No Different Than Before

There you are, your perfect form casting long against the sunset. Your golden curtain, your golden curls, billowing in the soft wind like gilded flames against the orange hues of the sky. Your back is to me, the soft edges of your shoulders nude in the wind and the frame of your back open to my sight, framed by your soft white dress passed down from your mother. Your feet are bare, your toes gliding across the grassy hill just like they always did. Your face is away from me, but I know a soft smile is drawn on your face and your eyes are closed because you don’t need sight to feel to suns warmth on your body.

You’ve turned to me now, the shadow of the oncoming night hides my favorite face, yet it is still clear as day, for how could I forget such a face as perfect as yours?

You glide down the hill like a forest spirit, your feet hidden by your floating dress as you come to me, blessing me with your presence. In turn, my feet move towards you. Opposites attract.

We meet at the tree that has stood far longer than we have, the tree of which bares our mark carved between a shaved heart, our connection immortalized by our initials. It was your idea, all that time ago before we knew what we could truly be in each others eyes. Back when we were still learning our times tables, and back when our mothers would simply smile at such a cute friendship between a young boy and a young girl. Back when you had to steal a boxcutter from Ms. Lennon’s desk because you were far too young to buy a tool of your own.

It was a lone tree, far from the treeline behind us that framed the ceremony arbor decorated with flowers you chose, fashioned from wood my father cut down at your request. This tree stood alone, untouched by anyone but you, influenced by no one but your passions. It reminded me of you in that way, which is why without you knowing, I’d come back with the divers knife from my fathers old war chest and carved your mark even deeper into the tree so that no growth could overcome us. And without you knowing, I’d carved my own mark higher into the tree, infinity, before we had made it official.

We reached the shade of the trees' robust branches and softly waving leaves at the same time as if we’d practiced it. You had the sun to your back, and I had the expanse of darkness between us and the ceremony lights behind me. Our eyes were locked, there was nothing else my soul wanted to see. Under the shade of the tree your hair was still, just as you’d made my heart. Your hands, once clasped behind your back, were outstretched to me with your soft palms beckoning mine, though dry. I gave you my hands and our fingers interwove like silk, as if the shapes of our fingers lent themselves to the other.

They told me they didn’t understand why it took me so long. It was obvious to them, meant to be, even. When we were after hours in the schools basketball court during our sacred games, my friends would ask me endlessly about you, not for the details, but of when I’d ask you. They claimed we were already together, official or not, and found it confusing when I said otherwise and shot the ball towards the hoop without a second thought. I’d hear the laughing from behind, telling me to ask you out before it was too late, and someone else would come by. But I’d turn and smile, the ball falling through the hoop like sand in a sifter with the gold staying put. “There’s nothing to worry about. Anyone else tries, they’re shooting bricks and I sink it from half court.” For once in my life, my cockiness was validated.

I pull you close, holding your slender back with the palm of my blue collar hands that you yearned for on your white collar body. To feel the callouses between my fingers, to feel the blemishes on my skin, was to feel me, and that was all you wanted. Your arms rested on my shoulders, your soft hands clasped on the back of my bald head to pull me closer to you, the spot where you’d once grabbed my hair before I’d shaved it off in the apartment bathroom as you watched from the doorframe. We said our vows once more with our gaze, and signed our names on the bottom of the page with our lips sealed tight, the shape of your button lips were molded to accent mine. My eyes were closed, but the forever of us flashed in my mind, decades of time flying by each time your lips met mine. We parted as I outstretched my arm for yours to meet mine, your other hand sliding down to my shoulder, my other hand firm around your waist. You smiled.

We’d talked so many times before, yet this time it was a herculean task. Sitting across the table in the cheap chinese restaurant, I wore a collar that you’d only tell me after we left had been popped out on one side, and curled in on the other. My wrinkled khakis hidden under the unbalanced table, and dress shoes too big for me from my fathers closet. And across from me, was you, donning a red top that fit perfectly with your rosy cheeks, and a short skirt that you’d tell me later was making your underwear ride up the whole time. Your naturally straight, naturally pristine, autumn hair was piled up on top of your head with precision, and my curls were matted from a failed attempt at shepherding them together with hair gel I’d found in the medicine cabinet. My mother thought it was cute, and thankfully, so did you.

