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“What Is Bothering You, My Friend?”
—Wayne Roberts
“What is bothering you, my friend?”
It’s the third time that he’s asked me that
question. I’m still not sure what to say, so I
look around the room. The window blocks the
falling rain from invading the distinguished
office. Certificates and awards line the wall
recognizing the feats of the man before me.
The wood paneling is dull today without the
sunlight to brighten it. It reflects my mood. I
let my eyes focus on the name on the plaque,
Alexander Small, Psychiatrist. I bounce the
name around the empty corners of my mind
hoping to shake something loose. He’ll let me
do this for hours sometimes, but I know I need
to say something. I open my mouth.
“I think I love him.” The words are
out before I realize I said them. I immediately
look away to my hands. They are shaking
badly on the armrests. I clasp them together in
my lap. It helps a little. I look back at the
doctor; his left eyebrow is raised. He motions
for me to continue. I don’t want to, but I can’t
take back what I’ve said so I go on. I think a
quick prayer of strength and wish I had
something to steady myself with. “I don’t
know why. We have little in common, and
less to talk about, but when he smiles I melt
worse than butter in the summer heat. You
know the type that I’m taking about; the lips
are slightly parted so a person can see a bit of
the white teeth, a slight curl at the edge of the
mouth, and then he squints so the only thing I
that I can see is green part of the eyes. Damn
it, I see the thing all the time. I look in the
sky, there it is. I look at the ground, there it is.
I close my eyes and there it is. I don’t know
what to do anymore.”
PAGE 4
The results are in! Here is our first place winner J
for the writing contest which Lambda sponsored, ? 1
Congratulations to all of our winners! ‘ ^ J
“Does he know about this?”
“I don’t think so. Though it wouldn’t
be that hard to figure out. I find excuses to be
around him, reasons to talk to him, anything as
long as I can have a second more a day.” I see
our last encounter in my mind. I was sitting
on the steps of my building waiting for him to
come and get me for lunch. I smell the air.
It’s going to rain soon. I’ve always been able
to sniff the air and know that, my parents
could do it, too. My father would sit on the
porch for hours smelling the weather. I miss
my family, and make a note to call them later.
I’m shaken loose from my mental wondering
by a shadow and a voice that is more soothing
than jazz in the evening.,
“Ready to eat?” He looks at me and I
feel my heart skip a minute of beating. I meet
his gaze and lose myself in his eyes, oceans of
liquid green. “Hello? Come on back to
Earth.” I smile half-heartedly.
He talks about this and that as we
make our way to the small bar where all our
friends eat. Today, it’s just him and me for a
while. When we walk into the bar, he waves
to the lady behind the counter. He’s known
her for years. We take a booth in the front
where we can see the people walk by. I’m not
watching the people much though. The
conversation is light, what one would expect
from people who like to shoot the breeze. I
make bad jokes and he laughs. We are only
interrupted by the waitress tending to our
comfort. She’s a good person and I always try
to leave a good tip for her. The dinner is a
good one and I enjoy my time talking to him.
We walk out the door, telling each other that
we’ll see the other soon. He walks away, and
my happiness goes with him. I know that I
have to work soon, so I plaster a grin across
l(Continued)