(no subject)
Written for my first creative writing workshop.
It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably, over each other in the gentle parody of song. The days were strung together by the constant beat of the sun, accompanied through the night by the oppressive heat, lacing bodies in a thick sweat, binding sheet and man together like a second skin itching to be shed. It was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything for blaring heat, anything just to feel.
I couldn’t tell you how many days I’d spent in that car, eyes staring aimlessly out the window as we passed town after town, stretch after stretch of earth burnt brown with the heat that consumed us all. Time didn’t matter to us anyway, we were young, we were free, and when you’re eighteen that seems to be about all that matters.
We’d been sitting in silence for days letting the road speak for us, weaving a complicated conversation between us about everything we’d seen, everything we were. Speed up, I’m happy, slow down, I’m getting tired, a left, a right, are you doing okay? Readjust the mirror, it’s kind of beautiful out here. A tug of the seatbelt, this silence is killing me.
I slowed down. I stopped. I can’t do this anymore. He just nodded and unbuckled his belt, running a hand through his unruly hair before stretching his back, freeing it from the burden of the last five hours. He opened the car door. The sound ricocheted between us; it was the first in hours.
I turned the mirror so I could see him. We’re being foolish. He didn’t speak, didn’t blink his reply, so I tried again. I could feel the seconds pass, beating dully against my chest. I turned to look at him, seeking out the almost comfort buried deep within his eyes. He didn’t look away, he didn’t do anything. He never did anything.
‘What are you running from?’
My voice was rough, cracked, unused, but his eyes widened with the first recognition I had seen in days.
I couldn’t read him.
More seconds, maybe minutes. The heat was stifling; there was the faint tug of a familiar ache teasing at my mind. Still silence. I shook my head, turned back to the road.
‘I’m not running’.
I started the engine, okay, you don’t have to tell me. He shut the door; the click went unnoticed. I needed a drink but turned back onto the road instead, the sooner we were gone from here the better. Silence settled between us again like an old friend. I could feel his eyes on me.
‘What are you running from?’
I closed my eyes, slowed down. I’m tired, I’m not running.
It was getting darker, the sky was as burnt as the earth around us. I kept my eyes on the road, he kept his eyes on me. The road stretched on before us, unaltered by our presence. We stretched on in silence, the magnitude of the moment flittering between us, unspoken, unwanted, understood.
I don’t remember what day it was. It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably over each other, stretching down road after road after road, as we chase and chase, searching for something different at the end, something more beautiful, for release from the oppressive heat. Searching for ourselves in our silence, finding each other.
But it was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything to just feel.
It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably, over each other in the gentle parody of song. The days were strung together by the constant beat of the sun, accompanied through the night by the oppressive heat, lacing bodies in a thick sweat, binding sheet and man together like a second skin itching to be shed. It was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything for blaring heat, anything just to feel.
I couldn’t tell you how many days I’d spent in that car, eyes staring aimlessly out the window as we passed town after town, stretch after stretch of earth burnt brown with the heat that consumed us all. Time didn’t matter to us anyway, we were young, we were free, and when you’re eighteen that seems to be about all that matters.
We’d been sitting in silence for days letting the road speak for us, weaving a complicated conversation between us about everything we’d seen, everything we were. Speed up, I’m happy, slow down, I’m getting tired, a left, a right, are you doing okay? Readjust the mirror, it’s kind of beautiful out here. A tug of the seatbelt, this silence is killing me.
I slowed down. I stopped. I can’t do this anymore. He just nodded and unbuckled his belt, running a hand through his unruly hair before stretching his back, freeing it from the burden of the last five hours. He opened the car door. The sound ricocheted between us; it was the first in hours.
I turned the mirror so I could see him. We’re being foolish. He didn’t speak, didn’t blink his reply, so I tried again. I could feel the seconds pass, beating dully against my chest. I turned to look at him, seeking out the almost comfort buried deep within his eyes. He didn’t look away, he didn’t do anything. He never did anything.
‘What are you running from?’
My voice was rough, cracked, unused, but his eyes widened with the first recognition I had seen in days.
I couldn’t read him.
More seconds, maybe minutes. The heat was stifling; there was the faint tug of a familiar ache teasing at my mind. Still silence. I shook my head, turned back to the road.
‘I’m not running’.
I started the engine, okay, you don’t have to tell me. He shut the door; the click went unnoticed. I needed a drink but turned back onto the road instead, the sooner we were gone from here the better. Silence settled between us again like an old friend. I could feel his eyes on me.
‘What are you running from?’
I closed my eyes, slowed down. I’m tired, I’m not running.
It was getting darker, the sky was as burnt as the earth around us. I kept my eyes on the road, he kept his eyes on me. The road stretched on before us, unaltered by our presence. We stretched on in silence, the magnitude of the moment flittering between us, unspoken, unwanted, understood.
I don’t remember what day it was. It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably over each other, stretching down road after road after road, as we chase and chase, searching for something different at the end, something more beautiful, for release from the oppressive heat. Searching for ourselves in our silence, finding each other.
But it was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything to just feel.