Our arms are touching and I can feel his body slightly lift up and down as he breathes to the evening breeze. The soft grass beneath us is caressing me with the softest touch, sending tickles down my neck. I smile. It’s not a forced smile at all. This is what happiness feels like – natural. He shifts his position, lifting his arms to the back of his head. He chuckles with a sense of his youth still present and it’s adorable.
“What is it with us and this hill? Why do we come back here and lie down when we’ve got nothing else to do with our lives? I mean, it’s just grass. We don’t know if it’s even the same grass we lie on tomorrow, or even the day after.” I say, watching his fingers tracing circles on the ground. “And it’s just another pink sky above us…”
He thinks for a while, and I can’t help but notice how the evening sun plays with his eyes. They’re beautiful. They shade up into a lighter brown, and I can see the small brushstroke-like swoosh of his iris. They look almost too perfect, a radial photography. “Well, no matter what people say, it’s our hill. When I’m here, you’re here. When you’re here, I’m here. See? We’ve been lying here since God knows when.” It’s funny how he just blurts out his thoughts without even thinking twice. What are we, lovers? I turn to look at the sky, now a shade of purple. “ Isn’t calming to see it change colors? And the strange thing is, you don’t seem to notice even if you stare at it. ”
This time, I turn to look at him only to meet his gaze and I can still see those tiny brushstrokes. They seem to be fighting against temptation to come out as if they’re on hiding. He rubs his hands against each other, and temptation strikes me so hard I badly want to reach out and hold his hand too. There’s silence for a while and it doesn’t feel awkward at all. “So, what are you pointing out?” Silence. “But then again, I don’t mind coming up here.” Silence again. He raises his left hand and checks on his watch. Five minutes to six.
As if on cue, we sit upright almost at the same time. He stands up and brushes the grass off his jeans, the wind sprinkling them on me. “Hey, stop that!” I look up just in time to see his smile.
“See ya,” he extends his arms and his big hand pats my head, tousling my hair and he smiles again. Always the same routine: he says bye first, pats my head, messes my hair up, and smiles. Then he walks away. Oh, how much I hate people ruining my hair. He knows that and finds fun in it. What he doesn’t know: whenever he does it, it’s an exception.
He takes big steps downhill and hops onto his bike. He paddles a bit and looks back at me, smiling again. “Don’t stay too long, it’s getting dark!” he says, struggling to keep his hair from covering his eyes. Even the soft evening breeze loves to touch him.
“I know,” I mouth, but I stay for a while anyway. I curl up and hug my knees. I can feel my heartbeat. It’s quite fast. It doesn’t make sense at all.
Then again not all emotions are fathomable, aren’t they?