Conversations Between Two Introverts

Katya Kovarzh

ABIGAIL BURES

“ A ndrea!” Ethan was running through the hall towards my locker. The poor Freshmen have to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. “Hey, do you wanna go to the Elkwhile Bluffs after school today? We can just do our interview there, cause it’s Thursday, so it’s perfect!”

It is so not perfect. After what felt like an incredibly long day of school, I just want to go home and lie in bed for the next three hours. Must be in the air or something.

Shutting my locker door, I turned and laughed at Ethan’s breathlessness as he hunched over, trying to avoid a side cramp. “Yes, I suppose I can find time in my busy after school schedule,” I say with full sarcasm intended. “What’s up with the lack of air? You take one day off from soccer practice and all of the sudden it’s like you’ve never played a sport in your life?”

“We get the day off from practice, not morning workouts. It was leg day.” I guess that makes sense. That was always the day Marcus and Damien complained to me about the most. To be fair though, Ethan did run down the entire hallway.

“So….I’ll meet you at your locker after school?”

“Sounds good.” Ethan was still bent over, hands on his knees. I chose to walk away first. I don’t think my competition is very capable at the moment.

Unsurprisingly, I beat Ethan to his locker. I did not, however, make it there before a certain Stacey Walker. If Stacey was a Billboard she would advertise the basic brunette girl stereotype. She is pretty. Light brown hair, blue eyes, tall, and she managed to look good in just about every fashion trend our school went through. I haven’t talked to her much, maybe once Freshman year when she was on the welcoming committee and was obligated to show me around the school. She seemed nice then, but I’m not sure it stayed that way. New kids are welcomed with open arms the first few days at a small school where everyone has known each other since kindergarten. Then after a little bit of time they just fade into the background. At least, in my experience.

“Oh, hey Andrea!”

“Hi Stacey.” So far so good, right?

“Whatcha doing at Ethan’s locker?” She continued quickly, not giving me a chance to answer. “Not that you can’t be here, just curious. I just have some notes from the Spanish class he missed the other day. I’m not trying to get between you and your man.” She winked at me. I, Andrea Jackson, was just winked at by one of the most popular girls in school. What has the world come to?

“My man?”

“Oh yeah, you guys are working on that project together for a whole semester, and diving into some really deep stuff. You can’t come out of that without a good mutual understanding of each other. Last year, when I was in Mr. Beron’s psychology class, I did this project with my now boyfriend Brock. I guess I just believe that the connection we formed through the project will be there forever. I read about a study Harvard did like that. There’s these proclaimed 36 questions that can get two people to fall in love. I personally think you should incorporate that into your interviews, but it’s not my place to say. However, if you do happen to accidentally,” she made air quotes around ‘accidentally’, “can I please be invited to your wedding?” While Stacey does have a good point about this project and the level of vulnerability it requires, I was a little hesitant about the wedding idea.

“I don’t think we are gonna do the whole love thing, but I guess I wouldn’t mind being friends with him.” I say with mild hesitancy. I’m not sure I want to be even friends with Ethan Wallace.

“You ladies wouldn’t happen to be talking about me behind my back, would you?”

“Wallace, perfect timing.” I laced with sarcasm and turned to see a gigantic smirk on his face. Oh do I hate when people are smug towards me.

“Awe, it’s so cute that you call him by his last name.” Stacey took her little moment of awe before clearing her throat and beginning. “Ethan, I made copies of my notes from our Spanish class you missed Monday cause of—” Stacey cut off looking at me and then back at Ethan, “you missed Monday.” I glanced between the two in confusion, waiting for one to possibly fill me in, but Stacey just said goodbye and Ethan wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“So, are you ready for Elkwhile Bluffs? I heard it’s a pretty easy trail.” I tried to lighten the mood up a bit. I wasn’t completely enthusiastic about a hike, and I’m a little surprised Ethan wanted to do this after the dreadful leg day.

“Yeah the trail’s nice. You haven’t been before?”

“Well my parents work a lot and hiking really isn’t my grandma’s forte, so…” I trailed off. Ethan began laughing.

“No kidding! Really? My grandma hikes everywhere. She tried to climb Mount Everest, but claims the air towards the top was too thin for her.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point? Don’t hikers have to take up oxygen tanks?”

Ethan looks at me a little stunned, “Yes,” he chuckles, “I was joking Jackson. Both my grandmas are dead, and when they were alive, all I remember them doing was knitting and making these patterned rugs.” He pauses for a moment with a scared look of remembrance on his face, probably thinking back to the years of rug and sweater presents. Then he nudges me with his elbow and speaks up again. “You know, friends tease each other, right?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“So,” a pause, “do you do a lot of active stuff?” I am leaning forward with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

“You know I play soccer.” Ethan said with a hint of questioning.

“Yeah, I know, I just—” another pause, “I run sometimes.” I’m not sure if I am just trying to gain back some dignity or distract myself from my much higher than normal heart rate.

“Do you?” Ethan looks back at me with a sneaky smile, one that knows I hardly run. But he drops it.

“Maybe let’s take a break.” I nod. Thankfully he had gotten my plea for help.

Once we both sit down on some big rocks near the trail, I get the chance to look around. We have made it almost all the way up, and the view is just amazing. It isn’t quite prime sunset time, because we had driven straight here right after school, but the clouds are still turning pink and purple, and we can see for what felt like miles.

“So, you and Blaire have become pretty close over the past week.” And Ethan just had to go and ruin the beauty by talking. Oh the joys of partaking in an interviewing project about your personality. I’m just out here truly living the life.

“She’s nice. And funny. And similar to me.”

“But she’s outgoing, like an extrovert.” Oh this boy thinks he’s being slick, slipping the word ‘extrovert’ in there.

