Current mood:	thankful
Entry tags:	lips together worlds apart

B E T W E E N F R I E N D S
She'd always had the scent of lavender, and the warm summer's breeze carried it over to me as I smiled at her from the back porch. One foot braced against the wooden railing, I pushed my chair up on its back legs, rocking gently. The sky was a warm, pinkish orange; the sort of creamy color of rainbow sherbet. It was our first summer as adults, and each of us had plans to go our separate ways come autumn. I would be sad to leave her, along with several of our other friends, but for now the only thing that mattered was our remaining summer days.

Her feet were bare, and she ran her toes through the green grass as she leaned back on the porch. Drumming her fingers, she looked up at the sky, at the dusting of clouds that we made shapes of when we were children. Her hair was long, a sunny auburn, and was braided in a tail down her spine. Motionless, she looked like a painting, and I took a mental photograph that I would cherish for years to come.

"The creek is high," she commented on the past week's heavy rain. "We could swim."

Hands deep in my pockets, I followed her to the bank, which was well surrounded by gates of trees on either side. We spoke not a word, a comfortable, understood silence between us. I ran a hand through my sandy hair, noticing the half-smile quirked on her face. "Shall we?" she nodded; I affirmed, kicking off my shoes.

There had never been any awkwardness in the past; we had gone swimming in the creek countless times since we were old enough to walk. Sometimes we'd brought other friends, but the creek had always been ours, mine and hers. I watched cautiously as she pulled up her shirt. The skin on her back was milky and pale, and the setting sun drenched her with a warm, amber glow, her thin waist curved perfectly into timid hips; for the first time that I could remember, I saw her differently: we were no longer children.

I hesitated with the buttons on my own clothes. She didn't turn back, but finished by slipping out of her shorts and plunging into the water, cannon-ball style. "What are you waiting for?" She splashed more water up at me when she realized that I was still standing aloof on the shore.

I swallowed everything in my mouth, the warm summery taste and little bits of dust, trying to gulp down the well of pain that had unexpectedly gathered in my throat. Suddenly embarrassed, I turned away as I stripped down to my boxers, blinking as if I thought somehow I could keep back the tears that stung under my eyelids. All my life she had been my best friend, the one person I could talk to when there was no one else. In that moment, I realized that she meant much more to me.

As I splashed into the water she laughed, the smile moving into her eyes and causing them to sparkle a bright, shimmering green. Underwater I grabbed her ankles, and as she kicked wildly I heard her high-pitched squeals of laughter even from below. For an hour or so things were just like old times; I was able to forget that in just a few months, the woman I just realized was the foundation of my happiness would be gone.

The moon was shining on the unbroken surface of the water as we stood, half naked and soaking wet, the water lapping at our waists. Dark, wet strands of hair were plastered on her forehead, and she removed one from her direct line of vision. She almost looked like a mermaid, and I would have believed the childish idea if I hadn't known otherwise. When she spoke my name, I was almost startled. It was the first real word she'd spoken since we had begun our swim. My eyes rested on her face and her on mine. "Love you," she told me, in her usual soft, whimsical manner, and all of that suppressed pain lurched in my stomach again.

"I love you, too," I answered, knowing it was what she wanted to hear. Though the same, my words meant something different to her. As if I hadn’t even replied, she started to glide back towards the shore.

Before I could stop myself, I had reached out and taken hold of her wrist. A short silence occurred, for the first time uncomfortable. "Yes?" she wondered.

I couldn't help myself. I pulled her to me and with only a second's more hesitation pressed my lips to hers. They were soft, somewhat salty, and so full and wonderful. I tried to hold on to the moment, but feeling her body going stiff under my hands, let her go. As she pulled away, I noticed there were tears in her dark, little girl eyes.

The air was heavy and humid as she dressed, and would have been silent if it weren't for the mocking song of crickets and the quiet rush of water. I couldn't move from my place in the river, leaning on a rock with my hands lose at my sides. She hesitated, watching me, waiting for me to make a move. When I made none, she whispered, "I'm sorry," and slipped through the trees.

Then, I was alone.

The night was no longer quiet, and in fact seemed to suffocate me with its noise. I kept watching the tree line, waiting for her to reappear; to dive fully clothed into the water and throw herself into my arms apologizing…but she never came. For a long time I was motionless, and when the first teardrop struck the surface of the creek, dissolving and becoming one with the mucky, unsettled liquid, my heart broke. But I would not allow myself to cry out, to sob, or to let any of my sounds of pain escape, for I was no longer a boy.

A long, quiet, lonely summer was waiting.