But after I got back, I thought about it for a while after I slammed my bedroom door for the night. I could’ve been overstepping. I thought that this was a part of his suburban life that I wasn’t meant to cross into.

At around midnight, I slipped out of my bed and looked out the window. The city was in the other direction, but one of the things I did like about suburbia was, after eleven, almost everything stopped moving. The stars came out. It wasn’t like the sky was filled with them, but there were scattered clusters of them. Every so often, a plane would blink by, flashing red and green lights.

I liked walking with him; I really did. It was quiet. Peaceful. I didn’t have to worry about saying anything wrong because he was probably mute.

My dad had taught me that God watched over us, giving us decisions and choices that direct and impact our life. I don’t necessarily agree with the notion that there’s some all-powerful being in the sky, only appearing in texts written three millennia ago, but sometimes, it was nice to think that someone loved us unconditionally and had a plan for us; I still wanted more evidence.

That night I made up my mind to walk with him again.

At 7:15 the next night, having slipped quietly out of my house, I caught up with him as he turned the corner off my street. “Hi,” I began as I walked beside him. He didn’t look at me. “Do you mind if I walk with you?” He didn’t say anything; he just stared down towards the street. “Sorry,” I replied, thinking he had said no. “I shouldn’t of bothered you.”

But as I turned away, he grabbed my arm and pulled me beside him. “You’re okay with it?” His eyes darted to the side, putting me in his peripheral vision. His eyes returned to the street. I nodded. “Okay.”

It was still nerve-wracking to walk next to him because I still knew nothing about this guy. “Thanks for the walk last night,” I hastily spluttered. “It really…helped clear my mind.” His head lifted slightly and stayed put. I swallowed hard and asked, “Why do you walk all the time?” He didn’t say anything. I pried for a few more minutes and, when he didn’t respond, I sighed and accepted his silence.

We walked on and off for about the two weeks that was the winter break. And we continued walking through January and February. I didn’t ask much of anything about him, or try to get anything out of him. I felt like there was a mutual friendship that had formed over the first two weeks we walked. He normally didn’t say anything, and I accepted the silence. I talked to him, sometimes just to vent. He was there to listen to me when Alyssa was busy.

Finally, after the horribly long winter began fading towards the end of February, the weather entered the transition period, where it wasn’t winter but it wasn’t spring either. I call it “sprinter”.

But the weather began changing in March. We extended our walk down towards the beach, nearly a half-mile away from my house. I didn’t really mind; it was an excuse to get out of the house and away from everything for a brief time.

It was a grossly humid night in mid-March. He was still dressed in his winter coat and hat, which I didn’t understand at all. It must’ve been extremely uncomfortable for him to wear it. But I never saw him break a sweat.

By that point, I was thoroughly convinced that he was a part of my imagination, but I knew I wasn’t creative enough to think of something that clever. Or, he was a robot.

Either one was okay with me.

But I remember, one night, we stayed a little longer than normal. We walked along the shore, and I jumped into the water, which I regretted immediately. It was bitterly cold and I ran up along the beach to dry off my feet and put on my shoes.

He was smiling. Or at least his mouth had curled into a suppressed smile.

In the two years of watching him pass by my house, I’d never seen him express any emotion at all. It was unsettling.

So much for my robot theory. Which, in retrospect, wasn’t a bad thing.

We came back to the beach every night for a week. The next Saturday night, I sat down in the sand to watch the stars. He remained standing, hands in his pockets, staring out to the horizon. “Why do you walk?” I asked. It was a question that had bugged me for a really long time about him, though I knew deep down I wasn’t going to get an answer. I looked backwards to see him expressionless, standing straight up and staring off into the water. His voice maintained its silence. “That’s all I want to know. Why do you walk?”

But he didn’t move; he didn’t even glance at me. I went back to looking at the stars. I knew I was pushing; maybe I was just hoping for a miracle or something. And, since it was a Saturday, I closed my eyes and let the ambience rock me into a wakeful rest.

