By K.A. James & illustrated by Fay Qian
Don’t you remember?
The summer breeze whistled by the both of us. Your hands were clenched to soft wings of straw, woven to the hat that latched onto your head. Around the brim was a congregation of flowers that you picked: jasmine, tulips, lilies, and daffodils. White played with pink and yellow mixed with rose in the summer glaze. Strips of sand bleached hair slipped down your shoulders, beaming its own radiant light. You always said you liked that hat.
You do remember, right?
The jade waves of grass folded and crushed with every step of ours; a ripple first washed through the dense blades, then came the violent crash between skin and earth, crushing the grass from head to toe. The summer breeze was there too, running in its predestined course. The supple leaves above our heads swayed in rhythm with the run of the wind. The wildlife felt it. That bee (I think it was a bee) almost stung my ear! You laughed, surprising yourself, and looked away again. The field ahead stretched out for miles, an endless expanse of emerald. Sure, it was beautiful. It wasn’t enough to rid the hazy look set in your eyes.
You really don’t remember?
In the second that lasted for minutes, raw passion and longing desire fused in an exotic mix, beating down on any remaining sense. I wanted more. More was longing for your clear blue eyes to settle onto mine. More was the soft touch of your hand to brush against mine, skin on skin, finger interlocked with finger. Perhaps, more was just to hear the slightest whisper, a fragment of sound, to leave your locked lips.
Your mouth formed abstract shapes, smiling and frowning, as the words that tumbled out meshed into a shield. A toxic mix of want and need leaked onto the surface. My eyes darting, yours steady. Strands of blonde hair settled softly past your ear, collecting to cast its shadow around your cheeks. The silver-grey clouds dared not appear; the emerald plains below our feet danced to the tune of the breeze; the towering trees standing as guard around the field relaxed. Yet, nature’s religious zeal could not pry open the insurmountable defences that locked away your feelings. We pressed on as the gap grew wider between us. The wind’s whistle spoke but the deafening silence did not break its resolve. It only felt right to break it.
“I look at you and you never seem to be happy. I don’t understand.”
“I’m happy. Who said I wasn’t? You look at me and believe you understand everything there is to see. You want to understand in your own special way,” you said.
“You respond but you never talk. You have this far-away look in your eyes. It’s just me, singing my words to the void. I want to hear about your mornings or the random little things that make your heart flutter. I want to hear about what you draw or the flower that you like the most.”
“None of that concerns you. How I feel isn’t something that you should feel obligated to know. I keep things to myself because I want to. What right do you have to pry into my life and claim it as yours too? You want someone who wants to talk on and on like a broken record,” you replied.
For the first time, songs of the mockingbirds fell to a quiet hush. Overcast clouds hammered down the blue gates, spilling into the plains. You spoke once more.
“You try so hard to bend the world to your will. It won’t begin to rain just because you wish to cast your anger into the world. Flowers will not rise in winter because your happiness wills it so. You look at me as another person to conquer. Being wrong is unthinkable to you. Like a child, you grab and claim everything as yours. What am I to do with you? Should I stand here and submit to you with open arms? Is that what you want? Perhaps it’s better if I slip on the mask of the woman you think I am and play her role like an actor on a stage. You believe that an open sky or the sun burning brightly is a sign of confirmation. Spurred by anger or love, the world around you should know it, right?”
Remembering what I had said had hurt. “I only want to understand you. Let me be the first. Let me share in your pain or joy. All I wish to know are the thoughts swirling in your head, be it of grief or happiness. Is that too much to ask? Is it strange to want to know how you feel?”
You shook your head and a heavy sigh along with it. “Why do you need to dig deeper into my skin and find what I hide? Why must you parade me around? Does it ease you to know my next breath? When we walk side by side, listening to the crickets buzz throughout the early morning, I’m at ease. We’re different, you and me. I’m sad you can’t see that.”
You had spoken from the heart, spitting words of venom to me at the time.
You remember now.
–
Summer had turned its page. Sheets of snow crunched beneath our feet, filling in the white world as it sifted steadily, slowly to the ground. The wooden oak tree we walked by, once sprouting with green leaves, had shed its skin and left its branches bare. The winter frost had settled down onto my lips, marking its cold bite all over. I had not wanted to speak then but it was no fault of the snowstorm. This was enough. The familiar silence between us had a peaceful twang to it, playing its tune with every step we took. You had looked at me in a strange way as if to say you were walking with a strange person. The wind’s whistle spoke again but the deafening silence did not break its resolve. You wanted to break it.
“You aren’t talking,” you said.
“Do I need to?”
“No.”
I had thought a smile broke onto your face. Perhaps I was seeing things.
This was enough. That’s all I knew.
