We stopped at the cement stairs that scaled the hill in front of my home. Goodbyes with Evan were easy. We had a routine.
"Later," he said, kicking the bottom step.
"Later," I replied, loud enough for only him to hear, and climbed the steps toward my home.
*Later' in reality was the time it took for me to enter the house, say hello to my mother, eat a snack under her caring and watchful eye as I recounted my day, and then eventually escape up to my room.
"How was work?" I asked. My parents owned an antique/art gallery blocks from our home, cleverly (they thought) called "Don't Cut Your Ear Off."
"Good," she said, sitting next to me and swiping an apple slice from my plate. "Daddy had to wait for a new artist to come by. She hand-paints ceiling tiles." We had lived in this house for less than a year, but every day I knew that even though it wasn't the right move for me, it was for them.
I should have known something was up the day they called me for a family meeting, which really wasn't much of a meeting as it was just the three of us. While I sat across from them on the loveseat they announced their decision.
We were moving. Not over the summer or after I graduated-now. Smack in the middle of spring semester. I bartered and begged. I came up with schemes to stay with my best friend, Grace, but they held firm. Within weeks they quit their jobs and bought a hundred year old home in the city. With one quick decision our sprawling, suburban house was sold and we moved to an urban, gentrified neighborhood with dog parks, bike paths and high-ceilinged, hip retail shops that begged you to go in and spend money.
"He'll be home for dinner though," my mom said.
"I've got some homework." I said, placing my plate in the sink. My mom gave me a fast hug before I climbed the stairs to my room looking to the corner near the desk for Evan. He was right where I expected him.
"Hey." I said, dropping my backpack on the floor and lying on the bed, spreading out across the mattress. Today had been exhausting.
Evan mumbled a hello from his corner, but nothing else, and I pushed my face into my pillow. My eyes fluttered closed and I drifted, thinking of new boys and pretty, artistic fingers. Did he really see Evan? Could he see Evan? The thought paralyzed me with fear. I pushed it from my mind and the next thing I knew the room was growing dark. I sat up with a lurch.
Evan was still in the corner.
"How long did I sleep?" My voice was raspy and gruff.
"An hour or so."
I looked at Evan standing in the shadows of my room. His blond, curly hair was messy as usual and his jeans had that single tear at the knee. I wondered, not for the first time, what he would look like dressed differently. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the back of the door and made a face at my rumpled appearance.
"Do you hate having nothing to do all day?" I asked, smoothing out my hair. Even though I asked these same questions before, he always answered them patiently. He had little else to do but humor me.
"My time doesn't work like that. You know this." He shook his head in annoyance but continued anyway. "When we are together like this-talking-time seems normal. But other times, when you sleep or I just wander, it's like it stops existing. Time is just fluid, then."
I was sitting upright now, watching him as he watched me. "Like being asleep. Time passes without you noticing?"
"Kind of." He nodded.
"I wish we had met before," I said. "Before...this. Before it happened."
Evan nodded in agreement. "But we didn't. Instead, we're like this. Which is okay, right?" He smiled but for once it didn't reach his eyes and it made me uncomfortable.
From the bottom of the stairs I heard my mother's voice calling me for dinner. I stood quickly, running my hands over my messy hair one last time before I walked downstairs..
"Thanks for being here," I said, my fingers on the door knob.
He tilted his head and frowned. "Where else would I be?"
For more information about WRAITH, visit Angel Lawson on Twitter: @ezrocksangel.