In my freshman year of high school, there was this druggie kid, Dimitri, who had no friends, not out of social ineptitude or anxieties, but out of want. He had one kid, Zach, that hung around him from time to time, but other than that, he was chronically alone. He had long, choppy black hair and wore a t-shirt and (usually) black skinny jeans to school every day with his black Converse. You know; typical druggie-skater type. We had Algebra 1, P.E and English together. Most days he was either high or on E. The days he was on E were hilarious; once Zach convinced him the television wasn’t on when it was (we were watching Romeo + Juliet) and his reaction was hilarious. Our teachers didn’t care, mostly because he kept quiet and didn’t distract anyone.

I had always been mildly interested in him, simply because I’m a nosy bitch who loves solving puzzles, and to me he was just a puzzle; I wanted to know why he did drugs so much and why he didn’t want any friends, not so I could ‘fix’ him or anything, but just to stifle my own curiosity. However, any attempts at talking to him by others just resulted in silence; I didn’t think my luck would be any different. I even thought about sitting next to him on the bus ride home (we lived in the same neighborhood, I soon discovered), but I was too chicken. So, the months passed, and so did my quiet observations.

Around November we switched table groups in Algebra 1, and I found myself sitting across from Dimitri, who sat next to a guy named Danny, while I sat next to my friend Kevin. Dimitri, as usual, sat back in his chair and, after his bloodshot eyes blinked shut, fell asleep. After this, the rest of us began talking, and somehow I ended up mentioning how I didn’t like walking home alone after school (I had almost been kidnapped the previous summer and wasn’t keen on walking the streets alone yet). The topic was excavated of its entertainment and then passed, and the next thing I knew we were heading towards the busses to go home.

So, in freshman year, I lived at the bottom of this hill in a house we shared with this crazy lady Jan and her son, and the bus dropped us off almost half a mile away from it at the top of the hill. Now, normally what happened was this; I got off the bus, Dimitri got off the bus, Dimitri would walk the ten feet it took to get to his house, the door would slam shut behind him, and in less than two minutes I found myself walking home alone.

This happened every day, except that day, because starting that day, Dimitri began walking me home.

To be honest, I didn’t even know if he knew my name. He didn’t say “Hey, I’m gonna walk you home” or “How far away is your house?” or “Let’s walk together” or even “How are you?”. In fact, he didn’t say anything unless I asked him a direct question.

“Are you following me?”

“Sort of.”

“Why?”

“Cuz.”

That was about it. He didn’t walk next to me, but he didn’t lurk behind me either; he just stayed a few paces behind me, enough so that it was clear we were walking together.

When we got to my house, I spoke up.

“Well, this is my house.”

He looked at it, looked at me, and then turned around and walked back. He didn’t say a thing; just walked back up the hill.

This happened every day for the rest of the school year.

It happened when he was sick (he would be waiting for me at the bus stop).

It happened when he was drugged up (I’d walk slower so he didn’t have to rush and get dizzy).

It even happened when he got kicked out of school for blowing cigarette smoke in the counselor’s face.

Now, you’d think this would change his behavior in school, but to be honest, not really. Except now, if I smiled at him in the halls, it almost looked like he smiled back, but other than that, he didn’t talk to me in class or at lunch or anything; he just walked me home.

I told my friends about it, and of course they didn’t believe me, so one day I had my friend Thali over to hang out after school. Dimitri hadn’t been at school that day, so when we got off the bus he was standing there like always. He walked up to me and looked at both of us, and then, for the first and last time, initiated a conversation.

“She with you?”

“Uh, yeah, we’re hanging out for a bit.” I replied.

“Kay.”

Then he turned around and went back inside his house.

After that, everyone at school tried to spin it into ‘oh he probably has a crush on you!’ or ‘you guys are just making this up!’. It kind of made me mad, because they were turning it into something it wasn’t, even though I didn’t really know what it was. All I knew was, I didn’t feel scared walking home anymore.

We barely had a complete conversation the entire year, and at the end of the year that was it. When we got to my house that day, I turned around and said “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked blankly.

“For walking me home this year.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

And that was it. I didn’t see him again for four years.

I probably should have done something, like try to hang out with him or talk to him more. I don’t know why I didn’t try harder. I guess when kindness happens every day, you just take it for granted.

In my freshman year of college, four years later, I was headed home on the train to visit my family for the weekend. When I got on the transfer train into town and I sat down, I found myself staring at a familiar face down the aisle.

“Dimitri?”

Unfortunately, he had headphones on and was asleep, so he didn’t hear my surprised exclamation in public (which embarrassed me into sheepish silence), but I couldn’t stop staring at him. the whole time. I wanted to go over to him and talk to him; ask him why he had walked me home in freshman year every day, why he did drugs, why he didn’t want friends, why he was on the train, why he didn’t let me be his friend, but I didn’t. It didn’t feel right anymore, like trying to watch a movie you normally love when you just aren’t in the mood for it right that second. After a couple of stops, he jolted awake and jumped off the train and that was it again. He was gone, just like that last day of school.