Rafa and I met when we were both on our way back to campus from the airport, on the train. I felt broken and just wanted to hide from the world, which I thought was fitting considering the way it was raining outside, and she turned to me so suddenly that I thought she was angry. That was pretty common when it came to me on trains on account of the amount of fat on my body and its tendency to intrude on my seat-neighbor's space.
Instead, she said, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
I'd planned on ignoring the insult I expected to hear, but when it didn't come I responded more instinctively. "Hardly."
The girl was immediately defiant, and I immediately regretted my decision to talk. "On what grounds?"
"It's r-raining," I said, reluctantly, trying to keep the response short, but apparently it wasn't short enough. The girl didn't seem phased, though, and simply raised her eyebrows as if to say "so what." So I risked continuing. "On what g-grounds is it beautiful?"
"It's a perfect day for writing!" She grinned, and pulled out journal with a pencil in its spine. It was the same kind his sister used for her writing, cheap and plain and black, but clearly well-loved nonetheless. I knew I shouldn't, I knew it would only lead to a let down, but I couldn't stop myself from speaking up again.
"You're a wr-writer?"
"Sure am! My friend Erinne says it's the source of my life force."
"Is she r-right?"
"Probably," she giggled. Then she reached out her hand. "I'm Rafa!"
"Jasper," I said. I tried to grab her hand, but my own mercilessly resisted the action.
"Oh!" Rafa pulled her hand back, apparently noticing my hesitation. "You don't like touch, huh? That's my bad, sorry!"
"Ah," I stalled, because that was my line, normally, and I couldn't think of an alternative response for a moment. "It's f-fine. N-Nice to m-meet you. Are you g-going to the university, too?"
"Sure am! You too? What're you studying?"
"Journalism, for editing. You?"
"Wow, editing, huh? That's awesome. I'm studying Creative Writing," she said, holding the pencil up again. "Speaking of, I ought to get back to it!"
She opened the notebook, and almost instantly her pencil was flying across the page, and it seemed that the conversation was over. That should have been perfectly fine with me, but once I'd started watching her write, I found myself unable to stop and a chill scampered up my spine. The only other person who'd had that effect on me was my twin sister, Jet, and she was the best writer I knew. I'm not normally one to offer my editing skills to strangers, but her likeness to my sister made too compelling argument to deny.
"Hey," I said, "d-do you n-need a proof reader?"
When she looked up, it was like she was coming out of some sort of trance, and it took a moment from her expression to go from confused to appreciative. Then she shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, I do appreciate it, but, well, I don't let people read my stuff."
"Why? I c-can t-tell you're g-good, I'm sure of it."
Out of all the things I'd said, I figured that one was the least likely to offend, so I hadn't hesitated at all, but I immediately regretted it. Her entire face seemed to darken, and she didn't even bother to respond.
"I m-mean, you'll n-need t-to share if you're m-majoring in C-Creative Wr-Writing, ri-right?" Of course that was the wrong thing to say, but I'd hit the point where I realized I should just keep my mouth shut and my stuttering went out of control. Unfortunately, once I get to that point, I ramble without restraint almost as bad as a stutter, so I kept going. Knowing exactly what was going on, I tried my utmost to swallow my words, but when Rafa didn't respond and went on writing, the urge to talk only became stronger.
