“Just a bit,” I agree. “I wasn’t . . . prepared. You must think I’m out of my mind.”
“No. Not at all. Those things can shake you up. You . . . were shaken up more than most, but it was . . . I don’t know. I haven’t seen that.” Kerry scrapes her boot across the concrete. “Meaning, I haven’t seen that in him, okay? He’s not usually so affected.”
“I guess . . . well, I wondered . . .” I am so far outside my comfort zone, but I have minimal defenses left. Esben has torn a lot of them down. “I didn’t know if he was always so . . . reactive.”
Kerry shakes her head. “That day . . . it was a first. I’ve been filming and photographing all of my brother’s projects from the beginning. I’ve loved it, every minute.” She stops and lets the breeze rush over us. “Esben has been talking about you so much that I feel like I know you. But I don’t. Not yet.” Kerry is as intense as her brother. “I’d like to, though, because it was all so beautiful, and you did something to my brother. You got to him. You crazy got to him.”
“That day was all a little crazy.”
“Crazy wonderful,” she stresses. “But I owe you an apology. I just hauled you in without giving you a chance to get out of it. Sometimes I get as hyped up about Esben’s stuff as he does, and I should have been paying more attention to the fact that you weren’t into it. We needed someone else; you were there—”
I stop her cold. “I’m glad you got me in that chair.” I can’t help peeking over at Esben with affection. “It’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me. So, thank you.”
A gust of wind blows her honey hair across her face, and she grins when she brushes it back and holds her hand against her head. “You’ve got my brother all fired up, you know? But he’s been hiding you away, so I’m happy we get to hang out today.”
I feel an obligation to explain, to clarify that I’m at fault here. “Esben hasn’t been hiding me. I think it’s just because I’m a little shy, and . . .” This is so embarrassing, but I tell her the truth. “If it weren’t for him, I’d probably still be locked in my dorm room. He’s teaching me to loosen up and be social, I guess.” I shrug. “Very patiently,” I add with a laugh.
“Esben is certainly patient.” Then she turns in his direction and yells, “And he’s also completely unorganized and slow! Baby Blue, get off your phone! Time to move! It’s not exactly eighty degrees here.”
Esben looks up. “Sorry, sorry. I’m ready.”
“Seriously, if it weren’t for me, nothing would ever get done.” Kerry bumps my arm. “Hey, I have an art show next month. Want to come?” she asks. “It’s not that exciting, just a little evening thing over in the art building. Probably some bad hors d’oeuvres and stuff, but they actually have a nice gallery there. Maybe you’ll come with Esben?”
“I would love to,” I answer. And I mean it.
“The trick here,” Esben explains as he walks toward us, “is to get the people who are not chomping at the bit to talk to me. See that group over there, watching us? It’s a bunch of girls who want to squeal about the friend they met two weeks ago. I know that sounds mean, but it’s true. So let’s move away.”
With the whiteboard in his hand, Esben approaches a student walking alone. I avert my eyes, because the idea of approaching a stranger like this is mind-blowingly weird to me, and the guy has a hat pulled halfway over his eyes. He is not exactly screaming to be spoken to.
“Hey, man. Can you help us out with something?” I hear Esben say.
I fill my head with rambling thoughts to block out the conversation, but when I finally peek back, I see the student facing Kerry’s video camera. “My name is Chea, and my best friend is Andy.”
“How did you meet Andy? What makes him so special?” Esben prompts.
“Well . . .” Chea glances off to the side. “I was born in Cambodia and moved to the States when I was eleven. I didn’t speak any English, and school was really rough. I was in all these ESL classes, but also in the regular classroom, too. Nobody wanted to hang out with me. There weren’t a lot of Cambodians at my school.” He laughs, but it’s a painful laugh. “The teasing was pretty awful. Kids can be vicious. I don’t get why . . . I was alone all the time. I didn’t catch on to English very quickly, and when I screwed up, it just made me not want to try. I missed home. I missed my friends. I hated the food here. Everything.” He stops and stares at the ground. When he looks back up, he runs his sleeve over his nose. “What the hell? I’m getting all emotional, man. I haven’t thought about that in ages.”
“It’s all right.” Esben claps a hand on Chea’s arm.
Chea sniffs and shakes his head. “But then this kid in my class . . . I don’t know why, but he started sitting next to me at lunch. Andy. He gave me my first potato chip, and that was also the first American food I liked. He would point to things and name them in English, and I would repeat them. And, at some point, I understood that he wanted the Cambodian word, too. He was lousy, I tell you. Horrible accent, but he tried. Andy taught me to read better than the ESL teachers. He was my only friend that year. The other kids didn’t understand why Andy would hang out with a loser like me, and they gave him a really hard time.” Chea looks right at the camera. “But he didn’t seem to care. He was my friend, and that was it. So, it was the two of us against the world.”
“You’re still friends?” Esben asks. He has been listening so intently. Not just interviewing someone, not just asking questions. He is present and connected and genuinely interested. It’s beautiful.
“Yeah, yeah, for sure!” Chea nods adamantly. “He goes to Harvard. Can you believe that? I’m so proud.” He claps a hand to his chest and smiles. “Harvard! Damn, I miss that kid.”
Esben has written #bestfriend #andy on the whiteboard, and he gives it to Chea to hold up while Kerry takes a few pictures.
“Thank you for this,” Chea says. “I should tell him more how much he did for me. And what he still does. There’s nobody better.” Suddenly, Chea throws his arms around Esben and claps him heartily on the back. “Thanks, dude.” Then he adjusts his hat and takes off.
I’m rather slack jawed. Holy. Crap.
Esben whips around. “Not a bad start, huh?” Then he begins strolling in search of his next subject.
I walk with Kerry. “He’s magic . . . ,” I breathe out.
“I know, right? It gets me every time.”
The next five interviews go well enough, but they’re mostly girls cheering for the sake of the camera. Still, we hear some warm shout-outs, and Kerry gets some good shots. She calls it “filler,” but I still think it’s nice to hear about friendship, and I think about Steffi and how much I would have to say about her if I were a subject today.
Another four interviews in, Esben is getting visibly frustrated. He wants more intensity; I can tell.