Read Online Through Indigo's Eyes by Tara Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tara Taylor
Ads: Link
you might want to read it.â
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw he was serious. Had I expressed some interest in this? I thought I had been clear that none of this stuff was on my radar. Nor did I want it to be. All I said in return was, âOh.â
He pulled the book out of the back pocket of his jeans, and when he passed it to me, our hands touched. There was that feeling again, the one that ran through my entire body like a jolt from an electrical storm. I loved the electrical storms that sometimes happened in Ottawa and the blinding rain that followed. I loved rain. Loved standing outside with my coat off, having the droplets run down my face.
âDonât worry about dog-earing any interesting pages,â he said. âI got it at a used book sale.â
âSure,â I said. Then I smiled at him. âIf I get a seat, maybe I can read it on the bus.â
âYeah, let me know what you â¦â He let the end of his sentence trail off, raked his hand through his thick locks of hair, and exhaled, creating an odd noise Iâd never heard come from him before.
Something about his raspy breathing and the sudden slouch of his usually straight shoulders made my body take on extra weight, like a barbell had been placed on my shoulders. His calm and cool demeanor receded, revealing a vulnerability that Iâd never seen in him before. In that moment, I ached along with him, but for whatâI had no idea. At a time like this, I wanted to see something, a snapshot to tell me what was bothering him. But all I could hear was him breathing and the end-of-school-day hallway noise. It all sounded so loud. And the pain I was feeling for him was so real, so intense. Why couldnât I focus? It was almost as if my pain for him overshadowed my ability to see what was wrong. But something troubled him. I knew that much.
He looked down at the floor and kicked a piece of mud before he said, âI gotta go. Enjoy the book.â
Then he turned and left.
I watched him walk away, his steps heavy, his confident stride replaced with trudging tracks. I wanted to run after him, try to make him feel better.
But I didnât.
I knew he wouldnât let me in. Not yet, anyway.
I gathered my books and headed outside to my bus stop. It was a very gloomy day; clouds stalked the sky, and the sun didnât have a hope. It was that typical fall day that made you feel that winter was just around the corner. I did manage to get a window seat on the bus, but I didnât pull out the Cayce book. Instead I stared out the window at the drab gray clouds that hung low in the sky. Sometimes by Halloween there was snow. The darkness of the sky sheathed me in a damp cold. I sat alone with an empty seat beside me. In my mind, I replayed Johnâs hushed voice and how it seemed to crack, his slouched shoulders and loud sighs.
The bus lurched to a stop, and the doors opened, letting in a gust of cold air. I hunkered in my seat and once again stared out the window. Three stops before mine, I saw the man enter, talking animatedly to himself. He would sit beside me. They always didâthe ones with mental issues. A part of me wanted to get up, but I couldnât do that to the guy. I didnât want to hurt his feelings. Sure enough, he sat beside me and continued to babble. I didnât respond to him, but I also didnât try to shut him out.
When I got off the bus, I walked home with my head down. My legs were so heavy; they made my feet hard to lift. I was exhausted. I was always so tired after I sat beside someone like that guyâit was as if he sapped all my energy in just one bus ride. I knew if I were to lie down on my bed, I would fall asleep for hours. Sometimes, when I felt like this, I could sleep for 17 hours straight. To ease my tiredness, I shifted my focus to John. Everything about his body language had said he was headed someplace he didnât want to go.
But where?
My
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw he was serious. Had I expressed some interest in this? I thought I had been clear that none of this stuff was on my radar. Nor did I want it to be. All I said in return was, âOh.â
He pulled the book out of the back pocket of his jeans, and when he passed it to me, our hands touched. There was that feeling again, the one that ran through my entire body like a jolt from an electrical storm. I loved the electrical storms that sometimes happened in Ottawa and the blinding rain that followed. I loved rain. Loved standing outside with my coat off, having the droplets run down my face.
âDonât worry about dog-earing any interesting pages,â he said. âI got it at a used book sale.â
âSure,â I said. Then I smiled at him. âIf I get a seat, maybe I can read it on the bus.â
âYeah, let me know what you â¦â He let the end of his sentence trail off, raked his hand through his thick locks of hair, and exhaled, creating an odd noise Iâd never heard come from him before.
Something about his raspy breathing and the sudden slouch of his usually straight shoulders made my body take on extra weight, like a barbell had been placed on my shoulders. His calm and cool demeanor receded, revealing a vulnerability that Iâd never seen in him before. In that moment, I ached along with him, but for whatâI had no idea. At a time like this, I wanted to see something, a snapshot to tell me what was bothering him. But all I could hear was him breathing and the end-of-school-day hallway noise. It all sounded so loud. And the pain I was feeling for him was so real, so intense. Why couldnât I focus? It was almost as if my pain for him overshadowed my ability to see what was wrong. But something troubled him. I knew that much.
He looked down at the floor and kicked a piece of mud before he said, âI gotta go. Enjoy the book.â
Then he turned and left.
I watched him walk away, his steps heavy, his confident stride replaced with trudging tracks. I wanted to run after him, try to make him feel better.
But I didnât.
I knew he wouldnât let me in. Not yet, anyway.
I gathered my books and headed outside to my bus stop. It was a very gloomy day; clouds stalked the sky, and the sun didnât have a hope. It was that typical fall day that made you feel that winter was just around the corner. I did manage to get a window seat on the bus, but I didnât pull out the Cayce book. Instead I stared out the window at the drab gray clouds that hung low in the sky. Sometimes by Halloween there was snow. The darkness of the sky sheathed me in a damp cold. I sat alone with an empty seat beside me. In my mind, I replayed Johnâs hushed voice and how it seemed to crack, his slouched shoulders and loud sighs.
The bus lurched to a stop, and the doors opened, letting in a gust of cold air. I hunkered in my seat and once again stared out the window. Three stops before mine, I saw the man enter, talking animatedly to himself. He would sit beside me. They always didâthe ones with mental issues. A part of me wanted to get up, but I couldnât do that to the guy. I didnât want to hurt his feelings. Sure enough, he sat beside me and continued to babble. I didnât respond to him, but I also didnât try to shut him out.
When I got off the bus, I walked home with my head down. My legs were so heavy; they made my feet hard to lift. I was exhausted. I was always so tired after I sat beside someone like that guyâit was as if he sapped all my energy in just one bus ride. I knew if I were to lie down on my bed, I would fall asleep for hours. Sometimes, when I felt like this, I could sleep for 17 hours straight. To ease my tiredness, I shifted my focus to John. Everything about his body language had said he was headed someplace he didnât want to go.
But where?
My
Similar Books
