Left side, Right side.

I don't know how to trust. I was twelve when I first met Andre. Apparently, like me, he was also an outcast in society. What distinguished us was that it was difficult for me to adapt to society and merge with the team, and too much conversation could cause a panic attack. After time, of course, it became a little better, but my dislike for noisy companies remained at the same level. It's funny, as a child my weirdness manifested itself in such a way that I simply couldn't stand other children - smiling, laughing loudly, screaming and crying. Andre is not like that. He can be friends with anyone, but the thing is that he doesn't want to. He likes it better, it’s more comfortable to be sarcastic once again, thereby getting himself into trouble. Andre has good, understanding parents, one might say ideal. And, apparently, he grew up in good conditions, without pressure from outside, without groundless hatred. He looked for problems for himself. But it seems to me personally that my whole life is one big continuous problem. Long before I met Andre, I was often told that I was a very perceptive child. That although I am very emotional, at the same time I am as empathetic as possible, feeling other people. Unfortunately, I don’t know at all whether all this was said seriously, or just empty words to make little Cal believe that he is not absolutely hopeless. In any case, there was some truth here - I really often sympathize with people who have worse problems than me. This is not pity, no, I just want to be close, to know that everything is fine with the person. Even though now I have half lost my empathy towards people I don’t know, replacing it with pure hatred, I can definitely say that when my “I” was exactly like this. When I first met Andre, he was walking home half-beaten. I walked behind him, and for several minutes I simply followed him silently, embarrassed and sincerely afraid to start a dialogue. To my own surprise, I accidentally started a conversation myself when the following words came out of my lips: - Hey, are you okay? Andre turned around and looked at me with a cold gaze. He stopped, as if taking a more suitable position for protection. - Who are you? Do you care? “I’m Cal, Cal Gabriel...” I look at Andre, feeling my voice weaken and get lost in my throat. – I study with you at the same school, in a parallel class... What is your name? In his eyes I read distrust, even some disgust, bordering on contempt. He takes a step closer to me, it seems to me that he is interested in me after all. After all, I certainly don't look like someone who has evil intentions (at least I hope I don't, because I'd really like to see myself from the outside). Andre crosses his arms over his chest. - None of your business. Why are you even bothering me? - Sorry, that's not what I meant! It's just, you look, uh... Crippled? – I look him up and down again, wanting to feel out what kind of person I’m dealing with. - I assumed that you needed help... The corners of his lips lift slightly, forming an alluring grin. There is mockery in his voice, but for some reason I’m not offended at all: – Do I look like someone who needs help? I want to answer, but I have nothing to answer with, Even if it were, the words would be inaccurate. - No, that's not what I wanted to say! I just, I... - I want to fall through the ground. – My classmates don’t like me either. I mean, they don’t like you and, well... They offend you. - Is it true? – Andre takes another step closer to me, his voice softens slightly. - Okay, let's say. Was it a friend request or what? And I answered in the affirmative.

***

Andre and I got along well. He quickly opened up to me, freely said everything that was on his mind, knew that I would never judge, I would not leave, I would not abandon. But the fact is that there were absolutely no feelings in him. He didn't share them, and he didn't look like he was really feeling anything. There was primitive anger, sweet near-satire, cold isolation in him, but there was no love, no tenderness, no warm, sincere good nature. This was a big question mark for me. Can a person really be completely immersed in prudence? Does he have any hint of affection for me? He opened up to me, but because of this certain misunderstanding, I could not open up to him. The dialogues were almost one-sided, and when I tried to reveal my soul to him through a verse of my own composition, I only received criticism and rage from him. Even though this was partly due to the fact that I almost deliberately dragged us into a fight, it seemed to me that he was not happy that I shared something completely intimate, spiritual, with him. And I closed myself. I could no longer allow myself to talk about something that was locked in my heart. I wasn't the least bit angry at Andre; rather, I became even more lost in my own mind. He never asked me what I was thinking or feeling. That's why I didn't ask him. To some extent, I was probably even afraid. I was afraid again of being rejected in a rude manner by the person who tore off my old worldview and replaced it with a new, relevant, albeit inhumanly cruel, incorrect one. It was a living nightmare, and I was thrown into cold chills with every fleeting thought of finally becoming my true self with someone who is real with me. I just can not. I can't overcome this fear.

***

“All my life before, I had planned my role, and I had planned mine... And when we met, we seemed to agree on a common point.”

***

The woman on the phone kept calling for Andre as we knelt down. I checked the ammo inside my gun and Andre inside his pistol. All is ready. I find it very, very difficult and difficult to breathe. My hands are shaking slightly, but I suppress unnecessary thoughts. I won't back down because Andre won't back down. - So, on the count of three. - Wait, before you say “three”, or right after? - Of course after. Everyone does it. So...” his voice is full of determination. - One, two... I’m already getting ready to pull the trigger with my weakened index finger, but suddenly I hear Andre’s quiet, gentle voice for the first time: - I love you. Three. He replays the shot and his body falls backwards, onto his back. And I, like an idiot, am still on my knees, awkwardly holding the shotgun in my hands. I think I finally understand... - Three. My finger presses the trigger.

***

I wasn't afraid to trust, but I couldn't open myself. Andre was afraid to trust, and opened himself from his another side.