Perhaps Inconsiderate...

She leads me to the P.E equipment closet. The place is filthy for something I know is being entered every day, but Nikki pays it no mind, walking over to a chest of equipment and climbing atop it, placing both hands on a small window and, with a strong push, forces it open.

“Thing’s been broken for twenty years. C’mon, I’ll help you through first.” I feel my cheeks turning bright at the thought.

“I-I can get myself through.”

“Are you sure?”

“...no.”

“Figured. Upppiesss!!!” She takes my hand and pulls me up on the chest with her. I carefully grab onto the pavement of the parking lot outside as she carefully lifts me, allowing me to awkwardly squirm through. Once I’m out, she hands me her guitar before pulling herself up and out with ease. “My brother used to come out this way.”

“Oh?”

“Runs in the family.” She leaves it at that, closing the window back up. “School probably figures anyone going out this way isn’t worth worrying about.”

“That’s, uhm…really sad?”

“Is it?” She shrugs her shoulders before walking ahead. “C’mon, I’m hungry!” I move to catch up, grabbing her guitar. “Oh, thanks.” She sticks out her tongue before placing the strap back over herself. As she does, my eyes begin admiring how closely the doll got her outfit. Black jacket, jeans, sneakers. Though, I suppose they could also be a common enough outfit for it to not really be a difficult thing to recreate or imagine. As I lose myself in consideration, I hardly notice when we stop at the stop sign to the left of the school’s entrance.

“Uhhh…where are we going?’

“Norell’s.” Oh. The convenience store/restaurant combo. I haven’t been in forever. It’s not the kind of place built for eating alone. When I think like that, though, it almost makes this feel like a date, and my whole body goes warm and cold at once. Right. I gotta make her fall in love with me. But…god, I don’t know anything about her. How much time do I have to learn about her? I feel my fingers grasping around my skirt tight. “Nervous?”

“...a little.”

“Mmm. You’ll be okay. For first time offenses, people are usually forgiving. You’ll probably laugh about it with your mom when you’re older or something.”

“Maybe.”

“Heh…sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have taken you seriously about wanting this.” She starts fidgeting.

“It’s fine, you took me seriously when I was being serious. That’s on me. Plus, I’m…not really regretting it. Just nervous.”

“Ahh. That’s good.” She seems back in step after that, dragging me along to the next street.

…

Ugh. I see another reason I haven’t been back here in forever. I stare down at the still dirty table before Nikki scraps the crumbs into her hand and carries them over to the trash.

“Better?” I only respond by taking a hand sanitizer out of my bag. “Thanks.” We both sit down. You order when you come in, so now all we had to do was wait. The silence, though, was what really made it awful. Something about having said I wanted to talk more to her, only to be so quiet, felt funny. Even then, though, everything I felt like talking about just felt stupid or unproductive. Come on, think! For the sake of the universe!

“So, any hobbies?”

“Music.” I’M FUCKED.

“I sort of figured that much…”

“Hehe~!” She sticks her tongue out at me. It’s very cute.

“Well, uh, like, what kind of music do you like?”

“Uhm…all kinds?”

“Oh? Not picky?”

“No. I don’t wanna arbitrarily cut something outta my life that could be meaningful. I cried to Pulse Demon, you know?”

“Sure that wasn’t cause your ears were bleeding?”

“Don’t look down on my beloved noise man.”

“I don’t think I’m looking down on something I’m not mentally strong enough for…”

“Pfft. Fair enough.” She looks out, up at the blue sky.

“So, are all your hobbies actually, like, music?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Why?” She seems confused.

“W-well, I just mean, it’s sort of unusual to have one hobby, or, interest. I don’t mean anything by it.” She narrows her eyes, before looking down at the table.

“I guess? Mmm.” She seems to go into deep thought. “Music just means everything to me. Is that a good answer?”

“I think so?”

“Like, there’s nothing in this world better than listening to my CD player or playing some stupid bullshit I came up with because I was just plucking strings.”

“Mmm…I think…I can respect that.”

“Huh? Respect?”

“Like, caring about something that much is…it sounds nice.” I don’t know where I get off saying something like that. “Some people spend their whole life not knowing what real caring feels like. I’m sure they’d be envious.”

“That’s mean.” She seems a bit annoyed. I widen my eyes, and she explains. “How would it feel to be gawked at for not knowing how to live any other way? Personally, if I could choose, I’d rather not be like that.”

“W-why?” I may have put more force behind my words than necessary. She seems taken aback.

“B-because it’s lonely.” She refuses to meet my gaze as she says it. I want to ask why, but I realize I may be pushing too far. Instead, I lean back. Lonely? What’s lonely about being passionate? About a reason for living? Isn’t that something to be thankful for? Or…I look down at my hands, considering and reconsidering, over and over, while she remains quiet. Maybe…

“I remember someone saying…everything is a language.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Culture. Etiquette. Friendship. Expression. I imagine…not being able to speak any of them…is really lonely.”

“I…it…must be…yeah.” Shit, I have her attention. Am I supposed to say something more now? Uhm…

“No one…speaks music like you do, right? No one without an online profile?”

“You do.”

“H-huh?”

“You haven’t been confused even once.”

“Even still, I’m not…I don’t live for music.”

“Y-yeah. I figured.”

“I don’t really…live for anything like that. So, maybe, I couldn’t consider what it’s like to only live for a single thing, and I said something inconsiderate.”

“You’re fine. Really. This is just…this is a stupid conversation.”

“It’s not.”

“Mmm…”

“I…would like to…know how you feel.” Again, she seems taken aback.

“That’s…really fuckin weird to say to someone you only met today. I’m not very interesting anyway.”

“I’d like to decide that for myself.”

“Why?” Her voice feels laced with something old and painful. It hurts just process it.

“Because I’m lonely too.”

“Oh.” Her voice loses all edge. “I see.” She fidgets in her seat.

We don’t speak again, but when I see the smile slowly creep on her face, I know nothing else needs to be said.