You knew everything about me, and I knew all of you. You knew about the passion I had for basketball and the reading I hid from my fellow athletes. You knew about the aspirations I had for my future, and you knew that it came crashing down when my brother passed away.

I knew about your strained relationship with your father, and I knew you had an unconventional interest in cars in a strained self-sustained instruction in an attempt to bond with him. I knew how little you cared for the companionship of other women, wanting only a select few in your life because the drama was too much for you. I also knew they’d had conversations with you similar to the ones I’d had all those times on the basketball court.

Yet then, I didn’t know what to talk about. I always felt comfortable talking to you about everything, but then, in that context, the awkwardness of the situation stifled my voice and all I could do was stare. We ate in silence, the soggy egg rolls, the overwhelmingly zesty chicken, all going down like nails in my throat as I forced the food down my throat in an excuse not to talk. You looked at me, thinking it was cute, but feeling the same as you asked for your fifth cup of water for the same reason. You excused yourself for the ladies room three times that night, two of which were extended breaks to reconstitute yourself.

When the check came, I lunged for it like it was my lifeline, which to an extent, it was, for if you’d paid, my mother would disown me. You watched me fumble around my wallet for a debit card I always put in a different spot, your hands clasped in a lap that bounced with the rhythm of your tapping feet. “It’s raining outside” you’d said, watching out the dirtied window ignited by the neon “OPEN” sign flickering in and out of life. I could see it in your eyes, gears turning, thoughts racing, I could always tell with you. I saw a smile grow on your face, and before you could look back, I looked down to the check trying to remember the process for tipping.

When we walked out of the restaurant with the bell signaling our departure, I took off my jacket and raised it above your head, letting the raindrops fog my glasses and break up the gel that muddled my hair. You looked at me with a warmth that always softend me, and in an instant moved the jacket aside and grabbed my hand with yours, taking off without a word and pulling me along for the ride as our shoes splashed through puddles and our socks grew damp in the rain. You giggled your soft, infectious giggle, and I couldn’t help but join in as you led me through street names I recognized, through store lights that shined off our glistening skin, through passerbys who swore listless words of advice for us to learn from as we barrelled through them, towards our tree, where you’d guide my hand to your back and rest your hand on my shoulder, our free hands clasped out to the side.

The sun was behind the hill now, the remnants of its rays slowly leaving as we swayed under the green leaves and just like we had then, you guided my steps because you didn’t know I’d been practicing. You picked up on this, and gradually allowed me to guide our dance in the oncoming night. For a moment I was worried I wouldn’t be able to see my favorite face, but as our feet glided across the grass, the fireflies rose from the woodworks and came to us, dancing around our feet and flickering, dancing, in rhythm with us. Specks of sun dotting our path around the grass, some rising to your face to allow me the pleasure of its beauty. The soft buzzing of their behinds, like small scale streetlamps, turned into a quaint backdrop of music that we imagined was to the tune of wedding sounds.

It was just us that night, the influence of no one but you and I. You looked up at me, the flickering lights of the fireflies bringing the contours of your cheekbones to life, much deeper than before, but just as beautiful. You looked into my eyes, mine lost in the beautiful sea that made up yours. My smile hadn’t let up, but I morphed it’s meaning into one of comfort, one of innocence, one that I knew made you feel safe. Your ocean eyes softened, and you took your hand off my shoulder and reached for the top of your head, slowly pulling off the headdress you donned when we weren’t alone. Your blonde curls fell to the ground as if you’d taken off your bra to let your breasts relax from a long day of work. You took a deep breath, ever so slightly labored than before, and let a tear fall from your eye as you retained your smile. I took my hand from your waist and caressed the bare back of your head with hands I didn’t tell you I’d started putting lotion on, even if it wasn’t noticeable yet. I pulled your head close to mine, and kissed you once more, no different than before.