Collision (6 page)

“It does,” I said as I handed her the fork she’d picked up earlier. “It makes a lot of sense. I think it would suck to have people staring all the time or expecting something out of you. I’m sure it can be a burden.”

“A burden? I suppose that depends on how you look at it.”

“Maybe. So what’s that?” I asked, pointing to a plate.

She looked at me, her right eyebrow cocked. “It’s a plate.”

“I know it’s a plate. I mean what’s it called in the other language you speak?”

“You mean in Acholi?”

“Yeah.”

“Plate is
san
.”

“
San
?”

“Yes.”

“And this?” I asked, pointing to the table.

“
Mesa
.”

“
Mesa
.
Mesa
. How do you say, ‘I’m hungry’?”

“I presume one would say, ‘
Kech nega’
; which means, ‘I’m starved.’ And I also presume that when they say it, they actually mean it, unlike most of us who say it when it’s been three hours and we haven’t stuffed our jowls with snack items. But then, why get all serious and depressing? I suppose we should just ignore that reality for the moment and enjoy our mounds of pasta. And for the love of all that’s holy, in this very moment, I’ve come to realize what an absolute downer I am and that I take life far too seriously and need to lighten up a bit. You asked me a very simple question, and I turned it into a lecture about starving people. I would gather that you’re very sorry you even asked the question at all and further regret ever asking me to join you for dinner.”

“Nope. I don’t regret it at all. This is by far the most interesting conversation I’ve had in years. And for the record, I don’t think you even took a breath during that entire explanation.”

“I tend to be long winded.”

“I see that.”

“My brain literally moves at the speed of light sometimes, and my lips simply struggle to keep up.”

“Fascinating.”

“I’m thrilled that somebody thinks so. Most find it annoying.”

“Not me. So anyway, go on.”

“Where were we?”

“You were talking about people staring at you all the time.”

“Oh, yes. As I stand there in the villages, all these little eyes look up at me, and I feel completely helpless. There really isn’t anything thing I can do to change their lives; but in reality, the children don’t want anything from me but a smile or a touch. The children are filthy. They have no running water to bathe in. No loos…toilets…or toilet paper. Their clothes are falling apart, and many of them have scars all over them or ringworms. There’s no telling what all I come into contact with, but I can’t resist touching them. Honestly, who on earth could?”

“How do they respond when you do?”

“Some giggle and run off but then turn right back around and reach out again. Others smile real big. One time, I started out just touching their hands, and then a little girl who was so precious walked up. Without thinking, I rubbed her cheek. As soon as I did, all the other children started pointing to their own cheeks so I would do the same thing to them. Honestly, I’ve never felt anything so powerful in my life, and as soon as I leave, I miss their little faces. I’ve probably taken ten thousand pictures and hours upon hours of video of just children.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“For certain.” She stuck her fork in the middle of the pasta and started twisting.

“It’s no wonder your cousins tried to corrupt you. You sound too good to be true.”

“Trust me. I’m not.”

“No?” I asked before taking a bite. “And how do you say ‘no’?”

“
Dawe
.”

“
Dawe
.
Dawe
is no. And what’s ‘yes’?”

“
Ee
.”

“
Dawe
and
ee
.”

“Right. Would you like to hear something dreadful about me?” she asked.

“Of course. It’ll make me feel better about myself.”

“I take a day off every week to lock myself inside our home and get away from people. I don’t know why, but I feel like I have to be on all the time. People are always watching me. They want me to talk to them or touch them. There are times when I simply don’t want anybody to see me because I know I’ll feel obligated to respond. So I hide inside. I fanny about all day while people are starving or needing help just outside our gates. All those people out there are needing love or help of some kind, and I’m hiding out because I don’t want to have to be on.”

It was so strange to hear someone saying exactly how I felt. And such a relief to hear that I wasn’t the only one who had to escape it all every once in a while, just to keep my sanity.

My silence again seemed to make her anxious. “I know. It’s bloody selfish. I—”

“It doesn’t sound selfish at all. I’d feel the same way.”

“I don’t know why I told you that. I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Maybe somehow you knew I’d understand.”

“Possibly.” She shoved her plate aside, leaned against the table, and rubbed her temples with her pointer fingers. “Nothing makes me feel more insecure than when hundreds of eyes are looking at me as if I’m somebody special. It makes me realize just how insignificant I truly am.”

“But you love it?”

“I love
them
. I don’t know about all of it, but I know I love
them.”

“And that’s why you call it home, because of the children?”

“As horrible as it sounds, after living with that all of the time, it’s hard to come back here and be nothing special. I come here, and life’s about money and power and how you measure up with everyone else. I’m simply another person who doesn’t truly serve a purpose other than taking up space and oxygen. There, my uniqueness gives me the ability to help people or to love them with no strings attached. No preconceived notions, no expectations. They simply accept my love easier, and they give it back tenfold. It’s the total dichotomy of feeling like no one but someone at the same time.”

