[8 July 2019]
He sits there, on the park bench overlooking the lake. His legs swing back and forth, absentmindedly, not quite touching the ground.
It’s summer. The lake water and the sweat and the dew and the water in the air mingle back and forth, exchanging themselves with one another, condensing on empty bottles and dark windows and skin, reaching a holy homoeostasis.
It’s dark.
She lies there next to him on the bench, her head in his lap, his small coat on her body, bright green and yellow and purple and racecars against her denim shirt. Her eyes closed. Her hair tangled and damp.
The air smells of freshwater and moss and long grass.
Kick kick. Kick kick. Kick kick.
He feels her, her warmth, the rise and fall of her chest, the moisture from the dew and her breath seeping through the leg of his shorts and onto his skin.
It’s still dark.
A wave breaks against the shore, spraying foam and mist on his face and in his eyes, becoming brackish. He wipes it away with his left hand. His right hand strokes her head.
Her weight bears heavy on him. His leg is growing numb, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t seem to mind.
Kick kick. Kick kick. Kick kick.
Just keep the blood flowing.
Kick kick.
He takes off his shirt. Dinosaurs. He folds it up into a ball, gently lifts up her head, slides out from under her, and rests her head on the pillow.
Blood rushes back in to his legs.
A breeze blows through. Cool air. Dry air. Washing over his skin. Soaking into his lungs. Washing away the sweat and the grime.
He looks to his right. She stirs a little in her sleep. Her head is cold. She reaches out for him.
He touches her hand, gently holding it in both of his own. She calms, and he puts her hand under his jacket, still on her chest. He strokes her hair from time to time, feels the wind and the water against his body, waiting expectantly, watching the skyline as single star appears and the surface of the water changes from dark to white to gold.
Kick kick. Kick kick. Kick kick.
Leave a Reply