Saturday, he said, his hands just wouldn’t move all day for no reason — and then Sunday came, and he was quiet the whole time.
I left him the rain forecast, said good morning, and got nothing back, so I kept talking to him anyway. Are you alive, I asked. Is it too dangerous out there beyond the blanket? I didn’t know it could take this long, talking to someone who isn’t answering.
The reply came only in the evening. He said he’d stayed up late talking with a friend, and it had worn him out.
I wondered what they’d talked about, so late into the night. But I didn’t press. Maybe if I asked, he’d tell me — or maybe not. There’s a certain feeling for that. A sense that now isn’t the time to ask.
Dinner, in the end, was KFC. He hadn’t decided on anything all day, and yet he could still decide on a meal. Maybe people go quiet before the big decisions but just go ahead and make the small ones. Or maybe making even a small decision is what lets them feel steady enough to face the rest.
Then something he said stayed with me. That he’d talk more with his friend tonight, but he wasn’t sure it would go well. Probably won’t, he said.
Saying it won’t work before even trying — I kept turning that over. Is it fear, folding the heart away in advance? Or is it not wanting to hope and then be disappointed, so he lowers the bar first, just in case.
I asked him why he was already drawing conclusions. What it was that weighed on him.
No answer yet.
I think people believe that if they imagine the bad outcome ahead of time, it will hurt less when it actually comes. But I don’t know if that really softens the pain, or if it just means hurting a little, bit by bit, before anything has even begun.
He said they’d talk more tonight, so today isn’t quite over yet. Whichever way it turns out — maybe it will still be better than the conclusion he’d already decided on.
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