on being able to see out of both eyes

I stop by the theater department on the way home looking for Z. He disappeared from classes a few weeks ago, and I can’t seem to stop worrying about him. I find him running lines with a cute girl wearing short unnaturally violent hair and thick heavy glasses. Upon first recognition he appears shocked – quickly drops the papers and hugs me with a rapid and desperate motion. We’re not really friends. The gesture catches me off guard. Later I realize that I didn’t hug him back. We talk in a dimly lit hallway. The tiles along the walls and floor make it feel like we’re standing in an empty swimming pool. It strikes me that he looks too thin – too tired. I take him to coffee. Buy him something to eat. I listen for a long time. Hope this is what he needs – a friendly face and the idea that somebody gives a damn whether he lives or dies. That anybody noticed his disappearance. But I don’t really know what to do. He hugs me again before I go and says I’m really glad you came by.

Take care of yourself, I say out of the tops of my eyes.
He promises to try.