“It sounds like it makes for an interesting life. Does it ever get lonely?”
Mine sure does.

“Oh yes. But it’s more feeling alone than being lonely, if that makes sense.”

“I can imagine. Thousands of people around, but a complete feeling of being alone, nobody to really share your stories with.”

“Only a few people my age or that I can relate to. I believe that’s why my parents have me visit here occasionally, so I can live a somewhat normal life with my cousins who are closer to my age.”

“But when you’re here, you still don’t quite fit in because people still see you as different?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a guess.”

“Brilliant guess.”

“I’m pretty smart.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve bored you enough banging on about myself. You still haven’t told me anything about you.”

I looked down at my plate. Now I was the one who was uncomfortable. “You said you wouldn’t ask.”

“Oh yes. You’re right. Consider the topic closed.”

“Good.” I looked back up at her. She was smiling, not at all fazed by the fact that I didn’t want to tell her anything about myself.

The smile slipped off her face, and she stood up. I was instantly afraid she would disappear again. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” The words came out of my mouth before she could take a step.

“I don’t really enjoy watching films, actually.”

“Me neither.”

“I find them rather pointless, and my uncle says the actors are completely self-absorbed, pompous pricks.”

Ouch.
“Sounds about right,” I muttered.

“Do you play pool?”

Relieved that she wasn’t making more of an effort to part for the night, I looked up at her and smiled. “I will after you teach me how.”

“All right then.”

We left our dirty dishes on the table and walked downstairs to the game room.

“Grab one,” she said, pointing to the rack of sticks.

“How do I know if I have the right size stick?”

“It gets the job done. That’s how.”

I think my face flushed this time. “If you weren’t a missionary, I’d think you were being a little naughty and messing with my mind.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t know about sticks.”

“I know more than you think. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve witnessed.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sharing.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. You won’t tell me one thing about yourself. Why in heavens would I want to tell my best stories?”

“Fine. Who do you think I am?”

“You want me to guess?” she asked as she chalked the end of her cue.

“Yeah. Let’s see how close you come.”

“Will you tell me if I get any of it correct?”

“Maybe.”

I studied her as she leaned over, lined up her shot and took it. The balls scattered around the table.

“You’re tall, and you’ve got a nice build.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I’m not blind.”

I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

“You obviously get manicures, and your hair is professionally cut and colored. Are you a homosexual?”

I laughed before taking a shot of my own. Then I walked over and sat on the pool table next to where she was standing.

“You’re blushing,” she said.

“I’m sunburned.”

“No. You’re blushing. You are. You’re homosexual, aren’t you?”

“I’m not gay.”

“I won’t tell anyone. It’s not as if I don’t know what that is or I’ve never seen men or women who are. I’m not going to judge you for it or anything.”

“I’m not gay. I’d tell you if I were.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Guys don’t have to be gay to take care of themselves.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“My life is complicated enough as it is.”

“You’re frightened of commitment?”

“Maybe. I am a guy. Isn’t that what we’re known for?”

“I’m not sure I’d know. I’m not too familiar with American men.”

“Are you familiar with other kinds of men?”

“Not particularly.” She pushed me out of the way and took another shot. “I’m stripes. You’re solids. Your teeth are pretty.”

“Thanks.”

She got quiet as her eyes looked around the table. For some reason, her being quiet threw me off. Made me nervous, anxious even.

“Go on,” I encouraged. “Tell me more.”

“Give me a moment. I’m studying your balls.”

“You’re what?” This time, I know my face lit up. It was at least ten degrees warmer than just a few seconds before. She didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy lining up her next shot.

“Did you pay for them to look that good, or are they naturally attractive?”

“My balls?”

“No. Your teeth.”

“Oh,” I said with a relieved laugh. “A little of both. Is it my turn yet?”

“No. You’re insecure.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I questioned your sexuality, which caused you to immediately assert yourself, and then you assumed I was talking about your manhood. I mean, really, who chats up about one’s privates after only just meeting them?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Perhaps I would.”

“It’s actually our third meeting, and what makes you say that I asserted myself?”

“This is a very large table, yet you’re in my space.”

I hadn’t been asked to walk away from a girl in over a year. I kind of got a kick out of it. “Fine.” I pushed off the table, walked over, and sat on a barstool. “Keep going. I’m enjoying your observations. You’re pretty smart for a twenty-year-old.”

“How old are you? Can you tell me that much at least?”

“I turn twenty-three in a few weeks.”

“When?”

“The twenty-first.”

“Really? We’ll have to celebrate or something. If we’re still putting up with each other, that is.”

“I guess we’ll see about that.”

“Okay, so you’re only twenty-two and three hundred and forty-some-odd days, but you can afford weekly manicures, professional hair care, and a great dentist.”

“Go on.”

She laid the pool stick down and sat on the edge of the table. “You’re hiding out in a stranger’s guest home.”