“You cannot classify someone based on their personality by only using extrovert or introvert. That’s like saying there’s only two flavors of ice cream, chocolate and vanilla, but they make up every other flavor of ice cream. So yes, Blaire’s an extrovert, but she is very similar to me personality-wise. We just lead different lives Wallace. I personally think that Mr. Beron is trying to get your class to understand that there are layers to every person, and, with time and conversation, you can begin to figure them out.”

“Will I ever be able to figure you out, Andrea?”

I snort in surprise. “Not if I can help it.” I didn’t think he would have the guts to ask me this question.

“Why not? What are you so afraid of?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid—I’m careful. And you just made a Frozen reference.”

He laughed a little at my joke, but quickly became serious again. “So what, pushing people away is going to keep them from hurting you?”

“Now you’re beginning to understand me.” I give him a big grin that does not feel genuine.

We resort to silence for a while, just watching the clouds and trees below, the good mood ruined. Nobody passes on the trail behind us and even I’m starting to question whether or not it’s safe out here this late.

Then, Ethan says, “My brother, Tristan, used to take me

out here in the summer to run to prepare for the fall soccer season.” I freeze. These types of situations terrify me. I never know what to say.

“You guys must have been close for being three years apart in age.”

“Yeah. He would include me in just about anything he did. Even when his friends would come over to play video games or watch TV or something, he’d always make sure to invite Luke as well as his brother, so that he could play with me.” Ethan lights up talking about his brother. He starts using his hands to talk and sits up a little straighter.

“He was really nice.”

Ethan turns to face me quickly with surprise. “Wait, you knew him?”

“Well, not really. He was part of the welcoming committee when I first came to the school. He showed me around for the first week I was here, to make sure I didn’t get lost and end up late for class.”

“Oh.” Ethan clears his throat, and I can tell a big question is coming. It’s the one he’s been waiting to ask me. It’s the reason he chose me for his interviewee in the first place. “Why did you stay back in class that day—the day of the protest?”

“Well,” I paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing and make Ethan upset, but also needing to tell him what I really believe for the purpose of this assignment and my morals. “I think a true protest is something you participate in when you believe that what you are fighting for is right. While there are certainly beliefs that spark protests I don’t want to go to, that day felt morally wrong for me to attend. So I didn’t.”

Ethan nodded in understanding. “Thanks.”

We stay silent for a longer period of time. Eventually, I get bored, so I pull out my phone. Two missed calls and a text from my mom popped up in my notifications bar. My mom hardly ever calls me around this time because she is almost always at work by now.

“Hey Ethan? I think we need to go. My mom said I have to get home.”

“Ok, yeah.” He looks like he wants to ask, but I keep my eyes down and hurry to get up from the bench. “You might wanna tell her it will still be around 45 minutes though, with the hike and drive.” That could be a big problem.

I try to get Ethan to hurry the entire trip back, and even though he seems to be going quicker for my benefit, it still doesn’t seem fast enough. I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong at home. I bet it’s Grandma Angie. I hope it’s not that, but what else could it be? God, please don’t let it be her.

We sit out on the porch in the rocking chairs Mom bought last summer. Grandma Angie made us two cups of sweet tea. The breeze is light, but still there, coaxing two of the neighborhood kids on bikes down the road that passes just in front of our house.

“You’re growing up so nicely, Andrea.” Grandma smiled warmly at me.

“Thanks Grandma.” We both look back out into the street to see a group of younger kids ride past on skateboards. When one of the youngest boys trips and falls a bit, an older girl picks him up and spends about five minutes teaching the boy how to fall properly without beating himself up too much while the other kids wait and shout encouragement. Try to land on your shoulder or back, keep your limbs loose, and always try to wear protective equipment (the last one is seen as optional to almost everyone). We have all received one of those lessons at some point in our younger years.

A good few minutes after the kids have rode off, we have finished our tea and Grandma Angie turns towards me, “Andrea, dear, I have something to tell you,” She paused and looks to me to confirm I am listening, then tilts her head back down again, “The cancer is back.”

I know realistically the whole neighborhood did not just go silent at that comment, but it sure feels like it. I hold my breath, wanting to keep it together for the moment so I don’t worry my Grandma. A couple silent tears are already spilling through.

I wipe them away, trying to be discreet about it, and draw in a quiet breath. “I know—I mean, I guessed. You and Mom and Dad aren’t the best at keeping secrets from me.” The past couple weeks Grandma Angie wouldn’t be home after school here and there, and I knew that her appointments last time were always scheduled around three o’clock in the afternoon. I figured something was wrong.

She sighed. “No, I guess we aren’t.” She took a moment to sift back through memories, trying to decide one that would fit the situation and lighten the mood. It is a trick I am well acquainted with.

“Like the time when your Dad bought a puppy for you and just kept it in the basement not remembering you had your piano practice there that night.” Grandma tries to work up a laugh but ends up silent again. She looks back out into the street that is now slightly more busy due to the six o’clock rush hour. Even though we live in a residential neighborhood, many people end up driving through here at the same time. While having a nine to five life sounds constricting and scary, the constancy of it would be comforting. I think I would be okay with someone else laying out the rest of my life for me.

Grandma Angie and I watch the cars continue to pass by for another half hour. We don’t mention the cancer or the tears in both of our eyes. I know Grandma was scared and that scared me as well. How could someone who has lived as long as she has not have made peace with the fact she may die soon? My Grandma has always been religious too. What does it take to not be afraid of the unknown? I know tomorrow she would likely have to move back to the hospital. At least for tonight we can sit together and watch the sun set over Savanna.

Abigail Bures grew up on a small farm in rural Wisconsin. Sixteen-yearold Abigail is in her junior year in high school. She hopes to someday become a published author of fiction novels.