A Not-Love Story

The way she touches me is amazing/terrible. I hate that I love it. The tips of her fingers running up my arm as she goes for the too-affectionate hug when we're simply saying hi. The lingering, preventing me from moving on to hug the others just enough that it is awkward, but not long enough that anyone else seems to notice. At least, not that they show, anyway. And it's driving me mad, because it's exactly the kind of affection I have been craving, but coming from someone I barely even tolerate. I want more and want to pull away quickly.

Thank God we're in a group. I can't see her acting on how she is feeling, not openly. If anyone sees anything, they'll know she's interested and I'm not. I'll have to try my best to just act normal and pay equal attention to everyone. I want to say I'd pay less attention to her, that I would all but ignore her, but I don't know how to be mean like that; in my head maybe, but never actually acting on it.

The bar is unusually crowded for a Wednesday night. Some football game is on or something; I don't really care enough to find out for certain. All I know is that I don't like it. I don't like having to shout to have a casual conversation. I don't like fighting to get the bartender's attention just to get a refill. I don't like being crowded and jostled and claustrophobic when I'm just trying to hang out with my friends.

I excuse myself, say I'm going to the bathroom, but really I'm stepping outside for a smoke. I get too stressed out in these settings. I don't know why I even come, except that I want to see my friends and this is what they all want to do. Maybe I should finally tell them that I don't like coming here. I open up a new pack, and can feel myself instantly relax as I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it.

“You okay?” Kaitlyn's voice comes, and before I turn to see that it's her, she's running her fingers up my back– up my spine– in a too-familiar manner that is supposed to be comforting. I shudder, and I can't tell if it's because it feels good or because I really don't want her touching me like that. There's no way I have been out here long enough for anyone to question my continued absence.

“Yeah,” I shrug, turning toward her mostly so that her hand will be off my back. “Fine.”

“You only smoke this much when we come to the bar,” she notes, allowing her hand to drift back down to her side.

“This is my first one.”

“Yeah, but we've only been here 20 minutes.”

I raise my eyebrows and extend my hands with palms to the sky.

“I'm not judging,” she is quick to say, placing her hand gently on my wrist. “We don't have to go back in there if you don't want to.”

We. She said we.

“Really,” I insist, “Just wanted a cigarette where it was quiet, that's all.”

“Yeah, it's way too loud in there. Almost makes me wish I smoked so I could have an excuse to escape.”

I don't respond. Instead, I look out at the night sky, picking out the stars that manage to pierce the city's light pollution. It's a sad image, so much natural light fought back by so many over-illuminated streets and buildings that aren't even being used.

Kaitlyn sits down on the curb and leans back, looking up with me. “I could stare at them forever,” she practically sighs.

I pull out my phone and internally groan when I have no notifications; no texts, no comments, nothing. There are no new posts interesting enough to even pretend to be distracted. Stupid social media.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” she asks. I pocket my phone and answer.

“Yeah. Supposed to have dinner with my parents on Saturday, and I'm going hiking on Sunday.”

“That sounds fun! Where are you going hiking?”

“Haven't really figured that out yet.”

“Are you going by yourself...?”

“Going with my friend Ashley, maybe our friend Julie.”

“Oh.”

I take the last drag of my cigarette and throw it in the gutter. Before I can turn to head back inside, Kaitlyn asks me another question.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Have to work late. Closing shift, everyone's favorite.”

“I hate jobs that have schedules like that; you can't ever do anything. Are you busy Friday night? I'm going to this concert just a few blocks from here. It's a bunch of local bands, but they're all really good. You'd probably enjoy it.”

“Yeah?” I shift, crossing my arms. There's an alley cat barely visible a couple blocks away, and even though it's just sitting there, I can't stop watching it. “What kind of music?”

“Mostly folk, but with a lot of edge. Think Bob Dylan writing an album with Opeth. You can instantly pick out the influences, but it sounds completely original. It's like nothing you've ever heard.”

I shrug and hold that position for a moment, shaking my head. “Doesn't really sound like my kind of thing. I'm not into that heavier stuff. I hope you enjoy it, though.”

“Oh, okay then,” she says, nodding emphatically. “Yeah, I definitely will.”

The cat moves from where it was sitting and lays down against the side of a building. If I hadn't already known what it was, I wouldn't have been able to pick it out as anything more than an indistinguishable blob of darkness, if I even noticed it at all.

No notifications still.

I open the door to go inside, and Kaitlyn reaches out, gently touching my leg.

“We really don't have to go back in if you don't want to,” she says, lightly rubbing my knee.

So much noise is pouring out just from the couple of inches I have the door cracked. I can feel and smell the heat pouring out, all of it produced by more people than the AC was designed to handle.

I look at her and shrug. “Finished my cigarette. If I stayed out here, I'd smoke more, and I don't really have enough to do that.”

“We could go for a walk or something. You shouldn't have to be somewhere you're uncomfortable.”

I turn and gaze back inside, at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of people I don't know and will probably never see again, the stranger-barricades I will have to push through to get back to our group, the ever-shrinking space we have where we must awkwardly shout at each other just to be heard.

That gentle, affectionate hand lightly touching my knee.

“It's fine,” I say, and go inside.