Authors: J.P. Barnaby
Aaron (16 page)
SPENCER: We could combine them into one big Twitter app. AARON: It would be more work.
SPENCER: True, but when we’re finished, we could load it up onto a Freeware site and start getting our names out there—maybe add some stuff to our resumes.
They continued to talk late into the night about the design for their new software. Downloading a screen share program, they drew up specs and mapped out ideas to submit for their proposal. Before Aaron even realized it, it was after midnight. They had been chatting for over five hours. He couldn’t help but be a little shocked, because he didn’t even talk to his own family for five hours in a month, much less one night. Spencer was surprisingly easy to talk to, especially about programming, because he seemed to be very passionate about it, just like Aaron was.
AARON: I can’t believe it’s midnight already. I’ll see you in class. SPENCER: K, night.
AARON: Good night.
Aaron turned off his laptop in kind of a daze, the machine hot against his legs. Setting the computer on the bed next to him, he realized he was sitting against his headboard. He didn’t really even remember
moving to the bed, but he must have at some point because that was where he ended up. One word, almost foreign to him now, resonated through his head as he set the computer on the desk and started getting ready for bed.
Chapter Nine
“You’re ready early today. I’m surprised. I heard you typing away last night when I went to bed,” his mother said, pulling her long brown hair into a loose ponytail as she went to the stove.
“Yeah, Spencer and I got a little carried away last night talking code,” Aaron told her as he distractedly doodled a few more logic structures in his notebook at the kitchen table. When his mother took a peek over his shoulder as she set the syrup next to her son, she saw complex diagrams with squares, diamonds, lines, and arrows. He wondered if she understood any of it.
“That looks complicated,” she said, turning back toward the counter to start mixing the waffles. Before she could measure out the mix, Aaron turned to face her.
“Mom, do we have any bacon? I’d love some bacon and eggs.” Aaron noticed his mother held on to the measuring cup in her hand, but just barely. In the last two years, he’d never asked for anything. Whatever she made, he ate, with no enthusiasm. If they went out to dinner, he had no preference on the restaurant. He didn’t even care what kind of soda they had in the house; he drank whatever his brothers drank. It was a huge shift in his behavior, but he needed to give her some kind of hope. He didn’t
want to be sent away. Since she’d mentioned earlier she had gotten bacon at the store the day before, he thought that might be a way to fake normalcy for her. Her expression showed she would have slaughtered a pig in the back yard at that point to give him what he’d asked for.
“Sure, honey, I’ll make bacon and eggs,” she said almost casually. He knew it was a monumental thing to her, but she looked over at him like she expected him to have changed. He sat, continuing to draw his complex shapes on the pad in front of him, not acknowledging the magnitude of the moment. His heart lightened.
As they ate, Aaron explained the symbols and flows to his mother. It was possibly the longest conversation they’d ever had, and he could tell by her glassy gaze she hadn’t understood a word of it. By the time Aaron went to throw on his shoes so she could take him to campus, he could see a glimpse of tears in her eyes.
“You look so much like your father. During those fleeting minutes when you’re not angry, I can sometimes see the boy I knew. You talk with such enthusiasm about this project, and about programming in general. It just… it gives me hope my son might one day emerge from that shell where you’ve been living,” she told him with a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there in a while. Embarrassed, Aaron turned away. He couldn’t bring himself to take away her hope.
Once he was in the computer lab at school, Aaron continued to work out some of the design of their new program as he waited for Spencer. He’d just finished detailing the tweet object parameters when he saw his partner walking up the stairs toward him. Spencer half waved at Aaron and dropped into his seat, punching the power button on his lab PC. Aaron smirked, knowing exactly how tired Spencer was feeling because he was feeling it himself. Spencer avoided the braided security cable that connected the monitor to the table as he set his bag down next to him. Aaron watched Spencer log into chat, and Aaron quickly followed suit.
Aaron loaded the code he’d written from his thumb drive and turned the flat-panel monitor as far as the security cable would allow so Spencer could see it.
Aaron chuckled at Spencer’s enthusiasm, pleased he’d made him happy. Then he stopped short. He hadn’t so much as cracked a smile in more than two years. He didn’t deserve to laugh. He didn’t deserve to be happy. Juliette couldn’t laugh, and it was all his fault. She couldn’t enjoy the joke. She was gone. He had led her to that van like a lamb to slaughter.
SPENCER: Aaron, are you okay? You look kind of sick? “Aaron.?”
Aaron looked up and saw that Spencer had one hand up to reach for him, most likely to put a hand on his shoulder. Aaron wrenched back so violently he nearly fell off the rolling chair. Spencer jerked back as well and stared at Aaron, remorse and pity written clearly all over his pale face.
Aaron felt anxious, like his skin was crawling, but he also felt embarrassed by his display in front of Spencer. Quickly, he typed out a message in the chat window.
Aaron was trying to change the subject before Spencer could ask about his bizarre behavior. Spencer looked at him for a long moment, and Aaron could feel his gaze even though his eyes were fixed determinately on the keyboard in front of him. Finally, his chat client displayed a new message.
Even after Dr. Mayer had started class, Aaron was distracted and upset by his reaction in front of Spencer. It had never really mattered to him what people thought of him, because he never stuck around long enough for it to matter. It used to, he could remember that clearly, but now he was in and out of the restaurant, or in and out of the doctor’s office, or in and out of the classroom before anyone could speak to him. He didn’t make friends, didn’t form relationships. So, if some guy stared a little too long in the hall or some girl tried to talk to him in the library, he could just brush them off. This time, however, he couldn’t just walk away. He needed to work with Spencer in order to get this project done, not only for his own grade, but for his partner’s. It was more than that, though. Aaron found he didn’t want to brush off Spencer or walk away. For the first time in so long, he’d found someone he could talk to, at least superficially connect with over code, if nothing else.
Without ever intending to, over the five hours they’d spent chatting about code, Aaron had found a friend. That thought scared the hell out of him.
Aaron was drawn out of these thoughts when the lights in the lab came up, signaling the end of the lecture. He still felt shaken and off balance. Spencer didn’t make any move to touch him again, but rapidly typed out a chat message.
Great, Spencer thought he was a freak, just like everyone else. He doesn’t even want to stick around to talk about their project with the instructor—the project Aaron was so excited about. To Aaron, it looked like Spencer couldn’t wait to get away from him, and Aaron couldn’t blame him. He wished sometimes that he could get away from himself.
Quickly, he typed a message to Spencer indicating that was fine with him. He didn’t even wait for his computer to log off completely before he was out of his seat and down the stairs two at a time. In his haste, he nearly knocked over a boy just getting out of his aisle seat in the second row. He didn’t stop until he was outside. As soon as his mother stopped in front of him, he was in the car and they were gone.
He nodded, noticing the rest of the family had already left the table. The smell of the meatloaf his mother had made had dissipated. The sound of the news filtered quietly from the living room, but otherwise, the house was fairly quiet. Aaron started to get up from the table when his mother spoke again.