...of inhibition

When I reach the woods, he’s there as if by appointment, and I know that this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. June’s visit gave me the self-confidence I needed, the man on the path obviously isn’t quite all there, therefore I can talk to him. Now all I need is something to say. Quickly.
“Hi,” I say. It’s as if I’m listening to a stranger’s voice.
His expression doesn’t change.
“Do you think it’s nice here?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Yes, it’s nice here,” I say.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. He doesn’t say anything else, and I feel panic setting in, he obviously doesn’t like small talk. I’m scared he’ll disappear again if I don’t think of something interesting to say, quickly.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I can’t believe I have the courage.
With a serious expression, he mumbles something that sounds like “KGB,” and I get nervous, because that’s the sort of thing that puts you on your guard. But when I ask again, I hear him sigh “Åge B.” and I would sigh too if I was stuck with that name. I don’t have the courage to ask what the “B” stands for, in case its something embarrassing, and so I just nod encouragingly.
“That’s a good name for a man,” I say.
I’m disappointed that he doesn’t ask me what my name is, or what my favourite colour is, or which cassette tape I’d take with me to a desert island if I could choose only one. It’s so wonderful to talk, I want to talk to Åge B. about everything I talked to Epsilon about. When Epsilon came home from work, I’d ask him how his day had been and what he’d done, and he’d say his day was good and he hadn’t done much. I thanked him for this window into his world. Then he’d ask me how my day was and what I’d done, and I’d tell him some story, like about how I think I saw a baby snake shedding its skin in the bathroom floor, but instead it was just a dust bunny. “Don’t you ever get the urge to talk to someone other than me?” Epsilon would ask every now and then. “But I’ve done that,” I’d say. “Don’t you remember the time I went with you to the Christmas party?”
“Well then,” Åge B. says.
“Well then,” I say and hurry off before he does.
I walk down toward the church and feel fat. Especially around the thighs. I hear that’s a normal reaction when you get rejected by someone of the opposite sex.

[The Faster I Walk The Smaller I Am, Skomsvold, K. A.]