"You look lonely," Len comments when he notices that I have noticed him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing special. Just daydreaming. What else do you think?"

"Nothing," he replies. "What are you daydreaming about?"

I look at him. "I don't really know. I don't often remember dreams, you see."

"I see. It's the same with me. ... You know, I didn't want to come here at first."

"Didn't you?" I ask for politeness sake, thinking that that's a strange change of subject. It's just on the tip of my tongue to say that I wish that they hadn't come either.

"No. The school team was supposed to have a football match today, and I wanted to support it. Not that I really mind any longer."

"Oh," I say, starting to feel miserable again, wanting to hide and be alone.

"Say; I'm sorry for what happened," he says. "Oh. I already said that at the funeral, didn't I?" After that I can't keep them back any longer, my tears start to run and I hide my face in my hands. "I'm sorry for you," he adds.

"Please! Don't feel sorry for me; it just makes me feel worse. You'll never let me get a chance to get over it."

"Sorry," he murmurs again. He's the only boy whom I've really talked with, that has been natural with me. He lends me his 'kerchief and changes topics again.

"Say, how do you feel about leaving England, your homeland for good? And live with your aunt?"

"I don't know," I answer, drying my cheeks and eyes. Then I decide to blow my nose thoroughly before returning the 'kerchief, thanking him soundlessly. "I've never met her before."

Len paid it no mind and just stuffed the 'kerchief in his back pants pocket. "Really? Where does she live, if one may ask?"

"Somewhere in the United States, at a ranch."

"At a ranch? Oh, you lucky girl you!"

Me? Lucky?

"Imagine living at a ranch with all the cowboys and— Oh boy, I can tell you that many would envy you. I'd certainly like to go there!"

For the first time I smile. "Would you?"

"Sure. May I exchange places with you?"

I shake my head: "Certainly not. I need some change myself."

"Just pulling your leg," he smiles. "But... couldn't you write and tell me what it's like; how it is to live there? Please?"

I look up at him. His eyes are shining. Strange—how this boy always some way or another manages to get at me, how he always touches me, ever since we first met. That must have been since we were born.

"Will you?"

I nod, surprised at myself: "If you reply, that is."

"Sure." His big smile is warm as if he's won a prize in the hundred pounds' raffle—his eyes capturing mine and holding them there. My thoughts race back to that dream: I wonder who...? Certainly not him with his light blonde curls. Yet—he's the only one that I can think of.

My gaze starts to stray against my will, painfully aware that his own never once leaves my face; but then mine darts back to his when he suddenly asks: "Why do you always hide from me, Michelle?"

"If I—?" I'm startled, not knowing what to say to that. Why does he have to search me so? "Hide?"

"Yes... 'hide'."

"I do that from any- and everyone."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"Not only me, or boys in general?"

"No."

"You're shy."

"Very."

"No wonder." My eyes meet his again, and I blush. This is getting a bit too much out of hand and I don't like it at all. Got a good mind of getting up to go somewhere else, but that would be against my dignity; and also, he'd surely follow me wherever I'd go anyway and that would be even worse. But instead, he gets up and touches my hand.

"I like you. Very much," he says quietly, looking straight into my eyes, with an expression that gives me a tingling feeling of being wanted and wanting: wanting him to touch me again and chase away that haunting dream, that haunting feeling of loneliness. But he just adds: "Maybe you'd like to think a bit more—"

About what? About him?

"—in peace."

He leaves me; I'm alone again and I'm unable to tear my thoughts away from him.

*** 

...PART SEVEN next!

© 1983/2016 by kemorgan65

CREDIT
*Music track instrumental - "When I First Met You" by DeVso. https://youtu.be/Ck6EByokaVQ