I’m going for a walk. Do you want to join?

My father wants help with the house again.

Fair enough.

Diana’s father was going through some things, and wasn’t strong enough to do all the chores on his own. Even so, I had a knot of tension in my stomach. Diana and I hadn’t been on a walk together for a very long time. The habit was just about broken, and I was sure that was exactly what Diana wanted.

On the other hand, I was beginning to enjoy my walks along the river for their own sake. I’d seen the plants rise on the side of the trail, as if in slow motion. There was a sunflower that had grown tall over the end of a steel bridge. Every time I rounded the bridge, its face greeted me from far away, and I tried to guess how tall it had gotten before I crossed the bridge. However, as fall wore on it began to wilt. I was sad about that.

Walking gave me time to think. I thought about Emma, and our upcoming date. I thought about telling Bella the news. I also thought that I’d ruined my friendship with Diana, foolishly, and doubly so considering that if I had just kept going to the soup kitchen I’d have gotten a date without trying.

I had an impulsive streak, and I’d underestimated how bad it would be, from Diana’s perspective, for me to be someone who wanted to date her. Diana was attractive and uninterested in men in a male-dominated space. She’d be on guard for that.

I’d failed to consider her feelings. I probably deserved to be sad. Despite that, things were going right for me. Life wasn’t fair.

As I walked, the weather took a turn for the worse; the clouds threatened to become an afternoon storm. Fortunately, I was at the midpoint of my walk and near the gym.

I diverted and went there. I was feeling pretty healthy and motivated. I could walk on the treadmill for a bit and the rain would pass. When I went in I saw Diana sprinting on a treadmill. She was facing the other way.

Had she already finished helping her father? I suspected something else, and shot her a text

How are things going with your dad, by the way? Getting close to having the wall fixed?

I’ll probably be here all day.

I see.

Watching her pick up her phone and make the lie was a surreal experience. I felt a bubbling need to confront her right then and there, like hot steam rising at my center. Why did she lie to me about this?

Lightning flashed. Having a fight was a faux pas at the gym, just like asking people out.

My car was at the other end of the trail. I turned and left. I needed time to think about my feelings, I half thought, as I marched away in the rain. The more I thought about it, the uglier my feelings became. Diana was a liar. I had liked her for her honesty, hadn’t I? Was she lying to just me, or to herself about her values? I’d been fooled hard, either way.

Some part of me couldn’t help but think I’d forced her into this lie. It was my fault, for making things awkward. It was my fault for making her feel unsafe… wasn’t it?

As I walked, I started picking up speed. The rain was pelting me, threatening to turn to hail. I should hurry back.

That I’d made her feel unsafe was laughable–Diana was as strong as me! Stronger even! Except maybe that wasn’t true; we didn’t have direct contests of strength all that often, and I was a man. And even if she was physically stronger, I’d moved myself from the ‘friend’ category to the ‘horny gym bro’ category, and the latter definitely wasn’t safe. I hadn’t noticed these categories, because I’d been a fool, thinking only about myself. Just like with Anna, who was only my friend because of a generous misunderstanding.

I’d fucked up. It was my fault, for not being someone Diana felt she could share the truth with, or maybe for not knowing enough about her.

I started to run. My feet squelched; my shoes were soaked, like the rest of me. It was liberating. If I cried, who could tell? I was gasping for air and it felt great.

Maybe Diana actually wanted to remain friends, but she just wanted to train harder while I returned to full strength? Maybe my weakness was holding her back? She hadn’t stopped responding to my texts. Maybe she’d like me more when I could keep up with her.

The prospect of working out on my own long enough to be strong enough to impress this hypothetical Diana, for mere friendship, seemed idiotic and overwhelming. Especially since gym bros could not impress her. I had no way of impressing her. I felt like I was getting some wires crossed.

Diana was a polite person. She’d respond to texts out of obligation, and perhaps even lie, to keep up her politeness. That was the truth.

My breath was coming fast. The humid air made it hard to breathe. I lost myself to running, which is part of why I enjoy the activity and part of why I missed it, even. Running is painful, but only for as long as you remember what you are doing. Once you get in the swing of things it’s natural and liberating. An optimal, predictable amount of pain.

