loose made it clear that that hand was
significantly smaller.
Finished, he flexed his left hand a few
times, then leaned back in his chair again and looked up at me, with the
slightest smile on his lips. The glare of the bus stop’s lighting made his eyes
look even larger and darker. I handed his phone back to him, and then, struck
by a thought, reached into my pocket for the wallet of the man from the
alleyway, while gesturing “just one second” to Asher. I flipped it open, looked
at his ID – William Riley. (I should have checked that there was ID before I let him run, I told
myself reproachfully. From experience, I knew that was only the first of many
should-have’s that would be visiting me that night.)
I flipped the wallet shut again, and
extended it to Asher. “Might want this too.” He looked blank. “For the police
rrrrr – report,” I added. After a moment, he registered what I was referring to,
and his face instantly clouded over.
“Thanks,” he said, and took it reluctantly,
unzipping his coat to slide it away into an inside pocket. I felt a pang of
regret, as if I had soured the moment, and looked away to the side, pretended I
was checking for the bus.
“Okay,” Asher said after a pause, “bus schedule
says that we have about 8 minutes before the next bus is due. Storytime?”
“Sssss –“ I paused. “Storytime.”
We smiled at each other.
Roy
Oh wow. I'm so so hooked. And then you reveal that Roy stutters too? It got even more perfect. I love Asher's cheeky smile too. Really excited to see more.
ReplyDeleteYou should have seen my face when I asked myself "What's Roy's deal?" for the first time, and realized the possibilities...
DeleteHe's great. I love the way you've portrayed him with that raw anger but immense kindness too...? Great. Also the sketch is fabulous :D
DeleteI love this. Great writing and sketch. I'm so looking forward to the promised lengthy chapters coming up!
ReplyDeleteIt's getting hard to stop writing about these two! I'm itching to keep posting - so thank you for your excitement.
DeleteYou are very talented! Both with the writing and the drawing.
ReplyDeleteI am enjoying your story quite a lot.
Thank you, Pepper! This is the first time I've used both angles to explore the same story, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it.
DeleteI can't wait to hear the story. I am really looking forward to the next chapter.
ReplyDeleteAnd I hope it doesn't disappoint! Thank you, Chandelier.
DeleteSuch a great story so far. I love Roy and Asher already and can't wait for more. Thank you for posting.
ReplyDeleteI am so so stoked that these two are getting love (and not just from each other). Thank you so much for reading!
DeleteIf I weren't already completely sold on this I would be now! The stutter... ohhh, this is just perfect. Love those two! And the drawing... wow, just, wow.
ReplyDeleteA doubly-sold Lovis was all I needed for my week to end well :D Thank you so much.
DeleteOh I forgot to add that you should probably label all story parts with the title of the story (Shadowboxing). This way people can easier find them again in a few weeks or years.
DeleteI extremely enjoy your writing, thanks!
ReplyDeleteThank you; I'm so happy to hear it!
Delete