October 24, 2008
By Nancy Miguel, Chicago, IL

A blue sky. The same azure radiating from your eyes; pupils exuding rich ebony. Under curls of hair, hidden, you looked to a cloudy horizon. You seemed serene, with your lips lifelessly at ease, and the soft breeze swaying golden locks slowly. I remember wondering what was hidden behind your gentle complexion. I remember the surge of compressed heat in my cheeks as you turned your gaze to me, without ever leaning your head my way. It was just that, I hadn’t realized I was staring, and you might have thought I was being shallow, but that wasn’t exactly what I was thinking at the moment.

You smiled – little curves embracing the tips of your pink flesh. I don’t remember if I smiled then, but I do recall the tingling feeling in my chest. I don’t know why that happened actually. I think I only stared at you with wide eyes, curiosity my main escort.

Ah, but I do retain the memory of our surroundings, like a stilled painting. We were under an old oak tree. It was broad and long, and radiated these dazzling flowers; outstretched hands reaching to us. I’m sure you remember. Then again, maybe you don’t. But I like to think of those blossoms. White lilacs, I believe, but even now, I don’t know what kind they were. And encompassing us was a wide field, wild with all iridescent colors. And a hill! Yes, of course, we were atop a hill.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? It was really beautiful, but I don’t know how we got there in the beginning. I don’t know where it was at all, and it’s sad to think – well, never mind. Maybe the imagery is but a dull dream in my mind now.

However, let me think back to it, please, if only once more, before I let it go.

“Hey there. It’s nice to see you again.”

“The same. How have you been?”

“All’s well. I embrace the hardships and happiness the same.”

“I’m glad. Life is like a flower, isn’t it? It’s short and lovely when it blossoms, but it withers so fast. Although, that doesn’t mean it ends. That just means that we should enjoy the flower while we can still hold it.”
(I was trying to be as polite as you. I’m sure you caught on. But my words were genuine.)

You grinned then. Approving, and I was glad, until you turned your attention away to heaven. And when I looked to seek what you sought, I saw the clouds turning grey.

“It’s going to rain.” I murmured.

You shrugged. “I don’t mind the rain”

“Neither do I.” I replied, “I love it.”

“Then we shall stay here.”

So we did. I sat down, feeling the bark on my back, as I leaned on the oak. And you, coming forth, lay on the grass, arms behind your head, closing your eyes, as the rain came in trickles, and then poured. It felt good. Letting it drench my clothes, caress my hair; touch my face without any hesitation. It was the same for you, I’m sure.

And the sound of the rain dipping on the leafs, and reviving, and coating us with cool love, came in such a quiet melody, that it made me feel at peace. I think I smiled. When it was over, droplets lingered on my lashes, seeped down my arms. I awoke to see you there, and your chest heaving softly, soaked wet.

I called to you; you didn’t answer.
So I walked towards you, waiting, but you didn’t open your lids.

So I pushed you, and you acted limp. So I pushed hard, because I knew you were teasing me. You rolled over. (Ha-ha! How funny.) You know what happened then. You were already so close to the edge, so I suppose it was inevitable, that when I struggled with you, you rolled down the hill.

I was in shock. (I was, really.) My own shock made me run down the hill- carefully, of course – and come to your aid. You were clutching your head, and had a few twigs here and there, and your face was smudged with dirt, but you were okay. When you saw me, though, you were hysterical. Remember?

“You tried to kill me.” Eyes wide, bewildered.

I laughed. “It was an accident. Why would I kill you?” (It was your fault, smarty-pants. You rolled over.)

“You tried. I could’ve died.” You were so dramatic that a gasp could’ve escaped your mouth.

Of course I only laughed harder. “Oh come on. You’re fine, you wimp. It’s not like you broke a bone. Now let me help you take out those twigs from your hair.”

As I came closer, you backed away. It was hilarious. You looked so panic-stricken, that I couldn’t help from raising my hands like a zombie, and approaching you like if I were going to eat your brains out. You even stepped on the pond, and completely enjoying myself, I was unaware of the fact that you had clutched a big ball of mud. So when it came straight at me, I was in awe.

“Oh now you did it!”
Running towards the water, I seized a gigantic mud ball and shot it at you. (Chay-ya!) Directly at the forehead. And so our mud fight began, and before we knew it, we were as dirty as little children. Ha, but that wasn’t all, was it?
While trying to dodge one of my throws, you ran frantically down the pond, and suddenly vanished under the water. I blinked before realizing that the pond was deeper than it had appeared, and you were probably drowning, and needed my help. (Don’t think I was taking my time now!)
I dived towards you, placing your arm over me, and swam away from the fish, and towards the papery top. You took a whole minute to inhale deep gulps of breath, and I could only bite my lip to muffle laughter.

“You sure are danger prone.”

Believe me; the dirty look you shot at me was priceless!

“Hey, hey! I saved your life here.” I chuckled.

“You!” You said it with such a hoarse tone; I was a bit scared when you approached me. I was thinking, “Uh-oh, now I’m going to get it.”

But you surprised me.

You stampeded like a giant, yet stopped abruptly, curled your finger around a tress of hair slashing my cheek, and settled it gently on the back of my ear. My eyes expanded, and closely embraced the touch, as you grinned at me, and I gave a small smile in return. Your hand extended to grasp my back, as both your palms met, and your chest closed in on mine.

“Tomodachi” I whispered, letting my cheek rest on your shoulder, and letting my lashes clasp together. Smelling the scent of grass and rain and mud on you, and under the wet shirt, feeling the warmth of your hold.

“I’m glad.”

I don’t remember if we said goodbye, but we probably did. I mean, we probably did say farewell. I can’t remember when we left, but, we did. I doubt that you remember these times, and really, it’s comprehendible if you don’t. Must I let go? I must. Then, let me remember the pallid blossoms once more, and the way they smelled in the rain.

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