Boris's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

"A toast from our farmer," Elder Abraham said, and the whole commune turned to look at Boris. His chest tightened. The words he'd prepared were back at his farmhouse, written in the journal with the birch bark cover that he'd left on his bed because bringing it would have meant admitting he needed it. He stood slowly. The person beside him was watching, waiting. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He tried again. Still nothing. Then he felt a hand touch his wrist, gentle and brief, and heard their voice say, "You don't have to be perfect." Something broke open inside him. Boris lifted his cup. The words didn't come from the journal or from any plan he'd made. They came rough and simple, like dirt under his hands. "The fields gave us this," he said. "I just helped." His voice was quieter than he wanted, but it was his. He looked at the person beside him and added, "Everything grows better when someone's waiting for it." A few people smiled. Someone raised their cup in return. The person beside him didn't look away, and for the first time, Boris didn't either. He sat down knowing he had said something true, even if it wasn't everything. The voice that always stopped him had gone quiet.