Page 41 of Catch Me
I opened the door to my Jeep and started to get in when I heard footsteps behind me. Roman jogged to catch up and went around to the passenger side. Even as I started the engine, he didn’t say anything. This guy was giving me whiplash.
We stopped at a sub shop, and I ordered a box of sandwiches, then moved outside to wait for them. I didn’t want to sit or be crowded right now, so I paced along the side of the building, back and forth. Roman leaned against the wall, occasionally glancing at me, but he mostly just stared at the road.
Not a word had passed between us, so when he spoke, I came to a stop. “Why has it been a shitty couple weeks?”
I started walking again. He’d already asked that question, and I told him I didn’t want to answer it.
“Travis.”
Shaking my head, I turned to walk back the other way. When I approached him, he stepped into my path. His palm flattened against my chest to keep me from going around him. I looked down at it, telling myself it wasn’t productive to use his own hand to backhand him.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I want to know.”
Taking his wrist gently, I moved his hand away, then started pacing again. I saw my number flash on the screen inside, so I went to grab the food. After setting it in the backseat, I pulled onto the street.
Roman tapped his fingers on his thighs while he stared out the side window. That question was literally the first thing he’d said to me today. Maybe it was the only thing he could think of to make conversation.
“It’s been a shitty couple of weeks because bigots exist,” I explained. “And kids are being hurt in the same way that me and Sen were.” I ground my teeth together when my eyes began to sting. “I couldn’t save him, and now I’m being told that I can’t save them. That’s why things suck for me right now, Roman.”
I didn’t expect him to respond, and he didn’t. Once we got back to the field, I opened the back door, but he moved in to grab the food before I could. I wanted to make a joke about how chivalrous it was, but I didn’t think it would be taken well.
The last few hours passed slowly. I played with Tessa and talked to some of the guys, but I was drained. By the time we left, I couldn’t stop yawning. Before I could get in the Jeep, Roman moved in front of me and put a hand on my chest.
“Let me drive,” he said.
“I’m good, don’t worry.”
He didn’t budge, so I huffed and passed him the keys. I’d never ridden in the passenger seat of my car, and it felt weird—not in a good way. When he pulled off the freeway, I realized that he’d only been on this route once.
“You remember how to get there?” I asked, looking around to make sure he’d taken the correct turn.
“Yup.”
“That’s creepy.”
He laughed and glanced over at me. “I have an eidetic memory.”
“Don’t call me dumb, but I don’t know what that means.”
“I can remember images and things really well. It’s only for a few minutes in detail, but some things stick with me better. Directions, for one. If I take a picture of something, I can look at it and better remember what it looked like in person.”
“Huh. That sounds like a super lucky thing to have as an artist.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him and leaned my head against the back of my seat. “Why maybe?”
It seemed like he wouldn’t respond again, but after a minute, he shrugged. “I think it makes me a perfectionist. When I look at an illustration that’s based on something real, it never feels like it did when I was staring at it in real time.”
“I feel like that’s unavoidable. Art, no matter how good it is, isn’t the real thing. It doesn’t feel the same. Looking at you right now is different than if I saw a perfect representation of you, becauseyouare alive. There’s no way art can replicate that.”
His brow furrowed as he stared ahead. With the shade that the trees offered, my eyes felt heavy. Regardless of what he said, I didn’t want to fall asleep in case he took a wrong turn.
“Art is better in some ways, though,” I said.
“How?”
