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It was a mundane start to the day. I stood awkwardly in the shower, cold but smelling of lavender, and ate the same breakfast as always afterwards. Practice was early, before the sun rose and gave the earth warmth. I remember how the streets I walked felt hazy, almost beckoning to get lost in thought, the rhythmic slap of my shoes echoing until I got to the train station. I chose a seat farther away from the door than normal. No one would sit next to me, as usual, despite my consistent willing thoughts to have someone look past the hard way my face fell. Yet, as I sat there, without neighbors jolting abruptly about alongside me as the train sped along, I didn’t seem to care. You sat there across from me, completely unaware of my presence. And when our eyes met, ever so briefly, it was like the morning air had been a sign that this was not the reality I thought it might be. I was still asleep and you weren’t really there, catching my captivated gaze for only a second before going back to completely ignoring me.
I got off at my stop, the air much clearer and the sound of my shoes drowned out by the waking bustling crowd around me. You slipped away just like our shared look, into the morning light, and I wish I had tried harder to keep you. The gym smelled of lemon and the floor felt slick. The feel of the ball against my palms stung more than normal; perhaps the spikers had gotten better. Or maybe I had softened. I tried to not pay attention to how it felt after a while, waiting for this to be over. Time ticked down and I was dismissed, the school day ready to begin its countdown as another finished. Wiping the sweat from my face, I caught a glance of you waiting there, a new book in hand; it was the one I had recommended. You seemed to hear the gym doors open and bodies tiredly shuffling out, our gazes meeting again for a moment. This time, my presence was all you were looking for as you smiled at the sight of me. The day felt warm and so did I. While I was changing, I found a book of yours in my bag, and when I was done you were gone. You never returned my book but gave me one of yours like a sort of book-trade. And when I was done, I didn’t know whether to give you it back or a new one. It sits on my shelf, the receipt still stuck in between the pages, right next to the book I bought.
Class began and I pulled out a different book, this one far less interesting. The teacher called out for us to read, listening to the ways my peers spoke in various tones and patterns. Eventually, voices mixed together in my head as I tried to focus on the words, trying to keep up with the reading without getting lost by thoughts of other stories, of other times. When it was my turn, the written words seemed to beg questions of me. Do I understand what happened? Did I know what led to the current moment? Were there signs things would be the way they are now? After I finished, I knew before I heard; the rapid flipping of pages and an almost comfortable suspense. You knew where the class was at even when engrossed well past where they were. Your voice was distinct. A voice that met you at your most raw, soft and caring, chasing away the fear of temporariness, ensuring you that the world would continue to exist past failure, past hardship. Things that had been built strong would stand the test of time, and to you I was strong. When your words came to an end, a silence hanging in the air, I wish I could have asked you to say just a bit more. That period was over, however.
The afternoon buzz was in the halls, in the classrooms, outside. It was persistently in the background. We were sitting there, staring out the window, watching others go back and forth openly. That was what we did, but far more confined, our own little constant existence. I didn’t have much to say and you often carried the more verbal parts of our interactions. When I did, you always listened to me with intent, responses building in your head as you scribbled aimlessly in my notebook. I liked the little things you drew, but more than that I liked how they would remind me of you. How you made me feel heard even when I didn’t speak. How I felt seen to my core beyond what many perceived as stoic. How you smelled of lavender. I wished time didn’t take you away from me. The scents all wash away, the drawings can all be erased, burned, ruined, forgotten. But not the memories, not you; you’re a buzz in the back of my mind.
School let out. I went to our hangout, alone, hoping to exist outside the gaze of others. Before, we’d exist together there, unrestrained by time and commitment. Side by side, peering into the sky wishing for an escape. Many times, you caught me staring longingly at you and not the blues of the sky or the whites of the clouds, or even the evening rich purples, yellows, oranges, and pinks. The colors of you were painting freely all over my life and that ever-changing scene was what I longed to escape into. Today, you stared back, almost omniscient-like, waiting for me to say it. With my heavy heart in your hands, I knew that you felt the same.
I went home. I ate a nice dinner, did my homework and did my evening stretches. I lied in bed, hoping my hand would be able to firmly grasp concepts and mold them into reality. And as I rolled over, pulling the covers tighter around me, I realized that even if I could create something out of nothing like Zeus did Athena, I’d never be satisfied. A replica will never fully replace the original. One day, the feelings in my chest will settle, but I don’t think they will ever go away.
I miss you.