Page 82 of Script Swap
“What about you?”I asked.
“Dash, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it.”
“No, I mean—I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I haven’t even checked in on you.I didn’t know you were having such a hard time.”
“I’ll be okay.”He carded my hair again.“It helps that we’re talking about all of this.I thought you were—I don’t know.Getting tired of me.Of how long it was taking me to get over this.”
Squirming around so I could see him, I said, “It’s not something you get over.And you can take as long as you need; you’re grieving.I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”
Bobby’s face was serious.He stroked my hair some more.And then he said, “Can I show you something?”
“Of course.”
He slid off the bed and was back a moment later holding a piece of paper.It was worn along the edges, the white starting to discolor, and it had been folded into a rectangle.Bobby propped himself up with some pillows, got me settled in the crook of his arm, and then unfolded the paper against his stomach.He held it open with his free hand, fingers pinning the edges.
Although my vision was blurry without my contacts, I could make out the drawing easily enough: stick figures, stick people, stick animals.Cats with triangular ears.Dogs with oval bodies.A house with an upside-down vee for a roof.It had been done by a child, and I knew without Bobby having to tell me that he had done it, and that this was one of the things that he’d found in his mother’s storage unit.
“This is my future family,” Bobby said.“Or what I thought it was going to be when I was in kindergarten.”
I can’t even describe the sound of adorableness that escaped me.And then I said, “That is an optimistic number of children.And, frankly, animals.And is that our house, or the dogs’?”
Bobby’s laughter rumbled in his chest, vibrating through me.
“I notice,” I said, “these two stick figures are both gentlemen.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think IknewI was gay when I was in kindergarten, but there must have been something.I also had a pretty loose idea of what marriage was.So, I put myself with my best friend.”
“Oh my God,” I said.“That’s so cute.Also, I’m going to cut him.What’s his name?Where does he live?Do you still talk to him?Could I beat him in a fight?”
That beautiful grin splashed across Bobby’s face again.He adjusted the drawing, the paper rustling under his fingertips.It rose and fell with the slight movements of his belly.“I didn’t have a best friend in kindergarten.I was too quiet.I didn’t have any friends, actually.”His voice roughened as he said, “But I knew I’d find him eventually.”
Tears, ladies and gentlemen.Lots and lots of tears.
So many, in fact, that Bobby finally said, “Are you okay?”
Nodding, I somehow managed to say through the sobs, “You’re my best friend too.”
That made him laugh for some reason, but quietly and kindly, and he folded me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
When I recovered—again—I said, “God, I bet that kindergarten teacher had alongtalk with your mom.”
“Oh yeah,” Bobby said with an unexpectedly wicked grin.“The teacher had lots of concerns about my lack of friends.My mom did what she always did and pretended not to speak English.”
I laughed, probably harder than the comment deserved.But it was more about the release, about the changes still working their way through me.All the unhappiness draining out of me.The tension of weeks and months.The anger and frustration I’d felt at myself, at my writing, at the world.It was like waking up.Waking up from a terrible dream, and feeling like my head was clear for the first time in a long time.
“Do you notice anything else about this drawing?”
“Bobby, I can’t do eighteen cats.I know I’m a writer, but even we have our limits.”
He smoothed out the drawing once again and bonked his head lightly against mine.“There aren’t any words.”
“Well, yeah.It’s a drawing from kindergarten.”
He gave me another of those little bonks.“I spent a lot of my life not being able to use my words.And there was a time in my life when I felt trapped.And when I didn’t know what to do.Didn’t think I could change, or get out, or—or be happy.I thought that was how I was, how life was, and it would never get better.And you helped me, Dash.You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”He drew a deep breath, and with something like a start, I realized he was trying not to cry.“You helped me find my words, my love.You’ll find yours again.”
I kissed him.
Bobby kissed me back.Thoroughly.And if there was one thing I’d learned about Bobby Mai, it was that he had a favorite way of expressing himself, and it had nothing to do with words.He’s also part ninja, in case you didn’t know, and I didn’t even realize what was happening until the sweatshirt was sliding over my head.