I was running down the second to last hill when I slipped and tumbled to the concrete. I scraped my elbows and knees, and face, then came to a stop with the rainy sky above me. I’d knocked my joints and my chest felt like it was on fire.

For a moment I was staring at the gray sky. The water stung my scrapes as I huffed and puffed. I was still in pain, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Falling was an unexpected pain that I could handle.

The rain stopped. I couldn’t lie there forever. Someone would eventually walk down the trail and notice me, and I didn’t have the energy for answering questions. But for a moment, as my thoughts returned to me, all I could think was that the wide gray sky was beautiful and empty.

—

“What happened?” asked Bella. She was looking at the bandages I'd applied. Her gaze started at my face and went down to my hands and elbows. I’d used half a bottle of antiseptic.

“I got in a fight with a sidewalk,” I said. “Don’t worry, I walked all over him.”

She stared at me.

“I fell during my walk. It had been raining, so I slipped.”

“You must have slipped real bad.” She gently took my hand with two bandaged knuckles. “You weren’t, like, in a fight with an actual person first? Here, this’ll help.” She rubbed my palm, near where I’d fallen. Her hand was cool and it felt good on my aching fingers.

“In a manner of speaking,” I said with a sigh. “Diana lied to me about what she was doing, to avoid being near me. I was frustrated so I went for a run instead of a walk. Then I fell when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That was a foolish thing to do.” She wasn’t calling me a fool, just saying I made a mistake. She squeezed my hand. “Are you okay?”

“It was foolish,” I said, “but I’m okay. Nothing’s broken.”

“No. I meant mentally.”

“Oh.” I thought about it. “I’m fine. Actually, being injured helps with that a bit.” She gave me a quizzical look so I went on. “Sometimes, when I'm struggling, I just want my body to show what I’m going through. I don’t know… having a physical injury is so much more obvious, isn’t it? The way to handle such things is straightforward.” I gestured toward the closet, and the medical kit that was still sitting out in front of it. “Having a tangible reason to hurt is a relief, even. People are allowed to be sympathetic to me if I’m obviously injured… I’m allowed to be sympathetic to myself.”

“I see,” she said. “I’m sympathetic either way, you know.”

“Thank you.” She let go of my hand, and I set about making us some tea. She stood with me in the kitchen until it was ready, then we went back to the living room.

“I wish people were as nice about hanahaki as cuts and scrapes,” I said. “You’re one of the only people who really listened to me there, did you know? Everyone else thought they already knew what was going on.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to help.” Then her face fell. “I’m sorry it ended so poorly with Diana.”

“It’s okay.”

“You really care about her.”

“I guess.” I was mostly concerned with hating myself for my mistakes. I didn’t think for a moment that it was Bella’s fault I had foolishly asked Diana out. The blame for that was solidly my own.

“Maybe Diana really is the source of your hanahaki?”

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I shook my head. “No chance of that. I wasn’t mad at her, even. Just at myself, for making her lie to me.”

“You didn’t make her do anything.”

“Well, not directly. But because I–”

“Because you were honest about your emotions, you forced her to lie about hers?” Bella was frowning. “I don’t think so, Milo. You were respectful, considerate, and direct. I wish more people were like that.”

“You have to see it from her perspective, with all the gym bros. Even if I’m not personally a scumbag–-”

“Now you’re making a different mistake,” said Bella. “You’re treating Diana like some sort of animal that responds to stimuli, instead of a human being.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you respect Diana?”

“Of course! Well, maybe less, now that she’s lied to me for no good reason.”

“Then get mad at her, Milo,” said Bella. “She wronged you, and she’s a person who could have chosen not to do that.”

I stared at Bella, who was mad, but whether it was at me or at Diana I could not tell. Maybe both. I felt the heat rising, again, at my center.

“You know what, you’re right! I am mad at Diana.” Bella continued to look at me expectantly. “My anger is pretty quiet, just so you know, but it was a shitty thing for her to lie to me instead of just having it out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to text her, tell her that I caught her lying,” I said.

“That’s actually a bad idea,” said Bella. “What’s the best possible outcome in that case?”

“... not good... but aren't I supposed to be direct with people?"

