Just Like a Musical Read Free Page A

embarrassed, and ready to turn around and run. But there was a tiny, giddy part of me that had tied my ankles to the ground and didn’t want to let them budge.
    “See the photos, of course. What did you think?” he said, laughing.
    “Oh, sure” I said, still not knowing whether I should go or stay.  But his smile melted away the foolish stiffness of my limbs, and I handed him the photos.
    “I don’t often see people with Polaroid cameras these days,” he said, looking at the pigeon picture.
    “Yeah, me neither. But I actually like them. I like cameras in general... but Polaroid is my farovite… I mean, favorite.”
    I heard my voice quiver on vowels and trip over consonants, and I could feel my face turn red – redder than his left ear.
    “That’s why I’m using one, obviously,” I added sadly.
    Of course you don’t know how to talk to handsome boys! Goddamned cameras and pigeons and consonants!
    “It’s somehow romantic in an old-fashioned way, isn’t it?” he said. Then he winked at me twice. I stepped back. But he smiled and very politely asked, “Can I take one, please? I’ve never used a Polaroid camera before.”
    I opened my mouth to say “yes” when he winked at me again. And then… then he growled at me in the most horrible voice that I had ever heard, “Moron!”
    That’s right – he said I was a moron. A thousand little frightened voices in my head screamed to me, “Run!” And did I listen to them? No, I didn’t. I stood in front of that odd, odd guy with my mouth agape, my knees wobbling, and my limbs hanging ungainly beside my body.
    “Oh, I’m sorry!” he said, raising his eyebrows and scratching his forehead.
    That was all he had to say – that he was sorry.
    “You’re sorry for calling me a moron?” I asked, frowning at my own silliness for not letting me turn around and walk away like any normal person would do.
    “No,” he said hesitantly.
    “You’re not ?” I nearly screamed. “What’s wrong with you?” I swear that I was about to slap him in the face once or twice, but he looked far stronger than me.
    “No, I am sorry. I really am. I didn’t want to call you a moron,” he said. “I have this condition… I have Tourette’s syndrome, you see.”
    “No, you don’t, ” I said resolutely. I think I even put my finger up in the air, that’s how angry I was. My index finger often goes up when I’m angry and I want to prove that I’m right. It always makes my mother laugh.
    But then his eyes found mine, and in a heartbeat, I was disarmed. His dark eyes radiated honesty and silent apologies.
    “Oh, you do have it!” I said. “Well, that’s good.”
    “Good?” he laughed, now standing one step closer to me.
    Sometimes, very rarely, life endows you with a moment of sheer flawlessness when everything is just like it is supposed to be – the smell of the air, the softness of the light, the sound of birds perching in the treetops, and someone’s smiling eyes. You don’t even try to make that moment last longer, you just exist inside its depths, while everything outside becomes invisible. Then something cracks almost inaudibly; a sunbeam starts to shine a little brighter, or a dust particle changes direction, and it’s over. You can feel the pulse of the outside world again. And you don’t want to go back inside. You just feel grateful.
    A woman who was passing by pushed my shoulder slightly.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    That was it – we were back.
    “I’m not sure it’s that good,” the guy with Tourette’s said, sighing.
    “It's certainly better than being some kind of a weirdo,” I answered, “and that’s what I thought you were. So the winking was also…?”
    He nodded.
    “And that ear thing? Do you have any more delightful symptoms?”
    “I clear my throat loudly. Very loudly. Like this.” Then he demonstrated his magnificent ability to clear his throat. I was impressed.
    “Sometimes I get hiccups when I’m upset,” I