Wish You Were Her(33)
Allegra had a thousand answers to that question but she settled for the safest. “I’m fine. Thanks again.”
There was silence between them for a moment before Allegra asked, “Do you know any other neurodivergent people in Lake Pristine?”
“Hera, who runs the arcade? She’s ADHD. But we’re definitely part of a small pool.”
“Hera,” Allegra said with a smile in her voice. “Such a great name.”
Jonah nodded. “You like Greek mythology?”
“Dude. Of course. I’d say I was even low-key obsessed when I was fifteen. There were whispers about a full-blown adaptation of The Odyssey and I made a real nuisance of myself trying to get a meeting.”
Jonah laughed. “Did it get made?”
“Nope. Greek mythology is so hard to get right on screen.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”
“What about you?” she asked him, as they walked side by side and at a slower pace along the backstreet behind the bar. “Did you have a shrine to Persephone in the corner of your room or were you normal?”
He laughed once more. “I definitely hyper fixated when I was younger.”
“Which story?”
“Well, all of them. I found this massive book in Brooks Books when I was twelve. Greek myths for teens. Great illustrations. The minotaur, Medusa, The Iliad. But…”
Allegra didn’t push him. They both remained invisible to the rest of the world as they walked the hidden streets behind the main, bustling town.
“I loved Hephaestus.”
His words surprised her and so she glanced at him. “Really? The blacksmith?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, looking a little defensive. “He—Well. He was the only god with a disability.”
Allegra’s eyes widened in understanding and she felt a sudden piercing stab of vulnerability. “Yes.”
“And he crafted the most amazing things for the Olympians,” Jonah added. “Even though they cast him out. He made beautiful items they couldn’t go without. Shoes with wings. I always liked that. The idea that, even though the people around you want to exclude you for what you are, you can be better. You can rise above. You can do things they can’t do for themselves.”
Allegra suddenly felt short of breath. “I think we should go back inside.”
A wave of guilt followed her as they both silently went back into the bar, Jonah radiating disappointment at the slight rejection. But she needed the banality of the group. The bland normality of casual conversation and drinking games.
Everything she had just seen in Jonah was far too overwhelming. It raised questions she did not want to answer. It offered an alternative to a comfortable assumption and she didn’t want to look directly at it any longer.
Chapter Thirteen
Jonah opened Brooks Books the following day and took advantage of his solitude to check the email.
[email protected]
to: [email protected]
Subject: Not Myself
Dear Friend and hopefully not so sad bookseller,
I totally know what you mean! I often find myself looking down, or back, at my own behavior and wonder why I sometimes have this massive break of communication between what my brain wants to express and what actually ends up coming out. I wish people could hear and see intentions, as well as actions.
I’m sure you are lovely. I know you are, because of these emails. You’re being too hard on yourself.
I’m also sure the festival will be fine. I would like to meet you there. Maybe near the end of the run? That way, it won’t ruin the whole experience for you if you think I’m not worth all of these emails we’ve been sending. I’ve been loving your pictures of the town; I can’t wait to see it.
Feel better soon.
Friend
Jonah felt a tightness in his chest as he read the objectively kind email. He hurriedly googled the address, hoping it might lead to a social media account or anything he could use to identify this joyous person who brought him relief during a troublesome summer. Nothing turned up so he began to draft another response.
[email protected]
to: [email protected]
RE: Who Are You?
Dear Friend,
Your email pulled me out of a bit of a shame spiral. Even though you don’t know who I am, and I don’t know you, thank you for making me feel a bit human again. I’ve made so many stupid errors lately, I’ve not been my best self, and this was something I really needed.
Who are you? Are you an eighty-five-year-old lady who emailed the shop one day? Are you my age? Are you as great as you seem over email? As kind? I know we’re both really enjoying this anonymity thing but I’d love to put a name to my friend. Who, right now, feels like the only friend I have left.
God, that sounds pathetic. I’m not actually that sad. Please let’s meet. The festival is so soon, I could never be disappointed in you. There’s always a party to celebrate the program launch. It’s next Friday. Pete’s Cafe in Lake Pristine is very pretty. We could grab a drink there at seven and then head to the launch?
No pressure. Seriously. And if I’m too intense, that’s fine. Ignore me. But don’t stop writing. Your emails are the one thing I have to look forward to these days.
Wish you were here.