Better

He slumped against the back of the dirty booth, dulled gray eyes rimmed in red and hollowed into his face and surrounded by darkness and glazed over in numbness. A bitter laugh, a quiet inhale.

"I don't want to grow up."

"Coming faster than you think."

"I know."

His words hung, silently acknowledged, in the onion-smelling, fluorescent-lit room. He sat; unmoving, silent, a gravestone, just above death but not there yet. 

"What's the point?"

His voice was tired but sure. Sure that he'd keep living, that in the end, he'd give up and let time's relentless efforts pull him into adult life, sure that nothing would change. That he wouldn't try to change either.

"What's the point of what?"

He finally shifted his blank stare to something other than the fly buzzing around the restaurant-too much work to follow it. He decided to gaze at the dimly lit solitary star on the front wall.

"The point of staying."

"Staying where?"

It was almost dumb to pose the glaring questions that bubbled to the surface after his words.

"Just staying."

"Stay around for a while and wait for it to get better."

"And if it gets better? Do I still need to stay?"

"Stay because it's better."

He allowed silence to spread through the air like spilled soda, seeping into every surface it touched.

"Better isn't the same."

"No."

"What's better, then?"

"You'll be free. Do what you want."

"It sounds better than now."

"Can't believe they let you come."

"It's the only thing they'd let me do."

He paused, closing his eyes. An exhale and a sigh. Nothing could ripple him anymore; his lake had frozen over, empty and lifeless.

"What changed?"

"I guess they just want control."

"Did they get it?"

"Over me, yeah. Over anything else, nowhere close."

He picked at the stuffing spilling out of the booth seat.

"Gets better."

"And then it gets worse. Again and again and again. We're laughing in the morning and yelling at night. One day, you think we're fine. The next day, we're not, not for weeks. It gets better, but then life goes and undoes all the help it gave you the day before."

"Bipolar life we live."

"Yeah."

The waitress brought the bill and dropped it into his unmoving hand. He stared at it, a smile surfacing. It lingered, not because he was happy, but because he was too tired to pull it off his face.

"Everything costs so much more than it's worth."

"What's everything?"

"The food we just ate. Life. Love. Family, laughing, education, morals."

"Laughing?"

"Laugh longer, live longer. Laugh more, more wrinkles. A drawn out life and wrinkles. Sad."

He had shadows of wrinkles, thin, scarlike folds between his eyebrows from years of crying-or trying not to. But the skin where his smile should be was unblemished, untouched, unbothered.

"Yeah."

"It's funny how the people you grow up with, share secrets with, climb trees and skin knees and get in trouble with, grow up into selfish, inhumane things."

"Time and change."

"I don't want that."

"Happens."

"I hate change."

"Change means better."

"But usually worse. It was better before, and I'll grow up thinking that for the rest of my life and wishing I was younger. Before's a place I wouldn't mind staying in."

"They trusted you before."

"Before was the best."

His phone lit up, splashing brightness onto his face that hadn't been there for months. He squinted, not used to it.

"Time's up?"

"You always know." He finally shared a sad smile. Not the ironic smile someone has when they've lost so much that all they can do is be amused at the patheticness of everything. Just the smile of someone who, for a moment, doesn't feel completely alone.

"See you next month."

"Yeah."

"Gets better."

"Can't wait."

He turned, waiting for it to get better, but gave up and dragged himself away, his drooping figure fading into the afternoon.

-

He sits in the front of the dirty booth, radiant blue eyes brimming with happiness and shining from his face and surrounded by brightness and conveying joyfulness. An excited laugh, a quick inhale.

"I can't wait to grow up."

"Enjoy what you have now."

"I know."

His words float, silently acknowledged, in the onion-smelling, fluorescent-lit room. He sits; fidgety, giddy, a kettle about to bubble over but holding it inside. 

"What's the point?"

His voice is young and sure. Sure that he'll keep growing, that he'll change, and everything will change and get better.

"What's the point of what?"

He darts his eyes again to something other than the fly buzzing around the restaurant-not exciting enough. He decides to watch the cook run around the kitchen and burn onions.

"The point of waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

It's almost dumb to pose the glaring questions that bubble to the surface after his words.

"Waiting to grow up, of course."

"Wait for a while; you'll get what you want."

"And when I get what I want? Do I still need to wait?"

"Wait because you'll get even more."

He allows silence to fill the air like a cup of coffee, a warm pause to prepare for upcoming excitement.

"I still can't wait."

"No choice."

"What do I do while I wait, then?"

"Do what you can now. Don't miss now in the future."

"Nothing sounds better than the future."

He pauses, widening his eyes. Nothing can discourage him anymore; his roots are desperately waiting for spring, waiting to grow, to flourish.

"Hold onto what you have now."

"I can't wait to grow up. I can do what I want and make my own choices and have people look up to me as one of them."

"Takes a while."

"Yeah."

The waitress brings the bill, and he plucks it from her outstretched hand. He glances at it, a smile surfacing. It lingers because he's too happy to find a reason to take it off his face.

"I can't wait to get a job and pay for a restaurant better than this one."

"Better to wait."

"I might get wrinkles if I grow up, though."

He has shadows of wrinkles, thin, scarlike folds hugging his eyes and around his smile.

"Yeah."

"It's amazing how the people you grow up with, share secrets with, climb trees and skin knees and get in trouble with, grow up into people who accomplish great things."

"Time and change."

"Some of the best things this world has."

"Yeah."

"I love change."

"Change means different."

"But always good. Different is good."

His phone lights up, nowhere near a close match for the brightness on his face.

"Time to go?"

"You always know." He beams his bright smile. 

"See you next month."

"Can't wait."

"Future's years away."

"It'll be the best."

He dashes away, his youthful figure vanishing into the afternoon.