the boy in Japan and me, the wimp, being comfortable at home

“Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.” -John Steinbeck

I sat there trying to close my eyes. Struggling to shut these eyelids so that I didn't have to face it, I didn't have to look at it, I didn't have to linger or entertain the presence I knew was there.

I bit my lip, biting back the words I knew I should say, wanted to say, was called to say.

There were six feet in between me and another person and their soul yet it felt like he was in Japan and I was in my little Carolina home. There were thick, brick walls between us and I didn't have the strength or willpower to get the bulldozer of Courage and knock them down.

I was comfortable where I was; watching from a distance. I was comfortable texting my friend mindless banter that meant nothing. I was comfortable thinking about what I was going to wear that night.

But he wasn't. I could tell. I could tell life had been a party he wasn't invited to and he had spent many years crying in bathrooms during lunches because no one understood and no one cared to. 

I could tell that "I love you," "I care about you," "I want to help you" were not words he was accustomed to hearing. 

I could tell that he really needed a hug.

But he was in Japan and I was in my tiny Carolina home and I was comfortable so I couldn't be the one to pester him with kindness.

What if I went over to say hello and he looked at me like I was a freak? What if he said mean things or got up and left right in between, "Hi, my name is Savannah," and "what's your name?"

What if he was happy how he was? What if he had loads of friends and I misjudged those sad eyes?

So I kept trying to tape my eyelids shut and I kept biting my lip and I didn't say one word to this boy. I didn't even smile at his lonely face.

I just kept texting and thinking of my outfit and being so effing comfortable I wanted to die.