The Walk

Wednesday. I woke at the usual hour and lay still.

The boy had not spoken since the town. He was waiting. I did not know how long he could wait. I did not know what happened to the one who stays. No one knew. That was the whole of it.

I made coffee, drank half, left the rest. I showered, dressed. I looked at the front door. It was closed. I left it closed. Then I left.

The morning was cold. The bakery was open. I walked past it. The streets were busy. The underpass was cold. I walked through it.

Chen Wei came over in the morning. He asked how the family was. I said they were well. It was true.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad.”

In the afternoon Chen Wei stood at the window again. He stood there a while. I did not look up. When he turned, the care was in his voice.

“Zhang Hao. Are you okay?”

The boy. The bathroom. They were in my mouth. I could have said them. He would have listened. I opened my mouth. The words were in order.

“Fine. It was a long one.”

He waited. Then he nodded.

“Get some sleep.”

He turned back to the window. I looked at my phone. It was dark. I put it down.

The streets were crowded. The light was going. The streetlights were on. I thought about Chen Wei’s face.

The convenience store was on the corner. I went in. It was warm. I passed the rice and took the soy milk — the brand, the provincial name. I chose it. The queue was short. I paid.

I opened it on the street. It was cold. The taste brought the kitchen. The warm small kitchen. The window over the sink. I did not push it away. I let it stay. I drank all of it.

At home I hung my coat. The empty carton went in the recycling. The one from the trip I had drunk the morning I got back. The two old cartons stayed in the fridge. I left them.

I sat at the window. The boy was silent. The static came with the dark. It grew. I waited. His voice came out of it. I had been waiting for it since the town.

The silence stretched. He had claimed before. He had never asked. It took him a long time to try.

“Tomorrow. The—”

He could not finish.

“You want to leave,” I said.

“Not leave. Walk. Once. Outside. I’ve never—”

He could not say it.

“What happens to the one who stays?” I asked.

The static waited.

“Don’t know. Nobody knows. We—”

He stopped.

“We find out.”

I sat very still. The words were small. The question stayed in the room.

“What will you do out there?”

“Walk. Look at the light. Say my name—”

“Your name is Zhang Hao.”

“Mine,” he said. “Say it my way.”

He was done asking. The static thinned. I did not answer. He held on. The static went.

I did not sleep. The bed was cold. I lay on my back. I listened. The static did not come. The fridge hummed. The pipes ticked. The street was quiet.

He would walk out. He would look at the light. He would say his name his way. The rest I could not see.

Later I woke. I did not know what had woken me. The door stood open a hand’s width, and I had not opened it. Tomorrow was the dawn. One of us would walk out. Neither of us knew which.