"Yes, but," she said, then frowned. She sighed. "Lying is bad, but the issue is that she's avoiding you. You should approach that issue directly."

"Hmmm." I said. I wanted to have a fight with Diana. I imagined sending her a very angry letter. “I’ll probably write a very angry letter… and not send it. Y’know, a practice letter, to get all my emotions out.”

“Oh, good idea! Some guy on FlowerConnect was recommending that, and that you burn it afterward.”

“I might literally burn it… no, I’ll probably just hit ‘delete’. Then… then, I guess I’ll tell her that if she doesn't want to work out, that’s all she had to say." I set down my cup. "We don’t have to be friends if she doesn’t want to be, so telling her we don't have to work out might be the end of that.”

“Do you want to be friends with her?”

“I’m not sure. Working out with her was pretty motivating. Diana is driven, you know?” She was eye candy, too, but that part had definitely been soured for me. I hadn’t realized how much ‘impressing a woman’ had caused me to strive. It made me feel like I was obligated to correct myself for sexism. “Maybe I should just become friends with some guys who go to the gym, instead." They would be harder on the eyes, but still motivational in some respects.

“There you go!” said Bella.

“Except, I don’t like gym bros, either. They are crazy about working out, which isn’t bad, but then if you don’t work out as hard as them you can’t keep their respect. It’s all about dominance contests.” This line of thinking was giving me insights into what went wrong with Diana, I realized. I might have lost her respect when I became ill, no matter how unfair that was to me--she might be a gym bro herself. “So maybe that won’t work.”

“Why don’t I go with you to the gym, instead?” asked Bella.

“You?” I almost said something really dumb, like ‘you are the epitome of a nerd, Bella, seeing you in the gym would be like seeing a penguin in the sahara,’ but fortunately I caught myself in time. “Maybe, but I don’t want to waste all your time with my problems.”

She shrugged. “If I don’t like it, I’ll quit. It’s worth trying at least.”

“That’s a good attitude to take. You know what, sure. We can go to the gym together.”

“What if we encounter Diana?”

“Maybe it will help her feel less threatened by me, or whatever her problem is.” I looked down at my phone. I had some unread texts; if I had to guess, they were from Emma. “On the other hand, I’ve got some good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Emma asked me out.”

“Really?” asked Bella. “You should have led with that!”

“You asked about my injuries before I could.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“Yes, of course! I didn’t expect it, but I figured I could say yes without any reservations, which is a much better situation than the others.”

“I see. Well, what are you guys going to do?”

“Bowling, next week,” I said.

“That’s wonderful!” She lifted her cup and took a long drink. “Good for you!”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I guess that means you don’t have to keep tutoring me, then…”

“I’d still like to, if it’s helpful?” Teaching Bella had rekindled something in me. I’d missed school more than I realized.

“It is, but I don’t want to–to take too much of your time.”

I laughed. “If I don’t like it, I’ll quit. Sounds good?”

“Alright then,” she said. She tried to sip from her cup, but it was empty. “Whoops.”

“Here, I'll take that,” I said. When I got to the kitchen I glanced out the window. The dream catcher was soaking wet from the rain.

“Actually, I just got a text from Mom,” called Bella from the other room. “We should skip this time.”

“If you’re sure,” I called back.

“Sorry, gotta go.”

“Careful in the rain!” I shouted as a joke, but my front door was already closing.

—

We were in the bowling alley. It was dark and oddly quiet, except for the crashing of balls against pins. There was a backroom for smoking. Walking past that filled my nostrils with the scent of cigarettes, but the smell was quickly overcome by that of hamburger grease and machine oil.

Emma was waiting for me. She seemed smoothly calm and happy. The soup kitchen always had this undercurrent of tension and hurry, but here she was relaxed. She was wearing nicer clothes for our date, I was pretty sure; something normal to her, but maybe less worn than her other clothes. Her makeup was very subtle and it was hard to see it in the darkened bowling alley.

We started bowling, and I realized immediately that I was severely outclassed.

Emma stood up and grabbed her ball while hardly looking at the device that had returned it. She stepped forward and threw it surprisingly gently. It rolled with descending pitch until it crashed into the pins exactly where she wanted.

