I'm 15 And Can Walk Home Without You

When I walk home, I often find myself thinking that there is a person walking beside me, I’ll usually pick someone that I wish I was closer to and pretend that they’re walking along with me and I’ll take the time to get to know them in my head and I’ll pretend to hold their hand and when we get to my house I’ll take an extra tea cup out for them and then it hits me that they’re not really there so I drink my tea alone and think that they’re with me when they’re not and I think it’s kind of a cute concept and that’s probably the main reason why I have weird expectations for people.

This person is someone who I want to get to know better and a walk home is the perfect time to do so. I’ll hold their invisible hand in mine, we’ll giggle and they’ll answer my questions on my accord. Once we reach my house, I’ll take out an extra tea cup for them, and then I will remember that they are not genuinely present.

As I leave the school, I’ll take their hand and intertwine our fingers. We’ll walk through the parking lot like this, persevering the cold together. He’ll talk to me about how he likes to swim and walk through the woods. I’ll trip over my own two feet and he’ll catch me and we’ll laugh. My nose will turn red with the cold New England air and he’ll call me Rudolf, leading to me playfully punching his arm.

We’ll comment about the grey blue sky, and how we’ve come to know this color as “snow storm blue.” He’ll mention a song that I’ve never heard of, but will eventually come to love, and I’ll shoot one back at him.

Mine and his frozen toes shuffle into Jo Freedom, our favorite coffee shop, located downtown. I’ll order a sticky-bun coffee and continue walking on. It’s then when we realize that we are both vegetarians, and chuckle at the fact that we’re just coming to know this. He’ll talk about the pro’s and con’s of tofu, and I of garbanzo-yam pasta. By this point we are one block from my house.

I warn him of my over friendly dog, and he admits his love for dogs, and a small debate breaks out betweens us over which is better, cats or dogs. I side with felines, him opposing. Climbing up the steps to my abode, he slips on the thick layer of ice, but catches himself on the railing. I fumble with my keys for a period, because I cannot feel my fingers. The doorknob twists and a fluffy lightning bolt rushes past us and down the street. He begins to chase after him and I tell him not to, because it’s pointless.

He waltzes back across slippery flagstone with a grace that can only be described as a gymnast with ice skates. We step into the welcoming air, fragrant with tonights squash soup. Taking out two tea cups, I realize that he is gone. He has not left, simply has never been there. I’ve walked home completely alone, but with a companion. My mouth has not opened to ask him anything, the dialogue has been in my head.

I set his teacup back in the cupboard, and boil half as much water, make half as much tea, and have half as much enjoyment. I settle myself in the folds of our loveseat, meant for two, yet only one ten fingers linger around my knees, two feet collapse on the armrest opposite me, and one set of eyes no longer sees another pair the color of the sky.

This practice often leads me to have great expectations for him, when in reality I’ve barely held a conversation. I tell myself that I am fifteen years old and don’t need a make believe friend to keep me company while making a twenty minute voyage across the town, but I don’t believe myself.