Something began distracting me. The sound of a marker writing. I looked backwards to see him standing over me, writing in a purple Sharpie on an oversized Post-It. Where had he gotten the Post-Its and the Sharpie? Why was I concerned about that – what was he writing?

Post-It after Post-It, he tore them off from the pad and crumbled them in his hands, stuffing them into his pockets. His eyebrows were the only things that moved on his whole face. He was clearly frustrated, which was so odd to see. His jaw began tensing up as well, and suddenly I felt sorry for him. He was trying so hard.

He peeled off one sheet and handed it over, refusing to look at me. In distinct bold, purple lettering it read:

My name is Ryan

I looked up at him. This is what took him so long to write? I could’ve written this in ten seconds. Not only did this confuse me even more, but it didn’t make sense to me, at all. Why was it just him finally introducing himself?

He began writing again. This one took a little longer to write, but he didn’t fail in giving me a Post-It. In neat, perfect writing, it said:

We all need to get away from something, even if it’s temporary.

I looked up. I was still slightly confused, but the note related to both of us – walking offered a temporary escape from problems we’ve both faced. I went to hug him, but he backed away, almost looking like he was disgusted. I stuck out my hand, and he dug his into his pockets.

“Can I meet you after school to hang out?” I asked. He glared at me, basically saying that it was a ridiculously dumb question. I sighed, and we began walking.

When we got back to my house, I said goodnight, and headed in. When I got to the front door, he was walking up towards me with another Post-It note. He crumpled it into my hand, and promptly walked away.

“How was your date?” asked Alyssa, smiling.

I shushed her. She was speaking too loudly. Again. “Does your voice just…not have any volume level below shouting?” I whispered loudly.

“Not when everyone’s already gone to bed. It’s almost eleven, Adrian,” she told me, beaming.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Still out with friends.” Alyssa’s smile grew. “So how was your date?”

I sighed and hung up my coat. “It wasn’t a date.”

Her smile grew. “Yes it was. So, did you find anything out about him?”

“No.” I lied, obviously.

I think she saw my lying. But she shrugged it off and said, “Okay. I’m going to play the Wii now. Night, Adrian.”

“But its elev – ” Alyssa nevertheless pranced semi-gracefully downstairs towards the basement. The only thing going through my head at the moment was, “Dad needs to stop sending her to ballet.”

I went to my room and began undressing for the night. I unfolded the note, and in Ryan’s perfect handwriting, it read:

It’s nice to walk with company.

I let out a sigh of relief and smiled. I wasn’t bugging him. I wasn’t being a nuisance. We were keeping each other company. I placed the note on my desk, trying to flatten it out as much as possible, but since it was crumpled, it didn’t help much. I stuck it over my desk, the only place where my eyes are immediately drawn to when I walk in.

I liked having it there. It was kind of comforting to know that it was there as, like, some reassurance. I really liked having it there.

Until my stepmom threw it out the next day. Apparently, it fell off my desk and was sitting on the floor; she must’ve thought it was garbage.

* * *

The world shifted when March came around. Most of the graduating upperclassmen began preparing to do a final project outside of school, and the remaining upperclassmen toned down the bullying, probably because the school was finally cracking down hard on bullying and jokes of that nature. Though I still hated coming to school at all.

It was nicer outside too. At night, the stars came out, and all I wanted to do was stare at them. This didn’t stop me from walking with Ryan, though.

He didn’t give me any other Post-Its. We just walked around town, which was much more lively in the nicer weather. I liked walking with him; it was like he was my secret friend who I didn’t have to share with anyone, no one from school or home knew him. He was my friend.

It rained through mid-March. A lot. I didn’t walk with Ryan when it rained; I didn’t want to get sick. Despite everything, at 7:15 exactly, Ryan would walk by, wearing his winter coat and hat, his gaze fixated firmly on the street.

Though there was one night where he didn’t walk by. I panicked, and thought he had suddenly died, or that my theory of him being in my imagination was true. But when I started walking with him a few days later, he showed signs of having a cold.

Okay, good. He was human.