“Another strike,” I said. “You’re really good at this.”

“Yah,” she said. “I used to be in a league.”

I asked her some questions about it. She’d been bowling for years, since she was a teenager. Emma was proud of being good at a manly sport in defiance of expectations.

“I quit going, though,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“I bowled three hundred. After that, I figured, what was the point of continuing to pay membership dues?”

“I mean, if it’s fun…” I said.

“Now it’s a special treat. One I reserved for my time with you.”

“Aw, thank you.” I stood up, and lined myself up as best as I could. Emma hadn’t been forthcoming with advice, and unusually, I appreciated it. I could be bad at this thing without being judged. I hit seven of the pins.

When Emma next threw she hit only nine, but she picked up the spare.

“What do you like about bowling?” I asked.

She didn’t say anything for a few moments. I realized that Emma was like that. She’d think about something before answering, most of the time. Maybe she’d answered impulsively one too many times and then had put in the work to change her habit. I appreciated it, because most people were on autopilot for such questions; they’d answer with filler. Emma, however, would take the time to be genuine.

“I like the delay between cause and effect,” she finally said. “Like, I throw the ball, then it’s out of my hands. I like watching it go down the lane, knowing more and more where it’s going to land, but not… not having the ability to change it, anymore.”

“What do you mean?” This was the opposite of how I felt. Whenever I made a bad throw I was super frustrated, and my frustration only grew as I watched. I had to turn away to make it easier to bear.

“You try for something, then you get a little break before the outcome,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. I just like that moment where I know I did my best, and I can look forward to what happens without knowing exactly how it will turn out. Without having to try, anymore.”

“I see,” I said. I took a moment to throw my own ball again, as I thought about what she said. “I thought you just liked throwing rocks at things.”

“I mean, that’s fun too.”

“That’s what I’m enjoying about it so far. Hucking things as hard as possible is cathartic.”

“You should get a punching bag,” she said.

“Do you have one?” I asked.

“Nah, but it seems your style, if you just want to hit things hard.” She came over and touched my arm just above my elbow. “Your arms are pretty big. I thought you might be into boxing.”

“Not as big as they used to be,” I said. “I lifted. I don’t think I have the stamina for something like boxing, especially not right now. I’m still recovering from hanahaki.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I hope bowling isn’t too strenuous.”

“Nah, it’s just right,” I said. “I can sit down between every throw. In fact, we should do this again sometime, and I can pay.” Emma had been strangely insistent on not splitting the bill, so I owed her, in my mind.

“Are you sure? I’m kicking your ass, you know?”

“Not maliciously, at least,” I said. “Want to play chess or something, so I can have my revenge?”

“I’m actually good at chess, too,” she said. “Kinda.”

“I’m going to have to test that,” I said.

Eventually we’d branch out to other activities. We did play chess, but to make it interesting we did it in a mostly-empty movie theater during some comedy movie. I didn’t lose, but it was close; Emma could not be distracted and I could.

—

I went in for another examination, and Dr. Dominic pronounced me free of hanahaki. We’d been reducing my dose for weeks, until it had been reduced to nothing.

“Your lungs are irritated,” he said. “Have you been exercising too hard?”

“Inadvertently, yes,” I said. I’d run in the rain.

“Cut that out. Otherwise, you are doing very well. It would appear that reducing your hours did the trick.” I felt like he wanted to say ‘I told you so,’ but it wouldn’t have been fair because it had been hard work to convince him that my disease wasn’t just normal hanahaki. Perhaps he knew that, or perhaps it was just professional decorum that kept him from saying something. I hadn’t mentioned my dates with Emma.

“I am,” I said. “I wish It was easier to breathe, though.”

“That is common after an extended bout with hanahaki,” he said. The sentiment irritated me. I’d heard it a dozen places, and now I was living it every day--people kept telling me that it was okay and expected for me to be weak, but I did not want to be weak.

“I’m going to ramp back up my exercise,” I said. “Starting the week after next.”

“That is wise,if you don't overdo it.”

“I won’t.”

“I also want to follow up again in six months,” he said. “Stress has a way of sneaking up on us, and your hanahaki was atypical. Schedule the appointment before you leave.”

“I will.”

It was a good thing I did.