I don't miss adolescence.

We left together. Coincidence was really to blame but it could have been his deliberation and I certainly didn’t hesitate at the thought of his isolated company. We talked about music and the weather and about music again. It felt like we were arguing but more for the sake of filling space too empty to be awkward. I wanted to know. I wanted to ask him, but the time didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to rush into a conversation that would leave the ride home stilted and painful. I wanted to know, I wanted to ask, but I didn’t, and time moved on jerkily. We made it to the station, paid our fares, went down, onto the platform. We talked about music. He stepped back, away from me, leaving room enough for conversation and a crowd. It was one thirty in the morning, no crowd came so we talked about music. My mind was elsewhere. He might have been drunk. He might have been stoned. I can’t tell most of the time, or maybe I just don’t want to. His mind might have been anywhere. I wanted his mind to be glued to me as mine is to him but this is a dreamer’s wish. I wanted to know. I wanted to ask him, but when? The conversation could be brief and strange, making the next 5 minutes on the train hell. I wanted to know, I wanted to ask him, but the train came and we sat down. Close, because the seats are close. My knee brushed his. It always does. His body seems stiff, but maybe it’s mine. I experiment a little, brushing my arm against his, inviting his hand to take mine. It doesn’t and my lonely hand returns to my lap. I wanted to ask him, I wanted to know. He was talking and seemed animated. I liked the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke. We talked about music. I had two more stops. I liked the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at me. I liked the way his cheeks crinkled when he smiled. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks crinkled and I wanted to ask him, I wanted to know, but I didn’t want to lose that sparkle so we talked about music. I had one stop. Excepting the screeching of the train I had silence. I had a moment. I wanted to ask him, I wanted to know. He is taller than I am, it shows when we’re sitting. I looked up at him. His eyes met mine casually, a little longer than casually perhaps, but I looked away nervously before I had a chance to speak. My mouth opened and closed several times, hoping for some sense or sound to escape. It didn’t, my knee brushed his distractedly and I cursed myself inwardly for my weakness. The train pulled into my stop. His hand touched my knee and he brushed my lower thigh almost clumsily with fingers that may have been shy or may have been indifferent. Whether this act of physical contact was to him a chore I may never know but dubious joy and then numbing shock swelled through my body. Time stopped. The train stopped. I stood up. He looked at me and drew me in and kissed me casually, a little longer than casually perhaps. The doors opened. I wished him well. I got off the train. I made up my mind to phone him, I had to ask him, I had to know. What it is he wants from me, and why it is that we only ever seem to kiss goodbye.