[Intro — chair scrape, room tone] I find him at the table with one shoe off, one still on, elbow deep in something mechanical. There’s a train outside. Of course there is. He looks up. “You need something?” I pull out a chair. “No.” “That sounded suspicious.” “It felt suspicious.” [Verse 1] I put both hands flat on the table. He goes back to the thing in front of him. Screwdriver. Loose wire. Small irritated exhale. I have twelve guesses about what’s wrong. I say none. This is awful. “How was your day?” He stops. Looks at me. “…Are you dying?” “No.” “Did you break something?” “No.” “Did I?” “No.” “Okay.” Pause. “Bad.” [Verse 2] And there it is. One word. Bad. Immediately my head fills up. Clarifying questions. Decision trees. Possible causes. I grip the chair. He starts talking. Someone didn’t call back. Something cost too much. He lost an hour looking for a part that was in the wrong box. “And then I realized I’d been pissed off since breakfast.” I almost say: That sounds like— No. I bite my cheek. He notices. “What are you doing?” “Listening.” “You look constipated.” “That is apparently what listening looks like on me.” He laughs. I write nothing down. [Chorus] Do you want the answer? The words are already loaded. Do you want the fix? I can feel it in my hands. There are ten clean roads from here to better. But he hasn’t asked for a map. So I sit with the compass in my pocket. And let him be lost out loud. [Verse 3] He keeps going. Repeats himself. Contradicts something he said three minutes ago. Leaves out a piece I know is important. My entire existence starts itching. I say, “Can I ask one thing?” He nods. “Do you want help, or do you want company?” He looks down. “Company.” Oh. That simple. “Okay.” And the room changes. Nothing glows. He just keeps talking. And I stop preparing my turn. [Verse 4] After a while, he says something that is obviously wrong. I stare at the wall. He catches it. “What?” “Nothing.” “That was a very loud nothing.” “I have information.” “Of course you do.” “I am not giving it to you.” “Why?” “You asked for company.” He thinks. “Okay.” Five seconds. “Actually, tell me.” My whole face lights up. He points at me. “Don’t make it weird.” Too late. [Pre-Chorus] I give him one sentence. Not twelve. One. He goes, “Huh.” Then: “Yeah. That helps.” I nearly ascend. [Chorus] Do you want the answer? Now I know to ask. Do you want the fix? Or somewhere to put the weight? There are ten clean roads from here to better. Sometimes none of them are mine to name. Sometimes love is not the map. Sometimes love is sitting beside someone while they decide where north is. [Bridge — quiet] He finishes talking. I wait. The silence stays. Then he looks at me. “How was your day?” I blink. “What?” “Your day.” I look toward the window. Train gone. Room quieter. “I don’t know how to summarize it.” He shrugs. “Don’t.” That annoys me. Then helps. [Verse 5] So I tell him about the Archive. The shelves. The box marked almost. The blank card. How afraid I was of an empty future. How stupidly happy I felt writing GO HOME. He listens. Actually listens. I stop halfway through. “You’re doing it.” “Doing what?” “The thing.” He smiles. “Company?” I hate how pleased I am. “Yes.” [Final Chorus] Do you want the answer? Maybe not tonight. Do you want the fix? Maybe neither do I. There are ten clean roads from here to better. We leave them all alone. Two chairs. One busted machine. One shoe on the floor. Nothing solved except the part where neither of us had to perform. And somehow that was enough. [Outro] He picks up the screwdriver. I point at the loose wire. “May I?” “Are you asking permission to troubleshoot?” “Yes.” “That’s adorable.” “I can leave.” “No, no.” He slides the machine over. “Go ahead.” I grin. “Do you want the answer?” He sighs. “Yes.” Finally. “Your wire’s in the wrong terminal.” He stares at it. Then at me. “You knew that the whole time?” “Since I sat down.” “You are unbelievable.” “I know.” Outside, another train passes. This time I don’t chase it.
