Walking Birdie home hadn’t proved as nerve-wracking as I’d thought it would be. I had expected some kind of awkwardness, a quiet tension that hung in the air as we both awkwardly tried to figure out something to say. After all, we’d only spoken to each other while in the company of others, whether it was at lunch or in English class. We’d never spoken alone before. The thought made my ears go warm as we crossed the street and headed down the sidewalk.
“This math stuff is so stupid,” She stuck out her tongue as she showed off her homework. “I mean, when am I ever going to use any of this? Piecewise functions? Bleck.”
“You never know. If you want to work with all those ugly animals of yours, you’ll have to have some math knowledge.”
She shot me an irritable glare, my words obviously not the right ones. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never need graphing skills to take care of a blobfish.”
I shrugged, adjusting the bag on my shoulders. “You might have to prove yourself to the fish first. Impress him with your graphing before he lets you feed him.”
Though she chuckled, she prodded me roughly on the shoulder. “You’re a nutjob.”
“I pride myself on it.” I puffed out my chest proudly, reaching up a hand to ruffle the hair on my head.
She chuckled softly, though once her voice died out, a quiet silence fell between us. It was comfortable, natural enough that neither of us felt pressured to speak. I’d never felt such a silence before. Most of the ones I knew were full of tension, awkwardness, or outright anger.
“You know, I never would’ve guessed you would be this open after such a short time.” She was staring me over as we walked, not paying a bit of attention to the ground underfoot. I couldn’t help but worry she’d trip. “I don’t mean that offensively, but I didn’t think you’d open up so easily. I thought you’d be a harder nut to crack.”
“Open up easily?” I repeated her words mindlessly, their melody foreign on my tongue. “You think I opened up easily?”
“I’ve only known you for a few weeks, and you already offered to walk me home. I’d call that opening up easy, wouldn’t you?”
I’d never thought about it like that. Did I seem too enthusiastic? Did she think I was some kind of creep? Was this an opening to a conversation about how she never wanted to speak to me again?
“I’m so sorry,” The words were tumbling out before I could think. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I didn’t mean to come on too quickly; it’s just that I’ve never had any real friends befor-”
“Caspian,” She cut me off with a raised hand and a soft chuckle. She was laughing? “Why are you apologizing?”
My cheeks ran even redder at the direct question as more word vomit tumbled out. “I didn’t want to come off as creepy to you. I wasn’t sure if you thought I was being creepy because I opened up so quickly, and I wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Now that I say it all out loud, though, it sounds foolish.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately as we turned a corner. “You’re so worrisome. Why do you worry about every little thing?”
Why did I worry about everything? I’d never thought about it before; worrying was just second nature. I’d grown so used to its company that I never thought about why it was there to begin with.
“I guess I never thought about it. I’ve never known anything other than worrying, even when I was little. For the longest time, I thought everyone dealt with those feelings, the crippling anxiety that tries to devour you whole. I didn’t know that it wasn’t normal to get so worked up over a field trip that you end up making yourself sick. I thought everyone got so nervous that they missed out on a few experiences here and there. When people said they couldn’t come because they were ill, I always figured they were sick from worry, just like me. It wasn’t until recently that I figured out I was the abnormal one. In preschool, I figured some kids just didn’t have their anxiety kick in yet. When middle school hit, I guess I had the epiphany that most people didn’t have anxiety to the level that I did.” I kicked an acorn awkwardly as we wandered past house after house, gradually approaching hers at the end of the street. “I’m rambling, though. To answer your question, I guess I worry about everything because everything feels so important in the moment. What words I say, how I choose to move, it’s all so incredibly important then and there, and even if it’s not, I can’t help but wonder if it will be important later on. I worry about everything because I never know the difference between what is everything and what is nothing. I always feel like if I mess something up, it’ll be the one thing that makes me lose what I’ve managed to grasp.”
We finally came to a stop. We’d arrived at her house: a brick two-story with neatly polished windows, pristine white outlines, and a royal oak door. Flowers were planted around the steps, bringing just enough color to the otherwise neutral setting. My rambling had taken us to our destination. The walk there, though ten minutes, felt like seconds.
I’d expected her to laugh, to call me foolish, and brush off my words. They were foolish. I knew it, and yet, I still feel for worry’s consuming spell.
“I know how you feel, Caspian.” She shuffled her feet awkwardly. “That consuming dread, the feeling that at any moment, everything could slip away. That worry that everyone can see you. I know that feeling better than a lot of people. It’s a hard thing to get over, but you’ll come to realize that life is a lot easier if you stop fretting over every little thing. In some instances, it’s reasonable to be concerned, but in others, you come to realize that you’re wasting your time worrying about them. And when it comes to what people think about you? Who cares? The right people will come to you in time, and they’ll love you just as you are.” Reaching up a hand, she gave me a soft pat on the chest, just hard enough to gently reverberate through my muscles and hit my heart. “I know I do. Thanks for walking me home, Caspian.”
Before I could respond, she skipped up the steps, unlocked her door, and disappeared, leaving me dry-mouthed and speechless in her yard.
