The Quiet Part Out Loud

For my family,those I carry,and those who will carry me AlfieI DON’T KNOW WHY YOU’RE here in San Francisco and not in New York like you planned, or why it hurts so much that you didn’t tell me.After last summer, I don’t know a lot of things.I can’t tell you what the weather was like that day when I first noticed you in sophomore gym. I can’t remember everything about the way you made the required uniform shorts and T-shirt your own or exactly how you wore your brown curls. But I do know how brave you were when you helped that girl. Everyone laughed and pointed as she stood there frozen. Then you ripped off your hoodie and wrapped it around her waist, covering the back of her shorts. The whole time, you kept your expression so deliberate and your voice so matter-of-fact.“Girls bleed. Get over yourself.”If I say the way you looked at me as you ushered her into the locker room—daring me to laugh or feel sorry—caused tiny electric shocks to prickle my cheeks and shoulders and arms, you’d roll your eyes and tell me to quit being so dramatic.You never saw it, but you were always so fierce, bearing witness to everyone and everything around you—everyone but yourself. You buried everything. Your emotions twisted so deep, they made a tornado of intentions. For me, it was always easy to get lost in the storm.I’d hoped maybe after all this time, that would have changed.But you brushed past me at the coffee shop today, as easily as you brushed aside everything we’d become. Seeing you after so long—feeling the electricity that tingled on my skin when your eyes met mine—I realized I would still happily weather all of it for you.Your only-child life seemed so sterile next to my big, messy family, yet you carried so much more around. I never understood how you could live with all that noise in your head.The entire year we were together, we were sprinting toward an end, never realizing what existed beyond the finish line.But even then, we both knew we couldn’t keep up the race forever.And if seeing you today in that crowded coffee shop is the last time, it’ll be enough to know you’ve found another path to explore. MiaMY CHEEKS BURN THE ENTIRE way back from the interview. Cheeks, neck, pretty much my entire upper body. I’m afraid if I exhale, flames will escape my throat. I can’t believe after all this time, I ran into Alfie in a San Francisco coffee shop. I can’t believe he got a front row seat to the crap show that has become my life.Actually, I can.I race up the stairs to Simi’s dorm, where I’ve been crashing these last few weeks. She’ll know what to do.Flinging open her door, I let the the city’s chill barrel in with me. Before I can say anything, Simi motions behind her back for me to duck, so I do—straight to the floor. It’s later than I thought.She’s on her nightly FaceTime call with her parents and, as far as they know, I’m not supposed to be anywhere near this side of the country. To avoid getting caught, I inch myself inside as quietly as I can and keep out of the camera’s eye.“What was that light, Simi? Is someone there with you?” Her father’s heavy accent drones through the air. Simi cuts her eyes across the floor, telling me to stay put.If her mom thought for a second I was taking time away from Simi’s studies, she’d have us both back at home before Simi could end the call.Simi doesn’t want to go home, and I can’t. I don’t have one anymore. Which is why I crouch and she angles the camera away from where her roommate—and all her stuff—is supposed to be.I mouth “Sorry” and motion for her to hurry up. When she waves her hand behind her chair, I army crawl across the linoleum floor to the empty bed on the other side of the room. Leaning against the bare mattress and metal frame, I draw my knees to my chest and focus on the twinkle lights and vanilla spice candles on her side of the room. And wait.“No, Papa, nobody’s here. Just my resident advisor dropping off a flyer. It’s nothing.” She holds up a random paper from her desk. “See?”“Don’t let strangers into your room. And you don’t need to be going to any extracurricular activities. You are there to learn.” I can practically hear her mom shaking her finger into the camera.“Hanji, Momma, I’ll be careful.” She narrows her eyes at me, but only long enough for me to catch it.“And complete all your studies. We aren’t paying for you to party all night over there,” her dad adds.Simi jerks away from the screen and covers her face with her hands. “Oh my god, Papa, please stop doing that.”I break my knee hug and crane my neck just enough to get a look. Her dad is wiggling in his chair doing the “Staying Alive” one-armed dance while her mom’s dark eyes glare into the camera. I bite my lips to smother a smile.“We want straight As, Simi,” she says.“Hanji, Momma, I know. Okay, I gotta go study now.” Simi waves to her screen then ends the call. She face-plants onto her desk and lets out a frustrated groan. “These nightly check-ins are going to kill me, I know it.”“Sorry.” I cringe apologetically before I bounce onto the opposite bed covered only with my sleeping bag and borrowed pillow. “You will not believe what happened.”The rustle of Simi skirting her chair across the floor fills the small space. Instinctively I wonder if the floor below can hear, and I cringe. Growing up, I was taught that girls shouldn’t make noise—no yelling or boisterous play, and only soft padding when shoes connect with floors, no matter if in heels or flats. I remind myself those days are over and bounce