A Daydream in Ten Parts

~~~~~~~~~~

The day is hot. Lazy. Bloated, even from early morning, with humidity and the languid hum of bugs and birds. In the distance a motorcycle speeds by, revving its engine, but the sound only swims through the air as though through molasses, not nearly enough to disturb the viscous quiet. 

No one is mowing their lawns today. Not in a scorcher like this one. It’s the sort of heat that makes the corners of your eyes sticky and your bones loose. There’s a faint breeze that manages to rustle the leaves on the trees but is otherwise intangible. The sun is bright – too bright – turning the neighborhood jaundiced shades of yellow and brown. No, this is not the sort of day where you mow your lawn, even if the threat of heatstroke is far removed and a bit of casually applied sunscreen would protect from any other kind of damage. Most people just lie on their couches, skin pasting to the leather, falling asleep to the sound of the fan whirring. 

He’s in such a position now, tanned head resting on the arm of the couch. His eyes follow the slow circular movements of the fan without actually seeing them. Instead, he’s picturing her: her hair curling tentatively over her brow, the sweat on her face dried to a smooth matte, her lips and impossible shade of strawberry, with a pleasant flush surging up her cheeks. In this generous picture, everything has had its color leeched by the sun except for her. She is the brightest shades of gold and crimson and ivory. 

(But he’s only 16. What does he know?)

This is the part where they don’t really know each other. They go to the same school; they have since sixth grade, so he knows her name. They’ve had a few classes together. They’ve seen each other give the wrong answer when called on, and seen each other’s stuttering presentations, and witnessed each other receive dismal test scores. But they’ve only spoken a few times – enough for him to realize how smart she is. Enough to joke, once, that he’s a bit scared of her, and then chide himself for saying something so stupid, even though it made her laugh. 

Mostly he has watched her – discreetly. In places where it won’t be noticed: across the lunchroom or in gym class. He spent the better part of sophomore year becoming more and more entranced by her. Thinking about her, wondering about her, asking his friends about her, learning about her almost without meaning to. 

But after two months of summer vacation and doing none of these things, his memory is stretching in the heat and he finds himself trying to fill in the gaps. He’s not sure if her eyes are hazel or green (he picks green for the sake of his daydreams). And he wonders if her hair – brown and gold and just a little bit wavy – is at her chin or if it reaches her shoulders. And is she in choir or orchestra? He decides orchestra, picturing her swaying elegantly as she plays the violin. 

If anyone knew about his daydreams, they would say that he’s just in love with being in love, and at this point they’d be right. 

A drop of sweat trickles down his face and he spends the whole afternoon wondering what shape her nose is, and where she is right now.

~~~~~~~~~

This is the part where junior year starts on a cloudless day and he searches for her in the courtyard, standing on sun-warmed pavement. But she has already gone inside, and he starts to sweat, so he does too. 

He has spent a whole three months forgetting and reinventing her. He’s had to, since he doesn’t know her but can’t stop thinking about her. Now, he watches for her in the hallways and at lunch and in all his classes, but it’s a big school and none of the hundreds of faces is hers. He starts to wonder if she moved away. 

He gets to his last period and takes his assigned seat. He forgets, for the first time that day, to look for her, so, of course, she’s there. The late afternoon heat is seeping through the windows, and she wraps her hair around her hand, lifting it from the back of her neck. One of her friends says something, and she smirks.

He’s far enough away from her that she doesn’t notice him staring, but close enough that he can make out the details of her face that he forgot. Her hair is shoulder-length, but it probably grew over the summer, so it must have been shorter last time he saw her. And her eyes are not green or even hazel. They’re brown. 

He realizes that he doesn’t care. Actually, he likes them. 

~~~~~~~~

This is the part where he still doesn’t work up the courage to talk to her, and his enamorment dies from lack of nourishment. Second semester rolls around, and they don’t have any classes together. He meets a loud girl who laughs at everything he says, who he isn’t scared of, who seems endlessly charmed by everything he does, and he asks her out. She’s flaky and can never make up her mind and often surprises him – not always in good ways. He decides that he must like that in a girl. 

In the end, this girl breaks his heart. He spends weeks mourning and moping, even though, years later, he’ll wonder why he even liked her in the first place. 

He forgets, for now, all about the other girl, the one who scares him, the one he spent months daydreaming about. 

~~~~~~~

This is the part where, by some fairy-tale coincidence, they end up going to the same university miles away from their hometown. He’s strolling across the yellow-and-brown campus, sun beating a tattoo into his back, when he sees her. She’s coming out of the book store and stops to blink as the sun blinds her. Her hair is short – even shorter than before – but the heat still makes it curl around her eyes. 

In that moment, the sun leeches the color out of everything but her. 

~~~~~~

This is the part where he’s a little bit braver than he was at 16, and he introduces himself to her. She remembers him and the time he told her he was scared of her – which he still regrets and which still makes her laugh. They talk awkwardly for a little while, and he learns that she is in orchestra, but she plays cello, not violin. 

He asks if she’d like to go for a walk. She blushes crimson and puts her hair up and says yes. 

~~~~~

This is the part where he starts thinking about her incessantly again, but doesn’t have to make things up anymore. They share several classes; they watch each other give thoughtful answers when called on, and receive better test scores, since they both have scholarships to maintain. He admires her from across the room, but this time he knows that she notices, and he gets the feeling that she’s admiring him, too. 

He goes to one of her orchestra concerts. She wears a long black dress and closes her eyes as she plays certain parts of the music. She looks just as elegant as he imagined. 

They have the same friends now, and eat lunch together, and spend their free time together. They say that they’re just friends, but everyone who knows them exchanges knowing looks when they hear it, looks that make a strawberry flush creep up her face. 

On the hottest days, they sit on the leather couch in the lounge. Sometimes they talk about anything and everything, and sometimes they don’t say anything at all, just watch the fan go around and around. He thinks about putting his arm around her shoulders but never does. 

~~~~

This is the part where she grows out her hair because he mentions that he likes it that way. And, instead of thinking about her all the time, he’s with her all the time, and never wants to be anywhere else. 

~~~

This is the part where they sit on the front step of the dorm to watch storm clouds gather. The air is thick with humidity and completely still. They both have a feeling of waiting for a breaking point, like a drop of water frozen in time right before it hits the pavement. 

He looks at her. Her hair, long now, curls tightly and hides her face. The storm turns the world gray, but she is gold and crimson and ivory. 

Thunder shatters the silence, and she turns towards him, brown eyes luminous. 

The first raindrop breaks on the ground, and he kisses her. 

~~

The day is hot. Still. The sun reaches into every corner, and a bloated fly buzzes next to his ear, rousing him from sleep. He lifts his head, leaving a dark stain of sweat on the arm of the couch. 

This is the part where, in the hazy, tepid moment between sleep and wakefulness, he almost believes it all happened, or could. 

But he’s only 16. What does he know?

~