Page 14 of Old Acquaintances

“Gotcha.”

I listen to him sinking deeper into his seat.

“Was that so hard?” A laugh shoots from his nose. “You were going to tell me about your IBS, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“You can keep yelling at me if that makes you comfortable.”

“Yelling at you feels more comfortable than breathing. Butnot speakingto you feels as natural as existing.”

I avoid his gaze, staring out of the window, and pick at the fabric of my jeans. It lifts and falls. In college, I wore a rubber band and snapped it when I felt anxiety ripple through my uncontrollable thoughts. Right now, my fingertips pull and release, but it does little to calm my mind, especially when he brushes a lock of my hair back behind my shoulder as says:

“We could learn to be cordial with each other.”

Forehead glued to the glass, I mutter into my palm, “Why are your hands so rough?”

“Because I work in construction. I handle lumber and power tools and scoop up dead mice.”

The hand on my shoulder doesn’t drop as suddenly as I would like. It does what it always did – drops, slowly, along the length of my arm.

He’s trying to bait me. He wants me to fight against his touch.

I should fight against his touch.

“Do you still live in Savannah?” I shoot, closing my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Are you married?” I pry.

“No.” His body and my body are officially separate now.

“Do you have any illegitimate children?”

He pauses. “…are you trying to tell me something?”

I spin my head, finding him an inch from my nose. I allow myself one second of soaking in his image and feeling it bloom in my heart. One second to be happy that he’s this close before the happiness cracks into devastation.

I had to ask him if he was married and had children. I had to ask him that, a man I knew intimately for almost twenty-three years.

I spit, “I’m just beingcordial.”

“Oh.” He smiles, eyes casting over my face. Lowly, “Do I get to ask my questions now?”

“No.” I turn back to the window. “Unless your question is: Ella, how did you possibly become so much more lovely and charming in the last seven years? Because you’d have to ask God about that, I don’t know all the mysteries of the Universe.”

“I told you, Beautiful, you look the same.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Am I supposed tonotcall the sky cloudy or this plane delayed?” After that, his voice comes out more distantly, he’s scooted away from me, to mutter, “It’s a fucking fact, Ella. I’m just stating facts.”

Facts. Like how painful these next few days are going to be ifhe keeps acting as though everything is normal and fine and just as it was when we were teenagers.

At that moment, the plane begins to reverse, and I flinch, watching the outside environment shift. My stomach rolls. I exhale, breathing through the nervousness, and lay my head back on the seat. “Please don’t talk to me anymore.”

“Excuse me,” he directs a flight attendant. “Do you have extra puke bags? My friend here is going to need it.”

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