Words I Didn't Know
“I’ll pray for you.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could think about what they meant. He said: “You pray?” It was as much of a shock to me as it was to him. “Sure,” I said, out loud. Wait. You do ? I said, in my mind. He sighed, worry etched into his brow, which was understandable, given his circumstance. Circumstance that isn’t mine to talk about, but understandable all the same. “I don’t know if I could do that,” he said. “It feels wrong. I can’t go to him now, because I need something. I can’t introduce myself for a favour.” Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking somebody in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. I didn’t know it was true until after, but I meant it as much as I’ve ever meant anything. I’d been waiting quite some time, I realised, to have the chance to say, uninterrupted and heartfelt and full of every hurt and pain and hope the years have gifted me and punished me with and made of me: Oh boy, don’t over think it. You’re tal