Sharing Silence

Speed dating would have been the last place you'd ever find him, but it's amazing what peer pressure could do. Everyone wanted him to find a girlfriend - except him. He really didn't care, but they would use that against him - "so what’s the harm in going?"

He had noticed her a few times that night. Her hair was dark, like his. The chin length cut was somehow both playful and intense. She seemed to be a different person depending on who she was interacting with. With one guy she was quiet, with another she spoke nonstop. With the next guy she was coy and aloof. She did seem pretty into one of the guys but that seemed to just turn off when he left her table.

She wasn't the only woman he had watched, but she was the most interesting. He had plenty of time to observe her, since he didn't exert much energy conversing with the women he sat with. She handled the silence the best, he felt. While he sat with her he didn't watch other women. He looked at a pen. It felt ridiculous. He would realize he was playing with the pen, like a child, so he'd push it away, only to find it back in his hands or clenched between his teeth. He'd discard it again. She watched the pen as well. It didn't make sense to feel self-conscious, but he wondered if she thought it was childish. Every time he reached for it she followed with her eyes as she spoke. She seemed to adapt to him as well as she'd adapted to the other men. She was quirky, curious, and self-sustaining. She didn't take his silence personally and didn't seem to hate him for it. When he did give the occasional, necessary response to her occasional joke or question, she beamed like she'd won an award. It was amusing to them both. But, alas, the sound of the final bell ended the night too early.

If he'd wanted someone to share his silence, she would do. But the thing about silence is it didn't need anyone. He didn't care enough to need anyone either. After losing two sets of parents, he felt like he'd overspent his lifetime rations of love and loss. He was fine being alone. The silence was all he needed.

When he asked her for a ride that night, he didn't know what he wanted. Mainly just a ride, he thought, but he wasn't immune to her smile.

When they got to the dirt lot near his friend's house he lingered in the silent car too long. He wasn't even sure why. Once she turned off the engine and headlights he actually began to feel a bit uncomfortable with his own silence.

"Goodnight," he said quickly, and bolted out of the car.

The way her brown eyes stared at him in the light of the radio was a bit too much for him, but he quickly forgot about his discomfort when he got to the front of the car and a blue glow caught his eye from the dirt. He crouched down but couldn't quite make it out. It was buried pretty well.

"What the heck is this? Come here," he called when he heard her car door open.

It took some work, chipping away at the glow with a rock, but when he was able to pull the illuminated golden, heart-shaped locket out of the dirt, he handed it to her. She picked and prodded but couldn't get it open.

"Do you think there is a picture inside, or a sea creature? Maybe a photo of someone's beloved glowing squid," she joked. Something about her voice seemed uncomfortable.

"Here, lemme just--" his hand touched hers right as the locket sprung open and the blue glow became an all-consuming flash.

When the flash was gone it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The locket wasn't glowing anymore. There was barely any light anywhere.

It was pretty close to pitch black, but he was pretty sure the car was gone. He took his phone out and turned on the flashlight. Nope. No car. Nothing. No service either.

He waved the light around. The empty lot now seemed to be an expansive field of overgrown grass.

He waited. Nope. Nothing.

He turned and started walking. He heard her start walking behind him and realized he'd forgotten she existed. Cassidy. Well, not everything disappeared, at least.

“Dustin?! Dustin, where are you going?” she called. Why ask a question like that when you know there isn’t an answer? He wondered.

As his phone battery began to dwindle, they came across a car. Nope, not hers. This was a junker that had become part of nature. It was the first of many cars they found that could no longer be used as cars. Some seemed like they'd been used as motels, little places for people to rest, if they dared.

The few homes and buildings scattered along the dirt road were all becoming one with nature as well. He heard his beloved silence everywhere, and thankfully, Cassidy rarely disrupted it.

Civilization seemed to have been turned inside out. People came and went. Afraid and vigilant, but always heading in one direction or another.

He learned long ago that it didn't really make sense to ask questions - the answers were rarely helpful - but he couldn't stop himself when he found a newspaper still folded up nice and neat in the back of a vehicle they had decided to rest in.

