Tied (All Torn Up 2)

He exhales and flicks ashes onto the ground. “You always so honest?”

I shrug awkwardly. “Yeah. I try to be.”

“It’s good,” he says, staring at the ground, his voice a bit raspier. “Don’t change it.”

He turns and goes back into his workshop, and I follow hesitantly, not sure if I’ve been dismissed or invited. “Like I said, I’m pretty sure I’m moving to New York with my brother in a few months, and I’d like to take Poppy with me. Until then…I thought maybe I could come here to see him,” I repeat, since I never got an answer the first time I asked. “I won’t get in your way, I promise.”

He places some metal into a vise on his workbench and turns it, not looking at me. I realize I sound desperate, and I hate it. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.

“I could maybe help you with whatever it is you do?” I offer, trying to sound hopeful.

I notice his lip curve up slightly at that, like it’s an absurd idea that I could help.

“Or maybe we could just be friends?”

He looks up at me, his expression blank. “Friends?” The word comes out a little softer, less hoarse.

I can see him thinking about it and it spurs me on. “Yeah…we can be the kind of friends that don’t have to talk a lot, or even see each other every day, but we always just kinda know we’re not alone.”

He pins me with his bright eyes, then blinks and shakes his head. “We are alone,” he says, hurling his hammer into his toolbox, where it lands with a loud clang of metal.

“But we wouldn’t have to be…” I add, losing some of my earlier bravado, “if we had each other to talk to…”

His hooded eyes close for a moment, and he lets out an irritated huff of breath before he looks at me. “Let me think about it.”

I swallow nervously. “Okay.”

Resuming his stance of ignoring me, he goes back to his work, and since I have no idea if he expects me to leave, I plop my backpack down on the floor and settle next to it. Poppy and the fox immediately come over to me and take turns rolling over for belly rubs and trying to squeeze onto my lap. Tyler seems agitated by my offer of friendship and slips back into mute mode, only nodding or shrugging as I throw occasional questions and commentary at him from my spot on the floor. I try to remain smiling and hopeful but, on the inside, sadness is brewing. Earlier, I thought we were making progress as friends. But now I feel like we’ve taken a big step backward.

The more interaction I have with people, the more confused I get. I wonder if I am just as confusing to others. Perhaps it’s a human epidemic of sorts, to keep us all in a state of what-the-heck-is-going-on-ness.

When I see the sun is fading outside, I stand and announce that I should probably get going.

“Fine,” he replies reluctantly. “Come back tomorrow. I wasn’t ready for friends today.”

My heartbeat speeds up. “Really? I can come back?” I ask excitedly.

“At noon,” he grumbles.

“Okay. Noon is good.” I wait for him to look up from something he’s soldering, but he doesn’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Still nothing.

I say my goodbyes to Poppy and the fox, pick up my backpack, and slowly leave, closing the door to the garage behind me so the pets can’t chase after me. As I walk back to the road, I’m so lost in my thoughts about Tyler and his odd mood swings that it takes me a few seconds to process the fact that my driver is gone.

My head snaps to the left, then to the right, my eyes searching the desolate road, hoping the car will appear. The minutes tick by as I stand at the side of the road waiting. The sky grows darker. The air turns colder. The ache in the pit of my stomach deepens. She’s obviously not coming back.

Gripping the strap of my backpack tighter, I come to the conclusion I have two options. I can turn around and go back to Tyler’s house, or I can walk home. Glancing behind me, toward his house, I recall how he didn’t even say goodbye to me. Instead, he seemed relieved I was leaving. If I show up unexpectedly again, he will probably be even more annoyed. The drive here isn’t very long, so walking can’t take too much longer. I’m sure I can make it back to Merryfield before dark.

Pleased with my decision, I begin walking, crossing my arms over my chest against the freezing wind and wishing I had worn a warmer jacket. Not long ago I didn’t have any jacket or sweater to wear, and I shivered almost nonstop all winter long for years. A short walk home in the cold should be easy for me if I refocus my mind like I used to.