Out on the college campus there was a park for students commuting to their next class to walk through and enjoy, or during their break to lounge about and take in the pristine greenery amidst a jungle of concrete and masonry buildings. There were a few benches located there, some of them under trees. And there sitting on one of the benches was a woman, a girl one would say. She didn't look that old; most likely a freshman at the university. She dressed in a rather conservative classy manner, but it did nothing to hide her youthful features. Her face hid any expression that could've escaped out.
“Okay, I'm here.” It was a young man's voice that caught her attention. When she looked up, she saw a worn, slightly bitter young man.
“Oh, so you are.” she responded. “I didn't know if you'd show up or not.” He stiffly settled onto the other end of the bench, almost careful to keep his distance.
“I considered it.”
“You seem upset.” she said. He glanced over, a blank expression exuding an exhausted hostility.
“Nah, you think?”
“Just making an observation.”
“And?”
“Just... noticing it.”
“Good God you're something, you know that?” He attempted to stand up and leave, but there was a tug at his sleeve where she grabbed it.
“You're not leaving yet.” He got flustered and pulled his arm loose.
“Like Hell I'm not.” As he turned to storm off, he heard her call out to him.
“You know I'm worried, right?” The words stopped him in his tracks. His eyebrow twitched a bit.
“It sure doesn't seem like it.” He started to walk again, but then he sighed and went back to the bench and sat down, if not a little closer to her.
“You are not good at these kinds of things.” he muttered.
“I know. I... I know.”
“You've never been. It's fucking irritating, is what it is.”
“I know.”
“It's like you're always fucking there, yet all you can do is stare blankly. Or act like nothing is wrong.”
“...I know.” He began to grow irritated by her meek responses.
“If you fucking know, then why can you say you're worried? ACT. FUCKING. WORRIED. If you fucking know, then why don't you do anything to change it if you know it upsets me, that it makes you look like a fucking awful friend?” His yelling began to draw attention in the serene park. He looked around a bit, blushed slightly and the let silence settle back in as the few glancing passerbys began to thin out again.
“...it's hard.” she said.
“No it fucking isn't. No. It. Fucking isn't. It's not hard at all." Her detached and innocent voice began to assert itself a bit more.
“What do you want me to do? I don't know what you expect me to do.”
“CARE.”
“But I do.”
“ACT LIKE IT.”
“How? What do you expect from me? What do you want me to say?” He seemed exasperated by her naive responses, but he honestly didn't know the answer himself. It was an abstract question that he never really thought about.
“I just...” his voice began to crack. She looked down a bit, then looked straight up.
“Why somebody like me?” she asked. “I thought it's been established that you probably wouldn't want somebody like me to help with that, anyway.”
“I probably shouldn't.” It slightly bothered her that he was so quick to agree. “But I suppose I can't help it.”
“Why?”
“You're always there, anyway.”
“I suppose. But still, I'm not the kind of perso--”
“Stop assuming things about yourself. What are you afraid of? Do you think you'll upset me more?”
“Yes.”
“That I won't want to be friends with you anymore?”
“Yes.”
“That you'll send the wrong message trying to help?”
“Yes.”
“That you're the kind of person who finds it hard to express themselves to people?”
“Yes.”
“...Well okay then.” He should've expected such upfront and poignant answers from her, but it still surprised him with how quick she was. He sighed and looked up at the trees swaying above his head.
“I just... I'm just tired of pretending that everything's fine. That everything's peachy. Even as we talk, I just can't bring myself to just say anything without completely detaching myself from it.”
“Mmm.”
“...fuck, my folks, they have so much faith in me. I don't know what the Hell I'm doing here. I don't want to be here right now. I'm just. Not. Happy. Is that a sin?” He turned towards her. “Why is it wrong to admit that I'm unhappy? Am I not entitled to it? Why can't I be entitled to that?”
“...well, why can't you?”
“NOBODY CARES. I know what the problem is, but it's just sitting there. I don't know what the Hell I can do, if I can do anything. It's not like I can bring it up to my folks, they think that it's all bullshit anyway. They'll think that it's all in my head, that there's something biting at my conscience or that I'm just stressed over school. Why am I not allowed to just say that I'm miserable and that would be fine?”
“Well, I can say I understand that... but why me? I don't know how to help either.”
“Because you're unjudging.” he conceded. “At least you act like it.”
“...No, even I can judge people, even if I don't openly express it.”
“That's fine with me,” he said. “Well, okay, it isn't. If you judged me, that would be nice.”
“...How?”
“Because it shows you care.”
“Hmm?”
“Why would you judge how I act if you didn't care?” he paused. “I... I just want somebody to at least PRETEND like they care, even if they don't. That would be alright. But it's.... it's nice, you know?”
“I suppose.”
“It's nice. I want to look at somebody and tell him that I'm unhappy. That I'm miserable. That I feel like I'm a defective, broken person who's going nowhere in his life. That I don't have to keep this facade up.” He began trembling a bit while his voice started to turn hoarse. “I know I'm not a very stable or good person. I know that I'm angry, that I'm quick to judge and lash out, that I can be remarkably cruel in how I act. Or that I'm weak and exhausted with everything and that I just want to give up. Why can't somebody come along and see all of that, and just tell me that it's fine? That everything will be okay?” Tears began to stream down his face a bit. “But who the fuck would want to do that? Who would dedicate themselves to doing that? Why would somebody even waste their time with it? I mean, if I found somebody like that, I certainly couldn't do it. I'd give up on them. I think they wouldn't be worth my time. It would be—” he paused and collected himself. “It would be too much for me to deal with. Which is why I understand, I guess, why nobody else probably would, either.” There was no talking after that. No words, the cease in discussion only occasionally punctuated by a few hiccups and sobs as he tried to calm himself down a bit.
“...I wouldn't mind it.” she said, breaking the silence. He glanced over at her, then quickly turned away realizing how he must've looked. “I know that I can't say much to help or do much of anything. I'm simply not very good at that.”
“You really aren't. You're pretty much an idiot.”
“I know I am.” She inched closer to him and paused, cautiously mulling over the words she was going to use. “But I suppose even I can do that. I've known you long enough that there really isn't anything you can do to upset me at this point.”
“...you have been a pain in my ass for a very long time, haven't you?”
“Yes, I have. And I will continue to be, probably for a while.” He chuckled a bit. A genuine smile crossed his face for the first time in a few weeks. He composed himself before standing up, he didn't really feel like saying much of anything. She got up and followed. They began walking to the subway station.
“...I still don't know what the Hell I'm going to do.” he muttered.
“Neither do I.” Her response made him grimace a bit. “But it will work out.”
“...I hope.” She opened, then closed her mouth while she thought. She finally came up with something.
“It might get worse at first, but in the end, everything will probably be okay.” He nodded as he heard her answer. They both paid and boarded the subway. They sat down, he closed his eyes and dozed off. She leaned against him.
