The cool breeze turned my veins to refreshing water. Thick clouds sped through the sky without revealing a blue spot. The moistness of the leaves, grass, pavement and the branches dotting the lawn suited my state, especially with the shiny black trunks of trees a few paces off. It also pleased me that there was nobody around. I was alone with my thoughts, with my arms, legs and head when I channeled my thoughts through them. I twisted and twirled freely, my heart pounding my blood through my arteries. It did not bother me that winter was any number of days away. In fact, I relished it. I could feel my organs and intestines squirming with detached pleasure inside.
Bess had told me no. She could not do it. A few colorless words ensued between us afterwards. Then we parted. I looked back. She didn’t. But it made her seem all the more angelic, her face set naturally against the trees and clouds. Bittersweet.
I wanted to cry. I could imagine my heart weeping, easily as usual. I felt pathetic and a desire to be that which I thought was pathetic simultaneously. What would she say if she saw me?
All the more reason to deem myself as pathetic. How dare I ask her if I didn’t know her?
Where would I go from here? The answer was where I put my glasses, but I was afraid to accept it. I knew that deep down. Where the water was flowing like a river in me. I was at my favorite sort of place, in my favorite sort of conditions, but it was only to make things simpler.
Things are not supposed to be simplified, James. Even if you want them to be.
I remembered our day on Mt. Mitchell. We had hiked every foot of its prominence, racing each other from time to time. I once remarked that if someone could run the entirety of the trail without stopping, they’d be fit for anything. She had laughed, with her hint of underlying sheepishness that I’d thought I noticed whenever she showed it. But whatever shyness she may have had, it was kept beneath a cheerful veneer that was too content to be anything but forged, as if I wanted to believe in conspiracy theories. Even so, I probably worried too much.
It was cold and windy when we reached the summit, but we both laughed at it. We could even hear a raptor calling in the air. A Rough-Legged Hawk, possibly. Nobility with few peers, in air or on land. I felt a bit of humility, for even though she seemed happy I couldn’t bring myself to engage with her. I had met with the same degree of unsuccess consistently with normal friends before, including my best friend from first grade. We had played games, watched movies, and gone bikeriding together, but I was still a quiet person, stammering in my attempts to speak. Now I was on a mountaintop alone with a girl, or rather woman, and I desired her. I had wanted to say I loved her, but before that I had told myself I’d be lying if I did.
A few days later, I told her what I was thinking.
At least I had the patience to wait, and not spoil the moment on the mountain, I had thought in the aftermath.
But then again, I had spent too much time worrying about her, and not enjoying the moment.
It was a deep blue and black on the mountainside when we left. I didn’t want to remember us camping. I liked fluidity. But my anxiety hadn’t wavered then, either. I went to sleep jittery under the skin. Sigh.
I looked up a little. The mountain near the glade where I was pacing was sliding gradually into the blue and gray terminator of my range of sight. A wringing beautiful sight, and it made me want to cry still. She had left more swiftly. My adherence to routine wasn’t helpful in its stifling of a desire to just run through the woods.
Maybe that’s why I was crying. I don’t know. Perhaps I should ask someone about it. I’ve always been afraid of embarrassment, after those memories of long ago. Was it okay to cry?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSYlhpdb0eg
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