Our Own Moments

“Can you keep a secret?” I jump, the instant presence of another knocking all thoughts straight out of my mind. I’m left staring down at a half written word, a half written story. 

“Damn it, J, can’t you save your outbursts for some other time? Maybe for when I’m not in the middle of concocting the soon-to-be biggest plot twist of all time?” I drop the pen with a sigh and sip from my cooling mug of coffee as he slides into the chair across from me.

“Sorry, babe. It wasn’t clear what you were up to.” My eyes roll as he waves over the barista and recites his all too complicated order, tacking a “thanks babe” on the end that widens the smile and admiration etching itself into her still maturing features. 

“Seriously?” He shrugs before snatching my coffee, sipping, and then grimacing in disgust. 

“What the fuck is this, V?” He scoots the coffee across the table nearly knocking it right off into my lap.

“It’s called coffee, dummy,” I say, sipping once more. 

“It’s gross.” His fingers begin dancing around the table, touching every object within reach, something I’ve learned to live with after our many years of friendship. 

“So what’s your big secret?” I ask, pulling my notebook out of his reach just as his fingers begin to close on the corner. 

“I’m gay.” A laugh bursts out of me. A staccato. 

“Bitch, I know.” The barista appears beside our table, shooting a wary glance in my direction before setting J’s drink on the table followed by the check and a shy smile that I follow with an almost silent chuckle. “But she doesn’t seem to know,” I say as soon as she’s out of hearing distance. 

“That’s not the secret. Bitch,” he says, mocking my former insult. 

“Then what is?” I let my eyes trail to the window beside us, waiting for what seems to be important information. They land on a puddle just a few yards away where a bird hops, carelessly letting the rain soak its tiny body. 

“I don’t know.” It’s infuriating. The way he will forever lead me to believe there is something so very important that I must stop all just to listen to him. I glare at him, cradling the mug in my hands only to take yet another sip. And then the tiny bell above the door jingles, announcing the first new customer in the past hour. Excluding J. I glance over. Long hair, choppy. A smile. Blue eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. 

“Damn.” It slips out, a simple reflex. It’s a reaction to the beauty before me, the beauty that just walked through the door. J is now leaning in, questioning what had caught my eye. But then he’s turning, seeing, uttering his own profanities. But they sound different than my single utterance. They seem worried, upset.

“You okay over there?” I bring my mind back to our little corner, my hands gripping the mug only the slightest bit tighter. J makes a noise, one close to a sob, only more pathetic. He’s turned his body sideways, his eyes trained intensely on the bird in the puddle. 

“James?” The sound of his full name nearly sends me into a choking fit. The only other times I’ve heard his name were either from his mother or teachers on the first day of school. But the voice that asks for confirmation of his identity holds me back. It’s soft, concerned, hurt. It’s the voice of someone missing another.

The man now stands by our table, the one with the hair, a drink looking almost identical to J’s now in hand. There’s silence. My eyes travel between the two more than once. Trying to put the pieces together. Racking my brain for some memory of a story of a man with long hair. But nothing sticks out. And soon J is unraveling himself from his position, slowly turning, quiet. Something that isn’t at all normal for him. He keeps his eyes on his hands, his fingers fiddling with the rings he insists on wearing daily no matter the occasion. 

“James.” This time it’s a confirmation. Disbelief taints the edges of the name. My eyes continue darting, never once connecting with the gaze of the other. It’s as if I’m not there. Their souls are the only ones that exist in this moment. 

J doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t even look up. Just stares. And then a folded slip of paper is landing beside his now clasped hands; a third hand enters the mix, a gentle pat. Acknowledgement. And then he’s gone. And the note vanishes in one quick movement of J’s. And he’s back, messing with anything within reach. His limbs are loose all over again, his voice humming whatever song plays in his mind. He doesn’t acknowledge the moment I witnessed. Doesn’t even meet my eyes. Until I grab his hand, stopping his antics. He knows my question; I see it in his eyes. But he just shrugs away, avoiding all of the previous moments with every bit of his being. 

“J.” One letter. One syllable. But I fill it with force, reassurance, love. But he doesn’t budge. Just shakes his head, sipping from his drink one last time before uttering some made up excuse before disappearing out the door and into the rain. I watch him go, his body getting smaller with every passing moment before disappearing altogether. And then the barista from before is beside me, uttering a polite apology for interrupting my thoughts. 

“He dropped this.” The note is in her hand, waiting to be opened. “Seems important.” I take it, hesitantly, knowing now I could have the answers. I drop the paper on the table before me, staring at it, wondering. How awful would it be? I could just open it, absorb the contents, have all the answers. I could. But I can’t. Something about the look that had swam in his eyes stops me. I’m not sure exactly what it was. But it was something. Something bigger than our friendship. Something that belongs between him and that man. 

When we were kids, we told each other everything. We never left anything out. We’d stay up late on the phone against our parents’ objections, just talking about our days, retelling every detail. It was the mold of our friendship. But now we’re older. We have our own lives; we live our own moments. And some things just aren’t meant to be told. No matter how bad we may want to. Sometimes things are meant to be kept quiet. And I know that now. I see it in the note before me. So I slip it in my pocket, shove my belongings in my bag. I drop a few dollars on the table before paying at the register and leaving the moment behind. 

When I step outside, the rain has stopped. I can feel the sun peeking through the clouds, its beams brush the bits of my skin that shows. I glance at the puddle, expecting the bird to still be there but find it to be gone. A sigh escapes my body, relaxing every muscle that had tensed in the past hour before crossing the street and letting my feet follow the path J had taken. Letting my feet take me where he had gone.