“Hey!” yelled a voice behind him.

He stopped and turned around.

It was from a girl, just about as tall as he, her sparkling eyes complimenting her ear-to-ear grin.

His forehead furrowed, not knowing how to respond.

“Hey to you… too!” he feebly said.

“Can I walk with you?” she cajoled.

“Sure,” he said with a slight apprehension.

“I’ve seen you walk by our house many times so I thought to also walk with you.”

He waited until she was alongside his left.

“So, what grade are you in?” she casually asked as they started to walk together.

“Grade VIII.”

“I’m in Grade VII,” she replied and after a long pause, “I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

“What took you so long?” he responded, the corners of his mouth slowly curling into a half smile.

“Well, you seemed… too snooty.”

“Whaaat?” He stopped to face her, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed.

“Ah… yeah!” she interjected, jerking her head like a check mark.

“Nooo!” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I always have so many things in my mind.”

“But you can still be personable, right?”

“Hmm… I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

After a few steps, he abruptly stopped to extend his left arm in front of her. Almost losing her balance, she also stopped. He then moved to her left; he now was closer to the traffic.

“Ah… but you are a gentleman,” she curtsied as she giggled.

“Well, my mom taught me well,” he said, quickly countering with a bow.

They laughed, breaking the silence of the snow-laden morning.

The succeeding days found them walking to school together. She would be waiting with an opened umbrella in the rain and he running towards the welcoming shelter. They shared whatever was in their lunchboxes and scrunched their noses if an unappetizing entry made it inside. He gave her notes to help prepare her for Grade VIII. They avoided ice cream parlors and other hangouts in favor of doing homework and household chores. She was there during his middle school graduation. She brought a bouquet.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed, her arms outstretched to welcome his embrace.

He and his family moved near a high school. The meetings and correspondence between them somehow stopped, the summer seeing them go their separate ways.

While walking around the high school campus one day, a voice behind him cut short his deep thought.

“Hey!”

He stopped, the familiar voice sending a quick rush of energy in him.

“Hey to you too,” he interjected as he faced her.

“It seems that I am stalking you, aren’t I?” she said, chuckling.

“No, no, no! Not you!” he asserted while laughing, pleased at how she bloomed into a pretty, perky young lady.

“We also moved so I could finish high school,” she volunteered sensing his inquiring look.

She stepped closer; the growth spurt made him tower over her.

“You’re so tall!”

“My mom feeds me well,” he quipped, snickering a bit.

“Hey, are you going to the dance?”

“Yeah… “ he said with some hesitation. After gulping hard, he asked, “Can I be your escort?”

“Of course!” she gushed.

They turned heads at the JS Prom. She glowed in a gown that her mother made, proudly showing the hand corsage that he fashioned using blooms from his mom’s orchids. He was a perfect fit, sporting a black, rented tuxedo, his starched, ironed white shirt highlighting a black, clip-on bowtie. Both being left-footed, they sat out the rock music but was quick to the floor for a slow dance.

He drove her home, giving her a peck on the cheek in front of her house.

“Uhm… hello?” he stammered, staring aimlessly at the Princess phone on his kitchen wall. “Uhm… you may not know me but I’m looking for…”

“Hey, it’s you!” she interrupted. “How have you been?”

“Oh, my!” he exclaimed, almost dropping the phone. “How could you remember after all these years?”

“With a resonant voice like yours, it was easy!” she chortled.

He became quiet, his face flushing and pulse racing. The ease in recognizing him threw him aback. He suddenly forgot his reason for calling.

“Hello… hello. Are you still there?”

“Uhm… yes,” he uttered, still unknowing what to say next.

“You haven’t written back,” she sighed.

Slowly regaining his footing, he responded, “Sorry for not notifying you when I relocated.”

“How could you?”

“I know… I know… I know.”

“Were you running away?” she questioned. “From what? From me? Did I scare you?”

“No… uhm… er… I think I was just escaping from myself.” He paused. “I tried to shake off all my insecurities, doubts… demons, if you will. I just needed to be away, away from people and places I knew.”

“Unless you are successful in addressing the negative energy, you’ll never be okay, whether you become incommunicado or move to the farthest spot on earth… and you know that.”

“I know. You are right,” he mumbled while attempting to scrape the finish off his phone with his right index finger.

“You could have talked to me. I am a good listener, you know.”

“Yes,” he said softly, his right arm dropping, weak and heavy.

“I suspected something earlier when I read your short story, ‘The Loner’ in a magazine. I wanted to talk to you as to what inspired you to write it. Is the character you?”

“Uhm…” he hesitated. “He… is a fictionalized me. It was difficult creating a character to help expose my inner feelings… thoughts. It was like a confession, you know. I felt… uhm… somewhat of a relief having completed it.”

“I should have made an effort to talk to you about it.”

Except for the tinkling of the outside wind chimes, the line was quiet. He pressed the phone hard to his ear.

“By the way… “ she continued, “… I was really upset. I felt unimportant. Didn’t the times we were together mean anything to you?”

His shoulders slumped, the chiding tone being palpable.

“I approached you since I thought you could be a good friend, someone to share moments with.”

“I am so sorry. I feel so ungrateful and guilty for abandoning you. I… I am calling to thank you. Your company helped me through tough times and I failed to express my gratitude. I was very good at keeping my deep sentiments to myself.” He paused to clear his throat. “I am in a good place now. Hearing your voice gives me comfort and I hope it is not too late to reconnect. I thank you for being there… sincerely.”

“I will always be… here.”

His eyes blinked rapidly, as he pored over the photos on her Facebook while sitting on the edge of his bed one winter evening.

A wedding anniversary picture held his gaze. Still perky and beautiful, the weathered features notwithstanding, she was seated and standing close was a bedimpled, gray-haired man sporting horn-rimmed glasses.

He put away his laptop and curled in bed. The 3 layers – flat sheet, blanket, and bed spread; sweat pants tucked into Christmas-themed socks; and a white long-sleeved turtleneck kept him warm and fuzzy. He viewed varied YouTube videos until his lids were heavy, sleeping late again.

He woke up very early with the TV still on. He groped under the layers for the TV remote while sitting upright on the edge of the bed. His feet reached for his brown Crocs as he turned off the TV.

In the faint darkness, he ambled towards the kitchen, stopping in the living room to turn up the heat from 58°F to 70°F. He glanced at the floating living room shelf with trinkets, glinting among them were silver frames with pictures and the gold and silver curlicues on a beautiful vase.

While the mini coffee maker hissed and gurgled, he stretched his arm to fetch the large-sized brandy snifter on a glass shelf, right under the lit GRO kitchen lights. It contained a spreading, fragile spike moss, a cutting of which she sent for his bonsai trees years ago.

He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up and moved the snifter close to his face.

“Hey!” he greeted softly, his dimples slowly appearing as he gently watered it.