Free Compassion by Xavier Neal Page B

Friendship is the only thing that can build here. It's the only thing that has a chance of surviving. Most pathetic part is, even that chance is minuscule. I hate myself for even wanting it. I'm tarnished and the last thing a woman like this needs is to be soiled by my existence.
     

Jaye
     
    On our way home from the grocery store, I try to conceal the excitement bubbling inside of me.
     
    You think I'm crazy. Honestly at this point I think I'm crazy, but it feels good to be a little crazy. Side stepping how weird that sounded, I mean it feels good to do something for someone who needs it. It feels good to give someone that second chance no one else would. Besides, I like being around Archer and not just because he gets my pulse racing and stirs up parts inside of me that have been slumbering for years, but because I think we have something very special between us. An understanding of what it's like to be something that gets on society’s nerves. Him because he's homeless. Me because I'm the widower, more or less, who can't seem to move on with her life. Who you feel you need to tip toe around and whisper about. The one you don't think should sit at the same t
able
ime with you because I don't have a shiny rock on my hand or a husband in an expensive suit.  The last single friend you have you worry about. Society hates us both.
     
    Entering the neighborhood, I turn the radio down. “Wanna order in tonight?”
     
    Archer chuckles lightly. “We just bought hundreds of dollars worth of food and you wanna order in?”
     
    I giggle, “Grocery shopping makes me lazy afterwards.”
     
    “How about I cook?” He suggests. “I wouldn't mind.”
     
    My mouth drops to say something but I shut it quickly.
     
    After Archer pointed out how I do things that I don't like because of old habits from when Chris was alive, I started to see not only was he right, but I'm also constantly comparing them out loud. It's not necessarily on purpose! He's just the first person I've really let myself be around outside my parents and you see how even that is difficult. I can't remember the last time that I talked to someone about more than just the boring basics. More than work, the weather, or whatever is the topic of book club. For the first time in years I don't feel like I'm just going through the motions of making a connection. It feels like I'm actually creating one.
     
    Shaking away my initial instinctive answer, I reply, “You sure?”
     
    His tone softens, “I'd lov-”
     
    All of sudden his voice stops, which draws my attention away from the road to see his hands over his ears, rocking in place.
     
    What the hell is happening?!
     
    The rocking continues as he shakes his head rapidly mumbling and muttering incoherently. Unsure if I should pull over since we're so close to home, I call out to him, “Hey...Are you...Are you okay?”
     
    A choking sound comes from his voice while his mouth murmurs, “...was then...grocery shopping is now. That was then. This is now. That was then this...”
     
    My heart aches in response, desperate to make the pain stop, to make it better, to help in any way possible.
     
    New feeling alert.
     
    As soon as we're parked in the driveway, I unbuckle my seat belt, and turn my body towards his, planting a gentle hand on his forearm.  Instantly his hand flies to my wrist. The grip tightens harshly at the same time his expression hardens with confusion and rage.  “Seth...where's Seth...Seth was...” His sudden shift in behavior rushes through my veins igniting doubt and fear in unison. When Archer's eyebrows dart down in what looks like an attempt to understand something, that whoever he is mumbling about is not here, a new found concept of what is happening grasps me.
     
    Calm down. He has no intention on hurting me.
     
    Gingerly I say, “Archer...”
     
    He mumbles more to himself than to me, “The smoke...how can you breathe? And where is Seth? He was hurt.” Another flicker of