Each time he encountered another resident of the building he cast his gaze downwards, hasty to avoid eye contact to cancel out the possibility of discussion. There were, of course, certain people he wanted to befriend; the timidity dwelling within him barely allowed him to approach them let alone talk to them, and a majority of the time he was forced to look from afar, hoping that maybe they’d notice his hopeful gaze and understand his desire. But it never happened.

In any case, he tried not to think about it. Today the thought drifted out of his head as he went down to the lobby to get a coffee. It was approximately 7 o’clock the last time he checked, so he didn’t expect anyone to be out. He suspected that they were still tangled in their bed sheets in deep sleep, only the strength of afternoon sunlight having the power to rouse them. It was Saturday after all, and people liked to sleep in on Saturdays.

Sinking into a cushioned chair by a circular table, Henry placed the tall Starbucks coffee before him, resting his chin on folded arms as he examined the steam billowing from the lid. Pushing itself from a small hole, the cloudy vapour resembled a stringy rope, ascending into the air to attach itself to some higher point. With one short exhale the rope disintegrated, collapsed into a tangled knot and disappeared, only to be replaced by another. Oh, if only his will to be social were that strong, that it would fight against the throbbing thing within him that forced him to shy away from people, that it would revive itself each time it was taken down.

He didn’t notice the tall figure that’d been watching him, holding a venti coffee and sipping at it gently. Said figure was also holding a suitcase that looked like it’d burst, like a full water balloon as its translucent skin began to squeak suspiciously.

“Going to drink that?” the figure said jokingly, taking another casual sip.

Startled beyond comprehension, Henry’s flailing arms ended up knocking over his coffee.

“Sorry about that,” the figure chuckled, and even though Henry wanted to tell him to go away, the man sat down at his table, his empty table, and handed him another coffee, “didn’t realize you were spaced out like that.”

Henry didn’t answer, though, not really sure what to say. He wanted to say that perfect line, the one that turned the conversation casual, put them on friendly terms. He knew that the line was somewhere in his brain, yet no matter how many times he racked through it, went through drawers and checked the crevices, he couldn’t find it. Deprived of any other option, he shrugged, smiling timidly.

“Well, my name’s James. I’m new around here. This is the Maple Heights Complex, right?”

Henry nodded, pretending to look at least somewhat occupied as he kept the coffee near his mouth.

“Kind of early to be out, isn’t it? Thought it’d be empty when I got here.”

“I…guess so,” Henry mumbled, having to repeat himself twice before James heard his simple reply.

“This place is pretty good. Looks a lot better than my parent’s house, and I haven’t even been on any of the floors yet…” It sounded more like a personal revelation than a part of the discussion, so Henry left that one alone, keeping the coffee at his lips.

For a length of time they sipped at their coffees, James occasionally looking around the lobby, getting up a few times to see what was in the convenience store or just stretch his legs. He didn’t seem that concerned with Henry’s quietness, or that he’d have to lean in a little to hear exactly what the brunet was saying. In fact, once the sound of a truck rumbled by the front doors, he seemed to have forgotten all about Henry, pushing through the double door entrance and greeting someone. Sighing, Henry slipped away back to 301, closing the door quietly and busying himself with a book.

For an hour or two he lay on his couch, flipping through an Ikea magazine. He’d finished the closing pages of some Haruki Murakami novel, allowing the final words to settle into his mind before moving onto something else. As he read through the magazine, his mind kept spewing forth the same image over and over again: James, James, James. Smiling at him even though he’d barely said a word, not getting frustrated because he could never hear most of what he said the first time, actually staying around him even though it was basically the same as hanging out with a mannequin.

It was unsettling. Weird. Kind of nice. He felt like he had to see James again. To apologize for his morbidly introverted behaviour. That’s what he’d do. He’d gather courage over one day, rehearse what he would say to get that perfect line, and head over to wherever James lived the next day to tell him he was sorry for being so stupidly shy, that he’d really like to be friends albeit he’d pretty much been a sociopath on their first meeting.

But just the mere thought of doing such a thing made his stomach flip upside-down and collapse into itself, a severe case of shivers slithering down his spine. It was like…like asking a baby bird to fly when it didn’t have its feathers fully developed. He opted for more browsing in the Ikea magazine, admiring a contemporary kitchen set.

Then there was the knock at the door.

The door being directly behind him, Henry leaned back and gained an inverted perspective, eyes focused on the tiny peephole lined in gold. The knock came again at the same pace. Blinking, he began to get a headache from the blood rushing to his head and got up, rotating his body so that he was on his hands and knees.

“Hey, if this is Henry’s place, open up!” Even though it was muffled behind a barrier, Henry recognized the voice instantly, an exhilarating combination of delight and fear entering his body, tickling his flesh and causing the hairs on his neck to stand up.

James was inside before Henry fully comprehended the situation, sitting on his couch and flipping through the Murakami book. Before shutting the door, he saw that there were men in white jumpsuits going in and out of the room next to his, hefting large cardboard boxes and other assorted items. 

“Would you believe it? I’m in the room beside you! Talk about coincidence. The first guy I meet is my neighbour?”

“Who…” Henry started, but he shut his mouth just as fast. After a bit of coaxing he added, “Who told you my name?”

“Ah, must’ve been the superintendent. Said you were creepy, quiet, alone all the time. I mean, hey, you are quiet but it doesn’t make you creepy.” James said, picking up the Ikea magazine and skimming through it. “I’ll just hang here until the moving guys are done.”

Feeling braver, Henry sat on the couch’s arm, balling his hands together into tight fists. He’d have to do it now or never. His insides were doing a very messy tango, there were goose bumps dotting his skin, he could feel himself trembling. But it was now or never.

“Hey, James…” and the man focused on him (there was no turning back now), “I’m really…sorry. For being such a shy idiot. Must’ve been… annoying, and I didn’t want it to be that way, but…” 

James blinked. It was his turn to be silent now.

The image of the coffee steam flashed before his eyes, the stringy, determined rope climbing up to some invisible destination, never faltering in its journey even after a fatal attack.

“I’d really like it…if we could be friends. Really. That’s what I want.” The perfect line?

James set down the magazine, his expression indecipherable. As he looked up, though, Henry could see a large grin plastered onto his face. “There’s no need to be sorry. Why would you think that? Not everyone’s gonna be a social butterfly, right? You don’t have to be extremely talkative just to be friends with someone. Just…say what you gotta say. It’s nice to appreciate the silence.”

The rope was still intact. Reluctantly, Henry allowed a smile to slide onto his lips, a genuinely happy smile, and sat down on the couch. “Yeah…it is.”

Miranda Ouk won 3rd prize in the Youth Short Story Contest as part of the Words Alive Literary Festival. She received $50.00 plus publication in the yorkregion.com Pen & Pixel and Words Alive web sites.