Out Of Body Experience

Chapter 2: A Different Perspective

With what felt like genuine curiosity she asked, “You know, you’re kind of impossible to predict. I mean, every time I try to talk to you, something unexpected happens.”

I was still recovering from the embarrassment, so I didn’t really process her words. I heard her speak but listened to nothing, so I replied, “I just forget to switch between my inner voice sometimes,” thinking she would give me the sympathetic look I’ve come to expect from everyone in every conversation. Instead, she laughed out loud and followed it up with, “You’re weird, but in a good way.”

Weird in a good way? That felt like being handed an award for a competition I didn’t know existed. Contemplating this, I replied, “You’re probably the first person who’s described it that way.”

Her smile still warm, she reached out and touched my shoulder. “Maybe others don’t have the right prescription to see who you truly are?”

Why is she being kind to me? Am I really a project that needs fixing, or is she genuinely being nice? While I was still caught in that thought, she added, “Hope we talk more. Bye!” and left me before I had the chance to utter a single word.

Is she being a good person, getting close to me out of pity, or does she see something I haven’t yet seen in myself?

For the rest of that day, I was having a mix of emotions. This was a new territory to me - I had never invested time or given thought to having someone in my life that I craved connection with, yet I still felt scared and overly analytical about how it might go, what I would say, and how it would be interpreted.

The next morning, as usual, walking in the hallway, I overheard Tessa having some kind of discussion with a group of her friends. Trying not to look too obvious, I started eavesdropping on their conversation.

One friend shouted, almost like she was talking to someone from afar: “So you’re going to keep pretending like you aren’t bothered by it?”

Tessa tried to keep her composure, showing obvious discomfort at the fact that people’s attention had now shifted toward them. “I can’t say anything if it leads to confrontation.” Her eyes looked broken, her face shadowed.

Her friend doubled down: “I don’t think you can keep avoiding it for too long. I think the sooner you deal with it, the better.”

What is this all about? I don’t think I’ve ever been this interested in someone else’s conversation in my life.

Tessa responded, “I know, I know. It’s just that I don’t think I can manage dealing with it right now — or even ever.”

Her response irritated me more than it should have, especially since I had nothing to do with what was being said. I was so deep in my own head, buried in my thoughts, that I never stopped to consider she was human too — with her own problems and flaws. This was a new perspective I didn’t believe I had the mental readiness or maturity to process.

She must have noticed me standing there in contemplation, unmoving. Before I saw her coming, I heard her voice jolting me awake: “How come I never see you with anybody?”

On autopilot I responded, “Wow, that sounds less depressing when you don’t say it out loud.”

With that warm smile I had come to expect, she followed up: “Even when you’re walking, I’ve never seen you with someone.”

Does she look at me this much? Even when I haven’t noticed her? I should say something less weird, something clever. “Nice weather today, right?”

Deflecting wasn’t my intention, but today I was speaking in autocomplete. For her, it meant she had somehow made me uncomfortable, which made the conversation heavier, more serious. That made me notice something I had never thought she was capable of being: uncomfortable, and out of words to respond. That made her even more peculiar.

What seemed like a Hail Mary on her part: "I've never seen someone escape a conversation that smoothly.”

Scraping what little thought process I had left, I said, “Yeah, I like it when it’s a bit cold and gloomy. I don’t feel obligated to go out. I can just blame it on the weather.”

Showing appreciation and relief that a less awkward conversation had started between us, she responded, “I never thought of it that way. That might be the most convincing argument for bad weather I’ve ever heard.”

Before she gave me a sign or another sentence, her friend called her, forcing her to finish our conversation abruptly. She ran to her friends, but not before giving me a kiss on the cheek.

I have never taken drugs of any kind, but this must be how they feel — a sudden rush of adrenaline followed by a very audible heartbeat. I started looking around nervously, thinking someone else must be hearing my heart thumping, wondering if I was anatomically correct. Like I needed people asking that question about me now — not as if my social awkwardness wasn’t already enough to make me an outcast.

I was almost happy, even ecstatic, when I noticed something I wish I hadn’t. She always looked back at me when she joined her friends, but this time she didn’t — and somehow, that mattered to me more than the kiss.

To make matters worse, her friend blurted out, “What the hell just happened? What was that?” — the very question I couldn’t ask but desperately needed answered. Before she had the chance to respond, another friend cut in: “Guys, we’re going to be late. Tes, I thought you said Leo would be waiting for us with his friends right now!”

Great. As if I wasn’t confused enough already. It felt like life was throwing me a cheap shot. Am I an unwilling character in some kind of practical joke? Who the hell is Leo?