"June 19, 2111. Is that a typo?" he asked in disbelief. He held it out for her and she grabbed it, confused. He sat, he stared. She read.

"It… it can't be a typo, I mean… look around…"

He didn’t look, he didn't respond at all. It didn't even make sense to ask.

She paused in her reading.

"Do you… do you want to know?" he heard her ask.

He felt his head shake "no" in response. He knew it wouldn't help.

They picked up details here and there as they traveled around. In his silence he would hear many conversations at once around campfires at night. The information didn't change anything, though. He never cared much about who was president, so what did it matter that there wasn't one anymore? Apparently the one they'd known had been the last - the country had had enough. The police were often more trouble than they were worth for him, they hated his silence, so who cares that they'd been gone for decades? It had always seemed like a matter of time before the polarization of their country tore it apart and they tried to take the world down with them. He'd always thought people were scavengers, and now they all really were - and nomadic as well now. No more systems, no more structures. No more trash bags or gasoline or other trivial luxuries of the past. Survival of the fittest and the most evasive. That suited him just fine.

He tended to lead the way. She was always ready, somehow. She seemed to just read his mind. She watched his clues. She stayed as ready as he was - for anything.

They came across good people and bad - and she was a firecracker. He never needed to say a thing. She adapted well to the situation. She knew how to manipulate and soothe those that were weak. She could intimidate and shut down those on the edge. She knew how to play dumb and de-escalate when they came across the worst of them. And when the window opened to bail, she was always ready - but he always led. She eventually made crude weapons and traps, and he didn’t ask why she knew how to make them. At times they had to fight but, as in all things, if he wasn't needed, all he did was observe.

She shared his silence well, and eventually, on occasion, she shared his bed. The first night caught him off guard but he didn't protest. He'd never shared his bed with anyone before, but he didn't have much time to worry about that. Her body asked the questions, and his body knew the answers. On those nights, she led.

He had begun to deduce a pattern once he could keep track of the nights she came to his bed. She'd be in a positive, talkative mood for a while and then her mood would sour. He learned to give her space. After being quite angry at him for no real reason for a while she'd stop coming to his bed for a few nights. Other clues told him she was bleeding, and he was grateful he knew at least the bare minimum about women, so he had an explanation. It was still alarming at first, and difficult to think much about.

At some point, she didn't take her nights off and the pattern changed. She seemed to truly hate him most of the time. He found this amusing. He tried not to smirk when she was mean to him, as it seemed cruel - she really did seem to be miserable. She was so thin, but her belly began to grow. They both knew what it meant but there wasn't anything to talk about. Things just were what they were, and there certainly wasn’t anything that was going to change it.

As angry as she was, she was also softer. She was slower. She ate more. When they came across others, she would look at him and step back, so he would step forward.

He spoke when he needed to, but that wasn't often. Most people tell you more than you need to know just to fill the silence. Most people are terrified of silence. All he had now was muscle, a sharp jaw, and dominant cheekbones. Some days he had to fight, and on those nights she didn't make her own bed at camp, she just came straight to his.

These changes lasted a while, and without her cycles he lost track of time entirely. Then, one night, they woke up covered in blood.

They got up to rinse off in the creek and she retreated to her own spot for the rest of the night. The next morning when he got up and broke down camp, she didn't join him. When he was ready to go, she wasn't ready.

He scavenged a bit and returned. She was still in her bed, shaking. He had no idea what to do. He set camp back up and made dinner. He brought her water and food, but she didn't respond. She would only get up to wade into the creek and rinse off.

As the sun set, he put the food away - grateful the water, at least, was gone. He sat and stared at her in defeat. He took a deep breath. He’d had enough. It was then that he reached for her.

He slid his arms under her and lifted her to his chest. She looked at him, alarmed, but then her dark brown eyes grew misty, and she softened. She rested her boney shoulder into his chest and melted.

He laid her down in the soft bed he'd made and curled his body around hers. He felt her shake and tremble. She often would seem to not be breathing at all.

He gave her 3 days and that's all she needed. On the 4th day, when he woke, she was already up. She was ready. All he had to do was lead.