Josh tapped his converse nervously as the muffled roar of the crowd cut through the soundproofed walls.

He takes the can of root beer and brings it to his lips, taking a large swig of soda.

Life seemed like that sometimes he thought; good and bubbling until it rots out teeth and lodges beneath gums.

That awkward feeling set itself in his chest again, tensing against his heart and pulling on a thin string down his throat.

"Josh," Mel said, creaking open the door. "Can we talk?"

He spins the pencil between his fingers, a helicopter propeller slicing through layers of self-depreciation and jitters.

"Sure," he says and uses his foot to shove a few pill bottles further under his desk. An endless list of prescriptions designed to treat a sea of mental ailments that prevented him from functioning as an effectively boring member of society. She sits down beside him, tucking her black coat beneath her on the small metal chair. Her usual smile is missing, her brow knit in a perplexed frown that makes small lines on the bridge of her nose and reddens the uneven complexion of her forehead.

"I was talking to Pierre today..."

Josh ground his teeth and gave a dry glance upwards laughing nervously, quickly putting a few items including two socks into his drawer "What about? His missing Mario socks? Cause it wasn't me."

Mel gave a laugh and smiled, "No, about your references, your record, how you got here."

Josh shifted his jaw and leaned his position to the left, turning one shoulder loosely away from her prying eyes.

She frowned at his silence. She had come bearing good news, and yet her words with their intent to comfort had produced the opposite effect.

"Josh, your aptitude tests were off the charts. Like nothing they'd ever seen. He said you were practically genius and yet you showed up here with no training and-"

He gave a small sigh and took his pencil to the paper, drawing small tornados of anxiety as his secret was revealed.

"Josh?" laughed Mel as she nervously looked at him, "Is that true?"

-----------

There is a painting that hangs in his apartment, the shadow of the tower casting gloomily atop its pencil crafted edges.

Stippling goes across the background, a swarm of gnats, which when watched too closely seem to jump and fly from the page. Two hands, veined, dry and callous draw each other's sleeves, connected by the artist who drew them and a few stray lines.

He never liked the drawing himself, it was a message, that we all make each other. That we can't escape the circle of connection that entangles every one of us. He was doing just fine alone. 

-----------

"I don't know."

Mel flushes red in frustration. There are a million things she can let go easily, and she has. She isn't easily offended. But learning the foundation of everything, his entire friendship was founded on a joke, a lie? Was that ever forgivable? Had it all been some arithmetic problem. Some cold ploy to meet her father or have a cheap shot at a position in the company?

"This isn't funny, it isn't a joke Josh. With scores like this, you should be in college you should be out-"

"But I'm not!" Josh snapped angrily.

She steps backward in surprise, never before hearing his voice above that beaten and soft sort of calm.  Now his tone is sharp and clipped, piercing. 

He repeated it again, his tone smaller, more defeated, "I'm not."

She looks to him slowly, eyes showing plain her injury. Bringing her finger down on the page she points to the charts. 

"Why?"

He keeps a board on his Instagram, full of science articles and projects that peak his interest and make him think. He'd never tell Jack about that, he'd only tease. Now he found himself saving more photographs and quotes that knock the repetition of simple life from his mind. 

He's got to travel someday, get out and see the world... yes, he ought to get away. Mel said so. Mel was always right. But he wouldn't know where to go, where to even start. Maybe he'll ask her to go...

Photographs can't lie, can't betray. The moment the shutter clicks the flash of light the photons come hurling like a hailstorm to his face no one can read his expression. It's simply paper, hollow, hidden. Any person can change their hair a hundred times for a photograph and force a smile, but it'll only smother the truth for half a second. And even when a photo prints perfectly, preserving a moment, someday, by chance or not, it can be lost. 

Mel has made him better. Mel has made him understand he made the right choice by giving up that huge corporate dream. There's something more important he has here.

There's a new project he is daring to hope he can work on.

-------------

Johnathan Taylor had held onto his son's hood, the neon yellow sweatshirt twisted and distressed as its small occupant attempted to escape.

Josh remembered little of his father, except he was dark-haired, with a light shadow of stubble that crossed his vigorously boned jaw. He had two pale eyes filled with regret that no one could really place. If he remembered one thing, it was disapproval. A constant look of embarrassment and shame and the faint cologne of beer on the weekends. As if nothing was ever quite good enough. To everyone else he was cheerful, easy to get along with and proud of his boy who'd skipped a grade all together before he was ten.

Josh saw someone different.

"Keep quiet," his father sighed, "And follow me outside."

Josh's eyes narrowed, his face tainted by a silent rage, "What if I don't want to?"

Johnathan stopped in his tracks, jerking the hood back so quickly that Josh thought he'd choke and die right then and there, hanging by a noose of hoodie strings.

He gave a quick and angry sigh, "Then you can explain to your Mother why you were caught trying to run away during gym class for the third time this semester."

"Please," Josh spat using his arm to twist free from his father's grasp, "I don't like it there. They're cruel."

His Father's eyes narrowed, the small space between his two brows crinkling up in ridges, "Giving you homework isn't cruel Josh."

"I haven't learned anything-"

"You get to see and learn things I only dreamed of when I was your age. Do you know where I grew up? I work every day so that you can go to that school. You're getting the life and potential I always dreamed of."

Josh bit his lip, his red scraped hands shoved into his pockets, "Sure, I get to learn, I get to sit and mindlessly memorize equations for hours but dad! Dad when do I get to live?"

"Live? Live recklessly in a cubicle from 9 to 5 until you get stuck caring for two kids and a wife?" his Father scoffed, "That's all that you want in your life?"

Josh kicked his feet in the gravel, grinding his teeth, "Maybe it is."

"Well," the man said slowly, his tone growing sharp as he strengthened his grip, "I'm telling you it isn't."

--------------

"I mean is this really what you want?" Mel laughed in shock, "Working 9-5 in a cubicle like everyone else? All alone?"

Josh stared at the floor in silence, picking nervously at a hangnail on the side of his thumb.

"Josh, are you hearing me?"

"Yes Mel!" he laughed, leaning back in his chair, "I just- I just have to think for a moment okay? Give me a moment? Just let me think!"

He sat in silence, the clock ticking steadily as he cleared and organized his thoughts.

"No," he finally answers, and looks at her intently, "Not alone at least."

Within a moment he morphs, letting her take in the sunken bags under his eyes, the red veins across the side of his iris. For a moment she feels as if something within him is transmitted, a dread so great it shudders down her spine. More he feels than he lets on. 

"Why would you keep something like this from me?"

"Because it makes me different," Josh shrugged, "And because I'm happy here. I like it here. And its easier to process it all when I have time. I'm good at thinking, but that doesn't mean stuff doesn't come strong to begin with. I'm still me Mel. I just- I didn't want you to treat me differently. People they've always...I've never had the chance to fit in. I didn't have parents growing up Mel, I didn't have stability, a support system like you did I- I just want a chance at a normal life now okay? No more chaos. No people expecting me to be something I'm not. Can you try to understand that?" 

He's come to terms. Clouds pass, rivers dry up, childhood homes burn down and turn to ash; but in the end the elements of truth, the basic fundamentals always show themselves. One can seek out diamonds in dusky river beds, imagine them all they like; you can't wish things into existence. You can't wish people back.

"Does Jack know?"

"Jack knows," Josh mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

He is always looking away, like looking at her is a mirror that makes him conscious of every failed expectation and dangerous hope.

"He knows better than anyone."